by Kyle Aho
Chapter III
Bren, Dante, and Alistair dove for cover as the mobile defense sentry’s chain gun chewed apart their already sparse protection. Dirt flew in all directions as the mobile sentry’s treads tore up the earth and showered Apate in grime. The civilian resistance put up a weak fight with their small arms only to be countered by a hail of bullets. Two nearby stationary turrets swiveled from target to target spitting out death in every direction as the new mobile defense platform flanked the battle. Twelve men were sawed in half by bullets in less than three seconds. The remaining resistance fled into nearby ruins.
“Well this sucks,” Bren said.
“Does anyone have an idea or what?” Dante asked over his comm, the situation dire enough to have turned off his music.
“Does crapping my pants count?” Bren replied. Alistair was busy digging through his armored vest. He pulled out an oddly shaped grenade painted red and decaled with a smiling mushroom cloud.
“I need t’get behind it,” Alistair said. He gave Bren and Dante a look as if he had just given them an order. They turned to each other, shrugged, and steeled themselves. Dante shoved his shoulder into a pile of cinderblocks and debris to hollow out the area and offer a direct firing line to the mobile sentry.
Motion sensors triggered in the sentry’s scan range. Its turret whipped around and fired a burst of heavy caliber rounds toward the wall the three men hid behind. Before the turret could complete its rotation, Bren burst from cover and sprinted toward another pile of rubble a short distance away. His flight tripped the sentry’s motion sensors again and caused it to change direction mid rotation.
Clods of dirt and debris shot up as bullets chased after Bren.
“What the hell are you doing?” Apate asked over the comm unit.
“Shoot the sensors!” Alistair yelled as he ran from cover and towards a shelled out building.
Once again the sentry’s motion sensors picked up movement and the turret spun to follow. Dante ducked back into cover as bullets raked across the wall he was behind as the sentry pursued its new target.
Apate peered through her scope and sighted up an expensive looking piece of equipment at the top of the sentry. Glyphs on her visor centered on the equipment and a read-out gave her the model number, manufacturer, and installation procedure for the sensory array. She pulled the trigger.
Alistair heard the roar of the shell firing and a plink as the casing ejected, followed by a low whistle modified by a Doppler effect as the bullet whizzed over his head and impacted the sensitive equipment at the top of the mobile sentry all in a fraction of a second. Thick glass shattered and sparks erupted from the sensor housing. The sentry ceased firing immediately, as if it had been slapped and was thinking of how to react.
Alistair vaulted over a large pile of cinderblocks, careful to avoid jutting rebar, as he took advantage of the sentry’s disorientation and closed the distance between them. In one smooth motion, Alistair removed the pin from his grenade and threw the explosive under the chassis of the sentry. He jumped behind a destroyed car for safety as the stationary turrets shot at him while avoiding their mobile counterpart. Once safely hidden behind the bombed out car, Alistair pulled the pins on the other grenades and threw them blindly over his shoulders with surprising accuracy. One landed next to each stationary turret and a beeping noise from each grenade swelled to a crescendo.
Blinding light and scalding heat poured over the area, quickly followed by a deafening explosion. Any dirt that wasn’t thrown into the air melted to glass. Windows that hadn’t already been broken shattered to dust. Ripples of heat and debris cascaded out from the three consecutive explosions like a tidal wave of destruction in all directions.
Bren, Dante, and Alistair took a moment to regain their senses. Apate recovered quickly since she wasn’t anywhere near the blast. A cloud of smoke enveloped the area, covering the stationary turrets and mobile sentry in a thick haze. A nearby car had collapsed in on itself, the heat nearly melting it into a blob of misshapen metal.
Alistair swatted his leg to put out a fire that had ignited from the pocket containing his spare gauze. That happened once and a while if he got too close to his own toys. He lifted himself up from the rubble and walked over to Bren and Dante, waving smoke out of his way as he went.
“Is it dead?” Bren coughed.
“The hell was that?” Dante asked after an impressed whistle.
“I call ‘em nova grenades. Special recipe I picked up. If it’s not dead I’d be very impressed.”
Whether it was a testament to the creator of the sentry, or simply bad luck, something stirred within the smoke and debris. The whine of damaged servos cut through the air.
“Guys, get out of there!” Apate shouted over the comm a split second before bullets ripped toward their position from out of the smoldering ashes.
All three men scattered like roaches from a light and scrambled for cover.
Bullets tore into a car near Bren and ruptured the fuel tank. What little fuel was left ignited and exploded. The blast threw glass and metal shards across the area and several pieces ripped through the seams of Bren’s armor and into his leg. He staggered and fell shoulder first onto the ground clutching the seeping wound. Dante and Alistair had both found new cover before they noticed Bren had fallen.
The firing stopped.
There was silence on the battlefield. Bren let out a frustrated and painful groan as he crawled to cover, one hand gripping his wounded leg. The mobile sentry turret snapped toward the noise and fired a burst of rounds in front of him. Dirt and debris flew into his eyes. He screamed from surprise, pain and the frustration of being debilitated once more, rubbing his eyes with a torn sleeve.
“Bren, be quiet,” Apate said over the comm.
“It flopping hurts!” Bren growled. The turret adjusted and fired again, this time only missing Bren by an arm's length. Bren spat out dirt and bit back a frustrated howl.
“Flopping?” Dante asked.
“Not the time,” Bren hissed. The turret made another quick adjustment.
“You tellin’ me that thing can hear us?” Alistair whispered over the comm. To test the theory, Dante smacked the butt of his shotgun against the concrete wall he and Alistair hid behind. Servos whined and creaked but the turret spun and fired in Dante’s direction.
“It certainly seems that way.”
Dante glanced over his cover and checked on Bren. A pool of blood formed next to his leg. “How you hangin’ in there brotha?” Dante asked via comm, adopting his movie persona again to try and release some of the tension.
“I’ve got a hunk of metal and several shards of glass stuck in my leg, I can feel it going cold and numb from blood loss and if I move or make too much noise this darn robot is going to shoot me. Other than that my life sucks,” Bren replied.
“That darn robot,” Dante smirked.
“We have to get him out of there,” Apate said.
“I agree, hurry the heck up and figure something out. I’m losing blood and my medi-gel got damaged,” Bren said, dabbing some of the green gel leaking from his pocket onto his many wounds.
Alistair looked around for something that could help them, maybe a vehicle that could still move and act as cover or something left behind by the civilian forces. There was nothing useful in the immediate area. Bren didn’t have long before blood loss would make him useless or possibly dead.
Apate noticed that the door to the research facility they needed to enter was only about fifty meters from where the men were pinned down. It was significantly farther for her but it was their only hope. “Do you guys see that door to the lab? To your right.” Alistair and Dante looked and acknowledged over the comm. “Do you think you can make it?”
“Hell yeah I can,” Dante said, rolling his shoulders to loosen up.
“Ok. Alistair, you help me distract the sentry. Dante, you grab Bren and run for that door. Don’t stop till you’re inside.”
“How do you know w
e can get inside?” Dante asked.
“Erm, well-”
“I can get us in,” Apate said.
“How?”
“Digi-key. Skeleton class.”
“How did you get your hands on-” The sentry’s chain gun started spinning. “Never mind, go, go, go!”
Alistair took a deep breath and ran from cover. He smacked the butts of his inferno pistols on oil drums and broke car windows while shouting incoherently to get the sentry’s attention. Bullets chased after him. Apate pressed a button on her rifle and sprinted down the slope toward the battlefield while her weapon changed from a long-range rifle to a compact assault variant. Dante broke from cover and ran to Bren, careful to stay as light on his feet as his considerable muscle would allow. Bren was turning pale.
Alistair stopped behind a cracked wall and waited a moment to catch his breath. Apate had covered a good distance but was still about twenty seconds from any real action. The firing stopped as soon as Alistair was behind cover and Dante skidded to a halt to make sure the sentry couldn’t hear him. There was silence. Their hearts were beating rapidly, as if trying to forcibly escape from their chests.
With another deep breath, Alistair broke cover again and continued his cacophony. Apate came down a slight incline in his direction and ran toward Alistair as the sentry’s turret opened up and followed him in erratic bursts. Dante sprinted toward Bren, speeding up as he got closer. He finally reached Bren just as Apate and Alistair sought cover together. Again the turret stopped. Alistair and Apate took a moment to catch their breath while the turret hunted for a target.
Dante grabbed Bren’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. He licked his lips and could taste the mobile sentry’s exhaust. Bren gritted his teeth as Dante lifted him up and rested him on a shoulder like a sack of grain. He turned toward the door and carried Bren toward it, careful not to step on anything that would make excess noise. Bren looked up to keep an eye on the turret, which had almost completed its rotation in their direction. He was looking straight down the barrel when the turret stopped.
“Dante, stop. Stop!” he hissed. Dante halted mid step and looked over his shoulder. The turret was pointed directly at them. Both Bren and Dante swallowed hard.
“Guys,” Bren whispered over the comm.
Alistair and Apate peeked out from behind cover and squinted through the smoke to determine what was going on. Alistair could barely register that the turret had rotated toward his two comrades. They heard the whir of the chain gun warming up. It was now or never. Alistair and Apate burst from cover.
The turret spun and opened fire in their direction. Dante hustled for the door, carrying Bren on his shoulder without bothering to look back. Alistair and Apate dove for cover in different directions. The sentry’s targeting program struggled to process which direction they had gone. It shot at Alistair’s hiding spot. Apate poked out from cover and took a few pot shots at the sentry to distract it, allowing Alistair to escape and run toward the door.
Dante ran down a shallow ramp and arrived at the door. He ran his fingers over a small panel on the wall and it lit up to display a number pad. “You wouldn’t happen to know the code would you?” Dante asked Bren over his shoulder. He got no reply. He put a knee to the ground and rested Bren up against the wall. He was unconscious. Alistair arrived a second later and hit the numpad to try and open the door. ACCESS DENIED. PLEASE INPUT SECURITY CODE.
“Of course.”
Alistair glanced over his shoulder as Apate sprinted toward them, bullets nipping at her heels. Alistair turned back around when he heard a grunt of exertion followed by a loud clang. Dante failed to kick the door open but left an impressive dent for his effort.
“It’s no use, those doors are made to wit’stand a tank. Lass, y’better be quick with that device o’yours.”
Dante stepped back and drove his foot into the door again. This time it bent a little further and gave him enough room to fit his meaty hands inside. Dante curled his fingers around the edge of the door and pulled. His veins swelled and looked like thick ropes snaking up his arms. “Let’s go mate, we’re fish in a barrel!” Alistair said.
Dante grit his teeth and ripped the door out of its frame with a savage cry. He grabbed the hunk of metal that used to be the door, held it against his shoulder, and braced for impact.
“Get in there!” Dante shouted as Apate ran past him. Bullets collided into the slab of metal he held. Each impact sounded like an angry gong and pushed the behemoth of a man back into the dirt a little further. They didn’t have much time.
“A little help here?” Apate shouted as she tried to haul Bren into the facility. With all his armor and gear she could barely move him. Alistair grabbed under Bren’s arm and helped Apate drag him into the facility and around a corner. The oncoming bullets pushed Dante further into the doorway.
With a grunt of effort, Dante wedged the metal slab that used to be the door into the frame. It didn’t quite fit anymore but at least it offered enough protection to duck around the corner in safety. The sentry stopped firing and they were finally offered a moment to recover.
Bren was unconscious and bleeding profusely. Apate grabbed a medi-gel tube from her kit and pumped green viscous goo into Bren’s open wound. The gel thickened and expanded, pushing glass shards and debris out of his leg as it simultaneously clotted the wound with a mixture of painkillers and regenerative stimulants.
Apate pulled out a small tube with a short needle on the end. She stuck it into Bren’s neck and activated a tiny button on the side. The contents of the tube emptied into his blood stream. They waited. Less than thirty seconds later Bren was awake. “Did we win?” he asked.
“Well we didn’t lose. Have a nice nap?” Apate said.
“What d’you remember?” Alistair asked.
“I remember getting shot at by a really big robot. And I think you dropped a nuke on it. That’s about it.”
“Yeah you lost a little bit of blood, your head might be foggy. Those stims should take effect soon enough and you’ll feel fine.” Dante said.
Their ears rang in the near perfect silence. It was nearly as awkward and disorienting in its own way as a flash bang grenade. Apate tossed the spent medi-gel cartridges into a nearby waste container and lifted her weapon.
“I thought you brought a rifle?” Dante said, looking at the compact assault weapon.
“I did, this is both. Watch,”
She flipped open a panel on the side of the weapon and pushed a button underneath. The barrel split into two halves and slid out of the fore stock while the butt pushed back to extend the length of the weapon. Both barrel halves reconnected at their full length and the fore grip split to form a bipod. She pushed the button again and it condensed back to its compact assault variant.
“Automated conversion? I’m feeling tingly in strange places,” Bren said as he admired the craftsmanship of her weapon.
“That’s probably related to the blood loss,” she said.
“What does it turn into, a carbine?” Dante asked.
“Basically. Easier to handle in small spaces.”
“It uses the same ammo too?”
“Yeah I carry some discarding sabot rounds and hollow points that I can swap out for armor penetration or crowd control, whatever I need at the time.”
“You are a terrifying woman and I love it,” Bren said.
“Can we focus?” Alistair said.
They made their way into the lobby area of the facility. They stayed close to the wall and used intermittent pillars as cover. Papers and office supplies were strewn around the area and panels on the walls displayed public service announcements and shout outs from upper management to the staff. Streaks of blood from around the lobby converged at a set of doors ahead of them as if someone had dragged a bloody sack to the facility beyond. A vending machine flickered and clicked as the machinations inside spun in an endless loop to deliver a product it no longer had. The only computers that weren’t still on were the o
nes in pieces on the floor. The blood streak continued beyond the sliding glass doors at the back of the lobby and they followed it to an intersection. A sign on the wall informed them that the security bay and research labs were to the left while the cafeteria and first hundred offices were to the right.
“You think th’data we need is toward th’research bays?” Alistair asked.
“Well we are looking for research data so I’d put my money on that, “ Bren said.
They turned left toward the research bays and stopped. A man lay sprawled on the ground before them like a morbid doll. The floor around him was covered in blood. Multiple lacerations to his chest appeared to be the most likely cause of death and his face was covered in blood, as if someone had poured it over him.
“Lovely,” Alistair muttered.
“He’s having a bad day,” Bren said.
“Well, it’s not like he’s getting up. Let’s keep going,” Dante said, with a tinge of reluctance. They continued down the hall and encountered more bodies, similarly mangled with their faces doused in blood. No one wanted to look like they were worried but in the back of everyone’s minds they knew something was definitely wrong. Up ahead they heard a terrified scream, followed by a hideous gurgling noise and a splash of liquid. A loud metal clang echoed down the hall.
Bren motioned everyone to back up against the wall as he pulled out a well-polished knife. He edged along the wall and stopped at the corner, using the knife to peek around without actually exposing himself. All he saw was a body in the middle of a hallway freshly painted scarlet. At the end of the hallway was a door.
“Nothing,” he said, putting away the knife and walking around the corner. The rest of the team followed, walking to the end of the hallway to examine the door. Drops of blood trailed up the wall and into nearby air duct. Like the first door they encountered to enter the facility, this one didn’t open when they walked up to it. The keypad to the right of it read LOCKED in blocky green letters.
“Convenient,” Alistair said.
“Can we hack it?” Bren asked before pressing buttons as if he knew what he was doing. He had little to no technical expertise but wanted to look useful.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Alistair asked.
Bren focused on the keypad, pretending not to notice his bluff being called.
“Hold on, I can take care of it,” Apate said as she searched once more for her digi-key.
“What’s this?” Dante said, hunching over the body of a scientist. He picked up a small card and wiped it off on his thigh, curling his lip a little as blood smeared over the fabric.
He walked over to the keypad and swiped it through.
SUCCESS.
“Hell, that wasn’t hard,” he said with a big oafish grin.
Bren glared as the door slid open.
“Sweet mother o’ gods,” Alistair coughed.
It was a laboratory, or at least what was left of one. Some twenty odd scientists lay about the floor in the same condition as every other human they had found thus far. The entire floor was a sticky carpet of red. Laboratory equipment was still running. Liquids were still boiling. Computers were humming. The air stank with the rusty tinge of blood.
“Look alive. Whatever did this is close and I’d hate to disappoint it with a modest greeting,” Bren said as he armed his harpoons and walked into the room and to his left.
Dante walked right and Alistair went up the middle. Apate crossed the room and turned the corner to examine a nearby hallway in case someone was, indeed, close. Their feet made sickly squeaks as they walked through the lab on the carpet of human fluids. They searched through lockers, cabinets, and under desks for anything that might be useful or at least clue them in to what was going on.
Dante pumped his shotgun and an unfired shell fell to the ground. It was for effect. “Move a muscle and you’re dead.”