by John Davis
“Copy that Resilience Actual.”
His words took a moment to register with those within the control center of the city. Finally answered by the man in charge of their rebuilding efforts.
“You take care of yourself, buddy,” Adam said. His voice crackling over the radio com as the shuttle began pushing up into the stars. “Resilience Command out.”
It was the first time Cambria had been on a planned military flight. She'd been aboard shuttles before, but usually in panic mode. Thinking nothing of a swift rescue.
This time seemed different. Her brain seemed to journey to a thousand different places within only the span of a few seconds. Cambria had always imagined elaborate planning on board such a flight into combat, but that wasn't the case. Each soldier remained unnervingly silent. Each of them broadcasting a look of ready on their face.
It frightened her. Wondering if this were in a fact a one way trip, knowing they were flying into the heart of it all. The place where the infection first began.
The drifts.
It had been Cambria's home growing up. She'd worked here and there, scraping up enough money to lease a small airship and begin working. Smuggling. None of it legal, but all of it local. Those jobs led to money, which eventually led to the purchase of her very first ship. The Outer Heaven.
Cambria's ambitions to be wealthy by way of underground trading led her and a small crew into a bar looking for work. Instead, she found a man who looked beaten down and homeless. From there, Dalton James became a friend – which led to a lot more. Complete and total love.
For what he lacked in etiquette and fine clothing, Dalton more than made up for in experience and honesty.
*
“All quiet.” one of the armed men said. Wearing a look of fatigue and starvation as if it were a rental tuxedo.
“Good,” Johnny replied. “Been a few nights since I had any kind of decent sleep.”
The Revolver. A nickname Johnny had earned around the area. Until the infection began to spread, at least. Quicker with a six-shooter than anyone could imagine. Just as mean-spirited too. Unless he considered you a friend.
“Getting tired of living on shitty beans and,” one of the cowboys added. “Well, more shitty beans.”
A group of eleven of them. Armed to the teeth, though each carried the most basic of weaponry. A revolver – perhaps a shotgun.
“It'll pass with time. Just got to keep surviving.” Johnny replied with a nod.
“Hell, we still don't even know where the infection came from.” the cowboy replied. Several within the group agreeing.
“Nope,” Johnny said. “But I do know it doesn't matter at this point. Hell, beans is a lot better than most like us have. The ones lucky enough to have made it this far in one piece.”
“Just feels like we've been abandoned. That's all.” another one of the cowboys said. Spitting a bit of tobacco down at the entrance to their large, dimly lit cave.
“We were abandoned hundreds of years before this,” Johnny replied. “Our people have been on their own out in the drifts for centuries now. The Legion didn't give a rat's ass about us, nor the Colonials. And you can bet your sweet one that whoever is left is right there with 'em,” Johnny said. “Gotta keep surviving. That's what we gotta do.”
“I hadn't had a woman in over a year.” one of the cowboys admitted. Striking laughter as the entire group began to laugh without control for a spell.
“If you find one,” Johnny said. “I figure you'll be eating something besides beans, eh?”
His comment broke the cave out into thunderous laughter. Partially due to the joking conversation, while most of it stemmed for a severe lack of sleep.
Johnny and his group had done the best they could in surviving for nearly a complete year. As the infection first broke, forcing so many citizens into a state that was near Zombie-like; Geartown was overrun. Followed by all of the towns around it. Each falling like dominoes as reports of the infection began to show up on other planets within the Skyla System.
Three months. That's all the time it took for the horde of infected to overrun every known city and military installation to the point of evacuation. Pulling into orbit and trying to figure out what to do next.
Stale bread, shitty beans, the occasional piece of fruit and anything wet they could hold down. That's what had been on the menu of survival for the outlaws turned survivors.
He remained tough in front of the men. They looked to him, and Johnny understood that. He quietly watched the sun begin to slowly drape over the horizon, just as he had done nearly every night since the infection.
Wondering if help would ever arrive.
*
The morning sunlight brought with it a welcomed glare. One that Adam Michaels had not seen in quite some time. And though he missed the beauty of a sunrise, it was the warmth of the sun which followed that really seemed to capture him.
His tasks were much safer than those of his longtime friend. But Adam knew his work would be cut out for him. Helping so many people settle into to Resilience as quickly and comfortably as possible. Wondering if Dalton hadn't left him to do it – knowing it would be a bitch from day one.
A few infected had charged the city since the fleet's arrival. Each of them quickly dispatched by way of a bullet. Compliments of one of Resilience's gun towers.
The fact of it was, before the infection began, not many people had lived on the planet which had come to be known as Second Glimmeria. Such a scare population made it ideal to settle on. A minimal threat, unlike what Dalton was coasting into with the drifts.
The problem, as Adam quickly discovered, was that it was so scarcely inhabited because such a large portion of the planet was not fit for living. Nearly one half of the large planet permanently faced the Skyla System's sun cluster, which brought desert like conditions every single day. No sunrise or sunset, just scorching heat which would kill a man inside of an hour if extreme precautions were not taken.
That said, nearly one half of the planet faced deep space with every passing day. Always dark, cold and filled with the bluster of high winds. The type of cold that would break even the toughest man's soul.
Leaving a small portion directly in the center of the planet a spot worth living. A tall ridge of mountains in which the Husk had built their proud city. Beyond that, a vast lay of flat fields and some thick forest. That's all that sat in what locals had begun calling, the comfort zone. Most of the planet along the fault line of comfort was water – leaving their patch of paradise the only habitable stretch of soil on Second Glimmeria.
Adam's sole job was to make sure everyone's needs were tended to. All while working together with the ranking members of a society which once stood proud.
Or so was the hope.
Not exactly what Adam was used to. No gun fights or bar brawls to be had. His life of true adventure being squashed as he now handed out portioned rice to anyone with an empty plate. Doing what he could to help a surviving race push forward to a new day. A job he totally embraced. Knowing his son Avery would have to come first, which suited him just fine.
*
“This technology is incredible.” Doctor Arness admitted.
A scientist worked closely alongside him – both of them in awe over the Viscion weapon Dalton had stolen red-handed.
Holding up a clear crystal which was perfectly rounded, nearly the size of a small marble, the doctor glanced through it into the lighting above.
It was completely clear, though as they ran tests on it, the crystal began to cloud a bit. Its way of using charge. As the doctor set it back on the table of their laboratory, minutes passed and the crystal finally began to rid itself of the hazy color and once again became totally clear.
“I've never seen anything like it,” the doctor admitted. “And my guess is that most of their technology works with similar powering. Perhaps even their ships.”
The scientist looked the clear marble over as well. Thoroughly noting every bit of cha
nge as the haze seemed to evaporate before their very eyes.
“Can you duplicate it?” Doctor Arness asked.
“Perhaps in the right setting. After I put it into the v-joint scanner and break down the...”
“It was a yes or no question?” the doctor asked once more.
“In time, yes.” the scientist replied. Doing so very snidely.
“Good. Make it a priority,” Doctor Arness replied. “Don't shower. Don't sleep. If you eat, do it here.”
Walking away, the doctor could hear the grumbling of a scientist who wanted no part of it. Not that he had a choice in the matter. Stringing together words that would shame a vagrant.
Walking down a long and narrow hallway aboard the God of War, Doctor Arness stopped to glare out of a small pane of shatterproof glass. It's complete area less than two-feet wide.
He watched the first steps of the platform. A space station that had been designed on paper to protect Second Glimmeria from any unwanted guests. Namely the Viscion.
It would be large. Nearly half of the size of his own warship, though it would have no capability of flight. They had planned to hold it in orbit with the use of a very potent electromagnet which would be placed on the surface of Second Glimmeria.
A large weapons platform that would serve as an orbiting military installation. Giving the human race flexibility in times of war as it would the God of War to fight alongside the platform, or be dispatched elsewhere if need be.
Their biggest hurdle would be pulling together the resources for such a project even with one of the larger surviving ships being scrapped in order to scrape together the necessary components. Along with a bulk of spare metal sitting aboard their salvage ship, which had been intended to serve as a repair ship for their deep space flight, they would cut it close..
Humanity had made the commitment to remain in the Skyla System and defend it with everything they had left. The infected no longer their biggest concern – but rather a new race which had openly spoke of the need for flesh. A need to pack out freezers for their own extended voyage. Thinking the humans naïve.
If humanity was well-versed in the art of anything, it was the art of deception. They'd been lying to one another for thousands of years in order to grab hold of their true motives. They understood the Viscion had no plans of simply leaving the system and allowing humanity to remain here, living out their lives peacefully.
So they were allowing the Viscion to exterminate the infected, while preparing for a war that was obviously coming. A blood war between races.
*
“Look familiar?” Dalton asked.
Cambria agreed, though her attention remained focused to the windshield at the front of their shuttle. The large planet which had been her home growing up, now becoming clearly visible. They'd reached the drifts and were preparing to head back into a place Dalton had cursed on many nights.
Geartown.
A small western-style town which, up until now, had shunned modern technology. In fact, every location within a string of planets out here had done the same.
They were just simple folks. Hard working, old-fashioned people who believed a man's word and skill with a hammer were just as important as anything that had been digitally developed.
Cambria had hated such a simple lifestyle growing up. Her one and only goal was to get away from it and seek adventure in the larger cities of the Skyla System. And she'd found her adventure, only to discover a longing to return home. Back to a place where she had time to think.
“Hate this damn part.” Dalton admitted.
Cambria had meant to ask her lover what his comment meant, but quickly discovered a military drop was a bit different than most others. Especially the landing sequence.
The heart which beat in her chest felt as though it were laying on the floor. Their shuttle going from passive orbit to instantly falling like a stone from the sky at breakneck speed with no engines to be heard.
“What...the hell?” she managed to push from her lungs. Able to do nothing more than grip the frame of her thick seat and cling to it with every bit of energy she could muster.
“Woooo!” Dalton yelled. His excitement seeming to be a bit psychotic to her.
Cambria noticed, as she held onto the seat for dear life, several Husk speaking in a tribal language. Reciting the same thing, perhaps a prayer.
It seemed that every soldier has his or her own ritual, and Cambria's was to clinch the seat around her with fear. The tips of her fingers digging into the thick black leather.
She first heard a clicking sound which was followed by the loud roar of thrusters behind them. Their shuttle doing exactly what is should have done. An extreme fall from orbit with thrust kicking in to continue the speed, though doing so in controlled flight.
“My God.” Cambria said.
“Fun, ain't it?” Dalton replied.
“I thought you hated it?”
“I do,” he replied. “We all do. But it sure does remind you that you're alive.”
One of the larger Husk forcefully pounded his chest once with a clinched fist. Yelling in the process as he prepared for war. Showing everyone in the shuttle that he feared no coming battle. No death. He was a lion among cubs.
A couple of Husk began laughing a bit, completely agreeing with Dalton's testament as Cambria tried to soak everything in. The entire ecosystem within the shuttle's cabin changing very drastically as the soldiers prepared for a fight.
“Alright boys, listen up,” Dalton announced. “When we touch soil I want a single team. Scout in the front and gunners at the flank. We move quietly and together.”
It was at this very moment that Cambria realized why Dalton longed for the fight once more. He was damn good at it. An officer's desk and uniform would never quench his thirst for adventure. Only moments like the one he was currently owning to the letter would do the deed.
“Geartown is a no go.” the pilot announced.
“The fuck?” Dalton replied, standing from his seat and making way to the pilot's area, which lay at the front of the shuttle and seemed a bit more wide open. A shatterproof windshield separating them from the elements outside.
“Hundreds of them.” the pilot said.
Dalton could easily see it too. A large horde of infected slowly walking the streets of Cambria's hometown. Giving almost no hope for survivors among the walking dead.
“Can you put us down up there?” Dalton asked. Pointing out a large area atop a nearby canyon. Both steep in height and flat in several places.
“Shouldn't be a problem.”
“Alright people.” Dalton said, turning to face the waiting group of soldiers. His head slamming into the metal bulkhead a bit as the shuttle shifted its direction suddenly.
Turning fast, Dalton prepared to growl at the pilot over such a violent shift.
“Sorry sir, the air current is testy.”
I'm about to show you testy you little puny bastard. Dalton thought.
He'd keep his thoughts to himself, though, knowing that pilot was the only person who could fly them back out of trouble if need be. Instead turning back to the waiting soldiers.
“Put your walking shoes on. We've got a damn hike staring us in the face.”
“What about Geartown?” Cambria asked.
Dalton simply shook his head.
Landing in the town she'd once called home was completely out of the question and it did hurt her deeply. Wondering if everyone she'd ever known had joined the ranks of infected dead.
*
The sonic boom of an incoming ship nearly saw Johnny wear the coffee he'd been drinking. Piping hot liquid flooding over the cup's edge a bit and burning into his hand.
“Shit!” he said, tossing the cup of coffee into the corner of their dwelling. A large cave in which time had hollowed out quite a bit. The perfect place for a group of surviving to lay low.
“What is it?” one of the cowboys asked. Rushing to find the root of Johnny's commotion.
&n
bsp; “Ain't no mistaking it. That's a fucking ship.” Johnny replied.
“They've come back for us?”
“Wishful thinking, but I doubt it,” Johnny said. “It don't matter none. We're heading out to take the ship if it's flyable.”
“Damn straight!” another cowboy announced. “I'm eating something other than beans tonight!”
His statement brought laughter from the outlaws turned survivors. Each of them finding new hope in a ship which entered their quaint little world.
“May want to shower up first and brush those damn teeth of yours,” Johnny replied. “Cause I can tell you right now, no woman in her right mind would have you in the shape you're in. And that includes infected.”
His joke went over well with the group, each of them laughing accordingly. They understood it was his way. Johnny was the alpha-male of their pack. Their leader through thick and thin. Before the infection, they'd been outlaws with a history of crime. Usually in the field of large-scale robberies against the system and its financial power.
Since the infection, they had become survivors. Jumping from a life of robbing financial institutions of money and splashing into a life of robbing the infected dead of anything nearby that would help Johnny and his group survive.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Johnny was preparing his group to do whatever needed to be done. That included stealing a shuttle which had gone down somewhere close, presumably only a few miles away from them.
Even though he had no idea that good friends were aboard it.
*
“My lord.”
“Yes?” Ryalk asked.
The Viscion leader turned to watch one of his officer’s approach. A crystallized look to the very large throne room, which included a vaulted ceiling and several windows overlooking the stars.