Expedition Westward

  ***

  Two kick scooters awaited them as they exited the apartment building. Star grabbed one of them and placed a foot on its floor board.

  “Isn’t it great to be outside again?” she said.

  Winston shaded his optical sensors against the sun, even though it was shrouded behind thick cloud cover.

  “I suppose so.” He mounted the remaining scooter tentatively. “At least no one will regret my departure.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” Star said. “They’ll appreciate your true worth sooner or later.”

  “Right.”

  They kicked off into the early morning. Star light and vigorous on her machine, Winston trailing ponderously behind.

  Mech City rolled past, quiet and serene, until they reached Heroes’ Square. The place was empty now, as work on the new Mayor’s Palace had been abandoned. Ajax’s first act as mayor had been to cancel the entire project.

  Winston and Star scootered into the empty plaza. Battle ghosts seemed to attend the place – masses of slain mech birds, metal men damaged beyond repair, snarling mech wolves smashed against the paving stones – and beneath it all, the hulking presence of Fascista Ultimo.

  This brings back some unpleasant memories, Winston thought.

  And some good memories, too, like the time when the adoring population of Mech City had hoisted him onto their shoulders and proclaimed him leader. But that was before things had ‘gone to hell in a hand basket,’ as his former master used to say.

  A light wind and some tumbling debris made the only sounds, besides their wheels bumping on the uneven pavement. Winston concentrated on the noises, keeping his optical sensors focused on the ground directly ahead of him. He had no wish to observe his toppled and dishonored statue.

  I hope they’ve dragged the damn thing away!

  Star halted abruptly, and Winston nearly collided with her before he could stop.

  “Well, what do you know!” Star exclaimed.

  They were standing beside Winston’s statue. It had been restored to its pedestal and its broken legs repaired. The inscription on the medallion was changed from “Mayor” to “Hero.”

  Winston’s dejection suddenly lifted from his shoulders like a burial shroud. It fluttered away to join the other ghosts agitating the square. He straightened himself up.

  “That’s not half bad,” he said.

  “See what I mean?” Star said. “They’ve come around already – they’ll miss you, all right.”

  “Yes,” Winston said, “they just might.”

  “Let’s get a move on.” Star took off fast. “Bye-ee Mech City!”

  Winston caught up with her. “Race you to Pickle Lake Castle.”

  “You’re on, Winston.”

  They moved energetically side by side. Unobserved by them, a mech wolf emerged from hiding and trotted away.

  9. New Vistas Beckon

  Hours later, Winston and Star were travelling through open countryside along the familiar westward route. The same barren low hills, eroded fields, and dead trees awaited them. A thick overcast glowered above, through which the sun poked intermittently. The usual tough, ugly plants grew in the roadside ditches, their thorny foliage hissing in the breeze.

  The world looked fine to Winston, though. The grim realities of the past week had tumbled off his chest like an unbearable weight, leaving him buoyant above his whizzing scooter wheels. And he was free from the burden of running Mech City. He didn’t miss the mayor’s job at all!

  Well ... that wasn’t really true. A large part of him yearned for the power he’d lost and would have snatched it back if the opportunity arose. But it wouldn’t arise, so it was better to ‘make a virtue out of necessity,’ as Dr. Horvath would phrase it, and move on to new vistas.

  Winston realized that he was using many of his former master’s favorite expressions lately. The thought warmed him, as if he’d returned to an essential part of himself that he’d abandoned for a long time. There was more to him than just being a failed mayor, or a ‘Walking Library of Alexandria,’ or a rebel leader. And who could say what else the future held? What if the ‘conversion’ Star yearned for could really be done – what would he be like then?

  Winston pushed this last thought away. It was too threatening, somehow. And it was unobtainable, Winston knew.

  More patches of thorny weeds grew out in the fields, and something new, as well. Low grassy plants carpeted some areas, reaching heights of fifteen or twenty centimeters. Their effect was subtle, correct, as if they truly belonged – unlike the spiky, alien-looking weeds. Winston’s optical sensors quickly got used to the new greenery, accepting its presence.

  They paused atop a rise for an afternoon break. Winston pulled out his road atlas to verify their position. Star looked briefly over his shoulder at the map, then turned her attention to the surrounding countryside.

  “Is it just me, or do things look better now?” she said.

  Winston glanced up from the atlas.

  “I believe your observation is objectively accurate,” he said. “There is more greenery now, of a better quality, and the air seems fresher – though I lack an atmospheric analyzer to verify the supposition.”

  Star nestled up against him. “It’s a great day for a fresh start, huh?”

  “Indeed.” Winston stroked his chin thoughtfully. “An extended growing season must be a partial explanation.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ordinarily this would be late autumn,” Winston said, “but the warm weather has been unnaturally prolonged.”

  Star pulled away.

  Winston’s about as romantic as those weeds over there, she thought sourly.

  The sun was out now, as the overcast had temporarily vacated a wide swath of sky. Star felt uncomfortable under the rays. Not because of the warmth, but because of what it might herald – a mech bug swarm like the one that had assailed them during their first trip to Pickle Lake. The horrid little creatures preferred brightness, when their power reserves were bolstered by solar energy.

  She checked the sky for any trace of them, saw nothing.

  “I’d imagine that some years will pass before normal weather patterns reestablish themselves,” Winston said.

  “How interesting,” Star replied.

  “Yes, very.”

  Star walked a few paces away to nurse her frustration. Winston returned to his road atlas.

  Give him time, she thought, he’s only just emerged from his funk.

  The idea cheered her a little but did not dispel her growing unease. Something seemed to be in the air, even if she couldn’t see it. Or maybe it was just her ‘female intuition’ run amok. Hopefully, that’s all it was. It had happened more than once before.

  But a gnawing sense of dread remained. She glanced along the road ahead. A drain pipe some distance away could offer protection from a mech bug attack.

  They were always on the lookout for possible refuges – abandoned vehicles, buildings, any sort of cave or tunnel. She’d packed tennis rackets and heavy plastic sheeting in case they were caught out in the open.

  “If we maintain this steady, but not hectic, pace,” Winston was saying, “we should reach Pickle Lake Castle in ... I’d estimate thirteen days, although the humans considered that to be an unlucky number.”

  “Why was it unlucky?” Star asked.

  “There are various theories,” Winston said. “The humans were good at messing up their lives with foolish superstitions. I’ve often speculated that it was a compensating mechanism.”

  Star had no idea what Winston was driving at. His intellect was far beyond that of anyone she’d ever encountered – except for Dr. Rackenfauz, perhaps. She found it best to humor him during these philosophical ramblings.

  “How could a superstition about a number be a ‘compensating mechanism?’” she asked.

  “It kind of kept things in balance, I surmise,” Winston said. “The higher a species’ intellect, the dumber the restrictions
it placed upon itself. I can’t imagine that dogs or apes paid much attention to numerology.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Did you know that many battles commenced on holidays because one side was too preoccupied with religious and / or social events to notice an approaching threat?” Winston said.

  “Really?” Star said.

  “Yes,” Winston said. “There was the Sunday Pearl Harbor attack, the Yom Kippur war, the Tet offensive – not to mention George Washington’s Christmas assault on the Hessian mercenaries.”

  Winston shook his head indulgently, as if he was discussing the antics of small children instead of key episodes in human history.

  “All of Western civilization nearly went down the drain because Sparta was holding religious observances and didn’t send more than three hundred men to oppose the Persian invasion. Why ...”

  Star’s uneasiness increased as Winston’s voice droned on. Was he too preoccupied with his own ramblings to be aware of a real ‘approaching threat?’ She looked up into the sky again, and there it was – a huge, dark mass flying toward them from the northeast!

  “Winston.”

  Winston broke off his monologue.

  “Yes?”

  “We need to get moving.”

  “In a minute,” Winston said. “I’m on the verge of some truly keen insights.”

  “Now!” Star cried.

  Winston followed her gaze skyward, his face mirrored her shock. The great cloud was closing fast. There was no mistaking what it was – a swirling mass of mech bugs with tiny crazed brains and sharp pincers aching to rip. A smaller cloud followed the main body, adding to the nightmare effect.

  Star leaped onto her scooter. “There’s drain pipe ahead!”

  She took off. Winston brought up the rear, using the brute power of his legs to keep up with Star’s superior coordination. The road blazed past under their wheels.

  Winston glanced back over his shoulder, then ahead again. The mech bug cloud was much closer now, but so was the drain pipe. They were going to make it ...

  Star glanced over her shoulder at the looming threat. She turned back too late to see the pot hole. Her front wheel struck it hard.

  “Oh!”

  Her scooter careened onto the gravel shoulder, out of control, then plummeted down the slope. She tumbled after it into the ditch. The horrid event seemed to pass before Winston’s optical sensors in nightmare slow motion.

  “Star!”

  He abandoned his scooter and ran down the slope. Star had regained her feet; the mech bugs swirled directly above her now.

  “We’ll have to fight our way there!” Winston cried.

  They yanked tennis rackets and heavy plastic sheets out of their packs.

  “Keep moving, no matter what,” Winston said. “Leave me behind if you have to.”

  “No way I’m leaving you, Winston!”

  They covered themselves with the sheets and hefted their rackets.

  “Come on you bastards!” Winston shouted.

  The black, lethal cloud descended upon them like a club. Winston and Star swung their rackets mightily, taking down scores of the creatures, but many more took their place. Thousands of vicious little pincers snapped for them, piercing the plastic sheets.

  BZZRT! PTEW!

  Mech bugs littered the dust, but thousands more polluted the air. Winston and Star tried to force a way through, as if they were battling a tempest.

  “Winston!”

  Star’s plastic sheet fluttered away in the bug tornado. Winston flung his own sheet over her. He stood exposed now, swatting two-handed with his racket. The bugs pressed their attack, oblivious to their losses. Winston’s pressure sensors detected the intrusion of hundreds of pincers.

  “Keep going!” Winston howled over the maelstrom.

  He tried to force his way toward the drain pipe, but the crushing weight of the attack was bringing him down. Star flung half the sheet over him, together they flailed away, struggling toward the refuge. It seemed impossibly far off.

  Then ...

  10. Old Friends Appear

  A violent cacophony of cheeps and fluttering wings exploded above them as a flock of mech birds slammed into the insects.

  “Whoo-ee!” Winston yelled.

  The mayhem swirled like a tornado as the black, robin-sized birds mauled the insect cloud like sharks tearing through a school of mackerel.

  Insect bodies cascaded like hail – crushed, decapitated, pincers still snapping with futile viciousness. Birds snatched off the bugs that had been gouging at Winston. Others picked the attackers from Star’s skin and hair.

  “That’s it!” Winston hoisted his tennis racket in salute. “Tear ‘em up!”

  But his elation soon began to wane.

  Where did these birds come from? he wondered, What’s was their full purpose?

  Star shared his misgivings.

  “Do you think they’ll come after us next?” she shouted over the mayhem.

  “I sure hope not,” Winston said.

  “But I thought Ajax deactivated all the mech birds,” Star said.

  “Maybe they’re from a different flock,” Winston said, “a crazy one.”

  The insect swarm was scattering now. Birds darted after the survivors, cheeping ferociously, aching to rip and crush. They appeared to be crazed with slaughter.

  Had their tiny brains deteriorated like those of so many other robotic life forms – were they in the psychotic grip of the Che Syndrome?

  Winston hoisted his backpack. “We’d better get under cover.”

  They hurried to the drain pipe, crushing stricken insects underfoot. The bugs were so thick in spots that Winston nearly lost his footing; Star gripped his arm and held him up. When they finally got to the pipe, Winston shoved his backpack in as far as it would go.

  “Now you,” he said

  Star doffed her backpack and wedged herself into the drain pipe, feet first. Her shoulders and hips barely cleared the edge.

  “Ooo, I don’t like this much!”

  Winston glanced around for any sign of attacking birds. There were none yet, but the maddened cheeps indicated that things could turn lethal any moment.

  “Get in here, Winston,” Star’s voice echoed from the dark interior.

  He slithered into the pipe and blocked the entrance with Star’s backpack. The noise from the slaughter outside became muffled.

  Star curled her arms around Winston’s legs and held on tight.

  “I’m scared, Winston!”

  “Me, too ... just try to stay calm, all right?”

  Ghastly memories of the previous time he’d hidden in such a place barged into Winston’s mind. He recalled vividly the terror and claustrophobia – the sense that some creature had grabbed hold of his legs. A scream prepared to burst out from his deepest fears.

  Stop it, Winston!

  He had to be strong. It was Star hanging onto him now, not some bogey man. He had to protect her, he couldn’t give in ...

  Time dragged past in the mysterious, fetid environment. Without external references, Winston could not tell for certain how long they remained entombed. Finally, the world outside turned quiet. Winston felt a drip of icy water running down his back that he hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “I’d better go take a look,” he said.

  “Okay.” Star’s voice was small and frightened.

  The cramped, reeking confines suddenly felt much more comfortable to Winston, relative to whatever might be lurking outside. He steeled himself and pushed the backpack out of the tunnel, revealing a circle of daylight. The usual dull gray, but beautiful nonetheless.

  Winston held on to the backpack, ready to jerk it into place at the first hint of danger. Nothing yet. He inched himself forward until his whole head protruded, still no sign of trouble.

  “I’m getting out now,” he said.

  “Be careful, Winston!”

  “Sure ... don’t worry ... I will.”

 
Winston exited fully and got to his feet, looking every direction for mech birds. He spotted them some distance to the west, flying in a circular pattern like a black, lazy hurricane cloud.

  “I don’t think they mean to attack us,” He called back into the drain pipe. “They almost seem to be waiting for something.”

  Star’s head poked out of the drain pipe, like some angelic vision emerging from a cesspool. Winston pulled her out into the daylight, then crawled back in, head first, to retrieve his backpack.

  When he came out again, Star was brushing herself off disgustedly. Her clothes were wet and tattered, and dead mech bugs were tangled in her hair.

  “Are you all right, Star?”

  “Yes ... I think so.”

  Winston examined the network of scratches on his arms and torso. “So much for my new paint job, eh?”

  His fear had finally begun to retreat. Then it wrenched into super drive again.

  “Yow!”

  Two mech wolves were approaching along the ditch – fangs bared, eyes leering.

  “What’re they doing here?” Star cried.

  “I don’t know – maybe they’re renegades.”

  Winston pulled metal rods out of his pack and assembled them into a spear. Star grabbed a club out of her own pack. They stood prepared for battle.

  This is one helluva lousy situation! Winston thought.

  The mech wolves halted their advance a few meters away and went into a crouch, their coats bristling.

  “Relax,” a familiar voice called from the road above them. “Everything is under control.”

  The mech wolves retreated obsequiously. Winston and Star swiveled their heads so see Iridium looking down at them.

  “Iri!” Star cried.

  She rushed up the slope and embraced the great canine, smothering his face with kisses. Winston felt a burst of conflicting emotions – relief, befuddlement, joy, and more than a little exasperation.

  “Would you mind telling us what’s going on?” he said.

  “I brought some reinforcements,” Iridium said. “You didn’t think I’d let you run off unprotected, did you?”

  “You’re so wonderful, Iri!” Star said.

  Iridium basked in the praise, but Winston was rather annoyed by Star’s outpouring. Why wasn’t she kissing him and praising his heroics?

  “Are there any more wolves?” Winston asked.

  “No,” Iridium said. “I can handle two of them without the communicator. More than that and they might be handling us.”

  “So, where is the communicator?” Winston said. “I only just gave it to you.”

  “I passed it on to Ajax,” Iridium said. “In return, he loaned us a thousand of his mech birds.”

  “This is all very cozy,” Winston said.

  “Sorry pal,” Iridium said, “but Ajax needs those wolves to guard Mech City. Actually, he appointed Jimmy as interim security chief.”

  “Jimmy?” Star said.

  “Yes,” Iridium replied, “Ajax said he didn’t want too much power in his own hands.”

  “That’s wise,” Winston muttered.

  I should have followed that policy myself – idiot!

  He began climbing up the slope. His progress was awkward, unlike the effortless dash Star had made. She gripped his hand and assisted him up the final stretch.

  “Winston, you didn’t even thank Iri for helping us,” she said in a low voice.

  Of course Winston felt gratitude, but why did Iridium have to be so damn capable? How many more times would he save the day while he, Winston, could only blunder along?

  Winston was being a petty jerk and knew it. By the time he reached Iridium, the last shreds of annoyance had vanished, replaced by awed respect.

  “Thanks Iridium,” he said. “We owe you a lot.”

  Iridium nodded. “Sure thing.”

  “No hard feelings, then?” Winston said. “I mean, about the events in Mech City and all.”

  “Of course not, pal,” Iridium said.

  He sat up like a huge puppy dog and offered his right paw. After some astonished hesitation, Winston shook it.

  “Yes, well ... ahem,” Winston said. “Shall we get moving?”

  “You two go on ahead,” Iridium said, “we’ll bring up the rear.”

  11. Mountain Coup

  In the mountains ahead, at a higher altitude than Pickle Lake Castle, the remnants of a biker gang sprawled about their encampment waiting to receive orders from their leader, Jeff. There were nine men all together, along with two women. The women were not members of the club during earlier times, and they were still subordinate now.

  Brad, the only surviving lieutenant, looked over the group with disgust. When the gang had first entered these mountains, there’d been forty brothers, many of them with old ladies, plus some community property broads. It was Jeff’s bright idea that they should occupy a place called ‘Pickle Lake Castle’ and ride out the plague – have a non-stop party while the world died around them.

  But when they got there, a group of crazies with automatic weapons and grenades ambushed them on the slopes. These people fought like demons, even using some of their number as human shields – according to the assault force survivors. Brad himself had been ordered to stay behind with ten of the brothers so as to guard the bikes and women.

  Many of the gang’s best men died that day. The others in the assault force lost their zeal for battle and fled like total pussies. Brad and the others had no choice but to follow them in an ignominious retreat.

  After the catastrophe, Jeff had led them to this place, as high up as they could get. They may have been tough hombres down in the lowlands, but up here Mother Nature took no crap. Nobody knew much about wilderness survival, and they paid the price with further deaths from sickness and exposure. But there were compensations – plenty of broads to go around.

  Then the goddam plague reached even this altitude and killed many others before it retreated. For some reason, it struck the women much harder than the men. Only two bitches remained now – actually there weren’t any for Brad and his pals. Susie was in a deep funk after the death of her man, and Jeff told them to lay off her. That was fine for him to say; he had Pam as his old lady, and he’d make short work of anybody who tried to move in on her.

  The two of them were sitting on a boulder now, enjoying their private little world. Pam was #1 prime, no question about that. Jeff himself had dropped a lot of weight living up here, as all the guys had, but he was still the most formidable of them all. Brad approached the pair cautiously. Jeff looked up at him with piercing blue eyes.

  Play it cool, Brad told himself.

  For his part, Jeff was also disgusted. Over the past months, his plans had come to grief, and his self-respect had taken a major hit. He’d thought of himself as a man above normal limitations, afraid of nothing ... until he met up with the enemy at Pickle Lake. The encounter had unnerved him. It wasn’t just seeing so many of his brothers getting slaughtered, their blood and gore splashing on his colors, it was the very nature of the enemy. They hardly seemed human. An atmosphere of evil attended them like a poisoned fog; they sacrificed many of their own number without a second thought.

  That had been the worst part, really, gunning down the shrieking, unarmed human shields. There was something demonic about it. All the surviving members of the assault force felt the same way. All of them had been psychologically shattered by the ‘battle.’ Actually, it was massacre, plain and simple.

  Brad and the others who had stayed behind held them in contempt, Jeff knew. These uninitiated ones were very brave in their insistence that the gang should have stood and fought – but they hadn’t looked into the face of absolute evil. Jeff had never admitted this to anyone, but in the midst of the fighting, he could have sworn that he’d seen a vast, reddish eye pulsing in the air above the carnage.

  Jeff had brooded on this for months, had called into question his own role in the world. Maybe things weren’t as cut a
nd dried as he’d thought; perhaps he was not the kick ass alpha male he’d thought he was. With the world largely ended now, perhaps there was a different role for him than just being a gang leader. For the first time in his life, he was beginning to feel some responsibility for the wider humanity.

  Maybe there was a greater role for him to play in the lowlands – who could say? Only one thing was certain, once they left this mountain fastness, there would be a parting of the ways with Brad and his crew – the four heroes who’d missed out in the climactic fight.

  “So ... what’s the next move, Chief?” Brad asked.

  Jeff fixed a withering gaze on him, the one he used to intimidate subordinates into keeping their places. Brad was grateful for the sunglasses that concealed the fear in his own eyes.

  “I’m thinking it’s time to blow this place,” Jeff said. “I think we’re all tired of freezing our nuts up here.”

  Brad did not reply.

  “You got a problem with that?” Jeff asked.

  “Oh, no man, none at all.”

  Brad retreated a step, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

  “I just got a problem with pricks who won’t share the wealth,” he said.

  Jeff’s face darkened. “What the fuck are you saying?”

  He started to rise; Brad pulled out a gun.

  “I’m saying this!”

  Brad pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in Jeff’s forehead. Blood and brains exploded out the back of his skull, spraying over Pam. All his thoughts about the future blew away.

  Pam screamed hysterically as Jeff’s body crashed to the ground.

  “Shut up, bitch!”

  Brad backhanded her hard, sending her tumbling off the boulder.

  Elsewhere in the camp, Tom, Bill, and Andy opened fire on Jeff’s loyalists, killing them all. Tom’s high-pitched, maniacal laugher competed with the fusillade.

  When the slaughter was over, the three joined Brad to gloat over Jeff’s corpse.

  “Man, that was fun!” Tom cried.

  “I hope Jeff enjoyed his retirement party,” Bill said.

  He rolled Jeff’s body over with his foot, exposing its dead face to the daylight.

  “Nice shot, Brad, right through the middle!”

  “So, what’s next?” Andy asked.

  “We get out of this shit hole, that’s what,” Brad said. “As soon as I’ve had a little recreation.”

  He seized Pam’s hair and yanked her to her feet.

  “Get that Susie bitch here, too,” he said. “I’m feeling frisky.”

  Tom cackled. “Ah, there’s only one Brad!”

  “I’ll let you guys know when it’s your turn,” Brad said.

  “Right on,” Andy said. “Share the wealth!”

  Brad dragged Pam off among the boulders. Her screaming resumed.