A science fiction story about genetic modification by David Tombale: Strays

Strays

Dogs may never disobey the masters; that is the first law. Smasher remembered when they’d taught it to him after he’d endured the gene splicing procedure; it hadn’t seemed like such a hard rule to follow at the time. Dashing across the street while avoiding the yellow pools of light created by the cast iron streetlights he remembered a time when everything seemed so much simpler. He leapt at the wall using his enhanced strength to get one sneaker on it then somersaulted over the electric fence and onto the grounds.

Smasher landed noisily in the mud around the wall but was up and moving before the nearest dog warrior could respond. He ran at full speed over the wet lawn, the water soaking his jean legs to the ankle. He made it onto the stairs fronting the pool before he encountered the first guard. The dog warrior only had time enough to turn his yellow eyes on a dark blur that struck him on the side of the head before losing consciousness.

Smasher grabbed the dog warrior before he could make a sound, wrinkling his nose at his pungent scent and dragged him some distance until he could find a store room to toss him in. He got a handhold on a pipe connected to the rain gutters and climbed up the walls until he reached the roof. After that he padded silently over the tiles until he found the right balcony. He dropped down onto it hearing soft moans coming from inside.

Smasher pulled a gun from his jeans’ waistband and screwed on a silencer he took from his pocket. As quietly as possible he slid the balcony doors open and walked through pushing aside the thin white curtains that hid the interior room. Smasher raised his gun taking in the sight of the woman weakly trying to crawl across the carpet with a man standing shirtless above her a bloody whip in his hands.

The man in front of Smasher had been on the cover of Time magazine three times and was one of the most recognizable figures in the whole country. He was a man Smasher had learnt to see for the monster he was and looking at him now with his face crazed and drool dripping from his lips he wondered if his beloved constituents could accept this hidden side of Senator Cal Rodham.

Cal turned when a breeze that blew past the open balcony doors brushed across his naked chest. His eyes widened when he saw Smasher, his mouth working to form the words to deny the phantom that stood fearlessly in his room.

‘You…’ Cal finally managed to say.

Smasher considered all the things he’d imagined he’d say to this man, the years he’d spent relearning to walk and talk and function. He touched a finger to the long scar that ran over his missing eye and realized that no words would ever change what had happened. The price he’d already paid for getting in this man’s way, for trying to prevent the torture of a warrior he’d respected had been high. Cal had had him beaten to within an inch of his life and Roper had still died anyway.

‘What are you planning to do with that gun you dumb mutt?’ Cal asked regaining his composure.

He knew the law as well as Smasher; no dog could ever disobey their master. ‘Go on, put it down dog. Right now.’

Smasher regarded his old master and then glanced down at the woman on the carpet, her black hair falling over her sweat soaked brow, and bloody wounds crisscrossing her back. Smasher lifted his head, his vision narrowing to a spot right between Cal’s ribs and pulled the trigger. The gun spat out two bullets that spun the Cal around and dropped him to the floor where he lay still and quite dead.

‘I have no masters,’ Smasher said to the room.

He knew he should leave but then he saw the tears sparkling in the woman’s eyes. Smasher put away his gun and reached down, picking the woman up in his arms. Walking out on the balcony he could see dark clouds converging around the white crescent moon and took it as a good omen.

‘You’re going to have to be quiet if I’m going to get us out of here,’ he told the woman.

Her back was on fire but she stuck her hand in her mouth to stifle any further cries of pain.

A dog may never disobey its master but not every dog has a master to call his own, we call such dogs strays.

A short story about grief and revenge: Ghosts

Ghosts

The house hadn’t been maintained in a long time, its floors were covered with dust and the wood beneath had warped with time. Lyle had been happy in this house for three long years and had raised two little boys with his wife Lynda; even now looking at a framed picture of them he could still remember what that felt like. He’d made space by the house’s fireplace and left his gun right by his feet while he gazed around at the torn curtains and the couch hanging open like an empty mouth, its cushions missing and rusty springs poking through.

It had been so beautiful once. There’d been a table right by the entrance where they’d placed a bowl that was always filled with little mints for their guests and there’d been so many guests. Not for Lyle, no he was the more introverted of the two, no they always came for his fair haired Lynda who could put together a three course meal in seconds. Lyle had always been a terrible cook and his dear wife had often shoved him out of the kitchen because he was always getting underfoot.

It was here that he could still remember her like that, not in the hospital with those jagged scars on her wrists. She’d fallen apart so quickly after the boys…his beautiful wife had morphed into a shadow that floated about in a permanent daze that no therapy had ever managed to penetrate.

Lyle put their picture down and picked up the gun. Getting to his feet and ignoring the dust that clung to his khaki pants he approached the man he’d tied to a chair. Sweat had plastered the man’s greasy black hair to his head and his eyes had dark circles under them. He weakly raised his head and gave Lyle a look that promised retribution for the state he was in.

“Here we both are where it all started. I wonder when you broke into our house that night if you ever considered that things might turn out this way?” Lyle said.

He reached out and removed the strip of clothing he’d gagged the man with.

“You should have known I’d never let a punk like you put me in jail,” the man spat out.

“You’re a scumbag. Sooner or later someone was going to prosecute you for your crimes but you broke into my house and killed my..” Lyle choked on the words.

“I wasn’t going to let you put me in jail,” the man repeated.

“Well congratulations, you’re not in jail,” Lyle said raising the gun.

There was a loud bang that woke the neighbors on either side of that tragic house. The first to reach for their phone was Mrs. Carla Mitchell who’d had a lot of trouble sleeping lately ever since her husband passed away. Her white cat meowed in protest as she shifted it reaching for the phone she kept by the bedside before dialing 911.

Lyle hobbled back to the fireplace picking up the gold framed picture of his family. They’d taken it on their last vacation down to Florida to visit Lyle’s folks. They’d been on the beach and James had worn the green trunks he’d loved while Sean had been hugging his parents’ little terrier. There standing in the back in a green shirt with blue trunks was Lynda laughing and sticking her tongue out at the camera.

How quickly things had changed and now there was nothing left for Lyle. No wife or kids, just a house full of objects and ghosts that would forever weigh him down. Another loud bang startled Mrs. Mitchell causing her to draw the covers over her head as she pleaded with the 911 operator to send help quickly. 

A short story about science fiction and revenge by David Tombale: Inferno

Inferno

The factory smelled of rust and decay with nothing left in it but abandoned humanoid VX3’s standing around dead machine belts like at any moment someone would hit a switch and they’d go back to assembling whatever this place had assembled when things were better. Blue had been staring at them for hours.

Fingering the locket with Violet’s singed hairs in it Blue was thinking about how his rations would probably only one more night. Maybe Arthur’s old friend had been wrong about the location of the meeting or maybe he’d just lied to him. Well he was too dead to give Blue any more answers so he’d just have to be patient.

Suddenly the warehouse doors began to shake and as he watched were forced open to allow a black limousine and two SUVS to drive in. With their hands on the new TECHNA light machine guns the two men in suits who’d pried open the door moved to take up positions around the limousine.

Blue’s heart grew lighter. Finally tonight he could give Violet’s ghost the peace it deserved.

Armed men began to pile out of the vans and faced outward. Blue could read the arrogance in them by the way they handled their guns. A man in a long fur coat stepped out of the car to join them. He had pure white hair and stood at a towering six foot two. The giant made a tempting target but he wasn’t the reason why Blue had come.

“Damn I hate the boondocks. When did you say this clown is getting here?” the giant asked a thinner man in glasses who was struggling out of the limousine.

He got unsteadily to his feet, his fingers working to fix the crooked angle of his tie. “He said nine so I’m sure he’ll be here.”

“He better be and if this all turns out to be some joke I’m going to be very upset with you Toby.”

The thinner man appeared to be sweating a lot and was still tugging at his tie, “Trust me boss, I got good intel that this guy is on the level.”

“Oh I am,” a new arrival called out walking casually into the factory with a large silver briefcase.

The burns of Blue’s face began to throb. It was him, after all these months of searching he’d finally found Professor Arthur Mackie, his creator and his personal demon. Violet’s screaming face as the fire inside her took over flashed into Blue’s mind. His precious Violet had been destroyed that day along with the lab and all the other test subjects, everyone but him and Professor Mackie.

Dressed in a mustard yellow leather jacket his pitch black hair slicked back Arthur confidently approached the giant ignoring the guns that swung his way. “I’m very much on the level and you must be Mr. Wynn?”

The giant inclined his head then gestured at the case, “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied patting the case, “in here lie the only vials of the miraculous ZenaMaxx in existence.”

“And it can really do everything you say it can?”

Laughter erupted from behind them. Wynn whirled around, “Who’s laughing? Which one of you thinks this is funny?” he roared.

“Oh that would be me,” Blue called out stepping out of the shadows with his hand raised.

Wynn was bewildered. Who the hell was this?

“No, no that’s impossible. You can’t be here..”

Wynn turned around and saw that yellow jacket was backpedaling. His face had turned white as a sheet. “Do you know this fool?”

“Of course he does. Arthur and I are old friends, aren’t we Arthur?” Blue paused by Wynn’s side.

Wynn pulled out a bulky TECHNA FH31 pistol and pointed it at Blue’s head. “Somebody better explain what’s going on before I get very upset.”

Blue looked at him then reached up his to grab the gun’s barrel. Wynn’s eyes widened and then got bigger when Blue’s hand caught fire.

“What the hell?” Wynn shouted just as Blue grabbed his shirt with his other hand. Flames erupted around his hand and spread quickly to engulf Wynn.

Wynn dropped his gun and started screaming as the fires consumed his clothes and raced up to his body to his head. He grabbed the man with glasses who yelled and futilely tried to push him off. The flames spread until they had them both and they fell together in burning heap of clothes and flesh.

Arthur started gibbering, “You’re not here, this can’t be happening.”

Wynn’s men gaped in horror at the sight of the boss turning to charred meat in front of them.

“Kill him,” one of them muttered then raised his gun at Blue, “come on let’s kill him already.”

They all shook off their stupor and started shooting at Blue. His body was struck from all sides puffs of blood sprouting from each bullet and his body jerking around in a crazy dance. They fired until their guns were empty.

Arthur looked up from his crouched position on the floor and saw Blue still standing bleeding from various wounds. Blue met Arthur’s eyes and smiled. Fire leapt up from his feet until it covered him completely.

“Now we’ll die together,” the abomination wheezed.

Fire poured from him like hungry wolves running across the floor. They quickly caught hold of Wynn’s men who started beating at their clothes. The flames were too strong to fight and spread further as they claimed fresh victims. Arthur got to his feet and tried to run but Blue grabbed from behind. Blue held on tightly as Arthur fought vainly for his life.

In minutes only small fires were left behind as the seared remains of men and machines lay abandoned in the scorched factory.