Nicholas Smith - The Biomass Revolution

Spurious hesitated, forgetting momentarily about Lana. There was something about Obi that convinced Spurious to trust him; maybe it was the conviction in his voice, the sincerity in his gaze or the fact that Obi had rescued him. Whatever it was, Spurious knew he had little choice but to follow the two soldiers.

“Will I get a chance to fight the CRK?” Spurious asked, a hint of strength present in his voice.

Through the darkness, Spurious could see a smile finally crack on Ajax’s face. “You’ll have a chance to fight them, likely sooner than you think,” he replied.

Obi watched Ajax and Spurious wade through the muck. He took one last drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the cold night air and watching it disappear into the swirling brown sewage below.

Time: 3:05 a.m. February 24, 2071.

Location: Junkyard. Rohania, Tisaia.

A weak moon broke out of the thick clouds, providing just enough light to make out the junkyard below. Nathar sat perched on the rooftop of the abandoned building in which they had taken refuge in days before, staring into the darkness.

“What do you see?” Creo asked.

Nathar swung around, annoyed. “Nothing yet. I’m not picking up any heat signatures.” It was the second time Creo had asked him in as many minutes, and Nathar was getting tired of sitting on his ass and keeping watch.

“Do you want to trade me spots?” Nathar asked.

Creo stood, putting a hand on Nathar’s shoulder. “No, I’ll check on the new recruits. Let me know if you see anything.”

“Will do,” Nathar said. He turned to scan the shadows below. The work was part of his job as a scout with Squad 19. Over the years he had spent as much time silently watching as he had sleeping. It simply came with the territory, but tonight he was anxious. The minutes passed by like hours.

He listened to the sounds of the night and watched the shadows dance through the antique junkyard. Obi and Ajax still hadn’t shown up and Nathar was beginning to worry.

And he didn’t like to worry. It was unnecessary, getting all worked up over something he couldn’t control. There was no shortage of things to worry about, with the TDU having suffered such extreme losses, but Nathar normally didn’t let these things affect him.

He reminded himself he was a scout, part of Squad 19—the most revered unit in the TDU, feared by the Royal Knights and known throughout Tisaia. Members of the squad didn’t worry. They did what they had to do to get things done.

A sudden flash of yellow light broke through the darkness opposite his position and disappeared into the sky. He turned quickly, zooming in with his night vision goggles, but there was only darkness. There were no heat signatures or signs of life.

A few seconds passed and the same golden light shot out again. It was too quick to be a signaling unit, but then again Obi and Ajax probably didn’t have one to begin with. Whatever it was, someone was trying to get his attention. His instinct was to signal back, but something didn’t feel right.

For a long moment he sat there scanning the landscape below, jumping as a cold hand grabbed his shoulder. He twisted, startled to see Creo staring down at the junkyard.

“I saw it.”

“There,” Nathar whispered, his right hand pointing at a pair of smashed trucks piled against a concrete barrier about 100 yards from their position.

“Three heat signatures behind the trucks.” Creo whispered again.

“Should I signal? It has to be them.”

Creo nodded again. “Send out the signal.”

Nathar reached into his pocket and grabbed a small device from his pack. He clicked it on and a laser shot into the sky, visible only to those who had goggles designed to pick it up. It was a nifty device, one he had stolen from a patrol of Knights a few years back. The TDU engineers retrofitted it so the laser could only be picked up by Squad 19’s night vision goggles.

Within seconds three figures emerged, slowly making their way towards Nathar’s location.

Creo took aim with his sniper rifle, cautious of a potential trap, but lowered it as Nathar smiled. They watched the familiar shape of Ajax emerge from the shadows. Thrilled to see their comrades safe, the two climbed down the ladder and jumped onto the dirt below, a cloud of invisible dust rising into the darkness.

“Damn good to see you, brother,” Nathar said, embracing the large man with a quick hug.

“Holy shit, you smell like a damn latrine!” Nathar said, laughing.

Ajax shrugged, “Not the first time and won’t be the last.”

“Who is this?” Creo interrupted, motioning towards Spurious. The moonlight broke through a cloud and illuminated his swollen face and clothing, lurid with blood stains.

“This is Spurious. He works for SGS. His work focuses primarily on the tunnels. And he is the key we’ve been waiting for,” Obi said, cracking a sly smile.

Spurious turned, a confused look on his bruised face.

Obi patted him on the back reassuringly. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to fill you in, Spurious. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Time: 5:55 a.m. February 24, 2071.

Location: The Wastelands

Obi went over the plan in his head. It sounded crazy, even to him, but he knew it might be their only chance at taking out the CRK’s headquarters and, if they had the chance, the Capitol building as well. If this happened Obi was sure the commoners, immigrants and other State workers would rise to the cause, toppling the government.

Obi smiled coyly in the darkness. He had led his men to and from Tisaia many times, but never did he imagine he would be in a situation like this. Their headquarters had been destroyed, their commanders killed, and as far as he knew, he was the highest ranking TDU soldier left. This meant his life expectancy just dropped dramatically.

No one lives forever.

He laughed at the cliché , stopping to look over at what was, as far as he knew, all that was left of the TDU. He took a moment to scan the four new recruits: all young men, no older than 30, dressed in raggedy clothing and equipped with antique assault rifles.

Obi shook his head. He tried to suppress the anger he felt, but after seeing so much death it was difficult. Nonetheless he continued on, weaving around the charred skeletons of old cars and trucks. In the distance a few structures jutted out of broken landscape. He stopped, motioning for the squad to do the same.

Not two hundred yards away sat two structures, their roofs long gone from the torturous wind. He watched an old sign creaking eerily in the wind, the lettering barely visible in the moonlight. 7Eleven , the sign read. Obi instantly recognized it, recalling the chain of gas stations from his youth. He could still remember hanging out in the parking lot after classes as a boy. Years before the bombs dropped.

“Watch my six,” Obi whispered to Ajax, taking off in a sprint towards the structures. He knew it was unlikely there would be any stragglers or raiders this close to the Tisaian walls, but he hadn’t lived this long by taking unnecessary risks.

Silently he propped himself up against the outside of the building and peered in one of the broken windows. “Empty,” he whispered under his breath.

He flashed a quick hand signal and the squad joined him. “Everyone take five,” he whispered.

They only had about three more miles to go before they reached the rendezvous, but with only an hour of darkness left, he knew time was running out. He wanted to avoid getting caught in the light, even though he knew the chance of crossing paths with any raiders at this hour was slim.

The squad trudged on cautiously down the old highway. Suddenly, Obi halted, balling his hands into a fist. He could vaguely make out the skeletons of what was once a lush forest of trees. He had been here before, years ago on a scavenging mission. From his recollection of the area he knew the silo was not far.