The Scientist jolted back and forth as he rode in the back of a military like-a-humvee, a moniker provided by the esteemed mechanics of New Philadelphia. It was no more than the chassis of an old Ford Taurus with an elevated suspension, larger tires, a super-charged engine, and steel sheeting for protection. Something a couple high school kids with half a class of auto shop under their belt could create. Yet people praised the mechanics for their ingenuity. Just another reason to get out of that cess pool of humanity.
"We don't got much more time," a voice grunted from the front seat. It came from a man wearing a black and red bandanna as he glared at the setting sun. He was one of three heavily armed soldiers Sergeant Trike sent on the trip.
"Just a couple more miles. We'll get you back before bedtime," The Scientist said.
"You want us to turn around right now?" Bandanna asked.
"I'll be good. Take the next left," The Scientist advised. He held a small screen that displayed a rudimentary map. A red dot pulsed ahead of them—it was linked to the GPS tracker on The Boy.
"You don't like us much," the man beside The Scientist observed. The Scientist looked up from the screen to assess him: he had a bulbous nose, a sloping forehead and hair sprouting from his chin, cheeks and brow. He resembled a Caveman.
"You're rather observant," The Scientist mumbled as he turned back to the map. "Turn right here."
The like-a-humvee lilted to the right.
"And pull in there." The Scientist pointed to the parking lot in front of an apartment building. The buildings were cookie cutter replicas, copy and pasted over a large swatch of land. The Scientist was glad his tracker was accurate to within a couple meters.
The four exited the like-a-humvee as the sun dipped below the tree-line, casting the world in a soft orange glow that elongated their shadows. The Scientist was sure to grab the messenger bag at his feet and sling it over his shoulder—he's need it later.
"We have ten minutes. Get in, get out. I'm coming with you," Caveman said.
"What about Porky and Bandanna?" The Scientist asked, nodding to the men in the front.
"Private Ramirez and Corporal Turk will be staying here, unless you fancy walking home," Caveman grunted.
The Scientist nodded. Some things weren't worth fighting over.
The apartment loomed ahead of them: a squat three story building with an iron fire escape jutting out its side. He smiled at a satellite dish mounted on the roof; it would help explain the search should the soldiers start to ask questions. He stepped up to the entrance and reached for the handle when Caveman lashed out and whacked his hand away.
"Me first," he said, positioning himself in front of the door. He thrust it open with one powerful nudge from his broad shoulders.
The Scientist stood back as Caveman swept his gun left to right, its flashlight showing the decay and rot eating the interior.
"The stairs down are shot, but it's clear," he said, and motioning for The Scientist to follow.
It took a moment for The Scientist's eyes to adjust to the darkness as he passed the threshold. It took another to catch the faint reflections of wet footprints on the stairs leading up from the basement.
"We have to go down," he ordered.
"Shouldn't we check up here first? The basement's flooded, doubt you'd find any working electronics down there," Caveman pointed out.
"And your speciality is in electronics now?" The Scientist challenged, taking the first step down without waiting for his response.
Caveman grunted—as expected—before elbowing past the Scientist to lead the way. He stomped into the water, splashing some onto The Scientist's face. "Fuckin' cold, ain't it?"
YOU ARE READING
The Restoration Project
Science FictionNanobots, injected in over ninety percent of the population, were designed to boost immune systems and eradicate diseases, but when they turned on humanity, they created something far worse. Many have learned to cope with the existence of 'Baldies'...
