Anatali: Ragnarok

by A. C. Edwards

  “Jessie, calm down,” Trent said. “Calvin, quit being a dick.”

  Simultaneous: “He-She started it!”

  Nicky yelled from the door, a teenage monster wriggling between his arms, “Should I let one in?”

  “No! Though hopefully they get the point.” He yanked his younger brother off to the side. Their five-minute conversation started with heated whispers, but later halted in grim stares to the loft.

  Jessica followed their eyes. “What’s up there?”

  “It’s nothing.” Trent said. “Nothing you need to see.”

  “Oh, fuck that.” Her face felt flushed. “I damn near got killed to get up there. I’m going.”

  “You really shouldn’t.” Calvin’s temper seemed to swing between supernova and tundra cold. This time it was the latter. But he actually sounded sincere, giving her pause as she was already three steps up.

  Innocence. Not that she had much left. What were they protecting her from?

  “If it’s the guy, I can take it.” She wriggled her slinged hand. “He earned it.”

  “Maybe more than we know,” Trent said under his breath. “There’s a lady.”

  Jessica swallowed. “And I take it she ain’t breathing too good either.”

  “Let us handle it.” Calvin beckoned her down, slinging the rifle on his back and wrist-twirling his poker.

  The brothers’ matching expressions would be amusing if not for the mood—they could pass as twins. Ayla leaned up the stairs, ears back, nose working the air. Kahn had never reemerged from his ground-floor prowl, whatever that was worth. Nicky now had time to wait between strikes; the pile must have been getting thick. He hadn’t spoken since his outburst, but she knew he was watching. The moaning and rattling had dulled from a united chorus to individuals: men, women, children.

  Tabby was still fresh in her mind. The gory memory haunted her as much as her family’s faces, but every brutal scene and moment since had been that much less shocking, less horrifying. Maybe it was killing part of her heart, her innocence, her future, but if she lived long enough to have nightmares about it, then goddamn it, that meant she’d still be alive.

  They needed supplies, and if there was anything useful in the loft, she wanted to make her own decisions. She wouldn’t let misplaced guilt and over-protective boys keep her on the sidelines.

  She stepped up, plasma pistol pocketed and clipper again vibrating in her palm. Ayla sprinted up the flight, barking. Calvin had already found the lights, the ten-foot gap in the torn fabric was illuminated. When she reached the charred crest, brothers close behind, she saw a pair of booted feet, belonging to a motionless man lying on his back. There was no blood pool and his gray-furred chest didn’t rise or fall.

  Inside the curtains, the loft looked larger than she expected, a third of the ground floor’s size. The windows were either bricked over or painted black. A fireman’s pole at the rear appeared to be the only other exit. Metal lockers spotted the walls. Crates labeled ‘coffee’ and ‘kiwi’ lay stacked under worktables and benches. One table supported a humming line of batteries, much like Tabby’s set up. Jackpot. Talk to Me would live up to its bold advertising.

  Ayla ignored it all for a shadowy corner, growling low. Tucked near the railing, something rattled, shuffled. Calvin slipped past, into the shadows, towards the wall. The remaining lights blinked on, revealing a black-draped lump on the floor. The boy glanced at it, then looked away, shaking his head at his brother.

  “Let’s shop,” Trent said. “No, Jessie, don’t…”

  Too late.

  She pulled back the cloth, first confused, then feeling the color drain from her face. A headless neck, shoulders without arms; the stumps were shrink-wrapped, stained black. Its bare breasts were pale, bruised, and…coated, flaking, as was its stomach.

  Jessica snarled, tearing the rest away. Her jaw trembled.

  Its legs had been severed at the knees, also shrink-wrapped, churning, beating against the floor. She was nude. She had been…

  ~ 17 ~

  Execution

  November 30, 4124 — 12:29 PM

  “You sick fuck!” Jessica shouted, gun raised, storming towards the man.

  Calvin slammed into her back, lifting her off the floor in a full nelson. Her clipper shot twice into the ceiling, opening pinholes of sunlight.

  “Jessie, calm down!” Trent stepped in front, dodging a bare-footed heel.

  “She was alive, Trent! Two days ago, she was a living person.” She settled back to the floor. Calvin’s hold went from painful to merely constrictive. She jerked her head backwards. “No one deserves that.”

  “Trust me, I get it,” he wouldn’t even look at the thing. “but still, don’t bring yourself down to his level.”

  “Oh, that would take a lot more than finishing him off.” She ripped free of Calvin. “I called out to him, told him I was alive. He was hiding this, protecting it. He would’ve killed me to do it.”

  Silence. There was nothing more to say. No arguments.

  Calvin replaced the body’s cloak as his brother dug through the man’s pants, finding a fat key ring. He tossed them to Jessica. “They’re numbered.”

  She twiddled them in her good hand, matching double digits with the lockers. Ignoring the showcases of war memorabilia, she made the loft’s round, unlocking everything she couldn’t smash open. Her blood cooled. She dropped the keys on the main table and, joined by Calvin, began an inventory. Ayla guarded the stairs, chin to paws, watching Nicky.

  While Trent looked mystified at the armaments they brought to the table, she and Calvin cooperated with curt questions and suggestions. Priorities were even between ammo, crowd-pleasers, rations, and more of that ‘nano-shit’ if found. In minutes, they’d assembled everything of interest. Beyond that, the consensus ended.

  “I’m telling you, all shotguns do is make holes,” Jessica said. “We don’t need holes. It’s too heavy, anyway.”

  “The only reason we needed to run light was because we didn’t have the firepower—”

  “And we still don’t. Versatility is great and all, but it’s better to specialize on either speed, offense, or defense. Our group, our experience, demands the first. We’d only get killed trying to lug that shit around town. The ammo takes up too much space.”

  “I guess,” Calvin’s brow furrowed, “but Trent needs something. Something simple.”

  “Gee, thanks,” his brother said, not even looking at their arsenal. “What about this?”

  The pair turned to see Trent inspecting a locker both had ignored, the one containing all manner of non-lethal weapons. Stun guns, gloves, wands, a pair of wave rifles, and a box of flash grenades. “You mentioned versatility. If something here works on Dvoraks, I could hold my own against anything.”

  “But they’re dead.” Calvin said.

  “Don’t know until you try.” He removed an eight-inch baton and tossed it to his brother. “Humor me. I have a hunch.”

  Calvin shrugged, met her eyes, and tipped his head downstairs. The trio avoided the still unconscious man and his sex-slave—if the things still had souls, she’d suffered enough. Jessica patted Ayla’s head on her way down, retrieving her stick at the base.

  “If this doesn’t work...” Calvin said.

  “I have your back, no worries.”

  “Nicky, can you get me a gimpy one?”

  “Valkyrie?” he said, tentacles posed but motionless. There might not have been any attackers left.

  “It’s cool. We’re testing a theory.”

  “Very well.” The FireBot snapped out with four arms, and shuttled a Dvorak over his head. If the body wasn’t broken before landing, it was after, colliding into the floor on its headless neck.

  Slow to rise and slower to balance, the man wobbled to his feet, shoulders tipped back, though his clawed hands still reached outward. He lumbered forward, stumbling over his steps. Jessica relaxed her stance, though remained ready.

  Calvin flicked the baton to h
is side. It expanded to a two-foot rail with blue sparks raining from its tip. The boy looked like some dark fairy prince, the wand far at his rear, steady, waiting.

  When the Dvorak closed the ground, the wand arced sideways, a weak but quick strike. Skipping away, Calvin smacked its arm. It shuddered and went limp. Twice more on its other arm and a leg, he brought it to the floor with minimal effort. The Dvorak convulsed, kicking a leg, but the greater whole was immobilized. Too easy.

  “Wow,” Jessica said, eyebrows raised. “There was more than one wand, right?”

  “Six, at least.” Calvin appeared equally impressed, shocking the corpse on its torso and remaining leg before deactivating the weapon.

  “Muscle failure. They’re the same as us, in some respects,” Trent accepted the wand from his brother, pocketing it. “It probably doesn’t last so long, but a minute or two is long enough.”

  Jessica counted off her fingers, “So we got some stunners, another plasma rifle for when my hand gets better, a rail gun for Trent, a shit-ton of reloads on what we’ve got, three days rations, and as much medical stuff as we can carry.”

  “Yeah, sound’s right,” Calvin said.

  “My boots got burnt up with the clothes.” She wriggled her toes. “Nicky, do have any problem with us stocking your box?”

  “I insist on twenty-five percent medical volume, but other than that, not in the least.” He hadn’t found another target in the last two minutes—a good sign.

  “Great job, Nicky, we appreciate it.”

  “Though a harvester of death, Verdandi weeps for mankind, the Aesir and the children of Hel alike, for she alone witnesses each struggle, each victory and defeat. Marked in tragedy, her passage equals every soul she encounters, and every soul lost.”

  “Stop it, you’ll make me blush,” a dry reply. “My witnessing notwithstanding, what do we do about him. I’m ready to go.”

  Calvin cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to say it…”

  “Spit it out.” Jessica scowled, first at the teen, then at the man who ruined her hand.

  “He’s probably drowning from the wound, internal bleeding in his lungs. Nano-dust could save him, but—”

  “But what should we do about him?” she finished his sentence. “If we save him, he’ll still be an evil motherfucker. If we tie him up and leave him, he’ll starve or get eaten. If we don’t tie him up, he’ll continue being a sick motherfucker, maybe to another Dvorak, maybe killing another survivor—whichever she was. He sure as fuck ain’t joining the team.”

  “Obviously. No argument there,” Trent said. “But anything we don’t do kills him.”

  Jessica ground her teeth. Leaving him to die was the same as if she’d put another round in his chest. Saving him wasn’t any better of an option, not when they needed to restrain him, not with what he did to that woman. A man like that—did he deserve to live? Could she even judge something like that?

  Dad.

  When something was beyond saving, one should end it, and end it fast. Her stick again found home on the banister. The clipper again buzzed. “I’ll do it.”

  “No.” Trent grabbed just above her bandage. “If that’s our choice, we’ll let Nicky’s destiny sort it out; we’ll just leave him here.”

  “Pussy,” she said. “You don’t have to protect me, or your conscience. Times like these, you put a sick dog down. There’s no upside, either way. I’d rather live with a choice than some half-assed moral high ground. After punching my dead brother in the face, my heart can take it.”

  Calvin and Nicky remained silent. Trent stammered, “But you, you shouldn’t—”

  “Take it for what it is, Mr. Idealist. A no-win situation. You’ll have that—”

  A room-rattling boom shook the stairs. A cloud of debris fell from the ceiling. Ears ringing, Jessica heard Ayla’s most urgent bark, overlaid with Kahn’s fiercest roar. A second blast deafened her, this time under a blur of red-hot buckshot. She shouted to her dog, climbing hand over foot up the stairs. A glance behind showed the brothers in tow, and Nicky slamming the door, closing distance with a split-second grind in reverse.

  Reaching the top, she lowered her clipper. The man was silent, though Khan made quite the noise, clamped on his neck. Ayla stood between the man’s legs, neither encouraging nor discouraging the tiger. In his death throes, the man jerked toe to crown, a shotgun from the table smoking, gripped in his hand.

  With the brothers and Nicky behind her, Jessica knelt, smiling into Ayla’s eyes. The ‘B’ team was more decisive than the ‘A’s. Those shells were meant for any, all of them. Heaven blessed, not one pellet hit its mark, at them or her fearless protectors.

  “Good girl,” she said.

  ~ 18 ~

  Diversion — Cells

  November 30, 4124 — 3:33 PM

  After a light lunch of military rations and a fresh wrap on her hand, Jessica moved the party out the back door. Talk to Me’s owner had indeed revived as one of them, but was subsequently dismantled and discharged to the street atop the rest of the pile. She locked the doors, keeping the key—she wouldn’t burn her bridges this time.

  Now they backtracked along Morgal Avenue, crossing the canal westward and riding the border between City Centre and the Bay District. Rail trains still whizzed around their line—Jessica wondered what had become of Simon and Chelsea. Had they made it?

  Midday Nome was so quiet, so safe, she allowed herself a seat on Nicky’s box, trusting his and Ayla’s vigilance against her burnt leg. All the while, Calvin instructed Trent on his new rail gun, a full-sized rifle, pointing out the basics of loading, aiming, and heat-management. Kahn, blood-soaked and smelly, thankfully kept his distance.

  “I request a discussion,” Nicky said, not slowing.

  “Uh, accepted?” Trent stopped, as did Calvin, Ayla, and Kahn.

  Perched on her mobile throne, Jessica looked to the FireBot’s visor. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve coordinated our next course of action. We can execute it anytime, by your leave.” His treads clicked to a halt.

  “Great initiative, Nicky,” she said, “but what exactly is the next course of action?”

  “My own maintenance and a chance at information gathering.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The Clydesdale Street firehouse is point-five-miles southwest—yes, within City Centre. While an AG attachment would not support our combined mass, I would rather like to repair my water reservoir system and refill my Fire Retardant Foam supply. I’m sure you all can see the advantage in that. Plus, I could use a wash.”

  “Sure, but the Mark Sixes? Your tracking?”

  “I’ve related our situation to Holly, AFBMK7-103-0017, and she’s agreed to swap network ID’s and access codes.”

  Jessica locked gazes with Trent, one eyebrow raised. “You can trust her?”

  “She is my most loyal friend in the world, so yes. She abandoned City Centre for Rose City the first day, ushering dozens to the marina. There are no civilian boats left. After that and a similar encounter with the Mark Sixes, she avoided registered safe houses and gathered new survivors to a warehouse in the Bay District, organizing supplies and defenses. Currently, twenty-two survivors are awaiting rescue via The Mission, though the communications blackout has hampered their goal.”

  “Your girlfriend sounds hot.” She smirked.

  “Holly is a genius among my kind in terms of crisis management and human leadership. She has agreed to assist us—for a price.”

  “Go on.”

  “She wishes us to continue our course, to The Spire.”

  “That’s fine, we were going anyway—”

  “If at all possible, at near any cost, she requests we ascend to the two-hundred and twenty-third floor, to the Umbrella’s control room. It stands to reason the Umbrella is the only object large enough to intercept and scramble outside FTLS communications. Whether it is malfunctioning or facilitating a cover-up, the Mark Sevens, myself included, believe its continued activit
y will end many more human lives.”

  “But why us?” Calvin said. “I think we should join the other survivors and wait it out.”

  “Your future depends on intervention from the outside world. Our group is by far the best equipped, healthy, and capable that the Mark Sevens have found.”

  “Goddamn, that’s not saying much.” Jessica looked to her bandaged hand and her critters. Other people were depending on them? Bullshit. They could barely manage their own battles. “So we need to avoid being rescued in order to help people we’ve never met, who can’t even save themselves?”

  “But we get a free raid at a firehouse and clean passage to The Spire in exchange. Also, a chance at some answers.” Nicky said. “With the strings of fate tangled and cut, Verdandi and her Einherjar blaze their own path to Yggdrasil, finding the roots in the sky and the sky in the roots.”

  “Let’s take her up on it and see where it goes,” she said to the boys. “It’ll be a lot easier than saying no. But how will she get us the free raid and clean passage?”

  “You will see it, I’m sure. Are we in agreement?”

  * * *

  Far up Morgal Avenue, a sharp boom and mushroom cloud erupted from the northwest corner of City Centre. After a second boom, another smoke pillar merged with the first. Then a third.

  “Fuck, is she burning the city down?” Jessica said, her leg feeling good enough to stand on. Her hand itched something fierce.

  Sirens filled the air as a quartet of FireBots tore out of the garage, soon disappearing around a street corner. Other alarms rang across the landscape, a hilly ridge raised above the bay. The Spire was a long mile southeast, an intimidating monolith that pierced the late-day haze.

  “Valkyrie, I will go ahead. You are welcome to investigate after I confirm our security.”

  “Do we really have that much time?” Trent said.

  “Holly will hold their attention as long as it takes, until nightfall if necessary. Acting under my beacon covers all bases.”