Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats

by Stuart Parker

  *

  Three rats were coming at Major Emsly. He blasted the first two back onto the mound of carcasses from which they had emerged but with the last rat upon him, he found that his ammunition was spent. He resorted to clubbing the third rat to a pulp with the metal stock of his rifle. He continued to hold the rifle like a club as he looked out across the expansive mound of the dead for any others still alive. There were none. The seething torrents of rodents that had threatened to overrun the Marine base had been checked; not a single rat was left moving. Emsly turned to Lieutenant Beamy Carlitto who was gazing through binoculars at the Toppaz missile’s faint image in the sky.

  ‘How’s it doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Its engine core is ruptured. It is not going to remain airborne very much longer.’

  ‘Thank God. That missile was in cold storage thirty metres underground and it wasn’t the US Government that put it into the sky. Whoever shot it down is going to get the biggest medal I can find. I daresay the action may even have prevented a war.’

  ‘I would like to think it was the Special Forces guarding the base. Anything less would mean this has been the worst security breach in a hundred years. Our records will be in tatters.’

  Emsly picked up the massive rat he had bludgeoned and looked over its fearsome form. ‘All I feel right now is pride. We have fought like Marines to win this day.’ He tossed rat onto the heap and picked up one of the wounded soldiers and glanced around at the other survivors around the flagpole. Exhausted, dishevelled and blood soaked, they were almost unrecognisable. Only six of them left. Plus the civilians from the polar bear sanctuary. Almost complete wipeout. Emsly felt an anger boiling up from within.

  ‘I could almost believe those rats were a freak of nature,’ he decried at the top of his voice, and gestured at the distant white streak that was the Toppaz missile, but when United States missiles suddenly start launching themselves at the same time, I find myself getting suspicious. So, we’re going to take a tour of the island by gunship and if we find anyone stumbling about who resembles those rats in intent, they’re going to suffer the same fate. Gather up the wounded and let’s move out.’

  The party hurried to the flight pad where the dark green gunship was waiting on permanent standby, with its side turrets fully loaded with missiles and the electronics of its core systems in the dull glow of Active Sleep mode.

  The tremendous explosion of the Toppaz missile cracking into the ocean came just as Emsly put his eye to the security scanner. The identity check returned a negative result. He rubbed his eye and tried again only for access to again be denied.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ asked Hex Carter itching to pull open the door.

  ‘My pupils are dilated,’ said Emsly. ‘The scanner is very precise.’

  Carter glanced anxiously out across the sky to the vast grey mushroom cloud ominously expanding out across the horizon and pressed a finger to his communications earpiece. ‘Is there anyone else with the security clearance to start this thing?’

  ‘The pilots, of course. But they’ve just been eaten by rats. The commanding officer has security clearance as a last resort. Anyway, give me a moment and I’ll come good.’

  ‘A moment may be too late. Our drones are reporting a thirty metre tsunami wave generated by the Toppaz missile, clocking speeds of eight hundred kilometres per hour.’

  Emsly frowned. ‘If you’re trying to relax me, you’re doing a lousy job.’ He took a deep breath and put his eye back to the scanner. This time he was accepted: the gunship doors opened and the electronics came alive. Emsly sprung into the pilot’s seat and activated the rotors. ‘Everyone get the hell on board!’ he screamed at no one in particular.

  He looked over his shoulder to see Carter already busy at work herding people on board. Being an ex-drill sergeant, Carter was in his element and the loading was completed just as the rotor blades had reached sufficient speeds for elevation.

  The tsunami meanwhile crashed over the coastal cliffs and surged in across the base, sweeping away the mounds of dead Marines and rats in a thick black icy cold soup. The gunship was just in time to rise above it. The occupants gazed down solemnly at the surreal scene beneath them.

  ‘A missile that explodes into a sea and a battlefield that gets completely washed away,’ muttered Beamy Carlitto from the front passenger seat. ‘There will be nothing left to prove what transpired here. No evidence to substantiate the wild stories we have to tell.’

  ‘I suspect Washington will not be particularly unhappy with that arrangement,’ replied Emsly. ‘I doubt they will even acknowledge the incident having occurred. But they’ll be very curious to know who has been trying to drag them into a war.’ As the gunship continued to rise, Emsly spotted his Poison 130 Fast Tank climbing Mount Old, the highest peak on Alabama Island. ‘There’s my tank,’ he murmured, steering the gunship that way. ‘Why don’t they just get out and run? Tanks aren’t designed for mountaineering.’

  The tank was indeed starting to struggle as the gradient grew ever steeper. The huge mass of water was moving in fast from behind. Emsly only wished there was a missile in his arsenal that could be used against a tsunami. He put on the pilot’s headset and sent out an emergency call. ‘Private Murley, is that you driving my tank? Come in, Murley.’

  There was no reply, but Emsly could see why they would be preoccupied. The approaching wave was above the height of the tank with only moments remaining between them. The tank was speeding a direct line up the mountain, loose shoal spewing out from beneath its tracks in steady streams. Emsly had taken his tank for many a drive around the island but going to the peak of Mount Old he had left to the torturous foot marches Hex Carter put his Marines through.

  ‘Can your tank swim?’ murmured Carlitto dourly.

  ‘What do you think?’

  The wave hit the mountain and rode up its southern face, reaching the tank in a mass of black water. Despite the weight of the water, however, the tank continued to climb, breaking free of its grip before it could fully close. The tank continued upward until the wave’s crest had passed and dry land was secured. It stopped then and the main hatch flew open.

  ‘Your man has been hit,’ Kaptu replied over the radio. ‘We require immediate extraction.’

  ‘Rat bites?’ Emsly enquired.

  ‘Four gunshot wounds.’

  ‘Identify yourself.’

  ‘Kaptu of the Hurt World.’

  ‘Kaptu, is that your codename?’

  ‘No. We're bringing your man out for extraction.’ Kaptu climbed out and with Clorvine’s assistance underneath pulled the wounded Marine onto the open hatch.

  The gunship came above them and a harness was lowered. Kaptu attached it to Murley’s chest. The Life System Monitor strapped to Murley’s forehead was counting down in bright red numerals from ten minutes fifteen seconds. That was Murley’s life expectancy and it looked likely enough in his pale cheeks and glazed eyes.

  ‘Hold on,’ Kaptu yelled and gave the gunship thumbs up. ‘Don’t stop to pick us up,’ he said into his collar mike. ‘You’ve got ten minutes to get him onto an operating table.’

  ‘Very well,’ replied Emsly. ‘We’ll be back to get you.’

  The gunship turned back for base with Murley trailing behind.

  Clorvine joined Kaptu on top of the tank. ‘What happens when they find you doctored the Life System Monitor? Murley isn’t going to be dead in minutes.’

  ‘You noticed that? It’s better that we don’t get stuck here. There are going to be investigations and enquiries and we don’t want to get involved in that. Especially when it comes out that the insurance agents have forbidden my presence upon US territory.’

  ‘They won’t be denied so easily. They’ll come looking for you.’

  ‘There is no extradition treaty between the US and Asylum City. That is probably why Renaissance chose me for the case. And it is probably the only reason she has ever bothered having a Hurt
World technician in Asylum City.’

  ‘I think you should give them a chance. You’ve just saved them from a war or at least some world class groveling to whichever country was attacked. You might even have earned yourself some downtime with the President.’

  ‘Trust me, gratitude never makes it past the lawyers. Who knows what kind of case they could make against us? We shot up their weather station for starters. They may even claim were negligent in the clarity of our warning and sue for damages for the whole damned island.’

  ‘They wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Lawyers are capable of anything. Keeping out of range of their indictments is as important as avoiding bullets. Renaissance will be of the same mindset. Just see how quickly she moves to get us off the island. A lot quicker than how we got onto it.’

  ‘You sure it won’t be by missile? That would be the fastest things she’s got.’

  Kaptu looked up to the sky. ‘Good point. But I don’t think that’s her style.’

  ‘If the plan is to take me back to the Congo, it might as well be a missile. They do not take kindly to traitors. I’d rather take my chances here with the Marines.’

  ‘Don’t fret about that. I’ll put in a good word for you. You’re a straight shooter in words and in a tank. With those attributes, someone in the UN will have use for you.’

  Clorvine looked at him watchfully. ‘And you?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘The way you fight, the way you carry yourself, it is plain you don’t have anyone serious in your life, anyone to live for.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s what keeps me alive.’

  A roar of jet pierced the sky, noticeably more powerful than the drones that had been coming and going from the Marine base.

  ‘That sounds like our ride,’ said Kaptu. ‘We’ll be in Geneva in an hour. I rent a nice little villa on the lake there. I’ve never lived in it but it’s worth the money. The Secretary General lives just down the road. You could ask him for a job yourself.’ He looked out across the ocean for a long moment. ‘Perhaps we’ll get the call to come looking for Mas again, once the Sixth Fleet has given up scouring the ocean for submarines.’

  ‘I think they should pick through the ruins of the weather station before they bother searching the ocean. Your shooting was straight too. You picked off your fair share of rats, and maybe you got Mas as well.’

  Kaptu shook his head doubtfully. ‘She moves faster.’

  The Cyclone Super Jet arrived amidst a scream of rocket, touching down in an easy vertical landing upon the mountain ridge. The cockpit hatch lifted up and the pilot slid down the exit ladder. He was holding a plastic bag and rushed to fill it with dead rats that had washed up onto the mountain. By the time Kaptu and Clorvine reached him, he was squeezing his forth rat into his bag. He sealed it and gestured for Kaptu and Clorvine to follow as he hurried up the cockpit ladder. Being a two-seater jet, there was no alternative but for Kaptu and Clorvine to share one, Clorvine sitting on Kaptu’s lap. The pilot threw the bag of rats in with them. He promptly sent the plane two kilometres into the air in a body jarring launch. Kaptu and Clorvine watched Alabama Island become a mere spec on the ocean before disappearing altogether. The jet headed south at twice the speed of sound.

  Clorvine wriggled to get comfortable and smirked at Kaptu. ‘My kind of seat,’ she said. ‘But tell me one thing. Where you live on the lake, are there any rats?’

  27 To disappear

  Haddad Caixa strode into the Savage Alliance Conference Room One in the Uncle Grey building reminding himself of the two things never to do when delivering bad news. The first thing was not to try and sell it as good news. People hated that more than the news itself. If it was bad, let them know how bad. Let them know it reeked. It was the only way. People caught selling bad news became bad news themselves. And there was no fix for that. The second thing was never flinch. Tell it but don’t own it. No matter how bad. The people who looked like solutions were always the generals.

  Caixa stopped at the foot of the long table and looked up and down its lengths, taking in the probing, speculative gazes of the board members. There were no friends, no one he could truly trust, but that was what made Savage Alliance so successful: it truly was savage. Caixa glanced past them to the conference room’s superb view of Lake Zurich and the Alps - that was where he found his calm.

  ‘I have called this meeting to report on an unfortunate setback in our quest to break into the Big Ten Trade Index. Operation Advance has been deactivated until further notice. The details of the programs will remain classified to all bar the Minister for Risk and Acquisition and myself.’

  ‘Where is she?’ queried the Minister for Communications.

  Caixa smirked icily. ‘She is on extended unpaid leave.’

  An uncomfortable silence enveloped the long conference table, for it was known amongst all what extended unpaid leave could really entail. Her body vaporised by laser or dumped in some remote forest. It was highly likely Jalanti would never be heard of again. And to ask questions would be unwise in the extreme. That was the message in Caixa’s smirk. He only ever smiled as a warning.

  ‘We placed considerable funds into Operation Advance,’ said the Minister for Finance in his usual monotone voice. ‘Will there be an opportunity for a retrieval of funds?’

  ‘The operation was well advanced when it was cancelled,’ said Caixa. ‘Most of the money has already been spent. The loss is considerable.’

  The board members looked around each other with sighs and frowns. Caixa allowed them their moment of disappointment, though did not let their attention drift for long.

  ‘Moving forward,’ he said sharply, ‘we will review our investment portfolios and share holdings and endeavour to offset our losses where possible. We will need to be quite ruthless in order to balance our books.’

  The Minister for Finance nervously put up her hand. ‘I would recommend any review particularly focus on holdings in weapons technology and military surgical supplies and our arms wing. We have secured no financial gain from these investments, nor is there any prospect of this changing in the foreseeable future. We are living in a politically stable environment with no prospect of a major customer for any of those products. It is the biggest drag on our bottom line and I can tell you that even before the review begins.’

  There was a long pause before Caixa responded. ‘It is courageous of you to point that out considering I instigated many of those investments. By all means include them in your review. I must say, however, that I am not as optimistic as you that peace will prevail. Conflict is part of human nature and is always just around the corner whether you are expecting it or not. Savage Alliance has taken up the business model of expecting it and I am proud that we are the market leader in weapons and putting the wounded back together again and if we hold our never long enough, customers will come, as President of the company, I guarantee it.’

  He took in a deep, calming breath. ‘Finally, I would like to say that although unsuccessful, Operation Advance reflected many of the core values of Savage Alliance: bold, ambitious, intelligent and extremely well planned. It was only in the execution that the operation was found wanting and we may never know exactly why. But we will pick ourselves up and try again, and if we remain true to our core values, success will inevitably be had. That is what the Savage Alliance brand stands for. Let me reiterate my gratitude to Jalanti for her time as the Minister for Risk and Acquisition. Without going into specifics, I can say she came very close to living up to those core values and in so doing bringing us into the Big Ten Trade Index. Agonisingly close.’

  Caixa departed from the boardroom with his trademark forthright stride. It was a full minute before anyone else started to move. As chairs slid back on the immaculate white marble tiled floor the Minister for Communication leaned to the ear of the Minister for Infrastructure and whispered, ‘Do you think he killed her?’

  The Minister for Infrastructure was pale ev
en before the question was asked. ‘The title of the position is exactly what it entails,’ she whispered. ‘So buyer beware.’ She got up and joined the orderly exodus from the room.