The Fleet

by John M. Davis

  “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 change 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.

  “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.

  “We've detected the humans assembling some type of mechanical space station near the area we first made contact.” the officer said.

  “Well. I think our best option would be to decimate their little project, which is no doubt a weapon of defense against us.” Ryalk replied.

  “My lord, we've also confirmed through imagery a small craft heading to a remote planet. Dispatched a short time ago. It was soon followed by a massive craft which fit our profile of a transport ship.”

  “And you think this ship may be leaving a trail to their most-concentrated home world?” Ryalk asked.

  “We are not sure, my lord, but we believe it to be. Our commanders wish to know their next assignment. Follow the ship full of rats back to their nest or destroy a possible weapons grid in the making?” the officer asked.

  “I see.” Ryalk replied.

  His decision would require a bit of thought. The humans posed almost no threat to the Viscion's superior weaponry, though the race among the stars did not know it for sure. They only suspected the humans to be inferior. Based on the composition of their fleet ships and battle rifles.

  His choice would set the tone for things to come, one way or the other. Either the Viscion would follow the transport ship to its destination in hopes of a large population, which, in their minds, translated to food. In doing so, they would allow the humans’ time to possibly complete a weapons platform.

  That said, should they take on th
e weapons platform to discover it merely protected a small military installation, the Viscion would waste resources and possibly extend their long search for a manageable food source.

  They had indeed found infected humans in great quantities, just as Dalton had promised. What the Viscion had also found, was that the infected were just that. Very sick. Nothing more than onion thin skin covering skeletal frames, and, in most cases, simply not worth the trouble. Their soldiers were putting in lots of time and effort with little reward as the infected had miniscule amounts of flesh ripe for the eating.

  “We cannot afford to let our food source get away,” Ryalk said. “Have our ships follow the transport, but do so at a distance. Once we know their destination, we'll converge on them and begin plucking cattle for our freezers,” he added. Pausing momentarily. “When the time comes, we'll deal with their weapons platform and any military trained – doing so with ease.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The officer turned to inform the fleet of their lord's decision. Meanwhile, Ryalk believed his confidence in their military was well placed. Their soldiers had been doing what the humans were unable to. Push back the infected.

  The hordes of dead had proven tough in battle, but the superior weaponry of the Viscion won out. Each battle ending with thousands of infected laying dead in smoldering piles with only a few hundred Viscion casualties.

  The race from among the stars died easily enough. No tougher than a human when it came to life or death. They did, however, enter battle inside of a standard issue combat suit, which featured both mechanical and crystal-powered abilities in combat. Making it a very effective tool of war.

  Ryalk smiled wide – brimming with arrogance.

  Very effective indeed.

  *

  “Going to be a bit rough on the landing,” the pilot said. “This wind is hitting like a hammer.”

  Oh shit. Dalton thought, remember both of his crash landing experiences and unwilling to relive either.