AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Bible, Jake

  “I would rather not do either,” Ton says. “But the doctor is on a time schedule and we can’t afford to go around.”

  “Engaging could cost us more time, sir,” Paulo says. “That’s a lot of Cooties.”

  “Estimates show the number to be close to sixty-five,” Worm states.

  “Sixty-five?” Hoagie asks. “You sure, Worm? I haven’t seen that many Cooties in one place in a long time.”

  “Like I said, Sergeant Menendez,” Worm responds. “It is an estimate. The Sicklands inhabitants do not posses PSCs like regular citizens of the Clean Nation cities. There is no way to take an accurate census. I stand by my estimate of sixty-five, with a margin of error of five to seven.”

  “So there could be over seventy of them,” Blaze says. “Weapons?”

  “Satellites do not detect the presence of any static weapons, but the group could be wielding primitives such as spears, axes, knives, bats, lengths of pipe, or even possibly large rocks.”

  “Not large rocks,” Paulo laughs. “Anything but large rocks.”

  “I can assure you the transport will hold up to any of those weapons listed,” Worm says. “You will not need to fear the large rocks, Sergeant.”

  “Good to know. I was so worried,” Paulo grins. “Explosives?”

  “No sign of any explosive or incendiary devices,” Worm says. “But they can be cloaked easily from satellite detection. The transport’s sensors will be able to pick up signatures as we get closer.”

  “I’m calibrating for it now,” Blaze says from the rear seat, a stream of diagnostic information rushing past on his screen. “I’ve got us dialed in for everything from methane balloons to diesel cocktails.”

  “Diesel,” Hoagie snorts. “Fucking savages.”

  “They scavenge what they can,” Paulo shrugs. “You would too if you lived like they do.”

  “Can’t call that living,” Hoagie replies. “More like waiting to die.”

  “They’re people, man,” Paulo states. “Just like you and me.”

  “Do not sympathize with the Cooties,” Ton orders. “They are not people like us. They are bloodthirsty carriers of disease. If they could, they’d turn the Clean Nation cities into just more piles of rubble for the Sicklands. They are the enemy and they will be dealt with accordingly. Understood?”

  “Sir, I wasn’t sympa-”

  “Understood, Sergeant?” Ton snaps.

  “Yes, sir,” Paulo nods. “Of course, sir.”

  “Good,” Ton says. “Now I want each of you to study the route. Lock that shit in your brains. We have made this run plenty of times, but each mission is different. Do not rely on what you know, only what you see. Once we are a click off from the group, we will reassess the situation. If we can push through then we will. If not then I will entertain alternatives.”

  “Yes, sir,” they all reply.

  “I do not believe alternatives will be acceptable,” a voice says as the wall in front of Blaze shimmers and becomes transparent, leaving only his vid screen in place. “Your mission is to take the most direct route and return me and my cargo to Control in the least amount of time possible.”

  “Zebra squad, this is Doctor Mona DeBeers,” Ton says. “She is our mission. We will protect her at all costs.”

  “And my cargo,” Dr. DeBeers adds. “My cargo will be protected as if it is an extension of my person.”

  The operators look at the cylinders that are secured behind the doctor in the cargo hold. The woman, older with salt and pepper hair cut into a short bob, is seated in a chair similar to the ones the operators occupy, but hers is equipped with several more layers of restraints and padding. She looks comfortable enough, yet Blaze can tell she does not like wearing the body armor that protects her.

  “We’re not being asked to die for a set of tubes, are we, LT?” Hoagie asks.

  “You are being asked to complete your mission without question, operator,” Dr. DeBeers says. “And your mission is to safely deliver me and my cargo to Control. If you die completing your mission then that will be unfortunate, but it will also mean you have done your duty for the Clean Nation. Do you have an issue with doing your duty for the Clean Nation, Sergeant…?”

  “Menendez,” Hoagie replies. “GenSOF Sergeant Courier Class Hogarth Menendez, ma’am.”

  “Doctor,” she replies.

  “I’m sorry?” Hoagie asks.

  “I haven’t spent my life searching for cures to the Strains to be called ma’am,” Dr. DeBeers says. “You can refer to me as doctor or Dr. DeBeers.”

  “Yes, ma’- doctor,” Hoagie replies. “My apologies.”

  “I can understand the confusion, Sergeant Menendez,” Dr. DeBeers says. “I believe this is the first time you have transported anything other than inert cargo to Control. The Clean Guard usually handles all transportation of personnel to and from Control, but I have had to move my time schedule up so they were not prepared to return me. They will remain behind with two other doctors that are visiting the GenSOF tower.”

  She smiles, but none of the operators feels any warmth from it.

  “And to be perfectly clear, the Clean Guard does not question the fact that their lives are there for the protection of all Control personnel. I expect you not to question it either.”

  “Of course not, Dr. DeBeers,” Ton says. “Thank you for understanding the special circumstances. Now, if my squad doesn’t mind, I’d like to get this run underway. The sooner we are gone the sooner we can return.”

  “By all means, continue your protocols,” Dr. DeBeers says. “I have work of my own to do while we travel.” Her focus shifts to the air directly in front of her, and although none of the operators can see it, it is obvious she is studying a vid screen from her point of view.

  “Stations, sound off,” Ton orders.

  “Port side sensors and weapons check,” Hoagie states.

  “Starboard side sensors and weapons check,” Paulo states.

  “Aft sensors and weapons check,” Blaze states.

  “Fore sensors and weapons check,” Ton states. “Sergeant Kailua?”

  “Driver operations check,” Milo states as he places his hands inside two metal ports that extend from the wall in front of him. “Activating windshield view screen.” The wall in front of Milo and Ton becomes clear, showing a view of the bay before them. “Worm? Take us out of the bay and into the tunnel for sensor check, please.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Kailua,” Worm says. The transport vibrates slightly, but other than the view before them, there is no indication of movement.

  “Stabilizers in place,” Milo states as the transport rolls towards one of the bay doors, mechanics and techs moving from its path. “Open bay door in three, two, one.”

  A massive bay door slides up and the transport eases through the opening with only inches on each side to spare. The windshield view goes black as the transport is plunged into darkness.

  “Black vision,” Milo says and the view becomes a mix of green and grey shadows. “Check. Zebra squad?”

  Each operator watches the screens in front of them, making sure they match the spectrum being shown on the fore screen.

  “Check,” they all say.

  The transport rolls on and there is a quiet ping.

  “Switch to thermal,” Milo says. The view is dark blue that is almost black, then bright red and orange strips start to appear along the tunnel walls. “Check. Zebra squad?”

  “Check.”

  A minute goes by and another ping sounds.

  “Go to echolocation,” Milo says. The image becomes a pulsing and fading representation of the tunnel. “Check. Zebra squad?”

  “Check.”

  “Return to normal vision,” Milo says and the screens all return to the literal darkness of the tunnel.

  “Approaching tunnel lock,” Worm states. “Would you like me to continue piloting the transport or would you prefer I relinquish control to you, Sergeant Kailua?”

  “I’ll take the wh
eel now, Worm,” Milo says. “And yes, I know there isn’t an actual wheel.”

  The transfer of control is unnoticeable as Milo begins to drive the transport himself.

  A red X glows to life before them and Milo eases the transport to a halt. The sound of machinery echoes through the tunnel and can be heard even through the triple hulled transport.

  Blaze watches as a wall lifts behind them, a matching red X emblazoned upon the surface, sealing them off from the tunnel. He waits patiently until the X turns green.

  “Rear lock in place, Sergeant,” Blaze reports.

  The X in front turns green and Milo waits as the wall slides down, revealing nothing but a concrete ground that stretches from the lock to the shimmering blue of the city StatShield beyond.

  “Zebra squad, am I clear for departure?” Milo asks.

  “Port sensors clear of hostiles,” Hoagie states.

  “Starboard sensors clear of hostiles,” Paulo states.

  “Aft sensors clear of hostiles, lock wall in place and still in the green,” Blaze states.

  “Take us out, Sergeant,” Ton orders. “May we all return in good health. Hooyah.”

  “Hooyah,” the squad replies.

  Ton focuses all of his attention on the view screen, his eyes watching for any hint of a surprise. Not that anything could hide in the flat expanse of concrete, but he is trained to never assume.

  Blaze keeps his eyes on his screen, marveling at the one hundred story wall that looms over them as they drive slowly away from Caldicott City. He’s always wondered why there is any worry about the Cooties breaching such an impenetrable obstacle. The people that survive in the Sicklands can barely feed themselves and keep from being blown away by grit storms, let alone find a way to scale a hundred stories of alloy steel, concrete and iron.

  “Thirty seconds until we breach the city StatShield,” Milo announces. “Worm? How is our resistor level?”

  “Resistor level is within norms, Sergeant Kailua,” Worm replies. “You may continue without risk.”

  The transport rolls on at a steady ten clicks per hour, the shimmering light of the StatShield growing closer and closer until it fills the view screen. As they pierce the shield, each operator double checks their sensor readings, making sure there is no static damage to the hull of the transport.

  “Readings in the clear,” Worm announces once the transport is on the other side. “AiSP protocol in place. I am now downloaded into the transport’s system in case of loss of satellite signal.”

  “Does that happen often, Lieutenant Lane?” Dr. DeBeers asks from the hold. Her eyes turn to Blaze instead of Ton. “A loss of satellite signal?”

  “Not often, doctor,” Ton responds. “But Sergeant Crouch would be the one to speak to about exact frequency since he is our uplink specialist.”

  “Oh, I am sure he is,” Dr. DeBeers says.

  “No disrespect, doctor, but that conversation will have to wait,” Ton says. “I need my squad to stay focused.” He looks over at Milo. “Punch it.”

  “Gladly,” Milo smiles as the transport accelerates quickly form ten clicks per hour to twenty, thirty, and finally forty clicks per hour.

  Even with the increase in speed, there is barely any noticeable movement within the transport. The operators settle into a routine of watching the sensors, making sure weapons are ready, and listening to data updates from Worm.

  Several clicks go by before Blaze realizes the doctor is still watching him. He nods and gives her a smile then tries to go back to his duties, but her constant gaze is disconcerting and he’s glad when Milo speaks up.

  “Smooth ground will end in one click,” Milo states. “Zebra squad, please prepare for our descent into Hell.”

  “Hooyah,” they reply.

  Dr. DeBeers just continues to stare at Blaze.

  15

  While not a literal landscape of flames and boiling pits of hellfire, the terrain before the transport is as close to damnation as any of Zebra squad want to get.

  Pocked with craters and scorched clear, the Sicklands is a true wasteland inhospitable to any form of life. Ash piles up against desolate hillsides, wet with the acid rain that falls in unpredictable bursts across the land. A never ending powerful wind gusts from north to south, reversing direction without warning or reason. A mist of gaseous sulfur dioxide clings close to the ground in spots, seemingly unaffected by the wind, but in actuality, it is just so thick that it’s hard to see the effects the gusts have.

  “We are ten clicks from the group of Sickland residents,” Worm states.

  “Just call them Cooties, Worm,” Paulo says. “Calling them residents makes them sound like they’re all living in some university dorm.”

  “Hey there, what’s your major?” Hoagie chuckles. “Mine’s death and disease with a minor in contagion.”

  “The plight of the Sicklands is unfortunate, operators,” Dr. DeBeers says, “and not one to be taken lightly.”

  “There by the grace of God go I,” Ton says. “We are aware of that every step of the way, doctor. However, levity helps relieve stress, so I don’t discourage joking amongst my operators.”

  “Many studies have shown-” Worm begins.

  “I am versed on all of the studies, AiSP Zebra,” Dr. DeBeers says, using Worm’s formal name. “Please do not interrupt when humans are conversing.”

  “Unless I am performing my duties as Zebra squad AiSP, of course,” Worm responds.

  “Of course,” Dr. DeBeers says, her voice ice.

  Blaze starts to smile, but bails on that plan as the doctor’s cold gaze shifts back to him. He can’t figure out why, but it’s as if she is looking right into him. If it wasn’t for the fact that her eyes were clear, he would have thought she was performing scans and studying the results on her IRIS. Nodding politely, he glances at the cylinders behind her then goes back to watching his screen.

  “Maybe those of us at Control have learned to handle stress in a more mature manor,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Since we deal with the true reality of the Strains day in and day out.”

  She senses the responses each member of Zebra squad wants to voice and smiles at their discipline of silence.

  “I know, as GenSOF operators, you have witnessed many horrors,” she continues. “But you will have to believe me when I say those horrors are only a shade of what could be. It may be hard to imagine, but humanity has gotten off easy. The fact that anyone can survive in the Sicklands is proof of that.”

  “I am unsure of your definition of easy, Dr. DeBeers,” Worm interrupts. “The life of a Sicklands’ resident is short and wrought with pain and suffering. By all estimates, a resident of the Sicklands does not live much past their twenty-fifth birthday, and those last few years are generally considered to be agony to humans. A clarification of your use of the word ‘easy’ would be appreciated.”

  “Lieutenant,” Dr. DeBeers snaps. “Your AiSP has ignored a direct order to remain silent except when performing its duties. Can you please rectify this by enabling Protocol 75?”

  “Emergency response only?” Ton asks. “That is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

  “I must interject and defend my actions,” Worm says. “Your request was that I not interrupt when humans are conversing unless it is within the performance of my duties. My duties do include making sure the squad is not mislead by incorrect data. I was simply asking for clarification of your use of the word ‘easy’, as I stated in my previous request. If you would like for me not to speak at all, you need but ask. Implementation of Protocol 75 is unnecessary.”

  “Then I formally request you remain silent and kindly not respond, reply, or interject anything to the conversation,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Unless it relates to the mission specifically.”

  “Ouch,” Hoagie whispers.

  “Are you injured, Sergeant?” Worm asks.

  “No, Worm, all good,” Hoagie replies.

  “Then I shall submit to Dr. DeBeers’s formal request and remain silent,
” Worm states. “It was a pleasure conversing with you, Dr. DeBeers. I hope you do not mind that I will be listening to any other insights you have?”

  Dr. DeBeers eyes narrow to slits and Blaze can see her hands shaking. It’s obvious she is a woman that is not used to being questioned by anyone, let alone an AiSP.

  “You may listen, AiSP,” Dr. DeBeers replies.

  “Silently, of course,” Worm adds.

  “Of course,” Dr. DeBeers says then takes a deep breath. She is about to speak when a small alarm rings through the transport.

  “Movement, sir,” Paulo says. “I am seeing several heat signatures on our two o’clock.”

  “Got them,” Ton replies, as his side of the windshield view screen changes and magnifies the area. “I count six.”

  “Same here, sir,” Paulo responds. “No weapons that I can see. Could just be a family of Cooties.”

  “This close to that large group?” Ton asks. “I doubt it. I’m guessing a recon.”

  “Then that means they are expecting us,” Hoagie says.

  “They would have to be fools not to,” Ton says. “A group that size is going to arouse suspicion, even if it’s within the Sicklands. We keep eyes sharp and proceed with caution.”

  “Only way I know how,” Milo says and the squad laughs.

  “I’m assuming that was said with irony, Sergeant?” Dr. DeBeers asks.

  “Doctor, I am now going to have to formally request you remain silent until we are through the next few clicks,” Ton says, glancing over his shoulder at her. “I need my operators’ full attention.”

  “My apologies,” Dr. DeBeers says, her voice not in the least apologetic. “My life is in your hands.”

  “Thank you,” Ton nods then directs his attention to his view screen. “Looks like they’ve stopped and are staying fifty yards from our direct route. Worm, what terrain are they in?”

  “The topography is one of small hills and shallow valleys, Lieutenant,” Worm responds. “Their position would put them at the summit of one of the hills. It is a place perfectly suited for observation and a clear line of sight of our movement in the next two minutes. Once we pass, they will not be able to see us for half a click until we come around a bend in the route and are visible again.”