Clio and Cy: The Apocalypse Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - Seeds of Revenge

  Chapter 2 - Darkness Eve

  Chapter 3 - Darkness Seven

  Chapter 4 - Daddy’s Girl

  Chapter 5 - Good Lord

  Chapter 6 - Darkness Way

  Chapter 7 - Lightning Power

  Chapter 8 - Monsters

  Chapter 9 - The Old Man

  Chapter 10 - Nightmares

  Chapter 11 – Testing 1 2 3

  Chapter 12 - Daybreak

  Chapter 13 - Darkness Seething

  Chapter 14 - A New Bond

  Chapter 15 - Freedom Fighters

  Chapter 16 - Darkness Descends

  Chapter 17 - Frogmen

  Chapter 18 - Reflecting Pool

  Chapter 19 - Furry Friends

  Chapter 20 - Welcomed Cy

  Chapter 21 - Darkness Threatened

  Chapter 22 - Shoes Filled

  Chapter 23 - Who’s Bell?

  Chapter 24 - The President

  Chapter 25 - Troubled Brow

  Chapter 26 - Boot Camp

  Chapter 27 - Atlanta Burns Again

  Chapter 28 - Kiss Goodbye

  Chapter 29 - Get it Girl

  Chapter 30 - Moving Day

  Chapter 31 - Commander in Nothing

  Chapter 32 - Monsters and the King

  Chapter 33 - New Digs

  Chapter 34 - Battle of Wills

  Chapter 35 - King to Tyrant

  Chapter 36 - Darkness Storms

  Chapter 37 - Bacon

  Chapter 38 - Get the Flock out of Here

  Chapter 39 - Pickup

  Chapter 40 - And in this Corner

  Chapter 41 - Hot Rod

  Chapter 42 - DMV

  Chapter 43 - Dream Smelling

  Chapter 44 - Lights

  Chapter 45 - Giraffe

  Chapter 46 - Demon Entry

  Chapter 47 - Bugs and Vulcans

  Chapter 48 - DARPA Dark

  Chapter 49 - Digging Holes

  Chapter 50 - My Old Friend

  Chapter 51 - Creepy Shit

  Chapter 52 - Three and ½

  Chapter 53 - Fantastic Four and the Fur

  Chapter 54 - Do or Die

  CLIO AND CY

  CHRISTOPHER LEE

  Copyright © 2014 by Christopher Lee. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Book Design and by Professional Publications

  PREFACE

  I dare you to read this book… at night.

  Clio and Cy, The Apocalypse, wasn’t intended to be a horror story and it’s certainly not that in its entirety. But while grinding out the first draft in the loneliness of the night, I actually messed my pants a few times.

  Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but screw it, here goes: when I wrote this book - scenes became alive and the air around me was charged with eeriness. Like lightning, that spooky energy struck me frequently. Looking into my computer screen, I’d see reflections, demonic images, and beasts, viscous ones, and then I’d pause as a cold shiver climbed up my back, slowly, I’d turn. You’re ok pussy; there’s nothing behind you…

  Like a vampire rising from its catacomb, monsters and metal crawled from my subconscious mind. Goose bumps tingled along my skin. Certain chapters were that creepy and disturbing to write. They weren’t all scary though. Some parts were fun, most of them actually, and others were exciting.

  I was unaware of the “Post-Apocalyptic” genre craze and its prevalence had nothing to do with me writing this novel. The devil made me do it, or maybe it was an angel. I think most people have those two resting on their shoulders, both whispering commands in their ears, locked in the eternal struggle. Either way, I can only write what I’m called to write. Although, honestly, I hope whatever that crazy bastard is, the one that’s always calling me, whether it’s cloaked in white, draped in red, it makes no matter. I ask only one thing, please, whatever you are, don’t ever stop using that nutty phone in my head. Dial sucker! I digress…

  Unlike my last plodding bitch of a book, Revenge of the Samurai, this Post-Apocalyptic story was passion par excellence.

  I wrote it prepped with technology, instilled with the knowledge of elite commandos. My flesh armed in primitive instincts, I seasoned it with the lust of bloodthirsty flesh-eaters; stirred in a portion of good, of evil, and grey. All the elements were tasty ingredients, helping me mix one hell of a meal. Clio and Cy, The Apocalypse, was simply a blast to write.

  Satellites allow Internet systems to remain operational; homes run via antimatter-generators and solar power, for those few structures that are left standing anyway. Over the years, mankind’s inventions have provided the inhabitants of earth with comfort, speed, healing and the like. Usually without a choice, we’ve taken technologies - good with the bad; pain and death and destruction, those things too we brought on ourselves.

  Outside of the military battles, this work of fiction primarily centers around two protagonists, Clio and Cy. The former is a twelve-year-old girl while the latter is something quite different. A thousand years in the future, both hang by their fingernails and fight through earth’s post-war landscape. The armed services, the Resistance, or freedom fighters if you like; a few warriors from those banners too play their role.

  This book is not all guns, gore, and carnage though. Heart felt relationships and character development are as prominent, I hope, as the epic combat and survival of the people in each scene.

  SPECIAL THANKS

  First and foremost I have to thank my daughter, Taylor. She is the one who gave me the initial idea for the story. Along with her beauty and kindness, her creativity knows no bounds. Taylor is thirteen and already twice the artist that I could ever hope to become. Being her father I’ve truly come to realize that artists aren’t made, for the most part, they are born.

  Second I’d like to thank decisions. Decisions… all the ones I’ve made throughout my life, some were crazy. Ok, maybe a bit more than some. Whether it was volunteering for special ops in the military, doing covert surveillance in the private sector, being a single father, or fighting in submission tournaments; all the things I’ve done have formed my writing style. Hopefully that style, my form in this craft that I love - is always getting better.

  Jill Snodgrass gets a very special nod on this one. Her initial edits and proof reading have definitely made this a better book. Jill is also the best beta test reader on the planet. For my labor of love, and with my utmost appreciation, thank you Jill for the amazing job you so patiently performed.

  I’d also like to thank my editor, Carol Ann Johnson. My finished product could have never come to fruition if not for her. Her insight and gentle guidance have made this a better book

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book to my daughter, Taylor. She’s my inspiration. I love you daughter of mine, you beautiful creature.

  Also, I dedicate this book to my parents. They’ve both supported me and loved me no matter what decisions I’ve made. As lottery winners go, I surely won the parent drawing.

  To those that take this ride - from the bottom of my heart - I hope you enjoy.

  PROLOGUE

  Historic

  “Give me but a firm spot on which to stand, and I shall move the earth.”

  ― Archimedes

  Sometimes technological advances take time. Inventions nap, lying dormant before waking and leaping vengeful, in ferocious marvel from their sleep. It was like that before they were born, be
fore they rose to power. Smartbots were just over the horizon.

  Washington, DC, 2989: Dr. Seth Pavlov patents Q.A.I. (Quantum Artificial Intelligence). To cope with the rigors of Pavlov’s new cutting edge retrieval systems, robotics came up to speed and advanced to handle the calculating demands. Next, the robots were tested and designed around the lighting rod of brilliant QAI.

  From building cars on an assembly line to performing delicate surgery procedures, robots had been part of our workforce for over a thousand years. In every area, they made life better. That too took a quantum leap forward.

  Savannah, GA, February 2991: Dr. Seth Pavlov’s Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. completes its first QAI driven prototype. Later that year, the first autonomic production model rolled, or rather walked, off the assembly line. Usher in Smartbots.

  Dr. Pavlov didn’t try to re-create the human brain. He intended QAI as an improvement over evolution. Their data centers weren’t modeled after the human mind either; his metal creations used sophisticated sensors, cutting-edge algorithms, and seamless processing in mechanized learning patterns. Smartbots could perform single tasks alone, or work together in groups, like bees – harmonized, melding as a single united force.

  Pavlov’s robots resembled the human form, but they weren’t cyborgs. Smartbots were all machine – metal and energy, devoid of souls. They could do the heavy lifting and outwork any human. Slowly, the orders started coming.

  One by one, businesses purchased them. QAI Smartbots came in two models:

  Design One: - A.I.L. Model #0091 (Automaton Industrial Loader) The massive and powerful Heavy-Duty workhorse.

  Design Two: - A.R.U. Model #0092 (Automaton Personnel Retirement Unit) The nimble, man-sized, office couriers.

  At first, the machines’ biggest crime was knocking off low-level factory workers. Nicknamed, “Al,” Industrial Corporations gobbled the Heavy-Duty A.I.L. units into their commercial arenas. The smaller A.R.U. model was soon nicknamed “Art,” and became bona fide office staff in many of the businesses that could afford to purchase them.

  Year 2997: Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. supplies over half of the world’s businesses with Smartbots. Increased purchases meant decreased production costs. Every profitable small business bought one. They trickled down… Wealthy individuals began owning them.

  Pavlov’s Smartbots pervaded every continent, living among us and seen as super workers. Mankind viewed Smartbots as the catalyst to a thriving global economy. Recognized as saviors to some, they were regarded as proprietors of prosperity. Inhabitants of third world countries worshipped them as if they were gods; other primitive cultures saw them as shiny devils.

  Not that it mattered since the damn things were almost bullet proof, but Global Autonomics Corporation Inc., had a strict company policy: “Don’t tamper, alter, or attempt to disassemble one single bolt from one single bot.” Doing so immediately caused the ten-year warranty to expire.

  Like the desktop computer in the twenty first century, Smartbots became necessity. The world’s armed services got in on the action. As much as soldiers and airmen, Al and Art became familiar residents on base as if they were uniformed service members. And like jets and Hum-Zs, the Smartbots were acclimated as part of earth’s military, highly regarded by enlisted and officers alike. One group, however, kept them at arm’s length.

  United States Marines are famous for doing without, as much as they are for their distrust of outsiders. Camp Pendleton and Camp Lejeune were the only two major military installations not equipped with the new autonomic workers. Budget aside, they didn’t want the damn things roaming in their midst. The metal bastards were too creepy and lifelike.

  The Department of Defense and its contractors saw the robots potential for a more aggressive application. They tried to come up with their own designs. Time and time again they failed. The DOD’s attempts at recreating Dr. Pavlov’s QAI driven robots were embarrassingly unsuccessful. The DOD asked nicely, but the doctor wasn’t going to give up his secrets as to how the machines worked. The government stole Pavlov’s patents, which were later discovered to be useless to them.

  Defense contractors could recreate the robotics well enough, but the QAI systems baffled them. Pavlov designed it that way. If the DOD and CIA couldn’t control the Smartbots like chess pieces on their private game board, they wanted them gone.

  Luckily for Dr. Pavlov, lobbyists were powerful and businesses weren’t going to give them up without a fight. Taking away the robots was akin to going back to the Stone Age. You might as well do away with the wheel and electricity in the minds of corporations that profited from their non-stop, never-bitch, never-get-tired work efforts.

  After the DOD continued to come up empty handed, blunder after blunder, The Joint Chiefs grew increasingly restless. Inside the Pentagon and behind America’s clandestine walled agencies, this new army of Smartbots was seen as a continuously growing threat.

  CHAPTER 1 - SEEDS OF REVENGE

  “I don't care that they stole my idea…

  I care that they don't have any of their own”

  ― Nikola Tesla

  Year: 3000:

  Savannah: GA:

  The DOD, CIA, and NSA watched Dr. Pavlov’s every move, or so they thought. The government grew tired of asking and the President signed the order to raid Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. “We’ll take that now sir, thank you.”

  The assigned task force descended. In the name of God and Country, troops stormed Seth Pavlov’s laboratory in Savannah, GA. Marching through the lobby and bursting into Dr. Pavlov’s personal office. The task force wanted inside a secured area that housed the Smartbot’s secrets. Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. R&D was on the other side of an armored vault.

  “Need you to open that door, Dr. Pavlov,” commanded the task force leader Colonel Brad Wigington.

  “This is private property! You have no right here!” Pavlov yelled.

  Dr. Pavlov’s wife screamed and cursed the soldiers. “Get the hell out of here you goddamn monkeys!”

  The Colonel nodded at two of his men. A soldier grabbed Dr. Pavlov’s wife from behind as another placed his rifle barrel to her head. “Open the door Dr. Pavlov… Now!”

  “Take that gun off my wife you son of a bitch and get the hell out of here!”

  The Colonel nodded again. The soldier released the bolt and chambered a round, pressing the rifle harder into her temple. “That’s the last time I’ll ask nice Dr. Pavlov!”

  Scowling at the Colonel, Dr. Pavlov reluctantly punched the code. “Chhhp,” the secure door popped open, and the soldiers released his wife.

  “You fucking bastards! Get the fuck out of here you goddamn monkeys!” Mrs. Pavlov screamed, like the bat-shit-crazy woman she was. For once, she was warranted in her lunacy.

  A soldier reached out putting his palm on her chest. “Relax ma’am,” he instructed doing his best to keep her at bay.

  “You fucking monkeys! Get the hell out of here!”

  “Calm down Mrs. Pavlov!” the Colonel shouted, watching her flail about like a headless chicken. “Watch her,” he ordered.

  The task force moved inside the R&D vault and Dr. Pavlov followed, as did his wife, hitting soldiers and yelling. “Get the fuck out of here you goddamn monkeys.”

  Uniformed men unplugged computers and rummaged through everything inside the no longer secure lab. “Simple-minded thieves! You have no goddamn right to do this,” Dr. Pavlov shouted.

  In a rage, Pavlov’s wife picked up a sharp metal instrument that lay next to a prototype.

  “Colonel! Watch ou…”

  The Colonel spun around as Mrs. Pavlov barreled for him with a raised glove, holding the tool like a knife. “Crack! Crack!” The officer shot her twice in the chest. Jesus Christ Colonel… you just shot an old woman…

  “No!” Dr. Pavlov screamed and leapt for his fallen wife. Before he could reach her, two soldiers tackled him as more piled on to restrain.

  A medic jumped to
the woman’s body, holding his finger on her neck, looking up at his officer and shaking his head. “She’s gone sir… she’s dead.” CPR was useless. Shredding her heart, bullets left a grapefruit sized exit hole in her back.

  Colonel Wigington knew he’d overreacted but it was reflex. What a cluster fuck, he thought, looking down at the scene. “Medic… Go ahead…” he ordered, nodding at Dr. Pavlov struggling under the pile of men in dark fatigues.

  Just to make sure he was following, the medic held up a prepared syringe so the Colonel could see. “Yes, do it,” the Colonel ordered. The medic shook his head, knowing how wrong this felt. “Roger that, sir,” he affirmed.

  Dr. Pavlov squirmed and fought with rage. “Old bastard’s strong,” one of the soldiers barked after being popped in the face by a momentarily free hand. Seth Pavlov moaned and wept as his strength began to dissipate.

  The Army medic moved in. “Look out… move over…” he requested. “Don’t want to get stuck with this,” he said holding up a syringe, squatting between soldiers. He stabbed the scientist’s gluteus muscle.

  After plunging the medication deep, he yanked out the needle, capped it, and then tossed the syringe. The empty plastic ticked across the laboratory floor and Dr. Pavlov faded unconscious.

  “What a goat rope, huh sir?” a soldier professed.

  “Total,” Colonel Wigington responded. The doctor was out like a light and his wife was dead before she hit the floor, now soaked in blood.

  “Let’s get to work and get the hell out of here!” the Colonel ordered.

  Like a team of determined IRS agents, the task force soldiers cleaned out the lab. They took every computer and every drive. Soldiers confiscated prototypes and every piece of hardware Dr. Seth Pavlov stored at Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. They even took the furniture. The United States Government and its military were now in possession of the greatest weapon it could ever hope to wield. But they made one fatal mistake in their haste; among other things, they left the doctor alive.

  CHAPTER 2 - DARKNESS EVE