Mercenaries of the Apocalypses [System Apocalypse Progression]

This time, Andy had to admit, he did need a wash. Removing his soaking boots, Andy hung them outside the window while Clara navigated mountain roads, heading back to the bunker. Rummaging through the boot, he found a tube of wet wipes and gave himself a rubdown. Loaded with cargo, the jeep drank up diesel. Near nightfall, Clara took a detour back onto the highway in search of more fuel. Strolling between the derelict cars, Andy thought back fondly to the days when he and Clara had been simple scavengers, scouring the wasteland for just enough to survive. It wasn't that he missed those days, but they were quieter, simpler. Less hysterical villagers, stinking of blood and fear, more nights under the desolate sky with a bottle of whiskey in hand. Decent booze was as scarce as diesel nowadays, but Andy had a plan to fix that.

Clara spotted a lorry with its tanker cap engaged. Together, they syphoned its rusty innards, taste-checking that it was indeed diesel, not petrol. Get that wrong, and their engine would seize up irreparably. Transferring a canister to the jeep, they set off again into the mountains. The jeep's engine gurgled on a climb up a steep hill. Andy could tell by the taste that the diesel was low-grade–most scavenged fuel was. But this was especially bad. The vehicle jittered as Clara pushed it into first gear, hauling the cargo around a bend. For a moment, Andy thought they would stop altogether, then start going backwards, but the tires bit the concrete and lugged them over the final verge.

"Phew," Clara said, rumbling to a stop on the roadside as a thin smoke seeped through the bonnet. "I'm going to check the engine."

"Alright." Andy gazed outside. The sun was setting, but they were still a couple hours' drive out from the bunker. The territory was tame though. Fae creatures weren't much of a challenge to him anymore, nor were they especially exciting. Andy took out his notepad from the glovebox, flicking through the pages. Crude drawings depicted fantastical weapons which he'd imagined over the years. Andy stopped on a drawing of a stick figure holding a bazooka in both hands, firing a whirlwind of devastation upon a horde of stick-figure zombies. He smiled as Julie hummed fondly at his waist, then drew a little tick next to the diagram. "Check."

Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps his subconscious had caused him to develop magical vortex powers with Julie. Likely, his AI had something to do with it. The robot was probably watching through his eyes right now, taking note of his drawings, figuring out new ways to manipulate him into becoming more of a weapon.

Andy sighed, dispelling the old grudge. It wasn't so bad. Ever since telling the robot who was boss, he'd enjoyed developing new powers, especially those with Julie. As powerful as their bond was, he wasn't stupid–he knew he needed his Augmentation to make it work. However, whenever Andy silenced one voice inside his head, another piped up. Languishing in the dark caverns of his mind, a sinister aura gestated. Though covered in muck, Andy could still smell the traces of blood in the grooves of his hands.

Slinging the door open, Andy got out to stretch his legs. Meanwhile, Clara was rifling through a toolbag beside the engine, picking out a cloth and wrench. "I think we'll be here the night," she said.

"Fine by me." Andy set off into the forest to gather firewood. That night, they heated canned food on the embers, relaxing in each other's quiet company. She huddled beneath a blanket, back against the tire of their jeep, fiddling with the small silver watch on her wrist. The dying firelight flickered across her soft face, shaded by her brimmed cap. She looked exhausted. Andy wondered if she was getting sick.

Andy leaned over the fire and passed her his hip flask. For once, she took it and swigged, gazing into the fire.

"We did well today," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "We did well."

Ever since their brush with the new patriarchs–or whatever they were called–his sister had changed somewhat. She seemed more solemn. Andy supposed she was upset about having to kill a bunch of them as they escaped. She was peculiar like that, still clinging to old-world sentiments of restraint and mercy. That was the only thing about her which still surprised Andy. But all that dirty business with the vault and the patriarchs had worked out in the end, so perhaps there was a method to her madness.

"I'm calling it," she said, climbing into the jeep.

"G'night," Andy said, lounging beside the dying fire.

They never really chatted much–there was nothing about his sister that Andy didn't already know. In a way, through countless fights, long drives and quiet nights, their minds had merged. Andy didn't believe in anything in particular when it came to the mind and the soul and all that. He believed in evil though. He knew evil.

The embers died down to an orange haze, and the chill of night crawled upon him. A coil stirred in the back of his mind, unwinding like a snake. In the beginning, when the cataclysm struck, Andy had protected Clara as best he could, though he was unarmed and unskilled. He'd become viscous, though the transformation was only a stone's throw from his ordinary self. When food shortages hit Britain, Andy had carried a knife into a supermarket warehouse–just one in a thousand looters–and escaped the melee with a rucksack of canned foods and a cheese string–his sister's favourite. When the water grew toxic, and their mother died from the sickness, Andy had taken his sister down a railway track towards Wales, thinking it would be safer there.

He had distrusted the other migrants, but his dad was less cautious. When a fight broke out between strangers, his dad got stabbed in the gut trying to break it up. Everyone was in hysterics back then, men turned to dogs–their true nature showing. He and Clara slept in bushes, huddled together for warmth, picking berries and dandelion leaves during the day.

When the riots had hit the cities, they fled to the countryside, but half the nation had the same idea. Tent-cities formed over the land like a layer of fungus. Despite the violence, people still had the urge to clump together. But not him. Andy had snuck in and out of camps stealing what they needed. Often, he got caught, but managed to run away. Other times, he was beaten, pinned, tied up, stabbed. But each new morning, he awoke with Clara in his arms, and knew that the job had to be done. After a while, the adrenaline of danger dominated his fear. He would make mistakes intentionally for the thrill of the chase. Once, he walked into a camp of young men stark naked, an axe in hand, and asked them for his share. No subterfuge, no tricks, just a madman's guise. They'd given him his fair share without a fight.

A hammer began tapping Andy between the eyes. He rubbed his temples as a migraine festered. There was a blank spot in his memory… He recalled being blackout drunk for days, weeks. But he'd still managed to look after Clara during that time, hadn't he?

"Fuck." Andy unscrewed his hip flask, draining the last of his whiskey. He'd been good for a few days, just a top-up here and there, but suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to get shitfaced. His hand trembled. Was he cold? No. Ever since becoming half-vampire, the cold affected him less. The migraine ebbed the warm whiskey trickled down his throat, dropping an ember in his gut. Andy looked around. Hadn't he seen a few buildings coming up the hill earlier that day? Perhaps there was booze to be scavenged. It was only about a thirty minute walk away.

Clara's cheek pressed against the glass window, fast asleep beneath a blanket. He couldn't leave her alone.

Not again.

Andy froze. The voice had no acoustic qualities–much like his AI's–but the tone was different.

"What?"

Silence.

Andy tapped his skull. "You there, robot?"

Affirmative.

"Say something?"

Negative.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Andy grumbled, picking himself up. He walked down the road, suddenly restless. Julie thrummed at his waist, pining for his attention. She always got like that when he was stressed–she wanted to shoot something–blow off some steam. But it was the dead of night, and he didn't want to wake his sister.

Julie practically vibrated in her holster.

"What?" Andy snapped. "What do you want me to do?"

His revolver was still.

"Well, what do you expect?" he said. "There's nothing to shoot. Just chill the fuck out." Andy took a deep breath and returned to the jeep. He sat outside, on the cold concrete–a welcome distraction from his restless mind. Closing his eyes, Andy didn't so much as sleep anymore as he did fade into his environment. His thoughts trickled off him like slick oil, pooling beneath him before seeping into the black. He mingled with the forest–the deep shadows beneath dead wood and fissures in the concrete, given depth by the soft moonlight above. The abrasive wind brushed his thoughts away like sand on a beach, spreading them thin, but never letting them go. When a fern rustled fifty metres away, Andy felt it as a tug on his blanket of darkness.

Ravelling his mind, he crouched and listened to the sounds. Something approached. Andy scuttled into the forest, eyes keen in the dark. Breathing softly, he watched as a figure approached their jeep. The person moved purposefully through the thin trees. He had a hunting rifle slung over his back, but Andy could see that his hands were empty.

The stranger drew close to the roadside. Andy could take the shot and end it now, but he was intrigued to see where this went. Listening out with vampire-attuned hearing, he was sure that the stranger was alone. Adrenaline prickled Andy's chest as he glared at the stranger's pale skin, reflected in the moonlight. The man had ill intent towards Clara. That was all the excuse Andy needed to make him suffer.

Dipping into blackness, Andy stalked around his prey. Each footfall was softened by the shadow, like stepping on a black carpet. Andy felt lucid as his Shadow Affinity ability oozed through him. A merging of mutation and Augmentation, it was distinct to the combat enhancing hormones he usually felt while activating his powers. This was… more encompassing. Andy disappeared, and only a patient urge remained.

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Rounding on the intruder, Andy sniffed the air. A perfume detergent tickled his nostrils. The stranger's boldly aroma was masked by a chemical scent, but Andy could still detect his lingering masculine hormones. The warmth of his body painted the cold night air with an intrusive ambience. His heartbeat tapped steadily at the forest's silence, like a fingertip on a window. Andy focussed on the intruder's neck, a hunger clawing in his gut.

Julie thrummed at his waist urgently like an early morning chime. Andy awoke to himself again, and drew his revolver, noticing details he'd missed before. The intruder was wearing a suit and bowler cap like a businessman of old. An unusual costume for the wasteland. Perhaps he was going to try and sell them something. Andy crept the last two metres and kissed Julie's muzzle to the back of the intruder's skull.

"If you know who I am," Andy said. "Then you know how fast I can pull this trigger."

The stranger was unmoving, but Andy sensed his heart rate spike as the window-tapping grew louder. "If you knew who I worked for, you wouldn't try it."

Andy laughed. That was precisely what he'd hoped to hear.

"You think that's funny?" the stranger said, slowly rising to his feet.

Andy pushed him back to his knees with Julie's muzzle, one hand on his shoulder. "Oh, if you knew who I was, you'd find it hilarious."

"Oh really?" the stranger raised his voice. "Well, if you knew who I was-"

"What the fuck is going on?" Clara burst out of their jeep, fingers crackling with blue electricity. Her eyes were wide, darting from Andy to the stranger at his feet. "Who are you?"

The man remained silent. Andy dug his fingernails into his neck. He had a muscular frame beneath his suit, and Andy felt the stub of an armour plate, but nothing strong enough to stop a point-blank .45 calibre bullet.

"Andy, what's going on?" Clara said, levelling her tone.

"This guy was sneaking up on us."

"I'm just a scavenger," he said plainly. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone."

Silently, Clara summoned an orb of golden light from her palm, releasing it into the air where it floated like a balloon. "Has that ever worked before?"

The intruder sighed. "No."

"How did you find us?" Clara asked.

The man was silent.

"Really?" Clara said.

"I need assurances," he said. "Your word, you won't kill me."

Clara nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Him too," he said.

Andy snorted. "No chance."

Clara's eyes darted over his face and attire, as if deciphering a puzzle. "Start talking," she said bluntly, not waiting for Andy's assurance.

The intruder shifted beneath Andy, but made no attempt to escape. "There are a lot of eyes out for you two. I just got lucky."

"Think again," Andy said, pressing Julie's muzzle in harder, pushing his head down.

"Andy," Clara said calmly, raising her chin, signifying for him to lay off. Andy drew Julie back an inch, but kept his finger firmly on her trigger.

"Harmonies?" Clara said.

He nodded, the back of his skull bouncing off Julie's muzzle.

Clara chewed her lip like she was going to eat her own face. She turned her back on them, pacing for a moment. "Is there a hit on our head?"

"Not a hit," the intruder said. "Alive."

Clara turned around, rubbing her knuckles, tiny sparks emitting from the joints. "Empty your pockets." She rummaged through his possessions. "Where's your terminal?"

The man shook his head. "I don't have one."

"I don't believe you," she said. "Where's your gear?"

The man twisted his head. "Eighty-seven metres that way."

"Anyone else out there?"

"No, I'm alone."

"Don't worry," Andy said, patting his shoulder. "I know."

"How many contractors are looking for us?"

The intruder remained silent.

"You best be trying to recall," Clara said.

He shook his head. "I can't."

Clara stepped closer, fists half-clenched, emitting a thin golden light. "I need to know."

"I'm not a traitor."

"You're either a traitor, or you're dead," Clara said, though there was a plea to her tone. "What were you going to do to us if Andy hadn't caught you? Attack us? Killed one of us?"

"Drug you," he said. "Take the vehicle and take you in."

"You can still drug me if you want," Andy said.

"Is Blue Eyes after the serum?" Clara said.

The intruder faltered. "I don't know. He's after you two. Specifically…" He pointed at Clara.

"I didn't mean to betray him," she said sharply. "I didn't have a choice."

"Tell him yourself," the intruder said. "Come with me."

"No," Clara said, eyes on the forest canopy. "No, that's not going to work."

"You can't run forever."

Clara was silent for a long while. While Andy waited for the executioner's signal, his adrenaline elapsed, replaced by a cold detachment. Andy removed the rifle from the intruder's back and tossed it towards their jeep. "We should smoke him."

"No."

"Look away if you don't like it."

"What difference will it make now?" Clara said.

"This much." Andy removed the man's head and frisbie'd it into the dark. He pressed Julie's cold steel against the nape of his neck. "Look away sis."

"The others already know," his victim said. A sour scent filled the air, like vinegar. The man's breathing quickened. Fear. "I'm in constant communication with them. They know your location. It won't stop them."

"What others?" Clara said.

"We're not just contractors. You can't stamp us out. If you kill me, they'll come after you."

"Blue Eyes wants us alive."

"For now," he said. "Remember her face, brothers, sisters. The Gunslinger has changed, so has the girl. Three-point-zero." He whistled. "You were right Sacha. I owe you a drink."

Andy tugged on the man's ear, searching for a hidden earpiece. Pulling his chin up, he stared into his eyes. Each was a different colour, one blue, one silver. "Who you talking to?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Cryptic."

"Wait," Clara said, somehow sensing that Andy had begun to squeeze the trigger. "Don't bother, Andy. We'll let him go. Let him send a message for us."

"Oh, I'll send a message," Andy said.

"Not that kind," Clara said. "Listen, what's your name?"

"Lionell."

"Lionell. Tell Blue Eyes that we didn't mean to betray him. I don't know what he's heard, but I injected the serum out of necessity. It was going to be stolen anyway. We would have died if I hadn't. I know it wasn't my business to, but…"

"Got it," the man said. "I'll tell him."

"We don't need this," Clara said. "Looking over our backs."

Andy could sense the man's heart rate steady. "I'll tell him."

"Tell him, convince him. And for your sake, hope Blue Eyes is a forgiving man." A strand of blue electricity shot between Clara's forefinger and thumb. "Because if you come for us again, we won't be. If any more contractors come, any of your friends, we'll kill them. We'll go out of our way to kill you. Please, please don't think I'm bluffing. I'm not." Clara shook her head, brow furrowed. "I wish I was…"

She tapped his forehead, and a fixing blue light burst between his eyes. Spasming, the man fell to the ground unconscious. Clara kneeled over him, patting him down while Andy scanned the midnight forest. Julie trembled in his hand, but reluctantly, he holstered her.

"No coms," Clara said. "Who was he talking to?"

"Maybe he just hears voices," Andy said. "It's not that uncommon."

"Yes it is, if you're not Augmented."

"Really?"

Clara rolled up the man's sleeve, checking his vitals. Andy kicked his rifle over the pavement. It was a basic .308, nothing special, but it reminded him of a firearm he was fond of: the bolt-action waiting for him in Gabe's bunker. They'd be reunited soon.

"Weird." Clara rose. "There's something under his skin."

"Huh?"

"Metal plating, here on his wrists. Maybe an old injury. But the scars…"

"He's not a robot."

"Well, I know that."

"He smells human."

Clara scowled at him. "Good to know." Rising, she climbed into their jeep and started the engine. "Let's go home."

Driving off, Andy watched in the wing mirror for a sign that they were being followed. But the roads were once more empty, the night still. He wondered whether he'd done the right thing–intrigue had gotten in the way of a perfectly good killshot, now they had a contractor out looking for them in the wasteland with his friends. Ah well, Andy had dealt with it before, he'd deal with it again–something to keep him entertained with on the road.

"I knew this would happen," Clara mumbled.

"Fill me in," Andy said, more so that she could vent. He wasn't likely to remember all the politics anyway.

"Our old employer, Blue Eyes," Clara said. "You remember Quadra?"

"With the Underbelly?"

"That's the one."

"What do they want?"

"My Augmentation. They developed it. You remember, right?"

"Oh yeah." Andy thought back fondly to the battle with the vampire on the rooftop–the first time Clara had used her new magical powers. "Bit late to take it back, isn't it?"

Clara swallowed. "Who knows."

The sky was a soft grey by the time they parked their jeep in their spot on the mountainside road. Unloading a sack of potatoes, they followed the path of a stream downhill, they reached the bunker's hidden entrance by daybreak. Clara banged on the door, and radioed Gabe when there was no response. Fifteen minutes later, the bolts clinked and the techie's mop of hair appeared in the crack. "Hi Clara," he yawned. "Come on in."

"Put your boots on," Clara said. "The array's in the jeep, I need you to take a look."

He squinted. "The jeep?"

"Yeah." Clara nodded up the hill. "I wasn't sure which bit to take."

"Did you cross reference with my schematic?"

"Your drawing?" Clara raised her voice. "Gabriel, it's been a rough night. Come on."

Gabe sluggishly slipped his shoes on while Andy squeezed past him, dragging the sack of potatoes into the corridor. "How's the brew?"

Fixing his glasses, Gabe stared up at Andy in the dark. "Erm, we had a leakage."

Andy smelled the air–the sweet fermentation smell wafted from downstairs. "That's normal."

"Oh, good." Gabe fretted. "I was worried, that, well… I thought maybe some contaminants had entered the staging apparatus."

"Why would you think that?"

Gabe avoided his eyes, shuffling towards the bunker's exit.

Andy scowled. "What contaminates?"

"Oh it's nothing." He shifted outside and disappeared. Andy delved into the bunker alone, dragging the sack after him. On the right was the double which Clara and Gabriel shared. Andy preferred to spend his nights beneath the moonlight in the company of his bolt-action rifle. The weapon hung on a coat rack near the entrance. Andy's eyes lingered on the rifle's dark wooden stock, it's cherry-red glow and simple, slender barrel. Wielding that rifle, he had landed a stunning shot a few months ago which even his AI had claimed was impossible. Since then, he'd been drawn to the handsome weapon, though hid it from the others, for fear of what they would say. Especially Julie.

Undressing, Andy slung his muddy clothes into a heap, hung Julie's holster over the back of a chair and pulled on one of Gabe's dressing gowns. His distilling station was cobbled together with old sign posts and a cracked wardrobe door, propped atop boxes of junk. It wobbled as Andy leaned on it, weighed down by the gallons of alcohol fermenting in containers on its top. Bottles of experimental brews fizzed through their caps, throthing a sticky residue down their sides. Inside were ingredients Andy had scavenged and mixed with yeast. Most of his experiments had been failures, but his flagship brew showed a lot of promise.

Lifting the lid on a ten gallon container, Andy sniffed the fumes. His eyes stung with from strength, his throat tightened and he shivered. "Woof." Stirring the sauce, Andy nodded to himself and reattached the lid. It wasn't long now until it was done.

Andy heard a shuffling sound over the whirring of the extractor fan, set into the wall beside the distillery. Turning, Andy spotted the freaky little gnome watching him from the shadows of a junk mountain. His sister had made Gabe throw out everything he could, and piled up his precious plunder against the far wall. Computer components and coils of wire had tumbled into the small kitchen space, scattered over the counter, like leaves in an abandoned building. The gnome creature had made that mountain its home, burrowing like a hamster in hiding, appearing when it thought Andy wasn't watching.

At first, it had been easy to ignore, but the constant scrying eyes–one white, the other black with a red dot at its centre–niggled at Andy. Those weren't the eyes of prey, not entirely. Within that stare was a silent challenge. Andy glanced towards the spiral staircase. The others would be gone another half-hour or so. If he wanted to, he could dig the gnome out and dash it on the ground, then dispose of it outside, maybe say the little bugger ran away like a cat when the door was open. But it wasn't worth the effort. They wouldn't believe him, and he wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Sup Plods," Andy said, raising a hand.

The gnome shrank into the shadows of its hiding. How rude. Andy knew that Gabe had at least taught the little creature how to say hi. Clearly, it still held a grudge.

Hand raised, Andy bent his pinky and ring finger, then pointed the remaining two at the gnome, thumb raised like the hammer of a pistol.

The clutter shifted as the gnome retreated back into its den. Andy shook his head. "Weird pet."