Score One for the Nutters

The ember glowed as the tall, lanky, reddish-brown woman with close-cropped black hair took a drag. It dulled as she passed it to the pale-skinned, gaunt, red-haired woman a full head shorter beside her.

“Ta,” the red-haired woman said before taking a drag.

“You think it’s over, Red?”

“I hope so,” Red said. She held out the cigarette to the other woman whose gaze seemed to be fixed on something on the horizon. “LT?”

“Nah, kill it.” The lieutenant leaned back against the truck, the only vehicle not reduced to a smoldering puddle of slag in the parking lot by virtue of arriving after the initial attack.

The low-hanging clouds made the transition from the rising smoke of the ruined city to the sky invisible. Occasional shifts of the breeze brought the heat of the burning mall to the two women and embedded the stench of burning plastic into their ragged uniforms.

“Shit,” Red said as she ground the butt under her shoe, “that’s the last.”

“What’s that, Red?”

“That was the last one, Ma’am.” She pointed at the mall. “I bet they had some in there.”

“You want to go into a burning building to find smokes?”

“No, I’ll just have to cope.” Red turned her attention to the display in the truck’s cab.

“Any response?”

“Not yet. I just hope the response comes from people rather than….”

“You and me both. I don’t think the machines will ping our comms before they show up, though.”

A rumble from the burning mall pulled their attention. Both raised rifles, held at the ready for whatever would show. A six-legged machine forced its way out of the mangled doors, its normal high-speed gait hindered by two non-functioning legs and one that seemed to lack a full range of motion.

“Scout runner,” the lieutenant said, “and it’s broken. At this range, take your time, take out the good legs.” She took careful aim at the joints of the working legs, firing only in the moment that leg was supporting the machine’s weight.

The lieutenant did her best to remain calm, knowing that any moment the scout could fire its energy weapon and reduce the truck she hid behind to slag. As the scout continued to drag itself toward them, however, it never fired.

Its progress was halted a few meters away, after sixty-four rounds. The lieutenant grabbed the tire iron from the truck. “Cover me.”

“What’re you doing, LT?”

“I want to find out what sick bastard made these things. The crazies were all shouting ‘Aliens!’ yesterday.” She hefted the iron and walked to the downed machine. “No markings, but I see a seam.”

With the flat of the tire iron driven into the seam, she tried to pry it open. When that failed, she pounded on the machine with the lug end of the iron.

“Hey, LT! Why don’t you try the rescue kit?”

The lieutenant returned to the truck and threw the tire iron in the back. “The what?”

“Rescue kit. If everything’s there, it should have a jaws.”

After wrangling the jaws of life into the tight seam on the machine, a hole began to open. A viscous, blue liquid, shimmering with sparkling particles, sprayed out under pressure. The women stepped back, waiting for the pressure to drop.

“What do you reckon that is?” Red asked.

“Maybe something to protect the electronics from shock. I don’t know.”

“Bloody hell,” Red said, “it’s all over the jaws.”

When the spray slowed to an oozing trickle, the lieutenant returned to the jaws to see if she could get a better purchase for the spreader arms. As her hand neared the blue liquid on the jaws, the liquid moved away from her and dropped to the ground.

“Looks like there’s some static effect or something,” she said, more to convince herself than Red.

“I don’t know, LT. You’re intel for a reason, but I’m a mechanic.” Red pointed at the ooze on the ground, where it was pulling in toward a central puddle. “And there’s no bloody way that is static.”

“Okay, Red. It’s weird, I agree. Let me see the electronics in here, though, and I’ll have an idea where it came from.”

With the pressurized liquid gone, the jaws of life ripped the case open with ease.

“Now that’s weird,” Red said. “With internal pressure it should have been easier to open, unless….”

“Unless?”

Red pointed at the shrinking circle of blue liquid that was slowly pulling itself into a domed pile. “Maybe the goo was holding it shut somehow.”

The lieutenant shook her head and looked inside the open machine. More blue liquid oozed its way up the sides of the machine to drip down and join the coalescing pool.

“There—there’s nothing in here.”

“There has to be a power supply of some sort, innit?”

“Nothing. An empty case except for the blue slime.”

Red moved closer to the open drone and peeked inside. “Well, I can tell you where it didn’t come from. Score one for the nutters.”

The lieutenant sighed and stepped away. “You’re right, it’s not human-made, for sure. Shit. I wish we could get to the continent.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea to blow the Chunnel. Maybe there’s still some boats somewhere.”

“Maybe.” The lieutenant began to laugh. “Alien machines…come out the sea...everywhere…and Her Majesty’s government thinks it’s a good idea to collapse the Chunnel.”

Ignoring the lieutenant’s momentary madness, Red said, “Me nan has a fishing boat in Weymouth. We could try to get down there.”

“Maybe. Would be easier if this thing ran.” The lieutenant kicked the truck.

“Well, even a mechanic can’t fill the petrol tank out of thin air.” Red leaned against the truck. “I thought for sure we’d find some here in the car park, but that’s buggered.”

“How far to Weymouth?”

“About 130 miles, give or take.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing closer?”

“Before everything went silent, the coast from Cromer to Worthing was hit. Isle of Wight, too.” Red shrugged. “Probably more, but nan’s boat is small; it might still be there.”

“Small is fine. At this point, I’d even row.” The lieutenant realized she hadn’t been paying attention to the blue liquid. When she looked for it, it was gone. “Where’d it go?”

Red pointed. “It’s going back into the mall.”

The ooze had formed itself into a sphere and rolled toward the still-burning mall. It made no deviations in its course, rolling over the slagged vehicles and detritus without slowing.

“I have a feeling it’s going back to report. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“It’s a lot of walking. First usable car we find, we’re taking it.”

“Aye, leftenant. Nick the first car we see that drives.” Red stood watching as the lieutenant walked away.

“What are you waiting for, Red?”

She pointed in the opposite direction. “The M3, and Weymouth, is that way.”