The Fleet (13 page)

“What is it?”
one of the cowboys asked. Rushing to find the root of Johnny's
commotion.

“Ain't no
mistaking it. That's a fucking ship.” Johnny replied.

“They've come
back for us?”

“Wishful
thinking, but I doubt it,” Johnny said. “It don't matter none.
We're heading out to take the ship if it's flyable.”

“Damn
straight!” another cowboy announced. “I'm eating something other
than beans tonight!”

His statement
brought laughter from the outlaws turned survivors. Each of them
finding new hope in a ship which entered their quaint little
world.

“May want to
shower up first and brush those damn teeth of yours,” Johnny
replied. “Cause I can tell you right now, no woman in her right
mind would have you in the shape you're in. And that includes
infected.”

His joke went
over well with the group, each of them laughing accordingly. They
understood it was his way. Johnny was the alpha-male of their pack.
Their leader through thick and thin. Before the infection, they'd
been outlaws with a history of crime. Usually in the field of
large-scale robberies against the system and its financial
power.

Since the
infection, they had become survivors. Jumping from a life of
robbing financial institutions of money and splashing into a life
of robbing the infected dead of anything nearby that would help
Johnny and his group survive.

Desperate
times called for desperate measures, and Johnny was preparing his
group to do whatever needed to be done. That included stealing a
shuttle which had gone down somewhere close, presumably only a few
miles away from them.

Even though he
had no idea that good friends were aboard it.

*

“My lord.”

“Yes?” Ryalk
asked.

The Viscion
leader turned to watch one of his officer’s approach. A
crystallized look to the very large throne room, which included a
vaulted ceiling and several windows overlooking the stars.

“We've
detected the humans assembling some type of mechanical space
station near the area we first made contact.” the officer said.

“Well. I think
our best option would be to decimate their little project, which is
no doubt a weapon of defense against us.” Ryalk replied.

“My lord,
we've also confirmed through imagery a small craft heading to a
remote planet. Dispatched a short time ago. It was soon followed by
a massive craft which fit our profile of a transport ship.”

“And you think
this ship may be leaving a trail to their most-concentrated home
world?” Ryalk asked.

“We are not
sure, my lord, but we believe it to be. Our commanders wish to know
their next assignment. Follow the ship full of rats back to their
nest or destroy a possible weapons grid in the making?” the officer
asked.

“I see.” Ryalk
replied.

His decision
would require a bit of thought. The humans posed almost no threat
to the Viscion's superior weaponry, though the race among the stars
did not know it for sure. They only suspected the humans to be
inferior. Based on the composition of their fleet ships and battle
rifles.

His choice
would set the tone for things to come, one way or the other. Either
the Viscion would follow the transport ship to its destination in
hopes of a large population, which, in their minds, translated to
food. In doing so, they would allow the humans’ time to possibly
complete a weapons platform.

That said,
should they take on the weapons platform to discover it merely
protected a small military installation, the Viscion would waste
resources and possibly extend their long search for a manageable
food source.

They had
indeed found infected humans in great quantities, just as Dalton
had promised. What the Viscion had also found, was that the
infected were just that. Very sick. Nothing more than onion thin
skin covering skeletal frames, and, in most cases, simply not worth
the trouble. Their soldiers were putting in lots of time and effort
with little reward as the infected had miniscule amounts of flesh
ripe for the eating.

“We cannot
afford to let our food source get away,” Ryalk said. “Have our
ships follow the transport, but do so at a distance. Once we know
their destination, we'll converge on them and begin plucking cattle
for our freezers,” he added. Pausing momentarily. “When the time
comes, we'll deal with their weapons platform and any military
trained – doing so with ease.”

“Yes sir.”

The officer
turned to inform the fleet of their lord's decision. Meanwhile,
Ryalk believed his confidence in their military was well placed.
Their soldiers had been doing what the humans were unable to. Push
back the infected.

The hordes of
dead had proven tough in battle, but the superior weaponry of the
Viscion won out. Each battle ending with thousands of infected
laying dead in smoldering piles with only a few hundred Viscion
casualties.

The race from
among the stars died easily enough. No tougher than a human when it
came to life or death. They did, however, enter battle inside of a
standard issue combat suit, which featured both mechanical and
crystal-powered abilities in combat. Making it a very effective
tool of war.

Ryalk smiled
wide – brimming with arrogance.

Very effective
indeed.

*

“Going to be a
bit rough on the landing,” the pilot said. “This wind is hitting
like a hammer.”

Oh
shit.
Dalton thought, remember both of his crash landing
experiences and unwilling to relive either.

The crew
inside remained silent, though Cambria was a bit frantic when it
came to facial expressions.

The shuttle
dipped a bit, but quickly regained control with a tug of the flight
stick. Only a few hundred feet from the destination and flat ground
awaiting them.

“What the fuck
is going on up there?” Dalton asked with a growl.

The shuttle
once again shifted roughly – though everyone's safety harnesses
held tight.

“It's storm
season in the drifts, sir,” the pilot replied. “Cambria should have
warned you.”

Quickly
snapping his head around, every soldier among them fearing for
their life, Dalton glanced hard at his lover. Only to see Cambria
laughing aloud.

“Now who's the
badass and who's the chicken shit?” she asked with an increased
tone of laugh.

Hers was
followed by another, then another. Every soldier aboard the shuttle
finally joining in after realizing the wind turbulence was normal
for this time of year. They would indeed leave to see another
day.

“You gotta be
shitting me,” Dalton said. “I thought we were all gonna die!”

Reaching up to
the smuggler's roughly bearded face, Cambria clinched his cheek for
a moment.

“Live a
little.”

And he would.
Dalton couldn't remember a time when he was actually pissed off
about the fact that he would live. It seemed ridiculous, but he'd
been thrown into the mindset of kissing the ass he currently sat on
– goodbye.

“You've got to
admit it was funny.” one of the large Husk said with a giggle of
laughter.

“I ain't gotta
admit shit,” Dalton lashed back, though he'd began to calm down a
bit. “Besides. You were scared too.”

“Yes,” the
Husk admitted. “Yes, I was.”

As the shuttle
slammed down onto the hard soil of the drift planet without
warning, nearly throwing Dalton from his harness and irritating him
further, the smuggler glanced back to the pilot's area.

“I say...what
the fuck is going on up there?” he cast off with a loud yell.

“Sorry. That
was me.” the pilot replied.

Sorry my ass,
I should pistol whip the shit out of you! I can fly this tin can
smoother than this shit!

Dalton's mind
raced, though his mouth remained shut. Simply throwing an enduring
stink eye into the direction of the pilot. Hoping to get out of the
crew area before his temper got the best of him and it went to fist
and cuff.

“Same
arrangement as before?” one of the large orc-like Husk asked.

“Huh?” Dalton
questioned. As if he'd lost all knowledge of what being a leader
meant.

“One
group?”

Dalton stepped
off of the shuttle. Thick cowboy boots of brown matching the duster
that rode his back like a cheap itch. Turning to offer a hand as
Cambria eased down.

“Two groups,”
Dalton replied. “May'yok and Zilne, you're with Cambria and myself.
The rest of you keep your asses parked and make sure this
stringbean looking son of a bitch doesn't leave us stranded.” he
added. Scowling at the shuttle's pilot in the process.

“You got it.”
one of the stationed Husk replied.

Dalton had, in
all of his battle-tested glory, picked May'yok and Zilne for a
reason. The group had figured it was because of their massive
stature. They were big son of a bitches, and if the group wanted to
think it, Dalton let them.

Truth be told,
the smuggler knew they were a lot damn slower than either Cambria
or himself. They'd be good to fight alongside, and just as good to
outrun if a horde got to clip their duster tails.

“We'll have to
skirt around these mountains a bit and get close enough to see
Geartown through a set of binoculars. If it looks like smooth
sailing, we'll head in. If not, we'll get as close as we can and
have a look-see.”

The two
hulking soldiers were armed with a standard issue battle rifle and,
of course, the savage long-blade their race was famous for. Leading
them out, Cambria followed behind. A combat pistol holstered to her
side and ready, if needed. Finally, Dalton pulled up the rear.

If anybody
watches her ass there and back, it's gonna be me.

*

“Whiskey One
this is The Lucky Lady,” a voice crackled over the radio of the
shuttle. “We're in orbit above you and standing by until further
instructions.”

It took the
group a moment, though the pilot immediately knew their plan was
now in place.

“Copy that
Lucky Lady,” the pilot said, holding a com device which attached to
their shuttles controls. A short cord feeding into the device.
“Whiskey One, out.”

The captain of
the Lucky Lady put his com down as well. Turning to face the
co-pilot as they logged their positioning and awaited any and all
extractions from the surface. Prepared to fill with any survivors
and ferry them back to Second Glimmeria.

“Think they'll
round up any survivors?” the co-pilot asked.

“Hard to say,”
the pilot replied. “Either way, I don't see the point in flying out
here to rescue anyone. These people wanted to live a basic
lifestyle and now they're living it.”

Both of the
men behind the Lucky Lady's controls began to laugh a bit. A dozen
Husk tucked away in bunks aboard the ship and sleeping very
soundly.

“Got
something.” the co-pilot said, spinning toward his com station and
immediately watching a blip which had appeared on his screen.
Quickly turning to three.

“What the
hell?” the pilot asked.

The three
objects were closing fast and sparing no expense in doing so. The
co-pilot hit the alarm code, punching his identification number in
on a numeric touchscreen. It sounded a loud digital ringing
throughout The Lucky Lady, while alerting the fleet ships.

“This is the
Lucky Lady hailing approaching aircraft. Please identify yourselves
immediately.” the captain said. The ships now visible through the
wide shatterproof windshield. “I say again. Identify yourselves
immediately.”

Their only
response was a shot across the bow. Nearly throwing a direct hit
onto the transport vessel, which had no way of fighting back.

“Abandon ship,
abandon ship,” the captain yelled loudly into the vessel's com
system. “We are taking fire!”

Nodding to his
longtime friend, the co-pilot turned for a quick exit. No need for
two men trained in flight to die aboard the Lucky Lady.

To be a
species of larger than life warriors, the Husk moved like
fleet-footed rabbits when their own asses were on the line. Each of
them scrambling to reach the reserve shuttle aboard the Lucky Lady
– piercing shots of concentrated laser now striking the large, but
unarmed, vessel.

The first hard
shot zinged through unannounced, ripping into the large transport
and gaping a massive hole into the cargo area which began to vacuum
supplies into the dark of space.

Quickly
followed by debris, and, sadly – bodies.

The first husk
immediately flew out of the open hole of damage as several more
shots burst onto the large transport. Rendering it defenseless. Two
husk has secured themselves inside, followed by the co-pilot, who
gripped the doorway of the escape shuttle tightly. Firmly wanting
to live and fighting back the pulling tension of free space.

The remaining
souls aboard the Lucky Lady perished one by one. Some of them
sucked into space – the rest killed by the mighty ship of no
weaponry exploding into millions of crystalline embers.

But not before
the co-pilot could pull himself aboard the small shuttle, bag of
supplies in hand – as it coasted down into the atmosphere of the
drifts.

*

“We should be
getting close to the outskirts of Geartown.” May'yok said.

The sun had
faded a bit – nighttime settling in throughout the remote area of
planets, including theirs.

The group
acknowledged him with nods, following the large husk warrior as
quietly as possible.

“Someone is up
ahead!” May'yok said with quiet alarm. Whispering his words and
clinching together a fist.

“Are they
dead?” Cambria asked.

“Either dead
or in damn good need of a shower.” May'yok replied.