Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

My men began firing, finding any cover they could, which was scant.

BOOM!

Just the shockwave of the explosion behind me was deafening.

There was no way we could fight this.

“Retreat!” I screamed. I said it as many times as my voice could handle.

I fired the HE round that was in my gun and I saw a dozen enemy soldiers fall.

I loaded a canister round and fired and saw more drop.

But it was like trying to stop an ocean tide by throwing rocks at it. The clones were marching forward and they didn’t seem to care about cover or HE rounds or dying.

I fired another high-explosive, aiming at a wall to their right, and dozens dropped.

I dropped my autocannon. It was only when it was off that I realized I had somehow stayed on my feet when I fired it.

“Run!” I said to everyone again, and then I saw blackness.

I looked around. I was on the ground. Lots of people were on the ground. I had to get off the ground.

I struggled to my feet. My feet hurt. They were bleeding. I needed shoes.

I saw someone next to my feet.

It was Bronze. I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder.

South.

Through the docks. That was the only way. Tanks couldn’t drive through there and an army couldn’t follow easily.

I hobbled through the connecting alley to the next block. They were faring no better than we were. My soldiers were in a pitched battle shooting their rifles at tanks. One was partially ablaze and from that light I could see several more tanks behind it. And countless, absolutely countless corporate soldiers.

I tried to tell them to retreat. I don’t know if I did or not. If anything came out of my mouth.

I saw the decals on the tanks were different than the ones in my block. It was a different corporation.

I kept going south.

Men were running past me. Running around me. Running into me.

My feet hurt. My body hurt.

The lights were off even here. I walked into walls. Into crates. I saw a heavy lifter sitting there loaded with goods and I thought about getting in it to try and drive to safety. I was so tired. But a heavy lifter was slow and a huge target.

I had to stop somewhere. I had to rest.

If I stop, I’ll pass out. And they’ll find me. Find us.

Bronze. He was still on my shoulder.

Come on, I knew this city.

No one knew this city like I did. Maybe Garm. Maybe Orgono Dultz, the guy who worked on the sewers.

I didn’t need light. Think. Where could I hide?

I headed deeper into the dock, to the port itself where the ships were anchored.

Fumbling through, I found a small freighter.

You couldn’t access the passenger compartments without going through quarantine, but you could access the hold. No one would go into the hold of a ship, as you would be instantly killed if it disembarked.

Let’s hope it didn’t disembark.

I closed and locked the hold. I put Bronze down and I pushed over several heavy boxes in front of the door, doubting it would help if they actually found us.

“Bronze. Bronze!” I leaned over him.

His eyes were glassy and half-closed. There was blood on his face and chest and hands.

“Bronze!” I screamed.

But he was gone.

I didn’t know the man. Not well at all. But in that cargo hold I sat down and wept for him. I had never shed a tear for anyone who had died before. And I’ve seen many people killed in my time.

But I cried for Bronze Badel Bardel because it felt like something of me died. Something bright, and happy-go-lucky, that always smiled, and got even Therezians telling you their life stories.

Some part of me that might have been but never got the chance.

I didn’t know where I was or that I had even been unconscious until I woke up. That’s right, I was in the hold of a ship.

Next to Bronze.

Who was dead.

I got to my feet and hobbled a few painful steps and it was like my legs were fused together. Was this it? Had I sustained so much damage that I was about to become a statue?

Looking at my feet closer, it appeared as if I had rubbed ground meat all over them. My entire lower legs were bloody and torn. Large chunks of skin were cut away or hanging. It was not pretty.

I assumed a tank shell had landed near my feet. Or… I don’t know what happened. Maybe I skipped through a minefield. It didn’t matter. I frankly didn’t remember much of the fight at all.

I checked my tele and it was back online. I stared at it for some time trying to make sense of things. Yes. Eighteen hours had passed since the fight. That’s how long I had been in here.

I wasn’t weightless and I wasn’t dead, so the ship was still at port.

As the cobwebs began to clear from my head and the pain started seeping into my legs, I felt an odd sensation.

I was terrified.

I was really unbelievably scared. How was I going to get out of here? I had no weapons, meatbags for feet, and somewhere between one and four armies might be out there looking for me with enough firepower to kill me a million times over.

I recall they had jammed the teles. Not sure how, but they did. I was afraid if I tried to call someone the corporations might be able to track me.

I took a few steps to the door, my whole body swaying with the effort. I estimated it would take me two years to walk back to my place at that speed. And even then they might have three tanks at my front door, keeping the Gandrine company.

It was absurd, but after all those serious thoughts, my stomach rumbled so loud I worried the ship was going to fall apart.

My body needs fuel to repair itself. My mutation might be able to heal my wounds, with time, but I needed food and rest.

I was so unbelievably hungry I actually looked over at Bronze and absently wondered if I could eat him. He wouldn’t mind.

Bleh!

Your mind goes to weird places in the extremes of hunger. When you’re suffocating, the things you’d do for air make no rational sense to your normal-breathing self.

Before safety, before a hospital, I wanted food. Lots of it.

There weren’t any restaurants in the docks. The buildings weren’t the right construction. I didn’t even have saliva in my mouth to water when I thought of all the glorious food possibilities. I was running on fumes.

It didn’t matter. I had to get out of here. If there was an army sitting outside with their guns trained on the door that was fine. I would eat one of them before they killed me.

I threw aside the crates that were blocking the door with my newfound hunger-strength. I rushed outside, prepared for a hail of bullets, but there was nothing.

I turned left and right, up and down. Nothing. The lights were back on. It was as if our battle hadn’t happened.

Part of me was almost disappointed. I wanted to get thrown into conflict so I wouldn’t think about how hungry I was.

I dragged myself through the dock, my legs screaming in pain, my stomach screaming louder. I had never been this ravenous in my life and I was a person who was quite often hungry.

I checked all my pockets for crumbs. Some food I hadn’t thought about. I put a piece of my shirt in my mouth and began to chew on it. The action made me feel slightly better but it was also frustrating.

What if Bronze had some food? What if his jacket was full of rations and water?

I stopped.

No, he wouldn’t have anything. And I was a bit frightened that if I walked all the way back and he had nothing, I would do something regrettable.

The dock had very little activity, probably because a war had been fought recently. But a worker turned a corner and saw me. He stood a few feet away and he looked horrified.

I saw him mouth my name.

I don’t know why or how but all I said was: