“Only a few drones left,” I complained as I let my ammo pouch close so I could steady my Binos, or binoculars as you civilians might know them.

I needed to get a better view than the remaining lens was going to give me, and without a drone in the air, my Neuro-Lenses weren't all that useful.

“Yeah, sorry boss lady. Without augmentations, your eyes are just eyes,” Mogwai paused for a moment, then added, “If you get eye augmentations, can we encapsulate your real eyes and hang them in the rearview mirror?”

I ignored the weird little AI and gazed down the dust and basalt road. It was nice to get out of the city with its stink of rotten trash, and too many meat sacks, but I wasn’t sure the smell of Sage and dust was suiting me. Not to mention the whole water shortage issue and no food for two days.

“Any idea what direction we should go?” I asked and shook my left strut in as I tried to get a small rock out of the extender. As it was with each step, my right foot couldn’t lift properly, so instead of a nice smooth motion, I had a robotic limp that rattled with each step. I felt a little like an old woman with toilet paper stuck to her shoe.

“Tire house has good pancakes, and their Yelp Review says their prices are affordable, and body count is low.” Mogwai answer blandly.

“Tire House? That’s an Outsider trading post.” I said and narrowed my eyes skeptically.

“No. According to the Farmer’s Almanac, it is owned by Mr. James Murphy, a former title fighter, and his son Mark. He’s handsome if you are into thirteen-year-olds,” Mog said in a teasing tone.

Mog’s artificial personality had slowly morphed from stale and clinical, to bland and annoyed with life. It was like talking to an awkward fifteen-year-old misfit, with more brains than socially acceptable at the cool kids’ table. I had no idea how a neuro-lens simple AI could pull it off, but I had a feeling this model hadn’t had a data wipe in a long time, and who knows what the person Rooker got them from had been using it for.

In the back of my head I could almost picture an avatar with anime girl like proportions and innocent but bedroom eyes. For some reason I just knew if Rooker had programmed it, that was exactly what she’d look like, clothing, I assumed would be fifth street whore, or school girl tiny. The personality, on the other hand, was more like something I’d expect from Kane’s kid.

“Mog, where do you come up with these things?” I asked and toggled the frames controls to move us down the road.

“Wikipedia,” She responded, and I had to hold back a laugh that turned quickly into a dry cough.

“I’ve been to the Tire House before, it’s not a place for nice people,” I muttered.

“You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious,” Mog said with a weird high-class intonation to her voice.

“That’s from an old movie, isn’t it? Did Beto own you before me?” I asked, then turned toward the hazy eastern horizon as I spotted a dust devil tracking north to south.

“Beto Marquez, convicted felon associated with gang activity, murder, and willful destruction of property. Degree in-“ Mog reeled off, and I jumped in with both hands raised in a “Stop” motion.

“I don’t need his background, I know who he is, besides what the hell is that?”

The open desert was known for a few things, among them, dust, wind, and heat. When you have all three, it is sure to create some massive dust devils, some hundreds of feet high. And, while they looked like tornados, you could walk into the middle of one and be fine, well, abraded but fine if you kept your eyes closed.

“It was Star Wars. Pop culture is part of any standard social media platform, but you’re boring, so I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize the quote,” She scoffed.

“If I wasn’t so boring, I wouldn’t have this frame, and we’d be dead already, but I was talking about the dust cloud, Besides I went out to the Range every night, wish I was there now to be honest,” I said and kept watching the dust devil as it moved. The dust didn’t seem to have the density of a dust devil, or the erratic movement it almost looked like…

“Mog, can you analyze that?” I waved in its general direction like she needed to know where I was looking, though in fact my eyes were her eyes.

“Analysis shows a ground-based disturbance moving at approximately 56.32704 KPH,” She reported, once more sounding bored to tears.

“It’s a transport, freaking great,” I growled,

Flipping up the cover of my cargo pocket, I grabbed a drone and popped open the cylinder of the Governor. “I’ll put a drone up, once we get altitude, give me maximum magnification,” I ordered, as I dropped to a knee, flipped the cylinder closed with a sound clunk.

“Drone away!” I shouted and fired the round up into the afternoon sky, that blossomed into an expanding ball of feathers and crimson drops.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Fucking bird!” I screamed as what remained of the Magpie and my drone hit the ground.

Wiping a feather from my cheek, I peered back over my shoulder at the racing cloud of dust and reached once more for my cargo pocket. “One drone!” I growled and once more flipped open the cylinder of my pistol and slammed the round into the chamber.

“Transport vehicle is with in two kilometers!” Mog reported, the boredom lost from her voice.

“I need somewhere to take cover,” I breathed while whipping my head around, looking at the flat barren desert and trying not to let my heart sink.

“Drone detected,” Mogwai chimed in and as from the corner of my eye I could see the drone flash past me, then climb into the sky and away. It was one of the hunter tracker types, fast like a flacon, and high adaptable. I used the same type myself. Hell I built them for PTS, and I had counter measures, well normally I had counter measures.

“It has us,” I screamed and turned, pushing my frame to move down the road like a scared chipmunk, with all the grace of an old lady with her pants down.

My foot wouldn’t extend all the way, and the rock in my extender rattled with each step. The result was a step, drag, clomp rhythm that wouldn’t attract a sand worm, but it wasn’t exactly helping me gain ground.

Behind us, the Bio diesel engine whined as the turbo kicked in, and gravel was crushed in its massive tires. “There’s nowhere to go,” I panted, but even Mog was silent as I pushed hard on the forward toggle.

“Stop running Abby, you look silly,” cracked a female voice that I knew, but couldn’t place.

Jamming the throttle forward repeatedly did little to increase my speed, and dread started to fill my heart.

“Abby, damn it, it’s Jessica. Jessica from The Range, will you fucking stop?”

That grabbed my attention and as my head whipped around to see who was behind me. Less than fifty feet away, a massive cargo hauler with a grill stylized to look like a toothy skull bore down on me, “Get back!” I screamed, and the frame hit a rock, sending me stumbling to the basalt covered ground.

“Now look at you. You look like an old vet too drunk to stay in his wheelchair. For fuck’s sake, Abby,” the voice called and with that statement the speaker snapped off and the truck came to a stop.

Struggling, I fought my way to my feet only to see an older woman in her early sixties scaling down the side of the truck, and struts toward me with all the confidence of a woman who knew her place in the world.

“OH, get back!” She taunted me and shook her head. “What good did that do you? If I wanted to run you down, I sure as hell wouldn’t have introduced myself,” she said as the trailing dust from the truck washed over her and for a moment she looked like an angel. A sarcastic, old, mean angel.

She was lithe and dressed in form fitting combat gear that while forty years out of date still fit her curvy form rather well. On her hip was a large caliber pistol that was clearly linked to sighting optic that attached to her commando style helmet she hadn’t even tried to use to cover her auburn- and grey streaked locks.

“Jessica? Jessica Manzini?” I crocked as I tried to place the old women from the bar who liked Lemon Drops and apple-tinies, with the road warrior grandma I saw before me.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect to find you out here either Abby,” she said and peered around, soft brown eyes narrowed against the dust and sun.

“But Gunny said you’re nearly bed bound with cancer,” I spouted off before good manners and etiquette had even a chance of keeping my mouth shut.

“Ha! He wishes I was bed bound, that old slick talking ass. No, I have cancer, ten years’ worth of chemical enhancement makes you pay a price. But fortunately, I still know people in R&D over in LG-Pharmaceuticals. I might be fucked, but I’m still fuckable,” she quipped, and I felt my cheeks burn for some reason.

“But speaking of being screwed, you’re supposed to been planted a days ago. Gunny has been mopping around for days and sending out search parties, when he heard your convoy got hit. How did you end up here?”

Everything, literally everything that had just come out of Jessica’s mouth had hit my brain and left me struck dumb. Mog, on the other hand, wasn’t so easily shocked by recent events.

“Say, something. Standing here is hot and boring,” She whined.

“We were hit by…” My mind raced as I realized I never really locked down who hit us. They were too skilled, and equipped for just Outsider Scavengers, but they were also too shabby for pros. I had no idea who the hell they were.

“We were hit. Beto and I were the only ones from our group who didn’t either successfully withdraw or die in the ambush,” I said and hobbled toward Jessica.

Jessica nodded her head slowly, a feline like smile appearing on her lips. “My dear, Diz and her crew made it past the ambush and limped into Tire House, day before yesterday,” she said and swept some dust from her sleeves.

“Beto? He was with me, but he tried to stake out toward a road, anything to find help. My frame was busted all to hell, so he left me behind,” I asked and felt my heart sink again as the smile slipped from her lips into what could have been called a pout.

“Like you, we thought he was toast,” she said and reached out to rest a hand on my shoulder. “Whoever lead the ambush knew what they were doing. Honestly, after hearing Dizzy’s report, I am surprised anyone made it out,”

“What’s Rooker’s current plan? Are they pushing out toward the settlement still?” I asked.

“Fuck if I know, darling. Rooker is playing his cards all very close to his chest, wouldn’t even let Gunny in on what’s going on. But that could have been more to keep us old geezers from rushing off into the desert,” she said and motion to The Death Express, on the road behind us.

“Yeah, so what the heck is that thing, and why are you out here?” I asked.

“Logistics, dear! I avoided logistics for forty years when I was a soldier, and here I am. I’ve kept the Death Express in running order for a while, and I’ve done some supply runs for the less fortunate out here from time to time. I guess being a combat medic left me feeling responsible to the kids,” she said to apologize for never mentioning she was driving a death mobile into the outlands by herself for god knows how long.

“Gunny, know you are out here? I can’t imagine he’d of given you anything but shit about this hobby of yours,” I asked.

“No, and yes. He knows I send out supplies to the orphans, he doesn’t know I bring them out myself. I just don’t trust anyone else,” she said with a shrug.

Nodding, I leaned in and gave her a quick one-armed hug/pat then leaned back and took a deep breath. “Can you take me to the city?” I asked, but Jessica was already rolling her eyes like I was stupid again.

“This road only leads to Tire House, besides you have a mission don't you?" She said and I flinched at the prospect.

"I suppose I could pick up a hitchhiker just this once, you should be able to find what you need at the Tire House. Besides, I need to hear everything that happened, and it looks like you could use some food, and some repairs,” she grinned and then both of us turned as we looked at the big rig and wondered how the in hell I was going to get into that freaking beast.