Chapter 36: Dead Zeros Walking

Even before Dozer’s head hit the soft soil, Model’s voice erupted over the comm. “—like something burning in my lungs!”

“Hold on!” The visualization of Errorist’s audio feed shuddered with every word. “Butt’s on his way.”

“He’s here,” Model’s voice cracked with fear even when the comm synthesized his thoughts, “but that giant lizard is going to eat us both.”

The game had patched Dozer into their comm line.

“I killed it.” Dozer’s portrait appeared underneath the other two. “You guys gotta worry about the bot that got me. Can you communicate with Butt?”

“Nope,” Errorist casted. “We tried, but neither of you responded.”

Model’s hacks and coughs met Dozer’s ears. The game took away the recruit’s ability to move, but let them clear their lungs.

“You alright?” Dozer casted.

“Yeah.” The comm caught Model’s heavy breaths. “Don’t need to do that fish impression ever again.”

Through the mushroom cover, Buttstroke stepped out of the foul water with Model slung over one shoulder and Errorist’s rifle in his other hand. Water and rotting plant matter poured off them both.

“Dozer, where did you go?” Buttstroke’s gaze swept over the slope.

“There’s another bot! Can you hear me?” Dozer casted.

Buttstroke kept on searching, but Dozer had to try, anyway. A sine wave came from Dozer’s side. The roughhead dived to the ground, rolled Model on his side, and used his arm to rest his rifle. He let out a burst of fire. A staccato of sharp thuds came from the bot’s armor, and it fell.

Grinding sounds came from the Pithite. The shots must have mangled its limbs. Buttstroke fired again. Muzzle flashes came from the barrel. The broken sounds from the bot ceased.

***

A whiff of fish-tinged gore wafted from the alligator’s mouth and wandered into Dozer’s nostrils.

Buttstroke dragged Model up to where Dozer had collapsed and laid his soaking wet form down beside. He did the same with Errorist and watched over the three with Dozer’s sniper rifle.

The roughhead, the only one of the fireteam to get a pass, even got another kill when a trio of bots stuck their head inside the central room. One more and he would get a Pass B and an extra chunk of XP.

The four zeros still hung in the trees. They all failed the exercise and didn’t get a single zero down. At least, it messed with Buttstroke, so the day wasn’t a total waste.

Dozer opened the mission option and looked at the one for today’s exercise. Red still shaded the card, and the required kills still showed 3/4. So damn close. He had failed the exercise along with Model and Errorist, but he achieved a secret mission called Slay the Dragon of the Swamp. His progress bar had reached Level 2. One plot mission and he’d get one step closer to surviving boot.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

He still had both of his Level 2 tries. In the heat of battle—and in the anxiety of pre-battle—he had forgotten about them. Dozer resolved himself to make use of them the next exercise. If he failed and didn’t use the tries, he’d end up like those people in those old stories, those dead in the desert with water still in their canteens. However, if he used the tried and still ended up in the recycler, at least he did everything he could.

Now, after the battle, Teamsight seemed the better of the two abilities. Riposte Fire wouldn’t have prevented him from dying. At most, it might have given Dozer an opportunity for some payback and nothing more. Better to not let the bots get close, but that would mean the rest of the fireteam would have to set a perimeter. With Buttstroke in charge, Dozer would have no guarantee of that.

“Maybe we should let Buttstroke lead?” Errorist casted. “Get our passes and deal with the rest later?”

“S-shut the fuck up.” Model’s words shuddered over the comm. He shivered inside his drenched fatigues on the cold ground, the limit of his movements.

“Err, if you talk shit like that again,” Dozer’s voice almost growled, “I’ll make sure you fail.”

Buttstroke broke the cap off of a mushroom within arm’s reach and put it on top of Model’s prone form. He repeated the process until the caps covered Model, all while he kept an eye out. Model’s shivers subsided.

The sound of gunfire filtered through the far opening to the room, over the headless corpse of the Pithite halfway in the room.

“I hope that’s the last of them,” Buttstroke said to his fallen teammates.

Another burst met their ears, and a few more. Silence flooded the room.

“Make your way to the entrance.” The DI’s voice came over the comm. “Exercise over.”

“Get us down!” Filipek screeched. Howls of pain resounded from his zeros.

Dozer flexed his fingers. Control had returned. He pushed himself off the ground and brushed the soil from his face. The muscles in his neck complained.

Errorist gazed around the space and blinked as if he had just woken. Model pressed his crossed arms to his chest and rubbed his elbows. A sickly pale blue had infiltrated the color of his face. His core shuddered, a neglected machine in an attempt to come back to life.

“Take it.” Buttstroke held the sniper rifle in front of Dozer’s face.

Dozer climbed its length until he stood on his own. He wavered and leaned on the rifle until the chill deep in his legs dispelled. With shaky legs, the trio followed Buttstroke down to the water’s edge.

“Get us down fucking now!” Filipek groaned through clenched teeth. The zeros wailed combinations of pleads and demands.

Buttstroke muttered something under his breath before wading in again. Model hung his head before he let the water go over his boots again. Still, he said nothing. The zero’s lamentations became more insistent the closer the fireteam got as if they would make the teammates move faster. Dozer found a sturdy branch in Filipek’s tree and pulled himself up. The swamp water poured off his legs.

Buttstroke lifted the rifle that supported the zero in his tree, and—with a pained wail—the poor guy tumbled into the water. Dozer pulled on a branch that supported Filipek’s rifle. It snapped, and the rifle slipped. Filipek’s shoulders popped back into their sockets with moist clunks the moment before he dropped to the water.

The first zero emerged from the water. “You couldn’t have fucking done that earlier?” He massaged the tender meat of his shoulders.

“Hey. They hung you guys in the trees.” Buttstroke shrugged. “Who knows what they would have done to us.”

With pained cries, the last two zeros fell into the water.

“What happened to you guys?” Dozer held onto a branch to peer down.

“We caught sight of the Pithite Control Unit.” Filipek gazed down at the water, down at the reflection distorted by the droplet. He trudged out of the mud and shouldered his rifle. “We tried to take it out.”

“We!?” The first zero’s, Liu’s, voice broke. He spun around and pointed at Filipek. “You fucking decided to go for the Pass A! We failed!” Liu gestured to the other zeros still in the water. “You got your pass, but we’re dead! That’s the only fucking ‘we’ here!”

Filipek didn’t face them. He shook with every accusation. With his head hung low, he dragged his feet along the trail back to the entrance.

Dozer glanced at his own teammates. They made eye contact and broke it. Buttstroke and Model had grim looks, but Errorist’s eyes showed the arches of white above his pupils. He gripped the branches so hard his knuckles turned white.

The three zeros shuffled out of the mud. They headed for entrance but they’d end up in the recycler before the end of the day. Their time among the living slipped away with every heartbeat, an unheard ticking in everyone’s ears.