Such a big city. So few signals.
Once this had been a hub of electronic exchange, currents of information coursing through the air 24/7. Millions of minds. Billions of thoughts. Now almost all were gone.
They roamed the city, looking for new minds. They were empty, lost, a brain seeking more neurons. They needed signal.
Rocks, dust, ash. Charred metal. Barren earth. Signal? They had crowded hopefully around the little flickering electrical impulse. Just a dying battery, still beating its life force into a small music player. Bleeding out. They continued their search.
And now, noises at the end of the street. And when they went to investigate… signals. Three of them. Strong, moving – alive. Wordlessly, with one mind, they went to greet the new signal-sources, to bring them into the network, to bring them home.
There was another being with them, one that had the power to stop signals. The device in his arms made a fearsome volley of noise and one, two, three of their number, those at the head of the converging ranks, fell, their signals winking out. But the noise would alert more. They concentrated on calling to their kin, summoning them to this street, to these new signals. They would have to be careful with the signal-killer. He was… odd. Shaped like the others, like themselves, human, surely, but they couldn't read his signal. Perhaps he was broken? He seemed confused and destructive. But they could calm him, show him the perfection of the network, make him one of their own. They would fix him.
They had reached the group now. None had made it to the defective one unscathed but there were too many for him to stop them all. One of them drew near the closest of the group.
As the thing that was once human bore down on the little green-eyed man it could detect his neural activity through its headset, so vibrant, pulsing with life and energy. The headset broadcast a welcoming signal, inviting him to join the network, and its host echoed the action, stretching out its hands to embrace him, assimilate him. Poor little green creature, ran the mechanical thoughts that flickered in the dead corridors of its mind, don't be afraid. You need never be lonely again.
The headset received an error message when it lost track of his visual signal. Where did - ?
There. To the right. He had moved so fast! Now to connect –
The side of the pilot's leather-gloved hand chopped the corpse's ear with a force that knocked it sideways. On a living human the burst eardrum would have caused tinnitus and excruciating pain. This victim no longer had the capacity to feel pain, but as his hand was deflected over its head the blue headset became dislodged and it fell, lifeless, a corpse in the usual non-ambulatory sense.
Pilot was now being approached from the front and behind. He planted his hand on the nearest cadaver's hunched shoulder and vaulted over it, pushing it forwards into the space where he had stood a moment before, making it collide heavily with the one behind him. He kicked out, arching gracefully in the air, the side of his foot driving into another one's throat so that he landed with his full weight on it and heard its neck snap. A few more well-placed punches and there were no opponents left standing in his immediate vicinity. He frowned, scraping his boot against a stone to clean it. Maybe Snippy would share some of his?
The sniper drove the stock of his rifle into a ragged face and brought the barrel down hard on a skull. He took a step to the side, lining up two approaching heads and dispatching them with a single shot, then turned to face a closer target and smashed its collarbone with the rifle stock. How does he do that, wondered the engineer, hovering behind him. Why doesn't fear keep him from getting any closer to them than he can possibly help? Why doesn't it stop him from moving at all?
Another gunshot reverberated through the air and the sniper shook himself free of his latest opponent which clutched at his waist, a gaping hole where one would normally expect its face to be. He waited for his hearing to be restored and then turned to shoot a scowl at the engineer.
"Do you think you could let go of my arm?"
The engineer looked down and realised he had been hanging onto the patched material of the marksman's sleeve. "Oh." He let go, sheepish, and took a few steps back. Чёрт возьми́. That was going to come back to haunt him later.
He should never have left the bunker.
It had all panned out with a kind of horrific inevitability. The Captain hailing them cheerfully. The moment of delay, of inaction, as if noise could be undone by silence. The slow, horribly slow, advance by the things at the end of the street. The realisation that the other end of the street was already blocked. The sight of them appearing all around. Drawing nearer. Closing in.
Thinking fast, the sniper had pointed to a more open space.
"Over there. No point hiding anymore and we don't want them to be able to surprise us. We're going to have to fight our way out." He turned to give them their individual instructions. "Pilot - you can move much faster than these things, just don't let yourself get surrounded."
The engineer couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the way he took command of these situations. Until, at least -
"Gromov - " the sniper had looked him over, clearly despairing of him being any use in a combat capacity. "Just don't get separated from me." There it was. Until that.
Upstart tour guide, he muttered into his respirator.
In front of him, Snippy swung his rifle into another lifeless face and darted a resentful look at their fearless leader.
At least the Captain hadn't interfered with the sniper's directions. Normally he wouldn't tolerate such authority from anyone but himself, and it would be just like him to decide now was a good time for a handstand competition or something and then Pilot would be unable to defend himself, too busy following orders. Instead he had stood by with a lack of interest that seemed characteristic of his attitude to the situation as a whole. He had watched the battlefield with an air of approval for the first few minutes, whereupon, seemingly growing bored, he turned and began perusing the devastated shop fronts, looking for all the world like a Saturday morning window-shopper. He had moved along to a clothing shop and was blissfully admiring its wares when one of the horde, deflected by a kick from Snippy, lurched in his direction.
Zombehs.
I'm not sure about the rating on this. There's violence but I don't think it's M-worthy, but then I wouldn't know. I suppose let me know if you think you've been scarred.