MECHINCARNATION will be the newest and longest-ever in my Short Horror Tales series.
It features a brutal and horrific battle between police and a huge robotic killing machine.
The tale also heralds the return of Sergeant Conway from CHAINED - now promoted to Lieutenant and facing the worst (and possibly final) day of his life.
Two short excerpts follow to offer a taste of the story.
First, Lieutenant Conway explains the situation to a number of his officers...
“Twenty minutes ago, we received an emergency call from one of the guests fleeing a huge birthday party at Crawford Mansion. It was so wild and weird, it wasn’t believed at first. When two cars were despatched to the estate, they expected to find a hoax and to arrest the caller. They weren’t so lucky…
“Elwood Crawford owns the whole place, together with a huge chunk of the tech industry. His speciality is robotics. The party was for his nephew, Leon, who’s eighteen today. The kid has a genetic disorder, and apparently he’s small, weak and can barely walk; poor son-of-a-bitch spends his time in a wheelchair, taking his meds and wasting away. His father died when he was two and his mother cares for him full-time. Uncle Elwood decided to give Leon a present that would enable him to experience running, climbing, acrobatics… you get the picture. He and his tech team built Leon a robot…”
“Sounds like an episode of one of those afternoon soaps,” put in Finlay. His impatience was obvious.
Conway continued, oblivious. “So they set up a big party. Up to two hundred guests – all rich – plus some celebs-for-hire. A limo picks Leon up from his home, where he lives with his mother, and he’s brought to the mansion… Then things turn to shit. Before Leon can be given his present, someone else takes control of it. Maybe a guest, someone working at the party or an intruder. Whoever they are, they’re bat-shit insane: they decide to kill everyone. From what I’ve heard, we have at least a hundred bodies, some dismembered, some torn to shreds. It’s a fucking bloodbath.”
For a few seconds, no one replied. They were taking in the magnitude of what they had heard. The lieutenant went on.
“When the first car arrived, the two officers went in… The second team reached the house in time to hear gunfire and see half of one of their buddies thrown through a window. This is lunatic sci-fi bullshit, but it’s happening. It’s as real as real gets… Team Two called for backup and did a circuit of the house, aiming to guide other survivors out. They say the big garden behind the mansion looks like hell itself. They tried to find survivors: but so far, we only have a handful.
“More teams have arrived since. Injured have been carried down here, clear of the mansion… But no officers have seen the robot or the bastard who’s controlling it.”
“Is this a terrorist thing?” Becka Holson asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine right now.”
“What about SWAT, are they on the scene?” said Finlay.
“For the last two hours, our SWAT teams have been locked in a fire-fight with the Horean Cartel. Getting their asses kicked, by all accounts. There’s also a huge fire in the Cabens district, and teams of our men are protecting firemen from rioters there. The big Freedom of Speech rally is tying up more officers. We’re spread pretty damn thin today. Senior officers don’t want to come to a bloodbath and put a dent in their careers, so I’ll be in charge. No doubt the Chief will want reports every five minutes, but if he’s so concerned, he can drag his lard ass down here and join us. Any more questions?”
The new officer didn’t hold back. “First, sir, I get that this Crawford wanted to make a toy for the sick kid… Why the hell did he build what sounds like a fucking war machine?”
“If he’s not torn apart, we can ask him. Me, I’d’ve got the kid a Playstation.”
“And second,” DeLacy asked, “do we have the firepower to stop this robot?”
“Our priorities are to cordon the mansion, retrieve any more survivors we can, get electronic eyes and ears on the building, and wait for a team from the army. Unfortunately, they won’t be here for almost an hour – but they’ll have weapons that can blow the robot to shrapnel.”
“What if the robot attacks our cordon?” rasped Foster.
“We hit it with everything we have and do the job ourselves. That thing and its controller cannot be allowed to escape – imagine what would happen in a school or a shopping mall.”
It doesn't take long for the awful situation to worsen. When a survivor hiding inside the mansion calls for help via a cell-phone, the police have no alternative except to attempt a rescue...
On the western side of the mansion, Foster and Moran were accompanied by a female officer named Klausen. Short, blonde and mid-forties, she had the sense of humour and personality of a brick, but was a dead-shot and a Gold-Medal-winning runner. The two friends had accepted that quick and deadly was better in this situation than friendly and funny.
They entered through a side-door into a small hallway – about a twentieth the size of the one Conway had encountered. This gave access to a large conservatory, well-lit via the big windows in the outer walls. There were all kinds of plants here, from sprawling shrubs; to climbers grappling wooden walls; to raised beds of orchids, roses and citrus plants, the latter hung with small oranges. If it hadn’t been for the tension, the colours and scents might have been distracting. Instead, Moran made an observation based on the narrow pathways between the plants.
“The robot hasn’t been in here. No damage to anything.”
To this Klausen replied: “Glad I’ve taken my antihistamine.”
Moran and Foster thought she was joking for a moment, then remembered who their companion was. Of course she was being serious.
* * *
On the opposite side of the mansion, Sergeant Belasco’s team of three crossed through a spacious garage towards a door leading into the house. Parked in the centre of the garage was a new Rolls Royce Phantom, a luxury worth over half a million dollars. Behind Belasco and beside Finlay, the third member of their team let out a low whistle as he eyed the car.
“Holy hell,” Brace said in a whisper. He was a mid-twenties African-American man with the build of a wrestler. Belasco had joked that if they met the robot, he might just let Brace take it on hand-to-hand. The man wasn’t just a meat-head, however: before joining the police he’d achieved a PhD in Chemical Engineering. “This is one sweet ride.”
“I’m tempted to key the paintwork,” said Finlay, “just because I can.”
“You scratch it,” Brace answered, “and I’ll shoot you dead.”
Finlay didn’t offer an argument.
“Can the bullshit,” Belasco snapped.
They reached the door. Brace got in a position to open it, one hand on the handle and the other holding his shotgun. Belasco and Finlay flanked him.
“This is the part in the movie,” Brace offered, “were all the armed-to-the-teeth guys get picked off one by one.”
“Well fucking thank you for that,” Finlay spat.
“Just open the Goddamn door,” grated the sergeant.
* * *
Entering through the rear of the house, Gausman’s team found neither an opulent vehicle nor gorgeous vegetation. The old sergeant, accompanied by Tom Watkins and Jill Kelloway, had already crossed by the ruined remains of over a hundred slaughtered people in the garden. Now two great, shattered glass doors led them to more horrific death.
They entered a huge room, which may have been the Crawford’s Ballroom. Dozens of tables had been laid out with immaculate linen to accommodate the party if the weather turned bad. There was even a back-up bandstand erected for the musicians. Yet bad weather wasn’t to blame for what had struck today. The furniture had been smashed apart – even where there had been no victims to pursue, just for the evil pleasure of destruction. Tablecloths were scattered to resemble so many white flags, ignored by the aggressor. Deep gouges had been clawed in the illustrious flooring. And there were more bodies, body-parts and congealing patterns of blood. Pieces of several victims had been thrown to dangle from a crystal chandelier. And one of the robot’s prey had been pounded into the floor, to become an amorphous red mass in a gruesome crater.
“More fucking heads gone,” Kelloway stated, her use of foul language appropriate for once.
“Why the hell do that?” asked Watkins. Despite his size and bulk, his eyes showed him to be sick with disgust and fear.
“You can never guess at the reasons behind what a psycho does,” the sergeant told him.
Gausman was identifying the exits: two to the left, two to the right and three ahead – including a hole where a set of double doors had been in the centre of the far wall. All the single doors to the left and right had also been destroyed, and chunks were missing from the areas around the exits. Whatever had gone through had been too big to simply fit through the doorways, whilst so powerful it could enlarge the exits at a run. The sergeant tapped the comm-link on.
“LT: this thing is strong enough to shatter brickwork.”
“Any recommendations?” Conway returned.
“Let’s not find the fucker.”
I hope you'll check out MECHINCARNATION upon its release in a few days time. Return to this website for further updates. Despite the extended, novella length, MECHINCARNATION will be only $1.50 on Kindle ebook - the price of all regular Short Horror Tales titles.