Monsters of the Apocalypse

by Rawlins, Jordan

  Nestor twisted while still in the air, withdrawing the knife as he fell into a full crouch. The stabbed mutant fell forward - dead. The mutant that Nestor had kicked in the throat and face fell backwards. Nestor found his balance the next second and launched himself into a sidespin, shins leading, and swept the charging mutant to his left, tripping him forward. He let his momentum spin him, his left hand momentarily touching the ground for support, until he was planting the knife with his right hand deep into the neck of the kicked mutant who was still on the ground. He gambled and pulled the knife out and flipped it in his hand and spun back and to the right with a blind arching slash that found the stomach of a charging mutant behind him. He rolled with his momentum, which placed him beside the fourth one's leg, which he sliced open at the Achilles.

  Nestor stood and eyed the last of the mutants who hadn't been stabbed. The mutant waited cautiously in front of Nestor, fear and hunger burning in his eyes while the screams of his companions rang deafeningly in the morning air.

  "You fight well, Nestor Bravo. Very fast and skilled."

  Nestor spat on the ground.

  "Yes. A fine example of your race."

  "You should run, mutant."

  "I'm not one of your race, we don't run."

  "You sure?" Nestor asked while shifting his knife in his hand.

  "Yes, human. Now is when you die."

  Nestor threw his knife and placed it into the right eye socket of the mutant. He had run over and pulled the knife out of the socket and plunged it into the temple of the one he had hobbled with the Achilles cut, before the thing's brain turned off. Nestor was throwing his rifle back on before the last breath escaped the last mutant's body.

  Nestor left the parking lot and moved west. That night he stared at the fire he made and thought about the way the mutants had been waiting. The way the crazy man had known his name. Everywhere he went, people were expecting him. He crossed his legs and stared into the fire, focused on his breathing. He tried to clear his mind, but with each breath it became more clear what was happening. After a few minutes he found himself bent over in a coughing fit. Rather than bothering to fight with sleep he strapped on his gear and moved into the night wheezing with each step.

  The sun had risen when Nestor’s wheeze became another coughing fit that left him lying unconscious on the ground, his face in the puddle of blood he’d just coughed up.

  He opened his eyes. It was either still the same day or the night had passed and a new day had come. There was a man sitting in the dirt beside him. Nestor struggled to turn over and face the man, but his coughing began again and left him on his hands and knees watching the blood soak into the dirt below him. His vision blurred as his breath struggled to surface.

  “You alright?” the man asked.

  “Yeah, good thanks,” Nestor croaked. “Nice place here.”

  “Oh sure, when it comes to coughing up blood, this is a real nice spot. I mean, a lot of folks don’t take advantage of it.”

  “People these days.”

  “You got that right.”

  Nestor managed to sit up on his knees and face the man. The man was covered, a handkerchief over his mouth, hood over his head. Only his bright, friendly, dark eyes were visible.

  “I got my car over there, don’t suppose you’d wanna hitch a ride?” the man asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

  “Where you headed?”

  “I was thinking about heading away from all those flesh eating mutants that are over on the horizon,” the man pointed behind Nestor, who turned to see, just barely visible, the approaching forms of ten mutants.

  “That’s where I’m headed too. I was actually planning on passing out from the pain in a few here first.”

  “That’s fine, I’ll carry you, Mr. Bravo.”

  “Okay then,” Nestor groaned and collapsed into the dirt.

  Chapter 43

  ***

  The underground city had been designed to hold three hundred people. There were probably five hundred stuffed into it at this point. There was only one door in and out, and it was impenetrable. Behind the door was a flight of stairs that led down to another door, this one lead lined to keep out radiation. Through that door was the main hall. The center space was left empty for the first few months they had been here, but had recently been converted into a sort of bazaar by the survivors. Possessions laid about on towels and blankets and were bartered. The ceiling threw down a dim glow from large lights that drew their electricity from solar panels that were starting to fail after all this time with nothing but the muted sunlight that the nuclear haze allowed. People had begun lighting torches. Despite the air filtration system that pumped in clean air, this made for a slight burnt smell all the time.

  The underground city stayed civil and clean. Roles had been assigned by the big Indian who was the unchallenged leader. There were scavenger crews that got most of what was needed, cleaning crews, and engineers to make improvements. And then there was Caleb, the reason that the scavengers were able to do their job without being hunted, and therefore, the reason that everyone could eat. He'd taken Mary's idea to the Indian and the Indian had done the rest, selling it to man and mutant alike in exchange for peace and favors.

  If you didn't know anything about humanity if would have seemed perfect. A harmony that could last forever.

  Caleb leaned against a wall sipping a cup of coffee and watched Nicolette tuning a guitar across the main hall. They hadn't spoken once since she'd left him that day. They would see each other, never out of shouting distance, but neither of them ever said a word. He supposed she had forgotten him and he pretended he'd forgotten about her, but the truth was he still wanted her. He watched her fingers gracefully move over the neck of her guitar and he hoped. Every night he left his door unlocked - and he hoped.

  He was so focused on her lips that he didn't even realize when the large men appeared beside him.

  "You eyeballing my woman, Caleb?"

  "Do I know you?"

  "Oh that's right, you're the famous hacker, so you don't have to socialize or do anything, do you? You're too precious."

  "Yeah. That's what it is," Caleb said sipping his coffee. "Do I know you?"

  "I'm Tyler, Nicolette's long-term boyfriend."

  "Long-term?"

  "Yeah. We were together for about a year. We broke up three days before the missiles flew. We got back together not long after we got here. And you know, Nicolette's a funny girl, she fights. She likes to fight. Well, during these fights, she says things sometimes, silly things just to hurt me. You ever been with a woman who does that?"

  "Sure, I guess," Caleb said, trying to casually look for an escape route, but finding none.

  "Yeah, so I hear. You see, last night, we got to fighting about something, and she said she was going to leave me. I asked where she was going to go and she said she could go back to you. Back. As if, you two had been together. Which you were, weren't you?"

  Caleb felt the sting of hot coffee spilling onto his shaking hand. He clenched his jaw and turned. Tyler was a head taller than him and the guys around him were even bigger.

  "She never mentioned you, Tyler."

  "No? Hey, your hands are shaking. You don't want to hit me do you? I mean, you could hurt your precious hands that way, chief. What would our precious hacker do without his precious hands? What use would he be to anyone?"

  That was when Tyler punched Caleb in the face. The other men crowded around as Tyler began kicking Caleb in the stomach. Caleb tried to curl up to protect himself, but before he was able to Tyler collapsed and the men surrounding them quickly fell next. The Indian stood there, breathing calmly as if he hadn't just laid out four big men. He reached down and picked Caleb up.

  "You okay, hacker?"

  "Yeah, thanks."

  "Come with me."

  Once the ice pack was pressed against Caleb's face the Indian sat across from him.

  "You've made poor enemies, Caleb."

  "Are th
ere good enemies to make?"

  "Ones that aren't twice your size. Ones that don't fight better than you. Ones that aren't well-liked."

  "Oh, well, sure, you tell me now."

  "It's serious, Caleb. We live in an age where toughness, size, and bravery matter. So, when I leave, Tyler is most likely to take over. Fortunately, he needs you to maintain the satellite feed's hack, so he won't kill you. But, he will do everything else."

  "Why do people like that guy?"

  "He's not a bad man. He is kind and helpful, unless, of course, you sleep with his girlfriend."

  "I didn't know…"

  "He doesn't seem to care whether or not you knew. Anyway, it's something to think about. Another thing to think about, the little one, Marianne Garcia, she's pretty."

  "She's a kid," Caleb hissed.

  "A pretty one. Relax, I'm no threat to your charge. My own charge is this city, but as I mentioned before, my time here, if the feed is to be believed, is limited," the Indian held up his arm to show his inoculation scar. "When I leave there will be less order, I fear. And, it has been my experience that being young and pretty is dangerous in a place like this, in a time where people have nothing to lose. She remains untouched because of your status and my efforts. If these things were to be taken away, it would be bad."

  "Well, I didn't get The Shot, so, my protection isn't going anywhere."

  "No, I suppose not. But accidents happen, Caleb and… well…"

  "Say it."

  "You love her, like a daughter, it's clear to see. If someone was to want something from you they would only have to threaten her, wouldn't they? Love, it makes a slave of a man if he isn't careful."

  "This conversation hasn't been as uplifting as I hoped."

  "You have time, Caleb. I am strong yet. You have time, use it."

  "Thanks," Caleb got up and moved towards the door. "What's your name? Everyone just calls you the Indian, or the Shadow Warrior. That one shrill old lady says we should call you the Native American, but I don't know what the hell that even means. What's your name?"

  "Indian is fine. We have no names, Caleb. No names, no homes, no family, no lovers… we are the Shadow Army, and we are free, because we don't have any weakness."

  Caleb nodded his head, smiling slightly before cringing as a sharp pain shot through him.

  "Yeah, I don't believe that shit for a second, Indian."

  "I like you, Caleb," the Indian laughed. "You're funny. Perhaps there is a place for that in this dangerous new world of ours, but I fear not. You have time, Caleb. Use it well. Protect Ms. Garcia if you can."

  Caleb left the Indian's room and moved through the underground city with a new kind of focus. An hour before his eyes would have been attached to Nicolette who was crooning before the rest of the survivors, but now he only saw dangers and threats. Men larger than him, crueler. People with abilities that made them uniquely necessary, from physical strength to the life experience of fixing sinks or washing clothes - all things that little Mary had none of.

  He opened the door to his room with his mind made up. Mary lay sleeping in her roll out cot, beautiful, peaceful and helpless.

  "Wake up, Mary."

  "What's going on?"

  "We need to think up a cool hacker name for you."

  Chapter 44

  ***

  "Where am I?"

  "You're in your bed, Mr. President. After you passed out, we brought you here."

  "I passed out?"

  "Your blood sugar in combination with the trauma of Mr. Rockefeller's death I suspect. There's a piece of cake on your bedside table there."

  President Carnegie began eating the cake, choosing to use his hands rather than the fork that lay beside the plate. As he swallowed the sticky sweetness of the cake his mind raced with the memory of Rockefeller's murder and through him pulsed a new strength. He smiled, feeling complete and powerful as Miho continued talking.

  "It was a bold move, sir, and perhaps not unwise. You have a small window of time here where the rest of the Founders will wait to see your next action. Based on that, they will most likely respond with some sort of assassination attempt. There are perhaps alliances to be made with a few of Rockefeller's lesser fans. Would you like me to have feelers sent out?"

  "Feelers? Yes, I like that, yes. It seems like a good idea. Nothing weak, though. We don’t offer any power. Coattails are all we offer. Clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  October stared at his hands after sucking the last of the chocolate cake off of his fingers and then drew to a halt. He only now realized that his hands were bloody and bruised. He looked at them with curiosity. He'd ordered millions killed, but this was different. The power was intoxicating, but the loss of control was disconcerting. He needed to be in control. The games of politics and money here on The Island were no different than they had been on the mainland. If he was to hold onto power he would have to stay in control from here on out.

  "Do we have word of Jacob or Nestor?" the words came out less casual than October had intended.

  "Nestor still walks, reason suggests he'll be dead soon. Nothing of Jacob. Reason suggests he's dead or dying."

  October tested his legs momentarily before standing up, his bed creaking as his weight shifted.

  "Yes, but they aren't reasonable men. Send out drones. Check satellite images. I want to know where all my enemies are."

  "Sir, they're everywhere. Act accordingly," Miho smiled.

  October laughed and patted Miho on the shoulder as he drew himself to his full height.

  "Okay, we must deal with the Founders, but we also need to deal with this mutant situation. Mutants! Unbelievable! And the other survivors… I don't suppose that the military would be able to just wipe them out?"

  "Perhaps, but I doubt they will be willing. It's one thing to sit by while missiles wipeout mankind. It's another to pull the trigger," Miho shrugged.

  "True, true. Okay, well, we need a plan. I need Nestor, Jacob, and every survivor dead. What sort of message does it send for the people I order killed to be up and walking around?"

  "A not Presidential one, sir?"

  "Exactly, Miho. Exactly."

  Chapter 45

  ***

  Jacob watched the silhouette turn into the familiar shape of a man as he got close. The man looked down at Coughlin's body. He looked up at Jacob, lips pursed.

  "He try to leave?"

  "Yeah."

  "I must have forgot to tell them not to shoot you two if you left. I have to admit, I thought you'd make a break for it yourself."

  "What'd the boss say?"

  "Follow me."

  Jacob smiled and stepped astride the man.

  "I get the sense that you don't like mutants much."

  "Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "Is it because we eat people?"

  "It puts me off a bit, yeah."

  The boss was a man named Yuri Dimitrikov and he met Jacob on the second floor of the building in a corner office with a view of the surrounding downtown. He was a thin man, with a stark widow's peak and skin that was almost translucent. He smoked a cigar and seemed more than happy to light a second for Jacob, the large cigar appearing small in Jacob's claw.

  "So none of you got The Shot, huh? How'd that happen."

  "They didn't give out The Shot to inmates."

  "Ah, I see. You were mobsters."

  "Still are. We were gonna die in jail. Why give us The Shot? A missile hit the prison, but an Indian came and let us out before then. He worked for you. We pay our debts. We owe you a lot, Jacob. All of mankind does. But, I'm not sure how much mankind owes Mutant Jacob, if you follow me."

  "I do. I appreciate that this is an unusual scenario, what with me being a human hero in the past and you in the present being, well, my dinner."

  "You don't seem crazy. I thought The Shot made you crazy. Most mutants talk to themselves and run around naked, but you don't."

  "The Shot gives you a fever sometimes, makes
you feel weird. The way it speeds up your internals is an odd sensation. The world looks different, your senses change and it can be a bit of an overload. Add in the radiation… But, in the end, it might make you weird, it might make you eat people, but The Shot doesn't cause insanity. Now eating people, most people, normal people, if all of the sudden their urges took over and they found themselves chasing down a person, killing them and eating them alive - that would make them crazy."

  "But, not you?"

  "I haven't eaten a human yet, but I doubt it will be too shattering to my psyche."

  "Why is that, Jacob?"

  "Being a crazy human can make for a sane monster. In any case, I want to talk to you about the satellite feed, Nestor's feed. You see, I need that code or hack or whatever it is that you use to watch it. I need you to give it to me."

  The pale Dimitrikov smiled and puffed on the cigar. He rolled up his eyes and seemed to think over the words for a playful minute before nodding his head.

  "You can have it. Of course. I owe you more than that. That's nothing. Your men saved my life. Here's what you need," Dimitrikov pulled out a thumb drive and slid it across the table.

  "I just hook this up to a computer?"

  "Any hacker can make it work. Find the encrypted feed, attach this, it does the rest. Nestor's life becomes your own personal sitcom."

  "You see it in real time?"

  "No. Nestor's camera beams what he sees to the satellite which sends it to the Island, Nevers hacks it, then he does a data transfer to his own encrypted feed which that little thumb drive then un-encrypts. It all takes time. It's hard to gauge exactly, but it seems to be hours behind. Which is good for Nestor, no? You're kind can chase, but never set a trap. It's why he's not dead already."

  "Traps don't usually work on Nestor. Do you write the books?"

  "One of my associates became a writer in prison. I like to indulge my men," he smiled. "So you don't want it for hunting? In that case, if you don't mind my asking, why do you want it so bad? Humans find it inspiring to see a man surviving alone. We watch because Nestor is our hero, a legend, a saint to us, a prophet. What is he to a mutant if not food?"