Apotheosis: Stories of Human Survival After the Rise of the Elder Gods by Peter Rawlik, Jonathan Woodrow, Jeffrey Fowler, Jason Andrew
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push-ups.
“No, really," I said. "I’ve heard a lot of different things. Tell me the real story.”
“One of the Big Boyz came along," she said, dropping down.
She pushed back up, “Search-and-Snatch mission at the zoo.” Down.
Back up. “No way something the size of that thing could fit into the tank it came out of.” Back down.
“They’re bad about that,” I said, speaking from experience.
Up. “Probably two-hundred crazies, easy.” Down.
Up. “We unloaded on the crazies, I mean really let ‘em have it, grenades, shells, you name it.” Down.
Up. “What we didn’t know was there were three Pink-Spots.”
Down.
Nobody who was sane really knew what a Pink-Spot was. It was just some creature that the VR rig covered with a bunch of moving pink spots, thus the name.
Up. “Came out of the north end of the reptile house.” Down.
Up. “Six Nar Tips and four D-fluxes was all we had to start with. Most of those we use on the Big Boy." Down.
Up. “The pink-spots tore into us like a tank-car through crazies.” Down.
She stayed down. “Crazies pulled me to the ground and broke two ribs. One of them bit through my boot heel, even. One of the Pink Spots cleared ‘em off. I reached for my gun. I had to reach over two big pieces of rubble. It brought its foot, or tentacle, or whatever, down right on my arm, breaking both bones between the rocks. I think that someone set off a D-flux, drove the thing back. I tried to run, but the crazies got hold of me. I think they pulled the rest of my arm off while I tried to get away. I can’t really remember it all.”
“I see,” I said. Even though I couldn’t see her eyes, I knew she was lying.
The Others are dangerous to even look at. The crazies had been caught in the initial wave, turned and looked, and lost what little grip on sanity they had. The Others were dangerous to listen to. If they had crossed over, or spawned, or landed, or whatever the hell they did about fifteen years before they had, we would have all been fucked. Fortunately, our technology – my mom’s generation’s technology – had come so far that we didn’t really need to rely on our flawed natural senses. The VR rigs filter out all the Others, keeping your mind fairly safe.
The patrollers, fight, and secure resources from the surface. Sometimes, when things are going really well, they bump you up to Owsla and you get to go on a wide-patrol and search for a. . . a starport, or a temple, or something . Something to explain it.
I’ve never gone on a wide patrol. There have only been two since I became a patroller, and both right after Katya led her group from Four-Corners to us. Not bad for a ten-year-old.
Those were good times, busy times, making room for all the newcomers and doing good works for our fellow sane men.
* * * *
They finally came for Donny and Angie: two red-guards, one of whom was almost old enough to shave every day. They handed them the stylus. Donny just about shit himself, he was so excited, but Angie didn’t seem too happy about it.
She signed in, and the guard looked at her SK result.
“Please write your real name,” he said in as expressionless voice as he could muster.
“Go home to mama,” she spat back.
His partner tagged her with his Taser. She jumped about three feet off the ground, crashed into the cage wall, and slumped to the floor. Donny had a look of almost comical shock on his face as they gathered her up, cuffed her good arm to one of their belts, and slapped her around a bit to wake her up. The reds led them away. Donny was happy again by the time they left the light circle.
It gets mighty boring when you don’t have anyone to talk to, or share your perverted fantasies with. Group masturbation is, of course, out of the question. Solo only does so much.
Like I mentioned, even the meds don’t like to talk to you once you’ve talked to Katya. The standard
“No, really," I said. "I’ve heard a lot of different things. Tell me the real story.”
“One of the Big Boyz came along," she said, dropping down.
She pushed back up, “Search-and-Snatch mission at the zoo.” Down.
Back up. “No way something the size of that thing could fit into the tank it came out of.” Back down.
“They’re bad about that,” I said, speaking from experience.
Up. “Probably two-hundred crazies, easy.” Down.
Up. “We unloaded on the crazies, I mean really let ‘em have it, grenades, shells, you name it.” Down.
Up. “What we didn’t know was there were three Pink-Spots.”
Down.
Nobody who was sane really knew what a Pink-Spot was. It was just some creature that the VR rig covered with a bunch of moving pink spots, thus the name.
Up. “Came out of the north end of the reptile house.” Down.
Up. “Six Nar Tips and four D-fluxes was all we had to start with. Most of those we use on the Big Boy." Down.
Up. “The pink-spots tore into us like a tank-car through crazies.” Down.
She stayed down. “Crazies pulled me to the ground and broke two ribs. One of them bit through my boot heel, even. One of the Pink Spots cleared ‘em off. I reached for my gun. I had to reach over two big pieces of rubble. It brought its foot, or tentacle, or whatever, down right on my arm, breaking both bones between the rocks. I think that someone set off a D-flux, drove the thing back. I tried to run, but the crazies got hold of me. I think they pulled the rest of my arm off while I tried to get away. I can’t really remember it all.”
“I see,” I said. Even though I couldn’t see her eyes, I knew she was lying.
The Others are dangerous to even look at. The crazies had been caught in the initial wave, turned and looked, and lost what little grip on sanity they had. The Others were dangerous to listen to. If they had crossed over, or spawned, or landed, or whatever the hell they did about fifteen years before they had, we would have all been fucked. Fortunately, our technology – my mom’s generation’s technology – had come so far that we didn’t really need to rely on our flawed natural senses. The VR rigs filter out all the Others, keeping your mind fairly safe.
The patrollers, fight, and secure resources from the surface. Sometimes, when things are going really well, they bump you up to Owsla and you get to go on a wide-patrol and search for a. . . a starport, or a temple, or something . Something to explain it.
I’ve never gone on a wide patrol. There have only been two since I became a patroller, and both right after Katya led her group from Four-Corners to us. Not bad for a ten-year-old.
Those were good times, busy times, making room for all the newcomers and doing good works for our fellow sane men.
* * * *
They finally came for Donny and Angie: two red-guards, one of whom was almost old enough to shave every day. They handed them the stylus. Donny just about shit himself, he was so excited, but Angie didn’t seem too happy about it.
She signed in, and the guard looked at her SK result.
“Please write your real name,” he said in as expressionless voice as he could muster.
“Go home to mama,” she spat back.
His partner tagged her with his Taser. She jumped about three feet off the ground, crashed into the cage wall, and slumped to the floor. Donny had a look of almost comical shock on his face as they gathered her up, cuffed her good arm to one of their belts, and slapped her around a bit to wake her up. The reds led them away. Donny was happy again by the time they left the light circle.
It gets mighty boring when you don’t have anyone to talk to, or share your perverted fantasies with. Group masturbation is, of course, out of the question. Solo only does so much.
Like I mentioned, even the meds don’t like to talk to you once you’ve talked to Katya. The standard
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