Necrocide

Chapter 34

FIVE YEARS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK...

Once Ares's shoulder finished healing in the infirmary, he headed to the training center, swearing that he would avoid making the mistake of letting the combat droid catch him off guard. That's what cost him his shoulder earlier.

After realizing Schaefer and the other recruits were taking up the training center, he made a detour to the facility's jogging track. Only seven other people were running around the track when Ares arrived, and it was usually the female test subjects who occupied it. Nonetheless, he ran a few laps around the track until he broke a sweat. He could see groups of recruits through the windows passing through the hallways. Given their dazed expressions, he could tell some of them just went through the AMBR-TRIG. Some of them apparently didn't handle it as well as he and Hermes did, one of them even had to be escorted out on wheelchairs.

Later in the evening, once he was finally back in the training center throwing punches at the robotic dummies, he learned they suffered from temporary paralysis. The pain receptor destruction process messed with some of the other subjects' nervous system, temporarily preventing them from walking. Fortunately, their ability to recover from that proved the Ambrosia was doing its job.

After dinner that night, he made his way back to his sleeping quarters, dreading the feeling of hearing Hermes ramble about his daughter and her idiot husband. In less than three months Ares learned than Hermes's daughter's marriage has been going to shit recently since her husband has been hitting her more often than he used to. Not only has Hermes gotten angry at the mistreatment his daughter has been receiving, he was also disappointed in her for not remembering where they put their guns. Just in case.

He approached the door to his room and opened it up. Hermes lay flat on his bed humming a song to himself as he looked at photos of his family he snuck in to the facility. A bedside table sat between his and Ares's bed, a lamp placed on top. There was only one other bed in the room, positioned right next to the door where Ares stood. That Atlas boy must've not been here yet since his bed was still organized and untouched.

"Good evening, Baron Broken-bones," Hermes greeted. Baron Broken-bones was one of several lame nicknames Hermes gave Ares due to his bad habit of breaking his bones in the combat trials.

"Evening, you old fart," Ares replied back, shutting the door behind him. "Has that wanker shown up yet?"

"If you're referring to Atlas, then no. However, I did meet him earlier in the mess hall. Kept trying to steal my potatoes."

Ares approached the nightstand and sat down on his bed. "Why do you care so much about potatoes? Are you one of them Paddies?"

Hermes placed down his photos. "No, I'm not a fucking Paddy! I just love potatoes! I'm an Englishman born and raised on the Queen's land."

"So you love potatoes but hate the Irish," Ares concluded. "You're a weird man."

"When did I ever say I hate—"

A knock at the door. Atlas slowly nudged open the door and peaked his head in, only his hair and his eyes visible. Ares and Hermes returned awkward glances back at him and watched as he continued to push the door open.

"Uh...hello there," Atlas greeted with a shy wave of his hand. "Zeus and Hades told me I was bunking with Ares and Hermes. Is that you two?"

"No, you gotta make a detour in Greece and keep going north 'till you reach Olympus," Hermes replied. He made an awkward grin, showing rows of crooked teeth.

While Atlas forced out a chuckle, Ares stood there unamused, instead returning Hermes a dirty look.

"Damn," Hermes said. "I've seen statues show more emotion than you, Ares."

"It's not that I'm emotionless," Ares replied. "I just only laugh at good jokes."

"Then you tell one," Atlas said, crossing his arms. He and Hermes stared at Ares with a look that could kill, both of them waiting for Ares to prove his point.

"All right then." Ares cleared his throat. "So three friends are trapped in the middle of a desert and find a lamp. They rub the lamp and a genie appears and grants them three wishes. The first man wishes to be sent back home and his wish is granted, so he's sent home. The second man wishes the same, and his wish is also granted. Then the third guy says, 'I really miss those guys. I wish they were back here with me.'"

It took a few seconds but Hermes finally let out a chuckle. Atlas didn't laugh, but he shrugged instead. "Cheeky," he said.

"See?" Ares said proudly. "What did I tell ya?"

"I mean you're no Mr. Bean, but that was pretty funny," Atlas replied. "I kinda needed that after today."

"What's the problem, lad?" Hermes asked.

Atlas trudged over to his bed and plopped down on it. "It's been over two years since I've seen my little brother. Ever since our parents died, he's been living at a children's home in London and I was sent to a training camp."

"Well that's depressing," Ares said in a deadpan manner.

"Aren't you also a victim of separation, Ares?" Hermes asked, but he said it in a tone that emphasized how his question was rhetorical. He was reminding Ares, not asking him.

"Sarah is different," Ares replied. "She's the only family I've got left."

"I thought you said she was staying with your sister."

"Yeah, but I'm so distant from her she might as well live in Hawaii."

"Haven't you tried writing letters?"

"I did write a letter." Ares lifted up the lamp on the nightstand and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Only problem is that this place doesn't want the world to know if it's existence. So writing letters is not allowed."

"That's a load of shite. They can't get between you and your daughter."

Hermes leaped out of his bed. "I know what you can do, Mr. Ares! Even though we're cut off from the world, this facility's supplies aren't. We're not supposed to know this, but Zeus sends out some of his men to Lancaster to resupply weapons and food."

"If the world's not supposed to know we exist," Atlas spoke, "then how the hell do these people go in and out of town without looking suspicious?"

"Their vehicles are disguised as fish and chip delivery trucks. Cheeky, innit?"

Ares raised an eyebrow. "I guess Schaefer and Bennington have a sense of humor."

"Speaking of sense of humor," Atlas chimed back in, "you've got to be joking if you're really thinking of doing what I think you're gonna do."

Ares smirked. "Of course I am. And I have this old geezer to thank." He pointed at Hermes.

"Thank you," Hermes said. "And also fuck you. I may be old, but I don't like being told that."

"Sorry."

Atlas laid back on his bed. "So you're really gonna do it. When and how though?"

"Tonight, lad," Ares replied. "Now we just need a plan."