Dead Opportunities: Book 3

Ride the Spiral to the End

Chapter 2: Place your bet

"Where is he now?"

"Top-side, sir. He's moving fast due north."

"Is there anything in that direction?"

"Nothing important. He's about to leave the safe zone and will enter Wilderness in a minute or less."

"Fuck me dead."

"Sir?"

"Nothing…"

It had been an exceptionally bad day. Everyone's hopes had been so high, only to be dashed so cruelly. It had been bad enough to lose a test subject with so much promise, but to lose it in such a fashion presented not just a lost opportunity, but a present liability. A madman was running loose on the outside and God only knew what sort of abilities he had. He never liked the idea of supersoldiers designed by scientists. Whatever it was they had in mind always seemed to go wrong.

Proto-testosterone to enhance stamina, strength and pain tolerance? Yes, but include swollen/exploding testicles, psychosis and brain aneurysms. Gene replacement therapy to implant copied genes from the best soldiers of our time? Uncontrollable mutations that for some reason included swollen testicles again, cancer and genetic degradation.

Serum this. Vaccine that.

Gimme some good old fashioned discipline and guts any day.

Costs a fuckload less.

Better yet, use robots.

General Atkins massaged his temples, trying to push the headache away that stubbornly danced behind his eyes. Although Polanda had been given authority by the President to manage the program, Atkins had been sent to oversee and report back his opinions.

He had been hopeful just like everyone else at the time and cast his mind back to the Black Beetle program from years before when Polanda had stamped his credentials firmly into the covert research field. Polanda had developed a field gel based on a flesh eating virus that actually sped up the healing process. It was an invaluable tool and had undoubtedly saved the lives of good soldiers.

Then he had taken the science further and pioneered a gene therapy program that taught the human body how to regrow missing limbs.

Invaluable stuff. I gotta cut him some slack.

Atkins calmed down and remembered again why he was here. He was an old school man who had been in the army nigh on 40 years and had seen and done a lot. He had seen the development of all sorts of new technologies that helped give the edge in the field. Surgical strikes were his personal favourite, as was the Mech soldier program, but Polanda was a solid ally as well, he believed. Most scientists in the past developed their programs without ever much listening to the soldiers they experimented on. Polanda was different. He actually listened and absorbed what Atkins had to say, even when he was being shouted down as a 'pencil-necked poofter'.

But Polanda had won his trust through sheer results that soldiers found exceedingly useful.

Now, however, that trust being tested.

What do I report? Do I crucify him? Or back him up?

"Atkins?"

The old general turned at the familiar voice and smiled a tired, wan smile. Polanda replied in kind with a dejected crease of his lips and sensed his friend's dilemma.

Atkins dug his hands in his pockets and arched his back, feeling it click and move as it dispelled stiffness. "What the situation, Pol? What do you make of this?"

Pol was Atkins' nickname for him. He usually bestowed teasing monikers or codenames to people he trusted. 'Pole Dancer' came to mind, but he didn't have the heart to use it. So Pol it was.

"I expect your superiors and the President will ask you whether I should be disposed of and this project closed down." he said with a slightly mocking but understanding tone.

"Yep. That's why I'm asking what you make of this. Is there anything to salvage here?" Atkins pulled his hands out of his pockets and folded them into a tight knot across his chest. Friend or no friend, Polanda had to answer for his failure. "I mean, c'mon. White Beetle has cost a buttload of time and resources and all we have to show for it are two semi-successful candidates, one madman on the loose and a big hole in the wall said madman seemed to make with only a look."

"Actually, make that two holes. Seems he did the same to the main gate as he left."

"If you want to be pedantic, make that hundreds of holes in those 27 soldiers and personnel he blew apart on his way out."

"Yes, Holeston and Haymach were two of mine. It's such a shame."

Atkins fought back an angry retort. Polanda didn't care that two of his staff were killed. Lowly deckhands that could be replaced. Atkins was more worried about the 25 soldiers killed that were more difficult to replace. "So Pol. What's your take on this?"

Polanda smiled and slowly crossed his arms, choosing his words carefully. "Actually, I think this is an opportunity."

"Say what?" Atkins blurted.

"Think about it. It appears that Craig has new powers. In that sense the serum worked and as you say, he tore through 25 soldiers through his escape. He is obviously very very capable. I think we could do some field testing and allow One and Two the chance to recapture Craig."

Atkins felt like vomiting and his headache intensified. "You've gotta be kidding."

Polanda stood still, absorbing the general's barely contained rage, and continued. "I know you are furious and you probably think I'm being impetuous. But think about it. There's always been the problem that One and Two have been lacking meaningful testing and there's numerous doubts of their abilities. As you know, even with their successes, the Chief of Security and the President have always been uncomfortable with the idea. But I think we have an opportunity to prove their worth. If they succeed, we get Craig back. If they fail, then the project has properly failed and then I can be brought down in a hail of flames."

Atkins tensed as he thought it over. As much as he hated the idea, he also liked it. "If it works, it works. If it fails, it fails."

"Yes."

"You're making one hell of a gamble."

"I know."

"You sure about this?"

Polanda smiled. "I know what One and Two are capable of, even if no one else believes me. If I'm right we're back on track. If I'm wrong, I'll only be doing what my naysayers want anyway in closing down White Beetle."

Atkins relaxed as the logic washed over. "I'll go put in my report. You better be confident as fuck, because to be honest, I don't like your chances."

Polanda turned and looked his tall friend square in the eyes. "I'm betting my life Fatkins."

And then he turned and left.

Atkins hated that nickname.

Fatkins.

He smiled and laughed.

XXX

"Where is he now?"

"Two kilometres South East. He's not moving."

"Good. Maintain course to intercept."

The Armoured Personnel Carrier sped through the empty streets quietly, but with enough of a disturbance to rouse local zombies that still roamed the town's brick and concrete carcass. It was only a tiny town, proudly proclaimed to be the 'tidiest town in Maine USA", but now Footbridge was a shadow of it's former pride. Shopfronts were broken and looted, bodies suffering from advanced decay lay strewn across the main road and papers blew in the wind.

Snipers sitting atop the APC shot down the odd zombie whenever they poked their heads out to see the source of the minor commotion. All in all, it was a casual affair and none of the three snipers had needed to reload yet. It was quiet town at the foot of the local mountain range that had once been preoccupied mostly with fishing and tourism.

Quiet spits of gunfire continued intermittently as the driver slowed the bulky vehicle down and parked in the middle of an intersection.

"Alright. One. Two. Deploy."

The sergeant was glad to issue the order and see the peculiar passengers open the rear door and spill out onto the street. Weak rays of afternoon sunshine flooded the cabin and abruptly disappeared as the door closed again. Without hesitation, the APC sped off down the street to double back and leave the town and its new visitors behind.

They crouched low in the shadows of the small buildings around them as they scanned the empty streets and listened intently. One errant zombie, a fat man in jeans and flannelettes long ago stained black with blood ambled down the pavement to nowhere. He stepped with stiff determination, fighting rigor mortis and dead nerves in his pointless journey with every movement.

The two figures in hiding watched him pass and continued to wait, listening.

XX

Polanda and Atkins watched the bank of screens before them with full attention, waiting patiently for the One and Two to proceed. They were cautious as they had trained to be and with their heightened senses, pause either meant they had found something and were listening or they were searching and finding nothing at all.

Atkins always found humour in the idea he could be sitting down in a comfortable arm chair with a hot coffee in hand watching the first person view of a soldier hundreds of kilometres away and give roders in real time. He did so now, but without the coffee. Polanda insisted on standing and leaned right over the shoulder of a comm tech at his station.

Helmet mounted cameras provided a clear view from the two assassins view points, and implanted tracking devices indicated their position via GPS. Atkins eyed a monitor to the left which showed the GPS co-ordinates of something else amidst a schematic of Footbridge town. A small yellow dot glowed persistently to the right of two green dots.

He tensed and spoke into his mic, "He's staying put 800 metres NNE of your position. Proceed at your discretion."

"Copy."

"Copy."

The two green dots moved steadily through the streets on the monitor, closing in. They split up and approached the dot from opposite sides in a pincer formation, until they were nearly on top of the yellow dot.

Atkins was nervous. "Status. Have you located the target?"

XX

One sat ready in the small alcove at the base of a tackle shop, cradling a stun gun in his hands. He looked across the empty street and saw his companion crouched in a similar spot across the way. They were tense, but relaxed.

One listened again, trying to sense their prey, but he could hear and feel nothing.

His senses, like his companion were extremely sensitive, artificially amplified by their helmet array. Each wore a black suit that clung to them much like a wet suit, but reinforced by plexi-carbon plating that moved with them. Flexibility was extremely important when an assassin's primary advantage was stealth and speed.

The serum had also given each astounding physical attributes, but as a side effect their skin was a dark blue. No one liked them. Everyone avoided them like they had the plague, which was true in a sense, but truth be told they preferred it that way.

Whoever they were before was no longer. Both on paper and in terms of memory, One was no longer human and had no past. The serum had erased or buried most of his memory except those that manifested themselves in the physical sense like his training in the SEALS. He was a soldier above all else and had dodged the bullet amidst the pain when the serum had been injected. He had absorbed it, seen the monster within and banished it down through force of will. At least, that is how he remembered it.

Polanda told him his genetics gave him a pre-disposed protection against the serum's 'turning' and so his brother had been drafted into the program. And then there was Two.

Now they were charged with recovering another potential survivor.

Three.

They would bring him in alive, but still they sat scanning the empty street in puzzlement. The GPS tracker indicated Craig was nearby, if not right in front of them, but was nowhere to be seen.

"Manhole. He's in the sewer." Two said into the mic.

"Copy that." One replied.

"Proceed down with caution." Atkin's voice interjected with a whiff of static.

One and Two crept out into the open towards an innocent looking manhole cover, half painted over with a road line marking that appeared to be uninterrupted. They glanced at each other and One reached for the manhole as Two readied his stun gun. A high powered assault rifle was only a split second away if for whatever reason it proved inadequate.

One pulled and lifted the steel cover with seemingly no effort, laying it down quietly on the asphalt like it were paper and Two circled the exposed hole with the stun gun's barrel leading the way down into the dark. Like a spider, he descended the ladder upside down with One right behind him in the gloom. Their helmets automatically detected the fading light and activated night vision, bathing their view in a garish green glow.

Two glided smoothly down and found an open tunnel that diverged left and right. Sweeping the gun back and forth, he ignored the cloying stench and the claustrophobic darkness, focussing on locating his prey. Thankfully, the tunnel was largely bereft of water, having been inactive for so long. It was large for a sewer line, large enough for a man to walk through only slightly hunched over as it acted as the main sewer for the entire area.

Careful eyes darted in all directions and his ears strained for any unnatural noises. Silently, he jumped down onto the slippery brickwork of the tunnel and sensed his brother drop behind him, sweeping across the opposite tunnel.

Two crept down his open tunnel, keeping to the right wall like a lizard. A dark shape against the bricks further down caught his eye and closer inspection revealed it to be a corpse. However, it was broken. It was as though it had been squashed into the wall. Giblets of rotted flesh clung to the space between the bricks like play dough into a mould.

"Follow." Two whispered, and sensed One join up behind him, giving up on the other tunnel.

The tunnel stretched down and disappeared into a dark gloom that even the night vision had difficulty piercing. Still they pressed on into the darkness, sure that Craig was near. Fingers and toes revealed themselves, poking out of the brick work like icicles, the only trace left of the pulverised corpses that had been mashed into the walls.

Two froze on the spot and crouched down, and One followed in kind, trusting his brother's instincts momentarily before he felt it too. Craig was so very near.

One checked behind them, fearful of a trick but saw nothing as Two stared into the dark, willing it to reveal its secrets. Unused to fear, they felt it now like pins and needles. Doggedly, they maintained their composure.

"Bluuuuuueee." A high voice pierced through the silence and echoed as though it came from all around them. It was directionless.

"Stand fast." Atkins' voice reassured them, touched by static.

"Bluuue, bluuue." The voice grew louder still, but gained in clarity and Two saw a fluttering shape ahead. One turned and readied his stun gun as Two fingered the trigger. They had to wait for him to get a little closer to ensure a clean shot and maximum impact.

"Can't catch meeeeeeeeee." The voice trailed off and One and Two broke out into a cramped run to give chase. Fear was gone as the taste of adrenaline kicked in. Like lithe cats they tore down the tunnel, their feet hardly leaving any impression on the slick wet walls.

One broke ahead, leaping around a corner as Two slowed to provide cover, but a sudden cold surge shot up his spine as he saw his brother blown back, almost crashing into him and spilling into the shallow water like a rag doll. A blurred figure emerged from the dark and Two snapped up his stun gun out of reflex, but a shockwave hit his body and the tunnel erupted in a blue flash as his stun gun went off into the ceiling.

The breath was knocked out of him, but he had the presence of mind to see the figure whirl past in his peripheral vision back down the way they came towards the manhole, skipping over his brother's shaking form.

Two got to his feet as quickly as he could, but his legs that normally moved as though light as air felt like stone as he tried to give chase. Leaving his brother behind, Two could barely see a form moving ahead silhouetted against faint streams of light in the distance and knew he was losing ground. In desperation, he loosed another bolt down the tunnel and the resulting flash illuminated the dark just enough to see a naked man slick with filth scaling the ladder to the surface. The shot had missed completely and fried one of the pulverised corpses.

Two pushed on and reached the ladder, but another shockwave thundered through his body and smashed him flat against the ground. His helmet stopped his skull being crushed, but he felt amidst the impact that something snapped in his left leg. Grunting through the pain, he tried to sit up and found he was pinned down beneath a large chunk of broken concrete.

One suddenly emerged from the tunnel and continued the chase up the ladder, his breathing ragged and wet. He was momentarily blinded by the afternoon light, but fortunately it was soft and gave way quickly.

Gun up and ready, he snapped his eyes in all directions trying desperately to locate the target, but the street ahead was filled with zombies running towards him. Slinging the stun gun, he brought his assault rifle to bear and pulled the trigger, falling into a familiar state of concentration. Great barks of fiery lead spilled into the undead mob, splitting heads and limbs apart. Bodies dropped to the ground and were trampled by comrades, only to be dropped themselves by meticulously placed gunfire.

The song was soon over as One emptied his magazine, satisfied the threat was over. Once more he looked for Craig, but found only a soft voice echoing through the deserted broken town.

"Caaan't catch meeeeeeeee."

Author's note:

As I noted before, this is a rewrite of Book 3. Go back and read it (sleep now in the fire) again, because it's very different and I think much better.

I'll try to keep the updates coming, but they might be a little slow. Please bear with me.

Thanks,

Hoobajoo