Junkers Season Two

by Benjamin Wallace

  Benjamin Wallace

  Copyright © 2017 by Benjamin Wallace. All rights reserved.

  * * * *

  From the pages of the best-selling Duck & Cover Adventures comes thirteen stories of those who survived the apocalypse. Some would go on to be heroes, others villains, some were dogs and will stay dogs, but they all must contend with the horrors of the new world and find a way to survive in the wasteland that was America.

  Get this laugh-out-loud collection of stories from the Duck & Cover Adventures post-apocalyptic series now when you sign up for my Readers’ Group.

  To get your copy of TALES OF THE APOCALYPSE and be the first to know about new releases and other exclusive content, you just need to tell me where to send it.

  SIGN UP HERE to get your free book now.

  * * * *

  1

  Despite a distinct lack of pants, the machine wore a massive gold belt around its waist that declared the champ was both undefeated and not the least bit humble. Clorso the Destroyer was seven feet tall, constructed of burnished metal, and wore a large white cape trimmed with the fur of a none-too-quick snow leopard. This elaborate costume and unprecedented feat had been achieved through fortitude, skill and blatant cheating. The machine had won more matches through subterfuge and loopholes than legitimate pins, but that didn't mean it wasn't formidable.

  The champ’s piston punch was legendary. Its dynamo duplex was devastating. And to this date, no contender had escaped Clorso’s dreaded finishing hold—the lock nuts. But, as feared as these maneuvers were, it was the champ's stage presence that had truly made it a star in the Robotic Wrestling League. The first superstar designed with the Personality First protocol, Clorso was more charismatic than any other wrestler, man or machine, that had come before it.

  It worked the mic like a concert violinist who was just as good at talking shit as they were at playing the violin. Mayhem Family Entertainment held several patents on the machine’s strut alone. The motion was a delicate mix of a fashion model walking the runway and an outlaw cowboy kicking in the doors of the local saloon before proceeding to mock anyone drinking anything other than whiskey. It was captivating, hypnotizing, and always preceded by a disclaimer warning sensitive viewers to avert their eyes if they were susceptible to seizures or feelings of euphoria. The HEEL 6.0 protocols may have won the matches, but it was this complex charisma matrix that made it a star.

  Glitch would never admit it—there'd be no end to the teasing from Mason—but he was a fan. He'd grown up watching Monday Night Mayhem. He never missed Total Carnage Tuesdays. And Effed Up Friday Night was how he began every weekend. He knew the wrestlers' names. He knew their gimmicks. And he knew the Champ liked to start each match with a big boot. So he should have seen it coming.

  The giant cyborg was still all fan-eyed when Clorso put his big burnished boot in Glitch’s chest and sent the man flying across the room into a row of metal lockers. The metal crumpled around him as his bulk settled into the twisted wreck and he emitted a sound that was half ouch and half wow.

  Clorso the Destroyer rushed forward and twisted the metal lockers further until they formed restraints around the man. The machine took a step back and raised its hand in front of its face. There was a whir and a couple of clicks as fingers flipped, knuckles shuffled and the hand transformed into an MFE branded microphone. The Champ's raucous voice was condescending in tone and begged an audience that wasn't there to join him in the mockery of his foe. "It looks like I've put you in lockdown, half-man."

  A drone slid in behind the Champ's shoulder. Four rotors kept it airborne, and a large black lens served as its eye. The lens twisted to get a better shot of Glitch trapped in the lockers.

  Clorso spotted the drone and turned to address the camera. "Let this be a lesson to all comers. When you square off against the champ, you're not only going to get hurt, you're going to get humiliated. People will laugh at you. Your friends. Your family. Your loved ones. Your soulmate. And they'll be right to laugh at you, because you were a fool to think you could challenge me.” Clorso snapped its wrist and the microphone disappeared back into the machinations of its hand.

  The Destroyer gave Glitch one last look that was something like pity but more patronizing, turned and then strutted out of the room with a swagger that was impossible not to admire.

  The drone followed the wrestler with the lens until the last snow leopard spot disappeared out the door and around the corner. The camera swooped back across the room and hovered in front of the trapped cyborg.

  A tinny voice whispered from the drone's tiny speaker. "Glitch, are you all right?"

  "Wow," Glitch beamed. "That was awesome!” He grabbed the sheet metal with his augmented arm and peeled it away with little effort. The upgrade to his limb had been worth every penny. As he struggled free he spoke to the rest of the team over the comm unit installed in his ear. "I found him, you guys. He was here. Clorso was here."

  The team’s mechanic was the first to respond. Her voice was serious. Kat was always serious and her question was quick and to the point. "Where?"

  "In the locker room,” Glitch answered.

  "Keep him there," Jake's voice hissed on top of a faint trace of static. "We're on the way."

  "It's too late, boss.” Glitch pulled another piece of the locker away with little effort. “He's gone."

  "Why didn't you stop him, big guy?" Mason asked. The engineer’s voice was anything but serious. Ever. Sarcastic. Acidic. Cranky. But never serious. “I thought you said you were unstoppable with that new arm of yours.”

  Glitch twisted away the last piece of metal and stood. "He got the drop on me."

  "On you? No! With your cat-like reflexes? How is that even possible?"

  "Shut up, Mason."

  "I'm just saying it may be time to upgrade the ole firmware. You know, to something that doesn't suck."

  "I hate you, Mason.” Glitch said.

  "Both of you stop,” Hailey broke into the banter. “Which way did it go, Mitchell?”

  Glitch stepped into the hallway and scanned for his prey. The champ was gone but the big red arrow painted on the wall made it clear where the machine was going. "He's headed to the arena.”

  The building sat eighteen thousand people and, though the audience had fled, their presence lingered in the air. The air in the arena reeked of spilled beer and questionable hygiene. The capacity crowd had apparently lacked the coordination to properly hold their beverages or work a stick of deodorant.

  Jake kicked a plastic cup down the stairs as he rushed toward the arena floor. The cup rattled down several rows before disappearing under one of the seats. The sound it produced was slight but it bounced around the cavernous stadium, off the bare concrete walls more than he would have expected.

  The only other sound in the empty stadium was the whir of the drone hovering behind him. It followed him down the stairs and over the safety rail as he made his way to the center of it all.

  Mason had been searching the mezzanine and appeared near the middle of the stadium. Hailey and Kat had been checking the catwalks and appeared a moment later higher up on the opposite side.

  "Where is it?" Mason asked over the comm.

  "I can't see it," Jake said. "The ring is in the way."

  "Well, I guess you're on the card now,” Mason said. “Get up there, Killer.”

  A burst of static filled the comm. Glitch's voice popped in and out but nothing sensible came through except for some heavy panting.

  Jake tossed his disrupter into the ring and slid under the bottom rope onto the canvas. He picked up his disruptor, walked to the middle of the ring and stood in the center of the graphic explosion that was the MFE logo.

  Mason’s voice took over
the airwaves once more. “Making his way to the center of the ring, Jake ‘the Jackhammer’ Ashley, the Grappler with a Girl’s Name, The Hellion of Green Hills, the Big Boss of the Business—”

  “Knock it off, Mason.”

  “The Pooper of Parties,” Mason finished. “What do you see, champ?"

  Jake stared into the entrance tunnel leading back to the locker rooms and didn’t see much. It was dark. There was no movement. No rogue wrestling champion. Nothing. Jake shook his head. "I don't see a thing."

  Glitch's voice came across the comm once more. This time it was clear of static. "Don't get in the ring!"

  Before Jake could ask why, the lights went out and the entire area was cloaked in darkness.

  "Savant?” Jake spoke into the comm. "We just lost the lights in here. Are you getting anything out there?"

  "Oh, am I part of the team again?" Savant asked. “Because sitting out here in the truck, I wasn’t really feeling it.”

  "Not now, Savant."

  "Oh, so I'm not. I just get to sit in the truck, watching the screens, getting like zero screen time."

  "You never complained about being in the truck before, you diva," Mason said.

  A buzz filled the arena. It was low at first but it built somewhere in the darkness.

  "Well, now maybe I don't want to be in the truck–"

  "Dammit, Savant!" Hailey shouted. "You can bitch later. What is going on with the lights?"

  "Nothing!" Savant snapped. "Everything looks normal. All the programs are running right. Everything is… Jake, you didn't step in the ring, did you?”

  Jake hesitated and then answered slowly. “I did.”

  Savant groaned, “I told you not to step in the ring.”

  The buzz grew louder. The stadium seats rattled. The buzz took on a familiar sound.

  “No, you didn’t!”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No, you didn’t! You bitched about the truck. You whined about your role. You pissed and moaned about money but you didn’t say a damn thing about the ring.”

  “Well, I meant to!”

  “Fine,” Jake walked to the edge of the ring and grabbed the rope. “I’ll get out.”

  “Well, obviously, it’s too late now,” Savant said. “You should’ve listened to me. If I was there, you would have listened to me.”

  The buzz exploded into a roar of electric guitar. Light burst from the end of the arena as pyrotechnics erupted from the floor. The scent of burning magnesium filled the air as brilliant white fountains produced a shower of sparks. Images filled the jumbotron and lit the stadium as a montage of Clorso the Destroyer images flashed about the screen. The music turned from a roar into a flaming guitar solo. The notes came at a breathless speed as another burst of fireworks lit the arena and revealed that the Champ had entered.

  The algorithm powering its walk was comprised of several struts, swaggers and a single sashay. One subroutine called “Last Call” had the champ surfing slowly down the ramp until it reached the floor. There the algorithm hit another subroutine titled “Be the Man,” and the surf shifted into a strut that was part stomp and part celebratory shuffle. The line of code ended with a “whoo” and a leap that brought Clorso the Destroyer, MFE’s RWE Champion, crashing down into the center of the ring and face-to-face with Jake Ashley of Ashley’s Robot Reclamation of Green Hill.

  Before Jake could react, the champ slapped him across the chest and sent him reeling back into the steel cables. Jake grabbed for the rope, missed and found himself hurtling back toward the wrestler.

  Clorso raised his leg to deliver a big boot to the chin but Jake, less through intent and more through the momentum provided by the slingshot, dropped toward the mat and rolled under the attack. He tumbled back to his feet and spun to face the machine.

  The Champ’s armor plating was for show. It was designed to dent and crack for the spectators’ enjoyment. It had practically no shielding against a sudden charge of electricity, and the disruptor in Jake’s hand could dispense more than enough to drop the machine, if it wasn’t such a piece of crap.

  He raised the pistol and pulled the trigger to unleash a massive electric blast. Instead it released a mighty squeak like that of a mouse. A mouse that was about to be crushed by a piano dropped from a great height.

  Jake gave out a mighty squeak of his own as the Champ loomed over him. The drone buzzing over his shoulder recorded it all.

  Mason rushed down the steps but was still well out of range to be any kind of help. All he could fire was encouragement and moral support. “Shoot it, dumb ass!”

  “The damn thing’s busted!” Jake shouted back as he squeezed the trigger once more. This time there wasn’t even a squeak.

  Clorso turned to grandstand for the absent audience. It lifted its arm and placed a hand against an ear that didn’t exist, begging for a burst of applause. Its hand whirred and clacked as it transformed into a parabolic dish that would amplify the crowd’s praise.

  Savant’s voice cracked through the comm. “Jake, you’re going to have to wrestle it.”

  Kat’s voice came across in huffs as she raced toward the stage. “I told you the Beast had an exhaust leak, Savant. Turn off the engine before you succumb.”

  A long, heavy sigh came from somewhere out in the team’s truck. “Respect the system, Jake. Play his game. It will buy you some time.”

  “Savant’s right,” Glitch said over the radio. “You have to take on Clorso.”

  Jake shed the disruptor pack from his back and let it fall to the canvas. “How much time will it buy me?”

  Jake could hear Savant flicking a pen against his teeth before the man answered. As much as it pained Jake to admit, the man was a mathematical genius and he often fidgeted while his disgusting but brilliant mind worked through complex calculations. The clicking stopped and Savant had his answer. “Oh, I doubt much.”

  The Champ waved to the absent crowd and turned to face its opponent. The machine unclasped the cape and sent it twirling over the top rope into the overturned seats at ringside. Then it raised one hand out in front of itself and leaned forward.

  “What’s it doing?” Jake asked.

  Glitch’s voice followed a chorus of I don’t knows. “It’s called the test of strength. He wants you to grab his hand, then you both try and twist each other’s arm off. Reach for it.”

  “No,” Jake said. “I’m pretty sure I’ll lose, and I like my arm.”

  “Trust me, Jake,” the cyborg pleaded. “Don’t take the hand. Just reach for it slowly.”

  Jake was certain it was a bad idea but for lack of a better option he reached up and inched toward the machine one hesitant step after another.

  Glitch reached the end of the entrance ramp and the signal grew even stronger. He was coaching Jake through every step. “Now pull your hand back a bit.”

  Jake did.

  “Good,” Glitch said. “Now reach for it slowly again.”

  “Glitch this is—”

  “Just do it or he’ll kill you!”

  Jake reached out slowly. At Glitch’s coaxing, their palms got closer and closer until their fingers were almost intertwined.

  “Now kick him in the balls,” Glitch panted as he raced down the entrance ramp.

  “It doesn’t have balls.”

  “I said the balls, Jake!”

  Jake jumped at his friend’s sudden outburst and kicked the machine squarely between the legs.

  The machine hopped into the air as the blow connected then dropped to its knees, doubled over and fell to the mat with its hands locked firmly on its crotch.

  Mason witnessed the blow and commented, “Wrestling is stupid.”

  Baffled, Jake turned to ask how the reaction was even possible and found Glitch climbing into the ring. He stripped the belt from the Champ and shoved it into Jake’s hands.

  Jake looked at the ornate and garish golden belt. “What’s this for?”

  “Hit him with it,” Glitch instructed.

&
nbsp; “Just shoot him, Glitch,” Hailey shouted over the comm.

  Glitch ignored her and told Jake, “It will work. He’s never fought a fellow heel before.”

  “Heel?” Mason asked. “Sounds like someone is a fan.”

  “Shut up, Mason,” Glitch responded, and turned back to Jake. “Trust me.”

  Rocking back and forth across the mat, Clorso had both hands between its legs and paid no attention to Jake as the man stepped behind the fallen machine and raised the belt above his head.

  It wasn’t a natural swing but Jake did his best to swing the trophy like a baseball bat. The trophy connected with the back of the Champ’s head with a satisfying clang and Clorso went down.

  The Champ was flat on its face and wasn’t moving.

  “Now pin him!” Glitch cheered.

  Jake rolled his eyes and tossed away the belt. “Just shoot him, Glitch. Please.”

  “You can do it, Jake!” Glitch yelled and raised a one-man chorus of, “Beat the Champ! Beat the Champ!”

  Jake groaned. It would make the big fella so happy. He lay down across the machine.

  “No,” Glitch scolded him. “He’s got to be on his back. Haven’t you ever watched wrestling, Jake?”

  Mason responded through the comm. “Maybe he’s not a loser like you, wrestling boy.”

  “Shut up, Mason,” Glitch snapped. “Roll him over, Jake.”

  Jake grabbed Clorso by the shoulder and pushed. Rolling the machine over was easier than he expected. The Champ didn’t resist at all. In fact, the machine helped.

  “Now, pin him!”

  Jake spread his body across the machine and nothing happened. “Now what, Glitch?”

  Glitch laughed at himself and shook his head. “I’m so stupid. We need a ref.” He dropped to his knees next to the machine as Mason, Kat and Hailey arrived at ringside.

  “Shoot it, Glitch,” Hailey said.

  “No way! Jake’s gonna win the belt.” Glitch slapped out the count. The ring bounced as his cybernetic arm smacked the canvas. “One.”

  The Champ didn’t move. Not even a twitch.