Andy trained his rifle’s sights on the crashed van. Shards of glass crunched beneath his boots. The front wheel still spun on its axle while the engine hissed and ticked angrily. Three bodies lay crumpled behind the shattered windshield. None of them had been wearing a seatbelt, so they had fallen on top of one another when the van flipped on its side. A leg stuck out of the tangle, snapped at the shin, held together by the tight wrap of black skinny jeans. It poked over the dashboard like a grotesque gear stick. All of the bodies were shrouded in dark leather, Andy squinted into the shadow of the footwell, checking for movement.
He heard something shift inside the van’s rear, boarded off from the vehicle’s front section. Andy skirted around the rear. A hideous demonic face stared back at him, slanted on its side, painted onto the double doors leading to the van’s belly. The painting had a scrunched-up nose and pointy ears, a detached jaw engulfed the van’s doors. Andy wondered who had done the paint job, and whether he could hire them to pimp up their own jeep.
Andy could hear someone shuffling and talking inside. That could mean two survivors–one to do the talking and one to listen. The space was large enough for easily twelve more seats inside. Potentially twelve more cultists. He glanced at Clara for a signal. She had rounded a derelict lorry beside the van and made a fist, flicking her thumb up, then spreading her fingers twice. Flashbang. With the van on its side, the seam between the doors was horizontal. Clara opened the top door a crack, and Andy threw the flashbang inside. It thudded, and Clara slung the bottom door open. Andy ducked inside, rifle at the ready.
The scene flashed before his eyes like a familiar photograph, his AI Augmentation’s Combat Conceptualisation module calculating the environment and analysing threats quicker than any human mind could comprehend. In an instant, he knew that he was not in any danger. The van was wide, which at this angle, made it tall. There were no fixed seats. A couch lay on its side, covered in debris–food wrappers, ash trays, CD cases, makeup kits and jewellery. It stunk of tobacco smoke and spilled alcohol. A mannequin dressed in a gimp suit was propped up rigidly against the couch. Three bodies littered the room. Two had died in the crash, while one was sitting against the tipped couch, black leather jacket hanging off his shoulder where the arm was exposed. His wrists were slit. Blood drained over his skinny jeans. In his other hand rested an ornate dagger.
Andy bent to inspect the man. He was younger than Andy, but of a similar build. His collar bones poked out of his pale, flat chest, draped in cheap metal jewellery. His fingernails and eyelids were painted black. His hair was black. His boots, yep, black. The only colour on him was the crimson streaming down his arm.
“Can’t blame you,” Andy said. “I wouldn’t want to fight me either.”
Andy searched the rest of the tight space for alcohol, headlamp illuminating the shadows. He got his hopes up after finding a large vial of clear liquid with a black molten centre, but it was just a lava lamp. A couple more bottles had smashed on impact, but a third one had remained intact, stuffed between two couch cushions. The label read: Țuică, with a purple fruit on the front. Andy shrugged. It was 44%, good enough for him.
“Do you see a briefcase anywhere?” Clara asked.
“Nope,” Andy said, comparing the Țuică with the scotch he’d scavenged from the fuel station, wondering if they’d mix well. He took a swig and smacked his lips. It burnt his throat and filled his nostrils. He sniffed. Kind of fruity, but not in an obnoxiously sugary way. Not bad.
“Here sis, want to try some?”
Clara scowled. “How do you know it’s not poison?”
“Huh,” Andy appraised the bottle. “Good point.” He took another swig. “I’ll let you know.”
She tutted. “It’s not here.” Exciting the back, she rounded the van and searched the driverside, then returned after a minute. “It’s not there. We don’t have a lead. If one of them had survived…” She gazed into the van. “I bet he killed himself because he knew something.”
Andy strolled outside, lifting the door above him like a tent flap, letting it shut behind him. He wielded both bottles of alcohol akimbo, rifle slung over his back. Clara raised an eyebrow at him. “We’re not going to get much out of you today then?”
“You’ll get enough. Don’t forget my new ability. AI approved alcoholism.”
Clara rolled her eyes, pacing towards the edge of the road. Andy hopped onto the bonnet of a derelict car and stretched out, catching some morning rays. The sun had just risen and already they’d killed a patrol of cultists. He’d already met his quota for the day.
“They must know what’s in the briefcase they took, if they’re willing to defend it with their lives.” Clara stood beside him, eyeing the van suspiciously. “That boy took his own life so that we couldn’t question him. So we’re dealing with very loyal cultists. Loyal to a leader of some sort, perhaps an Augmented person.” She scrunched her face up like she was trying to envision all of the paths leading before her eyes. “We might be getting in over our heads here.”
“Sis, we just smoked six kids in a van without breaking a sweat. I think we’ll be alright.”
Clara sighed, peering down the motorway, eyes shaded beneath the bill of her military cap. “We’re running out of time. Linton said that the briefcase was armed with failsafes against thieves. If they try and force it open, they’ll trigger the explosion, the payload explodes and it’s mission failure. If they manage to crack the failsafes, and steal the contents, then it’s mission failure. If they chuck the briefcase off a cliff, or lose it in the middle of a horde of zombies, then it’s mission failure. Yeah, we’ve rescued those two,but the facility is overrun and the tech is gone.” She shook her head. “That’s not good enough. We’re better than that.”
“If we create enough noise, they’ll come out looking for us,” Andy said. “I mean, what were these lot doing here? Patrolling? Looking for us? Looking for them?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We draw them out, find their base, do what we gotta do and get home for supper. You wanna set off now?”
“I’ll just check the driver’s side for radios and maps.” She rounded the vehicle and climbed through the broken glass.
Andy spread his arms above his head, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying his spoils. Closing his eyes, he listened to the landscape. The world was quiet, as usual. A car door creaked on its hinges. The van’s engine ticked at a slower rate. Andy listened to see if it was faster than his resting heart rate. It was. With a flutter of feathers, a crow landed on a tall lamp post across the road. Andy squinted through one eye at the bird, then waved.
The crow looked right at him. “Danger,” it squawked.
“What?” Andy looked over the Țuică label. Sometimes, a different strain of alcohol affected him more severely, whether that had something to do with his own natural tolerance, or the inhibitors his Augmentation had installed. Currently, there was a golden window whereby he could drink all the Țuică he wanted and get absolutely blasted before his Augmented biology caught up.
“Find anything?” he shouted to Clara. He swigged and took a dizzying breath, but there was no response from his sister–she was out of sight, still rummaging around the front of the vehicle. The van’s stomach made a strange gurgling sound. Andy leaned over to check the exhaust and pavement–it wasn’t leaking. They weren’t in any danger of an explosion. But what was causing the noise?
Something shifted in the dark of the van’s rear compartment–he could just about see inside through the bottom door. Andy slid off the car bonnet, pocketing his booze and raising his rifle. The top door was still shut, obscuring most of the inside. He switched his headlamp on and knelt down, but the light didn’t have much of an effect this far from the entrance. Standing up again, he approached the doorway and listened. It was quiet inside. Was the booze just playing tricks on him? With one hand, he unlatched the upper door and hefted it over his head.
A deep purple tendril twisted in the centre of the room, rising around a levitating corpse. Its head was bowed, face obscured by long black hair. A long gash ran up the flesh of its forearm, bled dry. Andy almost opened fire on instinct, but froze. It felt like slamming on the breaks. The intoxicating metallic taste of his Augmentation’s powers turned acrid in his mouth, and he strained not to vomit, but a fusillade of rounds could penetrate the back wall and hit Clara in the front of the van.
The figure raised its head.
Andy slammed the door shut behind him. “Clara!”
“Yeah?” She peeked out behind the bonet.
“Levitating goth kid. Purple light. Pissed off. Either that, or I’m way too drunk right now.”
Blackness swelled beneath the bottom door, roiling up in the air like a thick spirit poured into a clear mixer. As Andy backed away, the dark cloud rose upwards to blot out the sun, casting a shadow over the van. But Andy’s gaze remained fixed on the doorway waiting for something to appear. He wouldn’t hesitate this time. As soon as it showed its face, he’d blast it.
A pale spot appeared in the fog above his head. His Killer Instinct reflexes triggered as his entire body twitched towards it like a magnet. There was a demonic face in the fog with razor teeth and a descended maw. It snapped at him, teeth chattering. The darkness fell on him like a wave.
Andy opened fire, ripping the pale flesh apart like tearing up a napkin. He ducked and rolled out of the fog, but it was all around him. A flash of white cut him across his cheek. Something flashed in his periphery. Julie snapped out of her holster and into his hand. With a rush of passion, Andy fired a Vortex, decimating the shape within the shadow. The shockwave created a tunnel in the blackness. Shadows closed around the hole as Andy ran through it and turned back.
The cloud rose high above the van, spreading out, taking the form of wings. At its centre levitated the young man. His arms were spread, palms up, feet dangling. He looked at Andy and grinned.
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Andy grinned back.
“My, what a virile youth thou art,” the demon said in a deep, smooth voice, labouring over each word as though it was swilling wine over its tongue. “Thine blood hath a potent scent, seasoned with a peculiar essence. Exotic, indeed.”
“Thanks mate.” Andy holstered Julie and slung his assault rifle up. Shell casings pinged past his ear as he squeezed the trigger. The machine recoiled through him. Andy relished the feeling of firepower pounding in his chest. The demon shrieked, shadowy wings closing in to protect the body at its centre. Andy emptied his magazine into it, plumes of shadow bursting and dissipating in the sunlight as the cloud diminished. Andy unclipped the magazine and flipped it around, chambering another one duct taped on the other side.
Before the demon could unfurl its wings, Andy was shooting again, and Clara was at his side, unloading her SMG. Their rounds penetrated the darkness like stones plunged into a midnight lake. The substance splashed and hissed in the sunlight, evaporating with each round that blasted through it. By the time his second mag was emptied, the figure was spent, knelt before him, unveiled before the sun. The darkness around it had become only a thin mist, opaque wings draped on the pavement. Shoulders hunched, it hung its head. Andy slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew Julie, aiming her at its head.
“Do you want this kill, my love?”
The figure looked up at him, bloodshot eyes wide and pale like two blood moons. It breathed heavily, its jaw hung limp, teeth cracked and disfigured. Now that it was defeated, it looked more like the boy from the van, than the demon in the sky.
Its nostrils flared and it snarled, clenching its fists. With a deep, laboured breath, it screamed “I am unworthy!”
Andy blew it apart. The boy’s body jerked backwards. No blood excited the wound. He was dry. Already dead, or so it seemed.
Clara looked away from the body. “Where did that thing come from?”
“Inside the van.”
“What?” She throwned. “How did we miss it?”
“The kid was possessed, you know, the one who slit his wrists. Must have been a ritual.”
Andy walked back inside the van and put a bullet through the skull of each corpse inside, just to be sure. The upturned couch wobbled as he sat on it, teetering on something beneath it.
“Are you okay,” Clara said, lifting the top door open and locking it in place to allow the sunlight in.
“Yeah, fine,” Andy said, wiping the scratch on his chin, smudging his combat gloves with blood. He sighed. The chemicals released by his Augmentation during combat still fizzed in his veins. It had been a quick fight. He hated those the most, it felt like getting worked up for nothing. Rubbing his fingers, he itched for a trigger and stared at a single spot in the jeep, trying to slow his mind.
“Demons then?” she said.
“Seems so.”
“Fuck, that could mean anything. How powerful was it?”
Andy tilted his head. “Yeah, not bad. I don’t think it was the real deal though. Just an apparition.”
“I guess that answers the question then, of what are the cultists worshipping?”
“Kinda.” Memories of the demon’s eyes floated to the surface of Andy’s mind, quickening his heart. It wasn’t often that something looked at him like that, formidable and unafraid. He shook his head, rubbing his knuckles. He’d get the chance to fight it again soon enough.
“Think we can handle it?” Clara asked.
Andy snorted. “Let’s find out.”
“Okay,” Clara said. “I have a plan. There were some maps in the glove box, and some literature.” She held up a small book with satanic symbolism on the cover. “The Black Bible.”
“Cool,” Andy said.
“There’s markings on the map. One seems to be a storehouse. Maybe worth checking out later. But more important than that, these roads lead to a settlement.” She pointed at lines scribbled over the pages like a spider’s legs, all leading to the thorax at its centre. “With a little time, I’ll be able to match this map to the one on my terminal, and figure out a direct route to their base, maybe glean some information on where they’re staying, maybe come up with a strategy.”
“What’s the approach?” Andy asked.
Clara paused, staring at the black bible. “Subterfuge. We’ll dress like we’re cultists and walk straight into their base. You already look the part. Shouldn’t be too hard to pull off.”
“Then we ask around for the payload?”
“Something like that. More subtly though, obviously.”
“You’re too blonde to be a goth,” Andy said.
“Yeah.” Clara kicked a small vial of black liquid on the van’s upturned floor. “There’s bits of makeup in here, maybe some hair dye too. Have a rummage around while I figure out the map. I’ll ask the scientists to help you too. And, erm…” She grimaced, biting her lip. “Strip that one,” she nodded at the corpse of an old woman.
“Aye aye captain.”
Andy and the two scientists riffled around the van for bits and bobs. Specs complained about the sight and smell of the corpses. Andy wondered how anyone couldn’t be desensitised to death by now. He must have lived a pretty sheltered life. Unlucky sod.
Andy tossed a tray of makeup into a pile outside the van and spotted something unusual–a high calibre. It didn’t match the lower-grade weapons they’d found so far, most of which were spiked clubs, ornate daggers and whips. He glanced around the small room and spotted a purple velvet lock box. He’d at first assumed it was just another box of cheap jewellery or chalices. But on a second glance, it was too large for that. Trusting his instincts, he waded through the wreckage and opened the lid to reveal a hundred more of the fifty-calibre rounds.
“Oh my god,” he said.
“What?” Clara said.
“There’s something in here.”
Clara drew her pistol. Specs, the male scientist, yelped and ran outside the van, tripping over the clutter. His partner, the female scientist whom Andy had rescued from the ball pit, shrank against the wall, eyes wide.
Andy scanned the room. “There,” he said. “Under the couch.”
“What is it?”
Andy waggled the bullet between thumb and forefinger, grinning.
“Andy, I thought you meant a fucking demon or something.”
“No, better than that.” He heaved the couch, but couldn’t shift it in the small space. Clara grabbed the other end, and together they shuffled it outside. Andy couldn’t wait. He dropped his end of the couch and spun back around. A bulky, long barrelled, black-painted heavy machine gun greeted him. Andy squealed with glee, hauling up the huge weapon in two arms, cradling it like a baby.
“Look what I found!” he chanted, his squeal turning to manic laughter, knees shaking with excitement. Dragging it out of the van and hauling it up in his arms, he waddled over to the nearest vehicle and set it down. Andy tensed with all his might to sling the HMG’s barrel onto the bonnet, flipping the tripod out, he dug the stock into his shoulder and checked the chamber. She was ready to go.
Andy flicked the trigger. Recoil hammered his shoulder and chest, almost lifting him off his feet. He planted himself and fired a burst down the motorway. Each detonation of gunpowder was a flash of ecstasy, thrusting against him, chattering his teeth. Everywhere he pointed the barrel, things exploded. Car doors were ripped off their hinges, wing mirrors shattered, the skeleton remains of a person were erased in a cloud of dust.
He’d only got to shoot about ten rounds before Clara slapped him around the back of his head. “Andy, I was just talking about being subtle.”
“I need to know if it works before I use it in the field.”
“Yeah, you know now. Stop wasting ammo.”
“Is it a waste if I’m enjoying myself?”
“A colossal one.”
Andy sulked, carrying the machine gun back to their jeep while Clara briefed the scientists on their mission. He tried to heft as though he was firing from the hip, but it was too heavy to hold. Combine that with its recoil, and he’d find it impossible to shoot without first mounting the tripod. Determined, he tried holding the gun in several positions–using the handle on the front above the barrel–resting it on his shoulder like a panel of timber–wrapping his arms around it and growling at it to behave. But it was just too heavy. Perhaps he could fit it to their vehicle. The roof could work. It was flat and made of solid metal. Maybe he could bolt it on?
Rummaging in their boot, he found Clara’s tools and a bag of nuts and bolts. Propping the machine gun up against the door, he climbed onto the roof and reached down to drag the weapon, grunting and bracing against the roof rack to lift its weight. Setting it in place, he noticed there were holes already drilled in the tripod’s feet. He scratched Xs with the drill bit where he needed to drill, then moved the weapon aside. Pressing down into the battery powered drill, it screeched against the rooftop, slipping around before biting through the metal. A moment later, he smelled burning synthetics–he must have penetrated through to the roof padding.
Andy’s radio buzzed with Clara’s voice. “What are you doing?”
“Upgrading our jeep.”
“By drilling holes in it?”
“No. By fixing the tripod.”
“On the roof?”
“Yeah.”
A moment later, she came jogging up to their jeep. “Is that really the best place for it? Won’t you be exposed?”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Come on, think a second. Let’s wait until we return to Quadra and put the jeep into services for a proper upgrade. We’ll create a little gunner’s nest on top for you.”
Andy shook his head. “That’s too long to wait. We need this machine gun now.”
“Do we though?”
“Imagine what it’d do to a horde,” Andy said, kneeling down with the machine gun, adjusting the tripod to his height, pretending to shoot at pursuing zombies.
“Yeah, great, until something jumps on the roof with you.”
“They won’t get close,” he protested, settling into a gunner’s pose, aiming down the sights.
“Andy, focus. I’ve mapped the coordinates. We’ll reach the settlement in about six hours. Are you listening?”
Andy took his hands off the machine gun and held them up in surrender. “I am. But, I don’t think we can continue our mission knowing that our best asset–this machine gun–is currently inoperative.”
Clara sighed. “Fine, but let me do the handiwork.”
“My pleasure,” Andy hopped off the roof and gave Clara a leg up.
“Oh, I can’t wait to use this. Where’s that horde that was chasing us?”
“Far behind us,” Clara said. “If I’m going to fix this in place, you have to do me a favour too.”
“Anything sis.”
“Listen to my plan.”
“Okay.” Andy sat crossed legged on the ground, unscrewing his scotch and taking a sip.
“There’s a village in the mountains which seems to be their base. The terrain is forested. Plenty of cover. We can hide the jeep near the village and move in on foot disguised as goths.” Clara began attaching the HMG’s tripod to the roof.
“I’ve found enough makeup for the both of us. You’ll just need a little touch up around the eyes, but your skin’s already pale enough to pass. I found a packet of black hair dye too. It’s temporary, thank god. Can you imagine me with black hair?”
Andy didn’t know how to respond. He reckoned he could.
“Anyway,” she continued. “We’ll leave those two with the vehicle and move into this village,” she pointed to a spot on her wrist terminal. “It was a little tourist spot before the cataclysm. Hallow Hill it’s called. Sounds like they had some fair rides and attractions. Spooky themed stuff. I don’t know. We’ll know more when we get there.”
“Sounds good.”
“Riddhi will make you pretty for the mission.”
“Who?”
The scientist lady approached him carrying a makeup bag. He hadn’t even realised she was there.
“Hold still,” she said, moving her face uncomfortably close to his and flicking a brush over his eyelash.
Clara smiled at him from the roof of the jeep. “Aww, you look prettier already.”