AOI Chapter 6 – The Sound of Thunder

The steady, pulsating beep of machinery and computers was adjoined by the buzz of equipment in the large room. A few men and women sat at desks or bustled busily, checking screens, talking on telephones, or radioing scouts in the field. Overall, the office resounded with a gentle hubbub of activity, tolerable, manageable and quiet.

The quiet was broken by the creak of a steel door and a bang as it hit the opposing wall. Eyes glanced up, then back down again at the desks below as a tall, blonde-haired man in a white laboratory coat burst into the room, a clipboard under his left arm. He pushed his square-lensed glasses up the bridge of his nose with a fingertip as he walked purposefully down the aisle in long, quick steps. He made his way up a short flight of stairs which led to a desk and a high-backed chair which were surrounded by monitors of all sizes. The man cleared his throat and spoke with a thick Australian accent. “Quinn, I have something you might want to see.”

The chair swiveled around, revealing a young woman of medium stature, fingers laced together under her chin. She had hair so black it had a bluish tint, and it was short and boyish, the bangs sweeping across her forehead and slightly over her left eye. Her eyes, almost as dark as her hair, were half-hidden under a scrunched and worried brow. “Yes, Nigel? What is it now.” Quinn sighed, her fingers moving to massage her aching forehead.

Nigel once again pushed his poorly fitting glasses up his face. “Those two horses which we brought back two weeks ago. Their results are in.” Quinn looked up hopefully at the man. Perhaps this would be the end of the virus; the end of the war could be close. But Nigel King's face only held disappointment for her. “The mare wasn't immune; she hasn't ever come in contact with the virus. Quite extraordinary, given the conditions.” Quinn sighed. “Put her in the breeding program then.” She ran a finger along her pursed lips in thought as Nigel flipped a page on his clipboard, nervously aware of Quinn's gaze. “But the young stallion is quite the find.”

At this, Quinn looked up again, expectant. “Morgrim, correct? The mixed breed draft we found in that deserted fairground?” She asked, almost in a demanding tone. “Yes ma'am.” Nigel confirmed after a quick check of the data on his sheet. “It appears his body has produced an amazing amount of antibodies; you could even call it excessive. I plan on using the data I have collected to attempt a new vaccine, which will take a lot of time unfortunately. I just need your signature.” He handed the clipboard to his boss, who took it and upon snatching a pen from her desk, signed quickly. She was eager to do anything to help stop this virus.

“Right,” Quinn sighed heavily, handing the board back to Nigel's waiting hand. “What's the damage today.” She swiveled her chair again, glancing over the mounds of paperwork on her desk. Nigel began to rattle off a list of the day's expenses in animal food, medical problems with the human and animal troops, building repair, and armor fixes. “Wait—what was that?” Quinn interrupted him, having zoned out momentarily. Stuttering, Nigel glanced back at what he had just read. “'…and a stallion in the equine infantry division had his tail welded.'”

Quinn couldn't help but smirk to herself. Steampunk was the only one in the EIU to have a tail not connected to his body directly to allow welding. She loved all the animals, but had a soft spot for the tall warmblood. She was the only one in the base that was able to ride him without being threatened with a spill and personally rode him into small battles. “Right;” Quinn said suddenly, handing Nigel a wad of signed and stamped papers. “How comes the search for Cognitive? Still no leads I assume. The scouts that the Nevada fort sent us are useless.” She scoffed, sourly tossing a scrunched up paper into the garbage can some ways away. The tall man shifted nervously. “No… the sandstorms are bad this year. The helicopters travel a whole half day and find nothing.”

“Of course they don't.” Quinn stood from her desk, shifting through the papers. Although she was considered a mechanical genius, her claim to fame only arose when she had volunteered at this very base seven years past as a 17-year old. She was considered wise beyond her years, and although she never had any formal training, was a self-taught master at mechanical engineering. She alone had made it possible to create custom armor and suits for both man and beast here at Fort Bragg in the middle of the desert-ish plains in Utah.

Quinn's dark eyes set on two identification pictures and she sighed. Along with Cogs, there were two more escapees that the scouts had been looking for. Two mules called Locust and Grasshopper who had escaped through pure evilness of heart and the tempting of traitors; they were gifted with the intelligence of man, as all animals were in the compound, which Quinn herself had helped plant into their minds. The mules were blood brothers and heavily infected with the virus, and had simply vanished, just as Cogs had done. Weeks turned into months, and eventually the search for the two was given up. However, rumors would sometimes surface of two emaciated, long-eared equines roaming the highlands.

Roused from her dark thoughts by the sound of Nigel clearing his throat, she straightened herself and began walking down the steps, smoothing out her black shirt as she went. “King, I want more scouts sent out. Take the dog packs. Search everywhere—even as far as Antelope Island if you must. I'm not taking no for an answer on this one, especially after the Locust and Grasshopper incident.” Nigel responded with a quick ‘yes ma'am' and almost tripped down the stairs as he followed Quinn. The woman stopped suddenly, her eyes looking at the ceiling.

A low, distant rumble reached the ears of all present. Fingers halted their flying over keys and phones were briefly held away from ears. The beep and whirling noise of machines did not cease however as the rolling growl sounded once again, so powerful that it shook the building. A glass of water on a table next to Quinn and Nigel had ripples bumping against the sides of the glass. Soon after a drumming was heard, growing louder with each passing second, and a smile of relief flooded over Quinn's face.

The rain had finally come.

* * * Avalon gleefully dashed through a puddle, sending muddy splashes in every direction, staining her usually pristine coat. She laughed, slip-sliding in the muck and almost falling numerous times. “Oi, quit that!” Steampunk yelled from inside his bunker, not daring to go out with the sprinkling of rain and the mud. It was too dangerous; his metal could rust and the water could seep into his bionic legs, which could prove disastrous.

“Ach, you are no fun.” A voice cooed from around the corner, and Avalon halted, ears pricked in curiosity as Smaug, lean and lithe, came slithering around the corner. His dark optics with a tiny, bright green pupil held only mischief. Steampunk growled something in response, turning away from the door to quell his hunger and get away from Smaug.

Avalon flicked her chestnut and flaxen tail. “Hello!” She piped innocently, a smile on her lips. “Hello zere.” Smaug replied, eyeing the young mare up and down. His Russian accent, once thick, had thinned out over the years but was still noticeable. Smaug and Avalon had met once or twice during her two-week long visit every day, but Steampunk had made sure to keep the pretty naive filly away from the ravenous trickster. Not only was Smaug smart and devious, he was also a stallion, unlike many of the male horses in the facility.

Smaug hopped over a puddle, one back hoof slipping in the mud. He growled, shaking the grime off his leg and holding his serpentine tail above the ground. He was in no danger in this weather; his rubbery full-body suit was waterproof. “So, Avalon. Vat are you doing today?” He asked, his long mouth turning up in a grin. His maw, like Steampunks, was very long due to the rotting of tissue that exposed his back teeth. The humans had used this to their advantage, making helms that allowed them to open their jaws very wide indeed. Smaug's jaws were lined with greenish-grey metal teeth.

“Playing; just having fun!” Avalon replied, getting up from the mud where she had just slipped. She shook herself, sending mud clots flying. “I see;” Smaug purred, coming up beside her. “Vell, Avalon. I can show you something fun.” His tail-tip brushed the underside of the bewildered mares' chin.

The second his tail touched her, a flash of bright rose grey and silver came careening out of the bunker. Steampunk slammed into Smaug, a deep roar coming from the depths of his chest. Frightened, Avalon squealed and leaped away. The two stallions began to yell and roar and bugle, teeth snapping and hooves flying. Smaug landed a bite on the soft rubbery material of Steampunk's neck, and began to shake his head violently. The material began to rip, a hiss of vapor escaping from the holes. In a rage, Steampunk equally bit down on Smaug's neck, and they tussled like dogs, biting and slashing.

Steampunk loosed himself from Smaug's grip, rearing up, mouth open. His characteristic droning roar bellowed over the soft sounds of tiny raindrops hitting metal and soft earth as Smaug got up, rearing as well. Just as he was about to lunge, the green-black stallion's back left hoof slipped from under him, and with a cry he fell backwards, and Steampunk leaped upon him, pinning the other down. Their heated breath fogged in the air. A small crowd had gathered around, peppering the clearing. Steampunk's armor was dented, his neck ripped. Smaug was no better off, either; his suit was torn in many places.

“If you ever touch her again,” Steampunk gasped out, “I will kill you.” With that he pushed himself away, lumbering quickly to his bunker. The sliding door shut quickly behind him at his command, and Smaug was equally quick to get up and away, despite his hurt pride. Infection was bound to leak from the wounded armor and suits. Getting them repaired was of the essence. Avalon was left bewildered; she shook, still in shock at what had just happened. She had never seen a fight, let alone Steampunk in such a rage.

The small assembled crowd of deer, dogs and a few snickering hyenas drifted away, mumbling amongst themselves. Avalon blinked, turning her head this way and that, and finally went towards Steampunk's bunker. She stood there for a long while, listening to the soft pings and echoes that came from inside. Fear and worry clouded her mind, but after a decisive nod, she took in a breath and spoke the strange human words that she had heard Steampunk utter many a time before.

It took a few tries to get her tongue to obey, but at last the small red light next to the opening turned green, and silently the retractable door slid away. Being sure to be very quiet, she stepped in. She stared wide-eyed at Steampunk; one plate of shoulder armor was gone and being repaired by an intelligent machine in the corner. She could not see his face, for he was turned away; but gone were his smashed helmet and torn neck suit. She blinked, taking in the sight of a seal bay coat, dull with the virus, and all over his skin were large, flaky patches of scar where the virus had taken effect. She had forgotten to breathe, and suddenly breathed inward. One scarred ear swiveled, and Steampunk's head snapped around; Avalon's heart stopped.

Bright, bloodshot golden eyes seared into her own. His mouth extended past his eyes, a series of elastic staples holding the farthest edges together. Scars and patches of scars covered his face, almost hiding the large white blaze on his face. But worst of all was his muzzle—or lack thereof. His nostrils and a large portion of his nose was completely gone; the innermost workings of his nose was visible. The nasal bones could be seen, as well as the beginnings of the windpipe. Avalon stood stock still in horror.

Normally, Steampunk wore a breathing apparatus that went over his mangled nose; he had just begun to slip it on when Avalon had appeared. Ragged breathing and hissing machines combined with Steampunk's grisly appearance poured more fear into the filly. It had only been a few seconds since she stepped into the room, but it had seemed like hours. The next thing she knew, Steampunk's normally mechanic voice, now natural, was roaring down at her. She did not wait to hear anymore; Avalon fled, fled as fast as her legs could carry her, blinded by fear and the rain which was pouring once again as she belted from the camp and out into the prairie on the long road back to her pasture. Her heart thundered and even though her eyes stuck to the washed-out road ahead, the only thing she could see was the scarred stallion in her mind.

She ran through the gate, not knowing how long she had been pelting though the mud in fear. Mud caked her coat, turning her a ruddy beige now. She galloped past the pond, once low, now almost overflowing. The pond where Fae, Morgrim and she had played so often. She went past the lone fallen log and stump, where Morgrim used to show off for the fillies. Tears stung her widened eyes along with the rain as she made her way up the hill to the barn, hooves slipping in the muck.

As she stood under the awning, ribs heaving in exhaustion, she stared out into the pasture, empty and cold now. The landscape faded to grey in the distance as the rain pured down from the heavens, and the small mare looked up into the sky, overcast and foreboding. Her lip quivered as the salty tears stung her eyes.

She was alone.

“Mamma!” Her desperate voice cracked as she gave in to the sobs choking her throat. She cried out again, though she know not why. Her mother was long gone from this earth; she never knew her father. Icy blue eyes stared up at the sky, and at that moment a pale beam of sunlight shone down from the heavens, casting light on the grass some ways away. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, and Avalon was cold and without light once more.

The mare turned into her stall, feeling somewhat foolish. Was she too old to miss her mother? She was three years old after all. She pushed the thought away, snuggling into her bed of hay, a stray tear falling from her eye onto the straw. She closed her eyes, falling into a restless sleep to the sound of thunder.