Prometheus Mode by Saul Tanpepper

Author:Saul Tanpepper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: post-apocalyptic, cyberpunk, dystopian, zombie, undead
Publisher: Brinestone Press
Published: 2021-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“Are you okay?”

Micah leans in closer. His face goes out of focus.

Too close.

“Jess?”

I try to speak, but for some reason my mouth doesn’t seem to want to work. All that comes out is a whisper of air.

He shakes me again. “Can you move?”

I groan.

“Those cocksuckers,” he says. He lets go of me and leans back on his heels. “I can’t believe they fucking zapped us!”

“...oor fuhld,” I manage.

Micah frowns. “My fault?” he says, as if he can’t even conceive what that means. But I’m right, and he knows it.

It takes all my strength to bring my hand up to my head. The damn thing feels like it weighs a billion pounds. I watch it hover stupidly above me. It doesn’t do what I want it to do. When I give up trying, it drops onto my face.

“I think you caught the brunt of the blast,” he says. “It should’ve been me.”

No shit.

“Wuh tie... mmmm zit?”

He shakes his head. “Can’t tell. They took our Links, too. But judging from the sun, it’s probably close to four o’clock.”

An hour? I’ve been out for an hour?

It takes everything I can muster, but I manage to get onto my elbows. My arms are weak. My head pounds. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’m actually surprised how much the EM blast affected me, given that my implant has disconnected from my brain. Eric once told me that a direct hit with an EM pistol at very close range can still knock people out, even if they don’t have one. I’m just glad I rejected the implant, or else this would’ve been much worse.

“Fuggin... EM.”

“Not sure, but I think it might’ve been a traditional shock taser. You hit your head when you fell.”

That’d explain the headache.

“Where... Shin... ji?”

“Don’t know. I remember hearing him barking right before I blacked out. He’s not here.”

“Help me up,” I whisper. At least my lips are starting to work again.

Micah stumbles to his feet. He puts his hands under my arms and half carries, half drags me to the bed. “Not sure I can do this,” he says, but he grunts and lifts. At the same time I straighten my legs and try to throw myself backward. I end up balanced on the edge of the bed, and there I stay, perched precariously. Micah leaves me and stomps angrily across the room. It’s not very comfortable, but at least I’m no longer on the floor.

“Door?” I ask. I tense the muscles in my side to keep from slipping. It doesn’t seem to help. I can feel myself starting to slide.

“Locked.”

Of course.

The windows are barred, too. Not that it matters. We’re on the second floor, and from what I remember seeing from the outside, it’s a straight shot to the ground twenty or so feet down.

“They better not... hurt him.”

“They don’t want him. It’s us they’re worried about.” He continues pacing, shaking off the last of the numbness in his hands. His feet scuff the floor. The sound is loud and abrasive in my ears.

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