Contents

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  About The Author

  Copyright © 2015 Eamon Ambrose

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ZERO HOUR PART 2: BADLANDS

  by Eamon Ambrose

  Edited by Ellen C. Campbell

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Sarah?”

  You wake. Were you sleeping? Why would you need to sleep now?

  “Hey Al, what happened?”

  “Your mind will take some time to adjust to your new environment. Your previous body was still largely human, and Doctor Bentley’s is completely mechanical and electronic. For now the software will mimic your basic human cycle, slowly weaning you off until you grow fully accustomed to your new situation. You will still experience many of the normal everyday human feelings you were used to for some time. These will eventually fade.”

  You’ve already gotten used to not breathing. It was so disconcerting at the start, but now you don’t even think about it. Of course there are some bodily functions you won’t miss one bit.

  “So I’ll cease to be human?”

  “No. At least Doctor Bentley didn’t.”

  “But he went insane.”

  “He was already insane.”

  You give a little snigger. It feels weird.

  You look around to get your bearings, your GPS systems bring up a map of the area. It’s an old map and most of what was here is now gone. You’ve already reached the outskirts of what used to be the city, and the directions Al has uploaded indicate south. You look back at the still-burning Tower, thick black smoke spewing from the bottom half that remains. Some distance away, to the east, you see dust trails rising on the horizon, moving closer. They’re coming—your people, except they’re not anymore. If they see you they’ll destroy you. There’s no explaining your predicament to those who have suffered so much at the hands of the madman who you replaced in this metal shell.

  Time to move on. You begin to follow the map, and wish there were some mode of transport to speed this up, but there’s nothing. The ground beneath you is soft and dusty and sinks slightly under your heavy metal feet, the terrain now almost flattened to a plain by the remote ‘dozers levelling what’s left.

  You remember Bentley telling you his body was failing. He wasn’t wrong. You can still move quite freely, but the noises coming from the servo motors moving your limbs don’t sound good. A faint squeal every time you move tells you that you may not have much time left, and this environment isn’t helping. Bentley hadn’t planned on leaving the Tower, much less trekking three hundred miles across a barren wasteland. Diagnostics suggest your power source is at fifty per cent capacity due to a failing battery, which means you’ll need several “sleeps” in direct sunlight to recharge if you want to reach your destination. That’s not going to be easy. The sky is obscured by dark clouds looming like giant, tormented ghosts. A satellite scan of the area shows some forecasts where cloud breaks may occur, so you’ll need to follow these, even though it takes you off course, unless you want to spend the remainder of your existence as a metal sculpture.

  Best foot forward.

  You weren’t built for speed, running at a light jog you’ll get maybe 5-10 miles an hour. The 3D scan in front of you maps the terrain as you go, overwriting it with the new version. You see the ghostly green wireframe outline of the old buildings and structures disappear, erased as though they never existed.

  Al remains quiet, still coming to terms with his newfound freedom, as you are with your newfound body. You wonder if you can trust him. You wonder if he knows what you’re thinking and isn’t telling you. This could be a trap. If you allow him a new body, what happens next? At least it’ll get him out of your head. His presence right now isn’t intrusive, but you still know he’s there.

  Several miles back, the dust cloud reaches the Tower. Probably nothing left there for them to salvage. They’re going to have problems surviving in this area. They need to search for a better place to live, somewhere the radiation and chemicals haven’t reached, if there is anywhere left. If they can’t grow food they’ll die. Before you left, food rations were almost depleted, maybe two months left before people started to starve, and there wasn’t a building left in a two hundred mile radius to be searched. You need to figure out a way to help them. Once you get to the research facility you can transfer Al and work out a plan.

  Your tracker changes course, indicating an area to stop long enough to recharge. It’s now early afternoon. Diagnostics indicate it’ll take six hours to fully charge. You find a suitable spot and lie down as indicated for optimum effect.

  “You’ll need to enter sleep mode in order to recharge fully, Sarah. I’ll remain active on backup power to monitor the area.”

  “Why? Are we in danger?”

  “Just as I kept much from him, Doctor Bentley seems to have kept much from me also. There may be autonomous devices still active in the area.”

  “Other robots? Drones?”

  “Not drones, they were designed and built by me and were globally disabled when the Tower was destroyed. However, there is a chance that some older, self-powered weaponised robots may still be functioning.”

  “Can we stop them?”

  “In our current state it won’t be easy. I would recommend avoiding them if at all possible. They may not react to a non-organic form, but they are unpredictable at best, designed only to destroy any living thing they come in contact with. They were built before I was activated, and Doctor Bentley wanted them kept secret, so my knowledge of them is very limited.”

  A schematic brings up a crude scanned blueprint, and you instantly recognise the shape. If you had blood, it would now be running cold.

  Quadras.

  Many thought they were just a rumour, a robotic bogeyman you warned children about if they didn’t behave. Originally designed as a harmless robotics project, but later developed into lethal, relentless killers. They were four-legged creatures capable of blistering speeds over any terrain, and practically impossible to stop. You remember as a child seeing a video of the prototypes, like huge dogs, running alongside humans across a field. Every now and then, a research assistant would slam into the quadra, trying to knock it over, but the robot always managed to remain upright and keep running. There was something oddly sad about that scene, these creations running blindly with no purpose, constantly attacked in the name of research. Sure, they were only machines, but the way they mimicked the movements of real animals gave them a certain quality that made you feel uncomfortable watching them being treated this way. Of course that was in the early days. They quickly evolved into something much more sinister, disappearing from public scrutiny, while the next big thing grabbed everyone’s attention. Anecdotal evidence was sketchy, as the new improved quadras did their jobs very well. If you saw or heard one you generally didn’t live to tell the tale. They were mainly used for flushing out survivors in more remote areas and so weren’t seen much in the field.

  Either way, you’ve got to recharge. It’s the closest you’ll ever come to sleeping again. Faint pangs of what you remember as hunger hit you occasionally, part of your mind still not wanting to let go of your body. Al tells you it’s best this way, otherwise, your mind would shut down from the shock. You can’t close your eyes anymore, so everything just goes dark and you disappear into the dreamless void.

  “Sarah?”

  Four hours have passed, and dusk is settling in. Your diagnostics tell you you’re not fully recharged.

  “What is it Al?”

  “I’m detecting movement nearby.”

  You try to listen, concentrate on the sound, but it doesn’t work like you remember. It’s heading in your direction, but you can’t pinpoint the location. Too much interference from the wind. You stand up awkwardly on the soft ground, taking a second for your gyroscopes to kick in and correct your balance. As you do, heavy engine noise penetrates the screaming wind, heading right for you. It’s too late to run, so you freeze. A bright spotlight beams through the dust as the vehicle brakes abruptly, and you hear a familiar voice through the noise.

  “Well, well. What do we have here?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It’s Davis. Sergeant Frank Davis to be precise. This guy’s a piece of work. If there was anyone you wished didn’t survive the attack, it was him. People like Davis were why the human race ended up where it did, yet they still managed to survive, along with the rats and cockroaches. Looks like he decided to embrace his newfound freedom and take off. He’s driving a heavily loaded transport. Two men with him——Brasco and Mills. You thought they would know better than to follow this reprobate, but facing survival with the weak can do funny things to people. A scan of the truck reveals essential supplies: food, water, weapons, clothing, shelter units. This bastard hasn’t just deserted, he’s taken any chance those people had of surviving with him.

  He jumps down from the truck, his oversized boots kicking dust into the air as he walks into the light. As long as you’ve known him he’s managed to keep that stupid regulation flat top on his thick skull. His sleeveless jacket reveals a large spiderweb tattoo on his right arm with its centre at the elbow, betraying his true past. Faced with dying in prison or joining the effort when the attacks began, Davis joined up and quickly rose through the ranks, more because of his brutality and strength than any discernible military skills. Unfortunately, war often makes heroes of men who sometimes don’t deserve it, and he was no exception. For all the good he did, the unspeakable acts Davis committed against his own people were well documented, yet swept under the carpet by his superiors because he was “getting the job done”. No woman was safe around Davis, or man for that matter, depending on his mood. Those who followed him did so out of fear. As far as he was concerned, no one was his equal and if he wanted something, he just took it.

  “Now this I haven’t seen before,” Davis sneers, moving toward you, his raised weapon aimed directly at your head. You can’t engage him, he can’t know who you are. You’re dead to them now. There’s no escape. His pulse rifle may not do too much damage, but the grenades around his waist will, and Mills is manning a chain gun that can penetrate concrete mounted to the roof of the truck. You don’t stand a chance.

  “What now Al? I need ideas here.”

  “I’m afraid our options are limited, Sarah. You can’t outrun them on foot, and somehow I don’t think they’re taking prisoners in their current situation. You might be able to disable this man before he fires, but the others have more powerful weapons. Of course, their marksmanship may be questionable.”

  “Relying on someone being a bad shot wasn’t what I was hoping for Al.”

  “I’m sorry Sarah. The odds are not in our favour.”

  “That’s the thing about odds Al. There’s always a chance, however small.”

  “In our case, it’s quite minuscule.”

  As the standoff continues, Davis circles, waiting for you to make a move. You haven’t budged since they discovered you, but you scan the area for any sign of an escape route. A thirty foot high sand dune stands behind you. You’re a sitting duck if you try to scale it.

  “Is it functioning?” Brasco pipes up from the driver’s seat, his head poking out of the open window.

  “Hard to tell,” Davis replies, carefully edging toward you, weapon still at eye level. “Could be fried, could be faking it. Watch my back, boys. Eyes open. There may be more.”

  “Never seen one like that before, human-shaped,” says Brasco, jumping from the driver’s seat. “Maybe we should take it with us. Might be able to salvage something from it.”

  “No,” Davis raises his hand to stop Brasco coming any further.

  “We destroy it.”

  He turns and gestures to Mills, who gleefully activates the chain gun. It takes sixty seconds for the weapon to prime.

  Sixty seconds and counting.

  “Sarah, don’t move.”

  “I have to do something Al, that gun will rip me to shreds.”

  “I’ve located some information that may help. Stand by.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  The metallic whirr of the chain gun begins to slowly intensify into a sharp, terrifying whine as its spinning barrel begins to gain speed. Once at optimum, high calibre bullets will spit from it at merciless velocity, obliterating anything that stands in their way. Right now, that’s you. Do you trust Al, or try to run?

  Forty seconds and counting.

  Maybe you could try and talk to them. Persuade them of who you are.

  “Sarah, I need control of your audio interface.”

  “What are you going to do, Al?”

  “Please trust me, there is no time.”

  You don’t have a choice. The request pops up to allow access. You accept.

  You see Al accessing your audio software, quickly rummaging through programs, finally settling on a synthesis application. Settings and parameters you don’t fully comprehend begin to change quickly, filters are added, sound waves cycle through thousands of changes per second as a digital model is formed and finally stops, flashing an intense green to indicate the successful completion of the task.

  Twenty seconds remaining.

  A familiar triangle appears and Al selects it. You brace yourself for whatever sound Al thinks is going to be strong enough to disable three men and a rail gun. In a brief moment of inappropriate levity, you hope it’s not Disco.

  Nothing.

  “Al?”

  The sound seems to be playing but there’s no noise.

  Ten seconds.

  What the hell is he doing?

  You hear a new sound, but it isn’t coming from you. A mechanical, screaming sound comes from behind the sand dune at your back. It’s moving fast, and getting louder. Your radar locks. Two objects approaching.

  “Al, you didn’t.”

  “It’s our only chance.”

  Davis looks to your right as he too hears the sound, his confusion quickly turning to terror as the reality of his situation hits home. Brasco panics and runs to the ladder at the rear of the truck. In all the years of war, you’ve never seen anyone so terrified. Davis turns and screams at his companions:

  “Quadra!”

  There’s probably fifty feet between him and the vehicle. He breaks into a panicked sprint, cursing the weight of his heavy boots and overloaded ammo belts. Your scans show the two objects on the other side of the hill. One breaks formation and tears around the left side at blistering speed, kicking up dust as it prepares to attack. It emerges from the side of the hill and circles around the rear of the truck. The occupants barely have time to react. Mills swings the chain gun around awkwardly, its weight and motion making it almost impossible to make a three hundred and sixty degree turn at any speed. Mills begins to fire. Unfortunately for Brasco, who has just climbed onto the roof, he is standing in the wrong place at the wrong time and is caught point blank in the line of fire. The devastating blast of rounds from the chain gun shreds him almost instantly and a spray of red paints the roof of the truck. Oblivious, Mills keeps firing as the quadra completes its circle and comes into view, skidding on the soft ground and turning to run towards the truck.

  The quadra reaches the truck in seconds as Mills continues to fire. In an instant, it launches itself into the air, sparks flying as hundreds of rounds per second ricochet against its armoured exterior, almost as if in slow motion. Mills drops the gun and turns, trying to jump from the truck, but there’s no hope for him. As he falls, the quadra hits him at speed with a sickening thud, throwing him in the air and breaking every bone in his body, quickly silencing his horrific screams.

  In the confusion, Davis manages to clamber aboard the truck and climbs to the gun. As the quadra lands, swinging around to face him, he fires, hundreds of more rounds slamming into it as it still continues to move forward. The barrage finally seems to be having an effect. It slows down, beginning to stagger as Davis aims for the head, bellowing wildly as he fires. The quadra finally falls, and tries to lurch forward with its front legs, dragging itself on, determined to reach its target, but it’s too late. The rounds penetrate the metal, and the quadra’s legs snap in two. It still tries to pull itself forward with the remains of its limbs, but a final burst from Davis finishes it off. Two large red LED’s on its head begin to flicker and die. Davis has become one of the only humans ever to stop one and live to tell the tale.

 

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