Dead Mountain Link

http://www.silverblade.net/content/?p=781

Dead Mountain

Hi All

Attached is a link to my story “Dead Mountain” which has been published by Silver Blade magazine. Please drop by for a looksie.

Comedy Article at Points in Case

Hello people
Here is a link to a comedy article I have had published on the site “Points in Case”. Drop by for a looksie

10 First Dates with Superwomen

More Africa

6 Primates Who Don’t Belong at the VMF (But Might be Cool to Have Here Anyway)

The VMF is designed for vervet monkeys, as well as one very adorable pear-addicted samango. However, imagine just for one moment what if it would be like if other monkeys and apes came by to stop by for a visit. What primates would be cool to have around….and what ones would be about as much fun as a red roman in a g-string? Buoyed by the idea, I have poured through my collection of pirated David Attenborough films and eaten at least fourteen “Crazy Monkey” ice-creams (thanks for the tip, Dan) in an attempt to discover who we want to visit the VMF, and which primates are probably left to drink their banana smoothies in peace. My findings are as follows.
1. Rafiki
From: The Lion King
Species: Mandrill
Why I’d like him at the VMF
As the wise shaman of the pride lands, old Rafiki seems like a wonderful chap to have around, especially if you have a son that wants to sing catchy Elton John songs with meerkats and warthogs rather than fulfil his royal duties. Also; he knows kung-fu, meaning that no-one will dare leave an unwashed dish beside the sink again.
Ahh, wait a minute….
The VMF already has one cranky old male monkey. His name is Ghosty, and I can’t see him being willing to give up any of his grooming time. Rafiki might also resent the fact that his face is tattooed on the arm of jammy pool-owner from Stoke.
2. Flying Monkeys
From: The Wizard of Oz
Species: Um…flying?
Why I’d like them at the VMF
As minions for the Wicked Witch of the West it is pretty obvious that the flying monkeys don’t have any problems taking orders, which would certainly come in handy when giving out meds. They also probably know where to find some good farm girls/scarecrows/lions/tin-men/singing midgets in case the VMF should ever require any.
Ahh, wait a minute….
Imagine Grouch. Now imagine about fifty of her, all with wings and funny little hats. Now try not to burst into tears.
3. Curious George
From: The Curious George book series
Species: I looked this up on Wikipedia and even they didn’t know. Try asking Dan.
Why I’d like him at the VMF
The cheeky hero of several children’s books, Curious George is the type of monkey/ape/some-random-hairy-thing that would be loads of fun to have around, and would no doubt fit in great with Tj and all the other youngsters. His love of yellow may also encourage more blonds to visit the VMF.
Ahh, wait a minute….
Curious George also once appeared in a film with Will Ferrel once, which may cause several VMF staff members to try and strangle him out of jealousy. Plus; I don’t own any yellow clothes.
4. Donkey Kong
From: Nintendo video games
Species: Gorilla
Why I’d like him at the VMF
With dozens upon dozens of video games to his credit, it is quite obvious that DK isn’t afraid of a little hard work, especially when it comes to moving barrels or scaring off obnoxious Italian plumbers. The snappy neck-tie that he has taken to wearing in recent years would also add a touch of class to the VMF.
Ahh, wait a minute….
Having Donkey Kong visit would be fun. Having Donkey Kong, Diddy Kong, Dixie Kong, Cranky Kong, Funky Kong, Kiddie Kong and the rest of the 147 members of the Kong family want to drop by….well, that’s just a lot of bananas (though they would probably still make less mess than the German boys).
5. King Kong
From: King Kong (trust me)
Species: RRRRRRRBBG (Really Really Really Really Really Really Really Big Bloody Gorilla)
Why I’d like him at the VMF
Have you ever worked alongside anyone that you’ve wanted to dispose of via sacrificing them to a enormous primate in a blood-thirsty tribal ceremony? God knows I have! (Seriously Alex; don’t touch my toothpaste again). In addition to this, Kong (aka: king of Skull Island, the eighth wonder of the world, Sir Kongsalot) is also great at warding off intruders and unwanted pests (eg: spiders, snakes, tyrannosaurus rex’s).
Ahh, wait a minute….
Would have to go through more food than all the 500+ vervet monkeys combined, which would really suck if you got stuck on a special diets shift. He might also be a bit amorous around any blondes.
6. Dr Zaius
From: Planet of the Apes
Species: Orangutan
Why I’d like him at the VMF
Somewhere in Earth’s future Dr Zaius works as both the Minister of Science and Chief Defender of the Faith. Clearly, this is one ape that isn’t lacking in brains. Such a brilliant scientific mind could certainly be put to some great uses at the VMF, eg: creating new alternative medicines, thoughtfully studying vervet social infrastructures, trying to make the toilets smell nicer etc
Ahh, wait a minute….
Did I mention that he hates humans? Like; really really really hates them? I can be pretty grumpy at six in the morning after a cold shower, but I’m quite sure that I’ve never referred to humanity as “walking pestilence” before. Such an attitude, whilst okay in isolation, probably isn’t going to work out in an environment where you are sharing a confined space with approximately thirty to forty other people, which might make me skip on asking the Doctor around for a visit.
Oh; and he’s a ginger.

Matthew Chard

Winter’s Wrath

The opening from one of my short stories – please let me know if you would like to read more!

Tsai held the weight of the leather pouch in his hand, its few coins slipping between his skeletal fingers.

“Well, are you ready old man?”

Carefully, he put the money away in a pocket of his ragged cloak and looked at the road ahead. It was a cold morning, and the air clung damply to his skin. A shroud of fog hung over everything, hiding all but the next ten steps and making the world seem smaller, as if nothing existed outside of Tsai and his movements.

“Don’t worry yourself about me.”

“Good.” The man behind Tsai shifted upon his horseback, making the beast stamp its hooves against the ground. Tsai didn’t turn back to face him, but he knew that the man’s face would have been as stern as the winter sky, just as it had been for the last two days of the journey. “The village is just a hundred yards ahead through the mist. I will return in two hours with the rest of your fee – providing you have done what has been promised.”

Once again Tsai felt the weight of the coins. They rested against his side now, their cold metal burning through the pouch and grazing his ribs, each touch a buried sin returning to hurt him. After so long, and despite all the effort that he had put into abstaining from this type of life, he was back again. Brittle, broken down, and ready to risk everything for a fool’s portion of silver. He pulled his cloak around himself and began to move away from the man, walking staff dragging his bent body forward.

“You will see, Patrick. It will be done.”

*****

“I know who you are”

Those were the first words Patrick had said when he had found Tsai. They were the words, upon which hearing, that Tsai had assumed himself to soon be dead.

He had been washing himself in the river, pouring handfuls of icy water over his naked body, when the voice had cut through the morning like a blade. When it reached his ears Tsai’s world seemed to stop. The water around him lay perfectly still, and the creaks and groans of the forest shattered into silence. He could not remember the last time he had heard another human speak.  There upon the banks of the shore, though, was a young man sitting astride his horse not twenty feet from Tsai, a look of grim determination steeling his face. Pulling his hanging robes from a nearby branch, Tsai covered himself and stepped tentatively from the water.

“Who are…”

“Dress yourself, old man. There’s a job for you.”

Remembering the condescension in Patrick’s voice, Tsai gripped his walking stick tighter, old knuckles glowing white against the rotting wood. For over twenty years he had remained hidden, living behind the trees and away from the sight of others, allowing the world to move on unaffected as he slowly slid into his decrepitude. Happily forgotten. All that had changed now that someone had found him, though. He could no longer be a passing haze, or like rain that had seeped into the earth. Either he took the job, or Patrick would spread word of his finding, bringing others to come and see his elderly body and test his waning defences. Tsai was a flesh and blood man, and would have to stand and face the world that he had tried so hard to escape from.

“All my sins…”

“Wandering Death” they had called him in his former life. Any village that he entered and placed his curse upon had been ravaged by plague. Fertile, flourishing townships had been transformed into wastelands through the power of his words, their streets strewn with the blinded and diseased carcasses of those he had been commissioned to damn. He had watched ripe flesh whither and rot to the bone. He had stood by as grown men’s eyes clouded over and they cried for his mercy, offering him all he could carry if he would only spare them. This reputation had made him more feared than any king or beast or god in these lands, and with the fear of the people resting in his palms came all the power that one could desire. Such opportunities had not been lost on Tsai. For over a decade he had sold his services to whoever had put the money in his hand, cursing town after town as men sought to buy his allegiance and smite their foes. No job was refused providing that the price was right. He was a weapon for hire and the world around him had been bent to his very will.

But everything was different now. Tsai’s power was broken. Twenty-Two years had passed since he had last held any sort of influence, a generation where he had turned from a master of kings into nought but a regretful old man.  For; unbeknown to the world, the pestilence that Tsai was able to weave and control was not birthed by sorcery. People would look upon his black reputation and lean, sharp face and brand him a wizard, but the truth was much more earthly. He was not magic; just cunning, devious, and most of all, fortunate. In a place known only to him – down a road, across a river, through a forest – there was a cave. Inside that most humble of places Tsai had found the weapon from which his plague had been built. It was a small weed, which climbed up and along the cave walls, its sour green leaves shining dimly in the near-dark. Tsai had never seen anything like it, and upon experimenting with it he came to realize that the plant contained toxic elements, with one or two scattered leaves enough to kill a pond of fish. Seizing the opportunity, Tsai began to use it against people.  In under a year he had defiled over a dozen villages, watching coldly as they inhaled the deadly vapours to which he found himself immune, their skin swelling and spotting with blisters, while their eyes whitened into blindness. With the plant at his disposal Tsai was a colossus, the world around him just a play-thing where everything, and everyone, was expendable.

Then, one day, his cave was no more.

African Animal Action

Angel of Thorns

Please find attached the first few pages of my story Angel of Throns. Let me know if you wish to see more!

It was three-thirty in the morning when the voices started.

Kane looked at himself in the mirror as the bathroom light slowly flickered to life. Angry red lines criss-crossed his eyes, while his cheeks sagged under four days worth of stubble. The pain caused by a lack of sleep gripped at his forehead and he slumped against the sink in front of him, feeling the cold porcelain stun his skin.  He was exhausted. Every muscle across his arms and back ached, and his mind seemed to swim in a soup of fatigue. None of that mattered, though. They were calling for him, and when the voices started crying out his name he had no option but to go to them.

Tomorrow, Kane would be in Myskata. Tomorrow, he would be trying to save those who were broken.

*****

After barely twenty minutes of searching he had found his first one.

They lay at the base of a cliff on the western beach, their body crumpled on the sand into a foetal position. Small waves broke and lapped at the body, tasting its weathered skin before retreating back to the ocean. Carefully, Kane lowered himself down the rocky cliff-face, his lean body shifting lower and lower until he stood over the creature.  By his count it was somewhere around the seventieth creature that he had found on the island, but as he looked down upon it, Kane could only think how similar it looked to all the rest. The same small and hairless humanoid body, covered in the same pale skin and the same ragged garments. The same wide, pale eyes stared up at him, and the same rich blood poured from its wounds. Most importantly of all, though, the same thorn-encrusted vines held their wrists pinned tightly together.

And that’s why Kane was there..

It had been two and a half months since he had first woken in this world, transported in his dreams by forces that he had given up trying to understand. Upon arrival, the first thing he had seen in Myskata was identical to the sight he looked upon now; one of the creatures he called the broken lying in pain with its hands bound by the violet coloured weed. Kneeling down, Kane did exactly as he had done that initial day; he reached out to touch the plant. As soon as his fingers brushed it its vibrant colour began to fade. Within only a few seconds the vines had turned to an ashen grey, and then cracked and crumbled into dust. Letting out a moan of relief, the broken sat up slowly and held its hands in front of its face, examining where the vines had just been. As it did so a flood of colour rushed into its body, the pale complexion becoming a sandy yellow as its health returned. After it had finished looking at its hands, it raised its gaze and looked straight at Kane.

Many emotions had swirled through Kane as he looked into the pale eyes of those who he had saved. The first few times he had been scared, fearing that the broken he had freed would turn on him, like a rabid dog let loose from a cage. As he learned that he had nothing to fear from the broken, however, fear had morphed into curiosity, and he tried to make communication with the creatures in a hope to better understand their plight. Always, though, they had spurned his attempts, clicking away in a language Kane had no hope of understanding before scampering off into the distance. Today, he just stared back at the broken, a numb sense of duty at the forefront of his mind. He had done well; but there was still so much left to do. Turning his back, Kane began his climb back up the cliff, leaving the saved broken to run back to wherever it had came from.

Somewhere on the island, there would be others waiting to be found.

*****

Sitting with his back against a tree, Kane looked up at the blazing Myskata sun. It sat plump and high up in the sky, indicating that the day on the island was somewhere around half-way over. Throughout his travels he had come to learn that that normally only meant another three or four hours of daylight, and that he had little time to rest if he wished to get anything accomplished. Groaning at the thought, he wearily took another swig from his water bottle before returning to his work.

Spread out on the ground in front of Kane was a crude map that he had drawn of the island, with crosses marking the places where he had found the broken. So far today he had added four more. Three of his findings had been alive, but for the last one he had been too late, the body already having grown cold when he had chanced upon it in a shallow ditch. Once upon a time he had made efforts to properly farewell the dead, even going so far as to dig shallow graves and mumble a few words of respect. Now, though, Kane knew that so many more of the creatures lay waiting for his hands of healing, and dared not waste time on such spiritual indulgences. He would simply break their bonds and scamper off in search of the next broken, knowing that there would inevitably be more waiting for him.

Because there was always more. Always.

Kane folded his map and put it into his pocket, then drew out a small notebook from his backpack.  Carefully he flicked through to most important page; the page which contained everything which Kane had learned about Myskata. Slowly and methodically, he began to read over his handwritten facts for what must have been the hundredth time, hoping that somewhere amidst them lay the key to the island’s secrets.

1. I first came to Myskata on the 12^th December. I went to bed in my home but woke up here
2. When I actively think of Myskata I am brought here again. When I return to my normal life I have physically been gone. Myskata is a reality
3. There are creatures here called the broken which are being tied in vines that are poisonous to them. I hear their cries when I leave Myskata. When I touch the vines they break and the broken are freed. If I don’t, the broken die.
4. I have not seen any creatures on Myskata besides myself and the broken. We are alone together.

For a few moments Kane mulled over the points, before closing the book and hiding it back in his bag. It still didn’t make any sense. He had made so many journeys now, yet Myskata seemed determined to remain forever a mystery, never daring to give him even a hint lest he tear back its enigmatic layers.  Even the proper title of the island itself was unrevealed to Kane, with the name “Myskata” just something he had dreamt up himself. There was no true knowledge or understanding; just days of blindly searching, and creatures that for some reason needed him as their saviour. Thinking about that, Kane gave a dry laugh and spat on the grass.

“Saviour”

There were a number of reasons why he kept coming back to Myskata. On one hand, he did want to help the broken, and felt genuine pity at their plight. Each time he heard one of their cries something seemed to tear inside him. At the same time, though, Kane was also painfully aware that one of the key reasons he kept returning was because he had nothing worthwhile back in the real world. His last job had made him redundant half a year ago, leaving him aimless and broke in a depressed economy. Already an introvert, Kane had drifted away from those few people that he knew, spending most days pointlessly floating around his apartment. Sometimes he would not even bother to crawl out of bed. The world had no use for him, and consequently, he found himself turning his back on it, drifting further and further away from any sort of meaningful existence. Then, one night he had fallen asleep and everything had changed.

When Kane’s eyes had closed the last thing they had seen was the cracks in his ceiling. When they opened again, he was sitting in the middle of a Myskata field, face-to face with one of the broken and their enslaving vines. Ever since that day his life had followed a similar pattern. He would be asleep in his apartment, and suddenly he would start hearing the moans of the broken filter into his dreams. Once that begun, Kane would cast aside the banality of his everyday existence and return to Myskata, pushing himself to make some sort of difference. Saving the broken gave him a sense of purpose – something he hadn’t felt back in the real world for so long – and he used that to spur himself into action. There were creatures relying on him, and he could not afford to let them down. Once arriving in Myskata, though, such energy would slowly start to dwindle as he came upon broken after broken without discovering any worthwhile remedy to the problem. No matter how much effort he exerted he never seemed to even make a dent in the number of captives. It was then that words such as “saviour” would start sounding very hollow indeed, and Kane would find himself where he was now: tired, frustrated, and just about ready to crawl back to his miserable earthly existence.

Shielding his eyes, Kane looked back up at the sun once more. There was less than half a day left now. Taking one last sip of his water, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and tried not to think about how heavy it was as he begun jogging towards the far side of the island.

From Ashes…

This article was written for the Vervet Monkey Foundation in South Africa and appears in their October 2011 newsletter. It concerns the fire that hit the foundation in September.

From Ashes

There are times in life when we see danger approaching and know we can’t avoid it. No matter how hard we run, or to what extent we grit our teeth, the forces of the universe are going to crash down upon us and all we can do is wait for impact. As this happens, fear drains away and is replaced by a dull sense of acceptance, often leaving a snapshot of the moment in its wake. I can still remember the tail-lights of the car in front of me from eight years ago, knowing that I had hit the brakes too late and all I could do was brace myself. I can hear my Dad’s voice on the phone from five years ago, the emptiness in it telling me that a family member had passed away, and I can still feel the rogue wave at Kuta Reef racing through the water towards me, its foamy lip feathering high above my head as I prayed that my lungs would hold on for one last dose of punishment.

In September life at the VMF gave me another one of these moments.

For a few hours I had watched the smoke growing darker, tainting the sky with its fumes. Another fire. This time, though, it wasn’t going to let the VMF off so easily. The flames were coming from behind Koko rather than the relative safety of Camelot hill, sweeping across the flat dry ground, and the day seemed to be growing hotter as the afternoon wore on. Before long I found myself side by side with a small army of volunteers, staff and local workers, each of us doing our best to halt the oncoming blaze. Despite our efforts, though, the fire continued to encroach upon the foundation.  Ash floated thick upon the air. Every time flames were extinguished more would pop up to take their place, licking at the earth with orange tongues, daring people to come closer then forcing them to retreat.  Unsure of what to do, I moved down towards Camelot to look at the situation there.

And that’s when it happened.

Staring through the smoke, I could see that a trail of fire had crossed over the fire-break and was starting to infiltrate the Camelot enclosure.  Jolted by the sight I picked up the pace, rushing towards the blaze with the water-pack cutting into my shoulders, desperate to try and put a stop to it. Before I could get anywhere near the flames, though, a wave of heat crashed over me. Breath squeezed from my lungs. Never before had I experienced such intense burning.  Desperately I stumbled backwards, watching helplessly as the fire continued unabated.  I pulled my singlet-top over my face and coughed heavily, the toxicity of the smoke thick inside my lungs, my head spinning as every sense was assaulted by the ferocity of the heat. Just moments ago I had been so determined, but in an instant the fire had torched that resolve.  Stinging tears blurred my eyes. Every limb seemed to suddenly realize that it was sore, and the water on my back felt heavy as cement, begging me to let it fall to the ground.  Worst of all, though; I realised that the fire was sweeping into the Camelot enclosure. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Turning away, I retreated back towards the others, stopping every few metres to cough or catch my breath. By the time I got there they were already aware of what was happening.  In one large group they stormed away towards Camelot, brushing aside the dead trees that raked at their skin. Somewhat rejuvenated by the sight, and not wanting to slacken off, I tried to keep pace with them. The rest of the afternoon is a blur of images. I can remember beating flames, scanning from side to side for any injured primates, Dave rushing from one end of the enclosure to another without stopping to wipe the blood that thorns had scratched from his arms, and seeing a dead monkey being carried from the enclosure, its charred body stiff and its eyes looking towards elsewhere. It wasn’t until it was all over that my brain began to process what it had seen. Standing under the shower, cool water against reddened skin, the numb exhaustion slowly began to fade away into something that resembled understanding. I had been through a fire. Not everyone had survived it.  And there would be many hard days ahead.

Flash forward almost a month and I’m pushing a wheel-barrow towards Camelot, doing my best not to spill the bowls that Stephen has precariously placed in there for me. Other volunteers and staff are already at work, disappearing inside the enclosure to deliver the monkey’s dinner, giving up their time to ensure that no-one goes hungry. Not all the Camelot monkeys made it through the blaze but a healthy number of them stand waiting at the gates, trotting alongside anyone who has a banana or two for them. Casualties coming into sickbay have stopped and we have moved onto other things. Babies are being born. Orphans are arriving. There are young male monkeys needing to be caught for vasectomies, and of course, the many other daily tasks that make up life at the VMF.

When I emailed a friend back home regarding the fire they sent me a quote by Ernest Hemmingway.  “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places”. Looking around Camelot, its large trees beginning to birth leaves again and more monkeys returning by the day, I can see those words being put into practice. Camelot has been hurt, but through that pain will emerge an enclosure that will be stronger than it ever was before, with strong green shoots appearing from the black earth. Before long it could be the VMF’s best enclosure again. I still find myself scanning the skyline occasionally, worrying that there will be fire-smoke to curdle the perfect blue, but so far October has been kind to us. The fires have stayed away, and Camelot’s growth has been allowed to continue unabated. As I walk along its paths I even find myself smiling.

There are some things in life that can’t be forgotten. Scars may dull, but they never truly heal, and we carry them forever as a part of us. Whilst I will always have memories of the day that the fire hit, though, they are tempered by my recollections of the dedication that everyone has showed in getting Camelot back to full health. When the monkeys were at their most vulnerable people were ready to put their own needs aside. When they should have been eating dinner they were still delivering bowls and building shelters, unaware of the pink sun setting behind a bleeding sky. Being witness to such efforts has been an honour; and in a way, a blessing. After all; if the dark times in our life make an impact, and help to shape who we are, then surely the positive things we experience must also leave their mark? It is a very encouraging thought, and again, I find myself smiling.

 And so, life at the VMF rolls on, with one week melting into the next as we head towards summer and hopefully a little bit of rain. More volunteers arrive, and more tell me just how much they love this place, their faces lighting up as they make contact with a monkey for the first time. Black turns to green. Despair into hope. The pain of death becomes the joy of rebirth.

Matthew Chard

Our Scorched Earth – CHP1

Please find attcahed the opening chapter to my debut novel “Our Scorched Earth”. Let me know if you would like to read more!

Chapter One

Awakenings

He lay there, in the sterile white bed in the middle of the room. Artificial light flooded in, serving to sting his already scorched eyes. His left arm, bloodied and bandaged, itched violently, and his mouth was bitter and dry to the point of choking. Yet the young man did not shift, or cry out, or even bat an eyelid in discomfort. He just lay there.
The noise had begun less than a minute ago, yet it seemed to travel down the outside hallway and up the length of his body for an age. Horrible, metallic, and relentless. Everything he feared; the only thing he feared these days, was brought closer and closer by it. Still the squeaks grew louder. Ten feet. Five feet. One. The man steeled himself, and the door to his room flung open.
Carefully, the stretcher bed was wheeled in and placed on the other side of the room. Still, though, the man’s reddened eyes stayed locked on the ceiling. “Don’t look…” he said to himself, pleading desperately “…please, don’t look”. The longing to glance across was wrestling with his reasoning, though. God, how he wanted to look. To see a flicker, a stir, anything, in the precious blanketed cargo across from him. But he couldn’t’t – the strength to face failure simply wasn’t’t within him. Then, as though reading his thoughts, a nurse crossed the room to stand by him.
“Guy…” said the woman, looking down at him with a plastered-on face. He tensed in anticipation. “She’s okay. She’s…going to be okay”.
Guy raised his head groggily and unexpectedly met the other patient’s open green eyes. They should have been sparkling, illuminated by the beauty that nature had given her. Instead, only shock could be read in those emerald wells. “Okay“? It was code for the fact that she still had a pulse. The jagged patches of scar tissue across his body that gave Guy an identical “okay” status were testament to that. Beaten, the man dropped his head back onto the pillow.
No-one in here was okay.
*****
Earlier….
“You all know why you are here”
The man in the smart dark uniform stalked across the stage effortlessly, each stride of his long legs as smooth as his shining bald head.
“We have trained you, fed you, turned you into the elite that you are today”. He paused. “However, the most important thing we have done is given you a chance. A chance to stand up and prove yourself. To fight like our fathers did. To win back what was ours and create something incredible, something that can never be taken from us”. The man faced the crowd, and although in a sea of other soldiers, Guy felt the speaker’s eyes burn directly into him. “From the ashes we will rise!”
“From the ashes we will rise!” roared the gathering in rabidly proud response.
General Ribot, the second in charge of the whole organization, removed himself from the stage in the same manner in which he had graced it, and the large screen behind him flickered into life. Guy knew it all by heart, but apathy had no place in this crowd, no matter how hard he wished to shut his mind off. Upon the screen before him appeared three simple lines.
“80 Million Lives”
“3 Attacks”
“1 Fate”
Then the flames began.
Falling from the sky, licking at the buildings, exploding from underneath the earth, bursting from out of people….it all served to wrench Guy apart. He could practically smell the burning skin, and feel the hot ash searing through his clothes. So badly did he want to look away, yet he knew that was not an option. They were soldiers now, and were expected to face this. He breathed in deep, trying to take his mind where his eyes could not follow.
Such action, though, proved impossible. Music and colours, faces and emotion…..no matter how painful the message was, he could not help but be seduced by it. So Guy watched, along with all the other eyes in the room. Buildings fell, smoke rose, and the dark clouds settled over their ruined world. Just as they always did. As the film screamed to its climax, though, and Guy felt his clenched fists begin to turn slack, there was something else. Where the screen should have faded to black, there was a message. Four simple lines appeared on the screen in bold white text:
“80 million lives”
“3 Attacks”
“1 Fate”
“And Revenge Begins Now!”
Whipped into frenzy by the previous few minutes of pure hate, the large throng around him nearly exploded when this appeared. The roar and rabble transformed into complete riot as voices, bodies, and anything not tied down were hurled about in the torrent of emotion that swept through the crowd. The torrent of purified hatred; all teeth and fists and young fiery bloodlust. Feeling nauseated amongst it all, and fearing his lean frame could collapse any second under the crushing horde, Guy was actually relieved to see Ribot take the stage once more. Palms flattened, he motioned for the crowd to simmer its anger and regain composure. All the young bodies followed the command as one, and Guy swore that he saw the tiniest hint of a smile sneak into the edges of Ribot’s mouth.
“Go forth to the engine room” he said, motioning to the steel door at the far side of the room “and have your vengeance”.
*****
The elderly man thumbed heavy glasses up the bridge of his nose and watched through the window as the gathering, possessing the boldness and ignorance that only youth could afford, swarmed chaotically towards the steel door and the world beyond.
“Poor fools” he muttered quietly, as he ran a hand down the side of his long, bearded face, and watched the last of the infantry disappear beneath him. “If only they knew…”
“How do you feel?” The voice came from behind him. It was, as usual, coarse and gruff in its delivery, lacking any of the sentiment that a question of this type would normally contain. Heavily, Professor Joseph Fogarty turned to face the source of the query. “How much do we stand to gain from this mission? How much success“, the voice lowered “can we really expect?”
File notes shuffled quickly in Fogarty’s hands, as he tried to come up with a response that was as palatable as possible. Now was not the time, and certainly not the place, to paint a picture any blacker than was absolutely necessary.
“Well…” he begun, thinning his lips and re-adjusting his glasses again, “according to systems reports, all forecasted training targets have been adequately met in the initiation process. Field programs A through F have been completed with top range accuracy by 83% of the core group, and specialized squadrons have had a 48% increase in significant program completion, which means that…”
“Fogarty…” the figure leaned forward in his chair. A sense of calm swelled through his voice, but the Professor Fogarty wasn’t’t fooled. He knew the man all too well. “Success”, he said for the second time. “How much?”
Fogarty cleared his throat, and felt a single sly trickle of sweat bead down the side of his face. This was not going to be easy. You take a group of around 100 men and women under the age of 25. You stick them in their quarters, train them ruthlessly, drug them to the eyeballs, manipulate them to the point of lunacy, and then; with one last piece of brainwashing, boot them out like a mongrel dog into the world. And what a world. Although no soldier, Fogarty knew that all the weapons training and purple pills in the universe could not prepare them for the task ahead. Now, this man, who had nary set a foot outside his sanctuary of tinted glass windows and purified air, wanted to know how much success they would have?
Aged fingers wiped across the Professor’s face, as he caught the sole physical output of his nerves.
“Success”, he nodded, eyes aimed towards the floor lest he betray himself “we will have success, Keldok”.
*****
Crooked steel cut into Guy’s leg as two more members of the squadron were squeezed into the elevator, further squashing the young soldier up against the side of the cabin. Outside, two senior officers conferred with each other, and; deciding that even by their uncompromising standards the lift had reached capacity, pulled the gates shut with a shuddering screech. Guy sighed inwardly with relief, and was sure that all the others stuck with him shared similar sentiments. A stolen glance around, though, made it clear that their minds were concerned with bigger issues.
Just as his should have been.
After all, here they were: suited up, armed to the teeth, and with uncountable days of training behind them. Indeed, today represented the culmination of all Guy had known and done. Every memory he had was from within these walls. Every single solitary memory…..and he was on the verge of leaving, to ride upwards and embrace the world he was fighting for. The world, which in a time now lost to his memory, had belonged to him and his people. But as he stood in the elevator, seconds until initiation counting down in a robotic voice, just one thing kept looping around and around inside his head. Not excitement, not anxiety. And; although his superiors may accuse him of otherwise, it wasn’t’t fear either. It was a question – one that everyone had tried to answer, yet had done so without success. Something inside disturbed him, and forced him to ponder it constantly. So in the elevator, for what seemed the millionth time, Guy closed his eyes and asked himself:
“What are we really doing here?’
*****
Fogarty studied the screen in front of him. “The next unit is about to head up to the surface”
“Good” came the gruff response from Keldok.
*****
Unseen gears clicked into action and the lift began its steady ascent. Heads remained mostly bowed; breathing shallow, muscles tense; and the only voice that spoke was the slightly creaking wheels that brought the elevator towards the surface. Inside Guy‘s head, though, people screamed from every corner. With every inch they moved towards the surface the voices grew worse, phantoms of the past, present, and future assaulting his mind. There was so much confusion. Here he was: about to enter a world he had lived in for twenty-one of his twenty-two years, yet now remembered nothing of. A world destroyed by foes that would not be named by those who controlled him. It was too much for a young mind to deal with, realities bending back on themselves inside his head. Where he needed composure, Guy could find only pain. White poured over his knuckles as he tightened his grip on his weapon, fingers squeezing with defensive power. Slowly, his chest rose and fell as he breathed deep, taking in the still air. The still, stale, unwavering air…
And on that second, everything became quiet. Used oxygen rose from Guys lungs and pushed out his slightly parted lips, but in that cabin the breath may well have been a hurricane.
Not a movement. Not a noise.
The lift had reached a complete stop and dead silence filled the small space. Every eye was now forward, focusing on the exit. Guy’s dark blue eyes blinked uncertainly, seeing yet not knowing. With his lips though, he silently spoke a message to himself. One he could only partially believe.
“Whatever lies behind those doors, I can handle it”.
The doors to the lift began to slowly open.
*****
Sliding up his throat like shattered glass, the words took more than a few seconds to form in Fogarty’s mouth. He was under no false presumptions as to how important this moment was. Although he remained in his office, staring at that forever glowing screen, he knew that effectively it was his ass on the line, just as much as any of the grunts who were about to take that next step. Part of him longed to be there, and serve as the master of his own destiny – even if it meant risking his life – but it was the stuff of fantasy. Professor Fogarty knew the facts. He was old, he was grey. Most tellingly, though, his fighting spirit had long since been at its peak. He belonged behind a desk.
“The doors are open; they have reached the surface. The unit will rendezvous with the mechs in approximately 15 minutes“. He emptied the phrase from himself quickly and was quiet once more.
Still, the figure of Keldok behind him held a mask of indifference.
“Just make it happen, Fogarty”
*****
Black. Red. Black. Grey. Black. Gold. Black. Orange. Black, and again black.
All the soldiers trooped out of the elevator and entered the darkness. As he had been on the journey up, Guy was readily aware of his breathing, only now he was not doing so on purpose. Each breath was accompanied by a shudder that had not been there previously.
“But then again” he thought to himself “I wasn’t’t out here previously”.
A darkly clouded world surrounded him, as Guy struggled to keep his place with the rest of the troops, his efforts hindered by the unmitigated horror he felt. The earth was more ruined then anything he could have imagined. More than that, it was burnt out; scorched beyond any form of recognition. Thick blankets of smoke engulfed him, the only real colour coming from the stray flames that licked out from under the cracks and rubble every few feet. Ash coated the ground and filled the air, as it floated across the putrid winds and crawled inside the corners of Guy‘s eyes. Twisted shapes of concrete and steel blotted the landscape every couple of yards or so, acting as the sole relics from the old world.
“Nothing…” thought Guy as sped up so as not to be separated from the rest of the pack. “There is …. nothing…”
Forward the squadron continued to move, minds never wavering from the task at hand, their pace seldom fluctuating despite the inconsistency of the terrain. Their mission was to move to a specific sector and rendezvous with another of the Organization‘s units. Once that was accomplished, the grunts would begin searching the ruins within the sector, which had been a thriving city before the apocalypse. Exactly what they would be searching for, though, was still unknown.
“Just keep your eyes open“. Ribot‘s terse words echoed in Guy‘s mind. They had been an instruction, though possibly, also a warning. ”And if you get in trouble, let your weapon do the talking“.
“Rendezvous point dead ahead!”
The shout from the front of the platoon snapped Guy back into reality, and he looked out to find its source. Standing at the top of a small, crumbling ridge in the terrain was the squad leader, one arm waving urgently. Picking up on the signal, all the soldiers around Guy broke into a quick jog, hurrying up the slope. Once they had cleared the small summit, the location for the mission revealed itself. It was as ruined as anything he had so far passed, and his heart sunk further. Corpses of destroyed buildings surrounded a square area of cracked stone, their entrails of steel and cement spilling out violently. It looked as though the area could have once been a town square, where people from the nearby buildings could meet, and the thought of what was lost almost made Guy turn and run in the other direction. All around him, though, his squadron continued moving forward unperturbed, and he battled to keep pace with them. Drawing nearer, other forces began to show themselves. Two other similar platoons were already at the site, and one could be seen approaching from the north. Most importantly, standing in the direct centre of the square, were the mechs.
Mech: mechanical individual attack vehicle. The ultimate fusion of steel and skin; plastic and organic. Guy had been introduced to them in the Organization’s training, but even so, he could not help but be stunned by their appearance on the battlefield. The ultimate tool in the Organization’s arsenal, the mechs were eight metre tall bi-pedal vehicles, which were piloted by a soldier sitting inside their squat body, in the area known as the pilot-pod. Large arm-like appendages covered in weapons sprouted from either side of the squat body, giving the machine the appearance of arms as well as legs. Deadly, giant, and near indestructible. They were part man, part technology, and in a way, almost God-like. Controlled by the highest ranked and most skilled soldiers, the mechs were in charge of being the ground co-coordinators for the grunts, and acting as a contact point for those back at base. Little more was known about them by Guy. Craning his neck to look at the tinted glass that hid the pilot, he wondered what it would be like on the inside – being in charge of that sort of power.
“Grunts! Take your positions!”
*****
“Begin Transmission”
The screen in the office flickered from its hibernation and the outside world burst onto it. Taken from a camera mounted on one of the mechs, it beamed the pictures out of the ghost town and into the view of Fogarty and Keldok. Neither man commented on what they saw, though the Professor certainly felt a pang of emotion inside. This was not a world to which he was completely callous yet. Looking over at Keldok next to him, he prayed that he never would be.
*****
“Spread out and commence phase 2” crackled the voice through Guy’s ear-piece. His platoon crossed the square and filed to their assigned position in the town. Guy moved towards the south-western corner, directly opposite a crumbled concrete structure. Dry winds swirled around him as he awaited the order to enter the darkness, his vision becoming strained and gritty. His job was to enter the labyrinth of the ruins and deal with whatever he found – dead or alive. It had been made aggressively clear to the soldiers that their role in all this was to be played out with the gun, and that keeping their trigger finger at the ready must be their primary concern. Clear the area, and destroy anything not in an Organization uniform.
Whomever – or whatever – they may be.
With the components of warfare now all aligned, it was just a matter of getting the word to proceed before the ground troops would be entering their assigned areas. All the soldiers had fanned out around the quadrant, while the mechs stalked about the area, utilizing their height to oversee the various parts of the operation. The great eye of their windscreen never blinked, and Guy felt his heart race as one of the machines passed him. Somewhere, inside that colossus of steel, was a man just as he; an organic heart pumping life into artificial limbs. Watching it as it went, Guy imagined himself inside the mech. He felt the controls mould to his hands, heard the groan of engines, and breathed in warm body sweat mixing with industrial odors of diesel and grease.
“Everyone moves on my count- three. Two. One. Engage!”
With that simple directive he snapped back to reality, and charged into his part of the ruins. Glowing from the front of Guy’s weapon was a stream of light that, unless disabled beforehand, flicked on automatically once the darkness reached a certain pitch. Despite its piercing illumination, though, the room remained exactly that: dark. Not even the charcoal skyline outside had the same rawness to it that the ruins did. Guy swung his light around in front of him, illuminating corner by corner. There was nothing to see, though. With a stern lip he spun around and did the same action to the space behind him. A small mound of gravel, not more than a foot high, lay in the rear left corner and Guy jumped over to it, bringing it down with the heel of his boot.
“Nothing.”
Expelling the breath from his dry mouth, he gave up on the room and moved onto the one next door. Two quick glances about then he moved in, weapon at the ready. Once again, all was clear. In fact, it looked even deader to Guy than the last room had. Never before did he think that a pile of busted rock could look animated, but the proof was in the bleakness of his current position. Mixed emotions began to roll about inside him. Less than thirty seconds ago adrenalin had been kicking him forward, but with 2 out of 3 rooms down and naught but a few pebbles to show for it, Guy was feeling the drive fade steadily from him. With no threat of danger there was really no need for his presence, and although there was comfort to be found in such physical safety, it also stamped the whole mission with the fat inky mark of pointlessness. There was no reward for the torture of the training he had been put through, and no reason for him even pulling on a uniform if this was all he was fighting for. Somehow, although it was only his first foray into the outside, he felt duped by the Organization; a sucker of their over zealous scare tactics. Bitterness rose in him at the thought. Sizing up the crumbling archway that was door number three, and with the gun seeming to suddenly grow heavy in his hands, Guy dragged himself forwards onwards.
“Door number three…”
On the second step, however, he paused, turned 45 degrees to his left, and faced the wall that backed onto the desolate square where the battalion had aligned itself. Guy stood there, feet nailed to the spot, eyes drawn to the blank concrete slab in front of him. In appearance it was as uninspiring as anything else he had seen so far, but it seemed to offer something to his senses that went beyond the strictly visual.
“Something…. “
As his gaze rolled upwards towards the low-hanging roof, the thought began to charge up its energy inside him. He knew it. It was like he was falling, and falling fast; but somehow had the ability and the time-space to watch his descent in slow-motion. The impact was ahead, but he could not alter the course. There was to be no stopping. Guy went to lift his leg to step back and froze, like all his limbs were floating in liquid nitrogen.
“What…”
Then the wall collapsed.
Before he had time to think, Guy was knocked to the ground, the tremendous weight of the wall grinding him into the floor. Voices cried out in the dark, but they seemed little more than echoes from another time to Guy. Whatever was inside him seemed to be slowly floating away. On top of him lay the collapsed wall, acting as an impenetrable cocoon to the outside world. There was no pain, just a ghostly numbing sensation and two eyes staring blankly into the blackness. Blood pooled in the area where Guy’s face lay roughly against the ground, and its thick, warm sensation gave his mind just enough of a kick for him to realize one thing: it was ending, the life leaking from him in a scarlet stream. Struggling and straining was not necessary. A message of calm flowed through him with a peaceful message of soothing endings. Just go to sleep, and fade away, away from it all. Away from the pain, away from the fire. Heavily, Guy blinked, before prizing his eyes open one more time. In that position he held them briefly before the pressure to close them intensified, and they began to creep down once more.
It was a movement that would not go unseen.
Within the halls of darkness came a glimmer of something- just a flash, and then it was gone. Despite its brief lifespan, though, it had certainly been there, appearing split seconds before Guy edged the door shut on the world. A thousand needles of interest simultaneously pricked into Guy’s body, bringing him back from the edge of nothingness. “What could be in this darkness?” he thought, his mind groggy and confused. “How could someone else be here?” He had been so certain about the lack of life in these parts just minutes earlier, but now, Guy no longer felt alone in the crumbling surrounds. With the sudden interest came an explosion of the senses, and the enormity of the collapsed weight on Guy’s body was now very real. Despite this, though, he painfully resisted the urge to stir in his position. Instead, he strained his dust-filled eyes out into the void hoping for a repeat occurrence; another sign of life. Noises from unseen battles poured in from the outside, but in his disorientated state Guy focused only on his line of sight. He needed to see it again. Half a chance wasn’t’t good enough. Blur or flicker, phantom or person, there had to be something there to prize him off the ground, which seemed to be growing colder with each passing second. Hope, as it currently stood, was a fleeting shadow.
“Where are you…?”
Soundlessly, it happened again. A distant blur of figure, and nothing more
Out of the dirt Guy began to rise.
*****
“Should we make any attempt to restrain the situation?”
A sense of urgency was palpable in Fogarty‘s voice. Normally his rank would hinder him from asking such a question, particularly when the response was likely to be so barbed, but he had got to the point where he could not contain himself any longer. He was not a man new to the scene of battle, but it seemed insane to him that they let such struggles continue when there were perhaps measures they could take. The grunts were not thinkers. They were not prepared for this. On the viewing screens their numbers were dwindling rapidly – and they didn’t have to be. One swift order from above and Fogarty could bring them all back to base, salvaging what he could from the situation.
Seeing Keldok’s tensed body, though, every inch of him squeezed with irritation, he knew his cries were likely to fall on deaf ears.
“We have discussed this, Fogarty” he said, facing away from the drama on the screens. “At length. There will be no retreat. There will be no half measures”. Cooley, he swiveled back to his original position, turning his back on the professor. ‘Let the mission continue”.
*****
Fevered determination had brought Guy out of the rubble and to his feet, but it wasn’t’t enough to stop him from collapsing upon taking his first step. Pain shot through his left ankle as soon as pressure was applied and he fell badly, slapping back onto the cement. Cursing his weakness he pushed off the floor and stood again, this time breaking into a hobbled sprint before his pain sensors curtailed his efforts. The whole world swam and spun with waves of concussion, but he was desperate to keep moving and get to the third room. He had to put a distance between himself and the rubble pile that had once looked likely to be his tomb, and even more importantly, keep on the trail on whatever he had seen. Guy’s escape had been just as sudden as his entrapment, but his scraped and bleeding body, creaking and cracking as he knew it shouldn’t’t, was testament to why he had to give chase to the potentially dangerous foe. Just one slip-up in this altered world and everything could come crashing down. With refreshed purpose and gasping lungs, he entered the third room.
But it was empty. There existed no signs of the mysterious being he had chased, and although he went through the motions a number of times, Guy’s now built-in scanning technique yielded not a single result. Panting hard in the gloom, he bought the weapon down to rest by his side, and felt around his right temple with his free hand. Blindly he fingered at a head-wound. The desire to sit and rest his throbbing skull in his hands, and just wait for someone to find him, was growing high on Guy’s agenda now that the unknown creature had escaped, but he knew it was not an option. Each soldier was responsible for their own well-being once outside Organization’s underground base. If he was to lie down, it would likely be forever.
Turning his head back to the path he had traveled on, Guy saw a dull grey light leaking through into the second room. The broken wall. His situation had been so absorbing that he had almost forgotten that he was only player in this large game, and that the battle did not just exist within the walls that stood around him. There were hundreds of other soldiers involved in this campaign. As if to strengthen this point an ear-splitting metallic screech sounded from outside in the square, sending Guy diving across the room and away from the wall by which he stood.
Like a ball of thunder, the cause of the noise drove itself into the side of the building, sending down another storm of debris as the wall gave way. Although not caught in the collapse this time, Guy did not escape without punishment, as a shower of concrete fragments rained down upon him, bouncing off his wounded frame. Gritting his teeth against the blows, he cleared the air and looked out the new window of destruction. Smoke, flame, and ruin splashed on the dark canvas in front of him. His face was suddenly hot, as if staring into a blast furnace. Quickly, he began dragging his body through the rubble. Reaching the hole that had been created, Guy peered through again and tried desperately to gain a better grasp of the situation. Before they had left for the mission all the soldiers had been told that, although challenging, this would be a straightforward exercise – essentially a trial run to test their skills and ease them into field operations. Clearly something had not gone to plan, though. Guy waved smoke from his vision, and as he did so, he began to see the signs of the chaos with better focus. Crumbled walls all around the quadrangle. Fresh fires crackled sadistically, devouring all that stood in their path. Just ten feet away a trio of soldiers lay bleeding on the ground, hands stretched outwards and screaming for help.
Suddenly, just as things were beginning to take shape in his watering eyes, a hand seized the back of Guy’s neck.
“Mech 1 has malfunctioned! Disperse from the area! Disperse from the area!”
Without any further instruction the other soldier raced away to Guy’s left, and from his opposite side came another disturbing crash. This time its source was not a secret. Staggering like an arrow-shot beast, the machine made its way through the square, with all before it scattering to give way to its tremendous presence. Mech 1; alive and berserk. A sudden sickness formed in Guy‘s gut as he looked upon the wild, stricken machine. It was as though a thousand years of technological progress had been personified, only to be cruelled by a dementing virus. Both of its steel arms moved with unhealthy randomness, lashing from side-side, while soldiers fled in every direction to dodge the deadly appendages. Despite the fact that they were both armour plated and weighing close to a tonne each, though, they were not the mech’s deadliest weapon. From a gun-like cylinder on its front spouted a deadly torrent of flame, the great orange-red tongue licking over anything that dared stray to close. Even though he was over fifty feet from the moving mech, Guy could see the fire fanning back and forth in the wind, and feel its heat causing his forehead to bead with sweat. A particularly pungent odour filled the air, and he recognized it almost instantly.
Burning flesh had a smell all of its own.
Senses going into sudden overload, Guy rushed head-first into the battle, following any fellow soldier that became visible in the restrictive smog. With the plans of the mission seemingly gone to hell, the clockwork efficiency that the Organization had tried to instill in the team now gave way to a leaderless rabble. Soldiers came from every possible angle; stumbling, tripping, colliding with one another, all with the loose goal of chasing after the wayward mech, and somehow bringing it down. As each soldier approached the machine, though, they were instantly repelled, their hand-held weapons like cap-guns against its steel and fire. The fortunate troops were sent diving for their lives into the dust. Those whose luck had run dry were broken by the swinging arms or set alight, their voices screaming in agony as skin melted away from muscle and muscle melted away from bone. There was no strategy and no leadership. No plan and no hope. Without the mechs, everything was falling apart.
A thought then appeared in Guy’s head.
“The mechs – where are the other two? Why aren’t’t they controlling the situation?” Amidst the chaos of the conflict he had almost forgotten about their presence. Just ahead was a fellow soldier, and Guy frantically caught him on the sleeve of his uniform.
“Where are the other mechs?!” he shouted hoarsely, voice constricted by the smoke. “What the hell is going on out here?!”
“Back that way, they’re all down!” yelled the soldier in reply, motioning vividly with his thumb over his left shoulder before running away. Turning, Guy pushed his way through the oncoming soldiers and raced towards where he had vaguely pointed. If there was to be any hope of salvaging the mission, then surely it must lay in the mechs. No other troops tried to follow him, but within himself Guy realized that the direction in which he headed could be the very road he had to travel to ensure his own survival. It would also give him the opportunity to maybe save some of the other troops.
Little did he know that it would lead to something greater.
A loud whirring of oversized gears was audible upon the battlefield, and Guy made his way through the smog towards the noise. The sounds could very well have come from a tortured child, such was the level of panic and pain that was distinguishable in them, and he was able to follow them easily even amongst the bedlam that had taken over. Slowly, heavy outlines appeared through the haze; giant thrashing shadows. With another short sprint Guy was upon them, but the clearer pictured he gained only served to deflate his spirit. It was one of the mechs alright – smashed sideways into the dirt, pilot-pod ripped apart, legs kicking out frantically and fruitlessly in an effort to get mobile again. But it was not going anywhere. The pathetic movement of its ungrounded feet made it appear like an up-turned turtle, and in this state, it was just as useless to Guy’s cause. Exactly what had happened to the pilot wasn’t’t clear, but; although the callousness of it all left a stone in his stomach, Guy knew he had to put such details aside for now. There was another mech to be found.
Stumbling and flailing over the rough terrain, he continued on with his search, frantically looking for any sign of hope. There was a crushing pain in his chest, which was now feeling the full impact of the collapsed wall as he ran through the night. Twice it brought on fits of coughing, but he refused to sit and catch his breath. Every second in this new and terrible place felt like the darkness itself was gnawing at him, eating away at his resolve, and Guy was desperate to be rid of it. He had to find the mech. He had to escape the ruin that had claimed the others. Climbing over the remains of a barbed-wire fence and down a loose-footed ditch, more bodies appeared before Guy, their eyes shining brilliantly white against burnt skin. For a moment he moved to stop, and crouch down to see if there was anything he could do for the group, but Guy’s legs refused to stop. There was nothing here, and he had to keep running. One by one he passed the dead, daring not to meet their unblinking gaze.
Mechanical roars and rapid gunshot sounded off in the distance. Guy increased his pace, hurtling all the corpses that littered his path, lest their pale hands reach up to claim him. With his head spinning from the chaos, though, he had no true idea of where he was heading. Everything was swirling in a grotesque orgy of black skies and burnt flesh, making the world just one continuous streak of misery. Maybe he was heading the wrong way, and rushing only towards his own demise? The rogue mech could appear at any moment. And then he would be dead. Just like all the others. Not wanting to believe it, Guy threw himself against the rubble-pile of a fallen building and started to climb. If he could get high enough then he would be able to get a better view; and if there was nothing to see, then at least he wouldn‘t die waiting in the dirt. Stones shifted and crumbled under his weight. Twice he nearly fell, only to claw a grip at the last second. Finally, with chest screaming, he scrambled on all fours over a last misshapen cement block, and raised his head upwards. As he did, the outline of a figure came into Guy’s eyesight.
He exuded a deep, welcome breath. In the distance stood the robust shape of the mech that he sought. This time, hope was still standing.
Such good fortune, however, had not been granted to the pilot of the second mech. The closer Guy drew near to it the more gruesome the scene became. From sixty yards away he could see that the pilot-pod of the mech was clearly heavily cracked. At 20 yards, it was clearly severely cracked and contained a body that was bleeding badly. From 5 yards, the pod was shattered almost beyond recognition, and the pilot likewise. Rich red blood lay splattered against the glass screen at the front of the cockpit, with the pilot bent over in a fashion that could only be achieved by a corpse. On the flat underside of the pod Guy noticed an open hatch with a slide down ladder protruding. It was the mech’s version of an emergency exit, suggesting that the pilot had tried in vain to escape from the machine, and Guy sprinted towards it and began to climb into the pilot area.
Raising his head out the top of the hatch, he was almost knocked from the ladder by the sheer horror of the scene. Circuits crackled and sparked, glass fragments coated the floor, and directly in front of Guy, slumped sideways in his chair, lay the remains of the man that Guy had come to replace. And of course, there was blood. Buckets and buckets of dark crimson blood. Like spilt syrup it oozed over the control panel, slithered down its side onto the floor, and moved towards the escape hatch where it was still trickling down the emergency ladder. Urgently, Guy climbed the final few rungs and lifted the pilot upright in his seat, and he felt his throat tighten as he got his first full-frontal glimpse of the stranger. He was dead – but it was so much worse than that.
The pilot had not so much died as he had been destroyed, and only an unrecognizable pulp of twisted flesh stared back at Guy. Instantly sickened, Guy stepped back, and in the same frenzied motion, lifted the body from the seat and hurled it towards the emergency escape. Noisily it clanked through, and landed on the ground below with a dull, lifeless thud.
For the next few minutes Guy was violently ill. The contents of his stomach splattered against the floor of the mech several times, and the back of his throat filled with a powerful, rancid taste. Shakily, he tried to bring himself from his now kneeling position and onto the chair, but the view of the pilot’s remains brought him to the ground once more. Blood he had become used to, but the scene inside the cockpit was on another level completely. It almost seemed as though there were more of the pilot lying inside the mech than outside it. Such a thought was almost enough to make Guy’s stomach heave once more, but he managed to fend off the feeling, steadying himself and wiping away the remains of the vomit with wincing eyes. Lowering himself down gently, he took his place in the departed pilots chair and wrapped his fingers around the controls.
He pushed them forward, and the mech started to move.
*****
Fogarty stared at the viewing screen, not quite believing what he was seeing.
“Keldok”, he called, unsure whether his superior had noticed such a detail. “Mech two has regained function. We are operational again.”
Turning to where Fogarty was looking, Keldok raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise, and even managed the slyest of smiles.
“Good” he said, nodding slowly. “Keep an eye on that for me, Professor”
*****
Having taken his place in the pilot’s chair, Guy found that the ability to drive and maneuver the mech came to him easier than he had expected. From a distance they had such grandeur, to the point where Guy almost thought of them as higher-beings rather than mere machines. Once inside, though, it was all just buttons and joysticks. A few of the more high-tech looking items on the control panel remained something of a mystery, but as a replacement pilot he was making up lost ground quickly, and more importantly, Guy seemed to just have a good feel for how the mech operated. When his hands clutched the controls it was as though an old power returned to them, like they suddenly realized the extent of their own capability. With all else gone askew it was an encouraging thought, and helped to calm him as he guided his machine across the dead-lands.
Bright dots blipped incessantly on the monitor to Guy’s right, the sprinkling of shapes working across the black of the terrain in unstructured waves of colour. While much of the coding that the symbols held was lost on him, Guy took special interest in the large yellow dot that seemed to be moving most haphazardly of all. Whenever any of the smaller blue dots went within ten yards of it they were snuffed out and disappeared from the display, confirming Guy‘s guess of what was happening on the battlefield; the soldiers were slowly being exterminated by their own machines. By the calculations of his mech’s computers the rogue machine was now only a short distance away, and more importantly; Guy was now moving in the right direction for once, every step bringing him closer to putting the day to rest, and hopefully, stopping any more small blue dots from vanishing.
At the same time, though, he was careful not to get too comfortable. Guy was in the eye of the storm now, but would soon be facing its full wrath. The bodies of soldiers that littered the path were evidence of that, and he felt a cold pain stab him each time he passed one. Just an hour ago they were all alive, yet now they were gone, destined to join the ashes that coated the earth‘s surface. Should he slip, he would take his place beside them. As if sensing Guy‘s quickening pulse, the mech’s computers began to grow louder, sending out a steady drumming of mechanical blips. The large yellow dot was much closer now, ripening like a great fruit on the radar screen. He pulled at the controls and slowed his mech down to half-speed. Around him, the world slowed down, but his heart continued to hammer unabated, feeling as though it was ready to burst through his chest. It could be only a matter of moments now before the rogue mech came into view. Peering out into the abyss, Guy kept his eyes peeled for his adversary, desperate to find it before it could spot him. As he climbed over a small slope, hard steel lines began to take shape in the distance, combining to create the skeleton of some great monster stalking through mankind‘s ruins.
There would be no more searching for Guy.
Picking his speed back up again and closing in to within 50-60 feet of the rogue mech, he could clearly see the deadly drama that was unfolding: swinging mechanical limbs, gunshot, and tiny human figures spread left and right and everywhere. Impacting upon him heaviest of all, though, was the wall of flame, which swirled chaotically at the front of mech 1. It crackled and hissed as though a vicious serpent, and mixed with the machines sudden and almost violent changes in direction, created a barrier that was both spectacular to the eye and lethal to the flesh. Guy, however, could not afford to be in awe of such things – not while so many soldiers remained harm‘s way. Every wasted moment brought infinite peril to his squadron, with over 12 soldier lights on his display having faded out since he had climbed into the mech alone. He had to take action, even if it was beyond reckless. Guy grabbed the control stick and readied himself to fire a missile in the rogue mech’s direction.
But then he hesitated.
A crackling sound filled the air, and to the right of Guy a previously silent speaker began to come to life. Random sounds jumped around wildly, but slowly things began to grow clearer, and finally some distinguishable words penetrated the static.
“Mech two ………… no control………… abandon………”
Guy stepped out of his chair to lean in for a better listen.
“….repeat: abandon ………control ………soldiers…”
Frantically, Guy searched the control panel for a way to reply to the communications. “What’s mech one trying to tell me?” he thought, his body growing tight with acidic tension. “Is there some something I have to do, some type of command?” Surrounding him were hundreds and hundreds of buttons, all which now seemed overwhelmingly alien to Guy; the realization of just how little he knew hitting home hard. Running his hand down the side panel of his chair, he grasped what seemed to be a spare communications headset. Broken. He leaned forward to the buzzing speaker once more.
“…..must come in …………no return ……… destroyed……”
“C’mon….” said Guy impatiently, tapping at the speaker in hope of a clearer message. “C’MON!”
A solid fist accompanied his second command, smashing the speaker with impatient fury. To Guy’s surprise the message actually steadied as a result of the blow. Coming through the sound system now was the voice of another man, which, although having the distinct air of authority about it, seemed to belong to someone who could not be much older than Guy himself, with youthful tones facilitating every word.
“Mech two this is mech one, do you copy? I have no control, abandon mission! I repeat: abandon mission! Regroup the soldiers and get them to safety. I repeat, abandon mission!” Then with a stutter, the voice vanished.
More fists and curses were sent by Guy towards the speaker, but this time it all came to no avail.
“What am I supposed to do?” he yelled out aloud, the voice echoing his panic around the small cabin. “What the hell am I supposed to do?!”
Heavy stress was racking up inside him, and as he shifted his attention to the shattered cockpit window things did not grow any easier. Mech one’s rampage had refused to subside, and even more bodies were beginning to pile up around it. With so many already lost, Guy was quickly running out of time to salvage anything from the mission, and once more his fist slammed into the speaker, this time with a defeated air of desperation cushioning the blow.
Face screwed up tight in thought, he poured over the message he had received from the other mech. Its intention had obviously been to provide him with answers to his current condition, but in reality it only served to raise more questions. Before, it had merely been a case of hitting the appropriate target, but now so much more had to be taken in to account. Inside the shell of the other mech remained another man. Life. Living, walking, breathing life. Despite his mask of bravado, Guy had heard the stray quiver in the voice of the other man, and could imagine the fear that moistened the corner of his eyes. Even those who stand on the shoulders of giants are human. Doing his best to take stock of everything, Guy wondered desperately if there was a way to neutralize the situation without destroying the other machine. Today, death had shown its pale face quite enough.
From outside an enormous crash sounded, and Guy was snapped back to reality suddenly.
“Oh shit…“
As cold sweat seeped from his hands, he realized that his time for deliberation was over. Just over a slight bump in the terrain stood mech one. It had turned, and was now heading in his direction. Fast.
Hysteria consumed the field as Guy fell back into his chair. Soldiers yelled and screamed and fired weapons and ran in circles with all the composure of a smashed hornets nest, as he tried to get a steady hand wrapped around the controls. His whole body felt as though it was anesthetized though, with every nerve numb and the world about him swirling sickly. Not wanting to take his eyes off the approaching mech he groped blindly, and missed the controls twice. Finally, on the third try, he managed to get a grip. Guy squeezed the controls tight and breathed in deeply. A white thumb pressed on a red button….
Nothing.
“Shit!”
Fingers scrambling, Guy hit the second button hard. A pause – and then, once again, nothing. Complete silence. Eyes widening, Guy sent a panicked glance out of the cockpit window. The ash, the darkness, and now those flames; those licking, horrible flames, so close now that he could practically feel them beginning to warm the hairs on his skin. “Don’t fail me” he half prayed to himself, as his thumb jammed into the third button. “Not now”. His chest tightened as he held his breath in tightly.
Nothing. The breath went stale inside him. Then, from unseen corners came a foreign, computerized voice. “Weapon chamber opened. Firing missile three”. With a lightning blue blast it flew through the air, and the last thing Guy heard before impact was his speaker crackle into life for just a split second
“……..lost contact……can’t stop …….have to…..”
The explosion knocked Guy from his chair
*****
“Mech one is down! Mech one is down!”
Professor Fogarty was on his feet, with Keldok just a step behind. The two men peered at the screen, the sound of their breathing the only noise within the room. Everything else perfectly still.
******
By the time Guy had arrived at the smoking remains of mech one all the soldiers within 100 yards had ran to gather by the collapsed machine, every single one of them wearing the same bleak expression upon their face. His shot had been perfect – technically perfect. Hitting the pilot pod square in its centre, Guy had managed to disable the machine with only a relatively small explosion, causing the mech to reel backwards and fall out of harm‘s way. But the supremacy of his marksmanship was lost on Guy for now. Seeing him draw near, the soldiers still standing moved to congratulate him, but Guy pushed past their waiting arms and continued to head with desperation towards the flaming, ruined mech. When he arrived at the wreckage Guy dived straight in.
“He has to be here!”
Inside the inferno he fumbled around, searching for what he gravely feared was lost. Vicious heat scorched all his senses but he couldn’t’t bring himself to quit – not when he was the architect of such a potential tragedy. Fingers walked where his eyes could not see, probing every single cavity, scanning every surface, desperate for the press of a fellow human being‘s flesh. After close to a minute of blind groping Guy finally found what seemed to be a hand and pulled it towards him with all the strength that was left in his battered body. For a second it held strong; then suddenly, Guy found the opposing force giving way, sending him tumbling backwards out of the wreck and back onto the barren earth. Smoke cleared from his eyes and the he looked down.
“Oh no…”
Sitting in Guy’s grip was the hand of the mech one pilot, but only the remnants of a burnt and bloody forearm were attached to it. His own flesh crawling at the sight, Guy threw the arm aside in horror, getting it as far away from him as was possible, letting the appendage of the condemned fall gracelessly into the dirt. Just like all the others who had died. Slowly, he brought himself up from a sitting position to his knees, but he fell forward instantly on outstretched hands. “What have I done?” he thought desperately, smashing two fists into the earth. “What the fuck have I done?”
Footsteps sounded behind him, and with a large thump to his back Guy was out cold.
*****
“What is the identity of the soldier who was operating mech two?” asked Keldok, his curiosity beginning to peek like a Cheshire cat through his cold veneer.
“It’s not quite fully clear from the monitor”, replied Professor Fogarty, scanning the screen and scribbling furiously on his notepad. “We will be able to find out without too much trouble, though”.
“Do that” ordered Keldok, bringing his hands together and joining them on his lap. “Then bring him to me”.
*****
Blinking with laboured force, Guy could make out only a white glow around him. “Where am I?” he thought cloudily. His fatigued mind pondered the question for a few more seconds, as he looked left and right for any hint of a recognizable landmark, before his eyes began to draw shut; Guy giving up and retreating back to sleep. Before he was granted such a luxury, though, a hand rushed down and shook his face violently, breaking the illusion of nothingness that surrounded him.
“No, stay with us!” it urged with a desperation that grabbed Guy’s attention, “stay with us soldier, you’re almost through this”.
Slowly the weathered face of an older woman became clear to Guy, her dour green uniform and rumpled appearance contrasting starkly against the sterile surrounds. Not an angel, but a nurse.
“What’s…” Guy struggled to get the worlds out, his tongue feeling dry and chalky against the walls of his mouth. “What‘s happening? Why have I ….. I mean what…”
“You sustained an injury in the field but you’re okay now” replied the woman, her long blonde her pulled back in a simple ponytail, giving her a certain beauty, despite the utilitarian nature of her dress. “We’re in the deployment room, and once we get clearance we will have you moved into the infirmary.” She put a hand on the stretcher upon which he lay. “Just stay with us, okay?”
Too exhausted to even nod in agreement, Guy let his head roll to the side, and stared out from his prone position across the room. Other stretchers lay in waiting also, and more units of troops continued to move towards the elevator, destined to make the same journey that he had. Despite the casualties, more grunts were being sent up to the surface to join the fray. All stationed in perfect alignment, they filed into the lift like a cluster of tin soldiers, before turning around to face towards the elevator door.
As they did so, Guy saw something that would change his life forever.
Those eyes. Those glowing, soul-piercing green eyes, burning with an intensity of almost mystic proportions. Staring out of a slender female body just over five feet tall, probably not more than seventeen years old, they seemed to call out to Guy, as though the two orbs could read every line that was written inside him, the colour of the room draining away into obscurity as man and woman held an electrifying gaze. Her body seemed so fragile, as though she would shatter into a million shards with the slightest bump, but through those emerald windows there seemed unlimited potential, like a fledgling young flame that would never be snuffed out, and was just awaiting its chance to flicker into greater life. A brilliance that was unique and beyond definition. Guy could not move; he was completely and utterly transfixed. Chaos swirled about him as though he was in the middle of hurricane, yet he just lay there hypnotized. Those eyes….
All of a sudden a machine beeped loudly, and the doors to the elevator began to close shut. It was then that the reality of the moment hit Guy. She was to be sent up there, into the wastelands and ruin that the surface held. The death, and the fire, and the darkness. So beautiful, so delicate; and yet now she was set to be trampled like the flower in a prison yard, broken before she had any chance to blossom. He wanted to call out, to stop the elevator and put an end to the madness, but the only noise audible was the horrible metallic squeaking of his stretcher wheels as Guy was rolled out the door and away from her. One last fleeting look was stolen, and then she was gone.
Maybe forever.
Guy kept his head turned in the girl’s general direction, unable; and indeed, unwilling, to break himself free of her spell. “Who was she?” he thought, probing blindly for answers, “and where had she come from?” Also on his mind was a much more obvious question that must have had an even more confusing answer: for what possible reason could they want to send her to fight on the front-line? Even in his confused state Guy could clearly see that there was no possible rationality for sending her up there, meaning that there had to be some type of deeper forces at play. Exactly what were those green eyes hiding? Guy knew that worrying over such matters was only going to make his situation more uncomfortable, but he felt that he needed to know all the same, and began to form the sentence awkwardly in the back of his throat.
With one last squeak his trolley stopped, and his question evaporated.
“Guy?”
He turned his head around, with a sense of both confusion and amazement. Normal procedure in the base was to call the grunts by their rank and identification number, and he realized that it was the first time he had heard his name spoken aloud in quite some time. How odd it sounded against the formalities of the base. Even the thought of the girl disappeared from Guy’s mind momentarily as he struggled to bring himself to a sitting position, desperate to see who had addressed him in such a personal manner, a warm rush infiltrating his cold system. And there he was.
Before him at the base of a staircase stood a man he did not recognize, dressed sharply, neatly manicured, and with not a distinct whiff but rather a pungent odour of power about him. He was quite tall, with thick, broad shoulders, and a large, almost rotund stomach. Strangely, his face was mostly covered. What looked like a custom surgical mask was placed upon him in such a way that only his left eye and cheekbone stayed exposed, the rest remaining something of a mystery. It gave the man a look which was quite off putting, even a tad disturbing, and Guy felt himself shrink back into his mattress a bit. As if reading his thoughts, the nurse held a similar response, stepping widely to let the man pass her. With laboured steps he came towards him, sweat glistening on his receding hairline. Slowly, he leaned forward, and shook Guy’s hand with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Guy” he repeated, keeping his one good eye on him “I watched you out there. You have done well…”
He paused.
“My friend”