Ceaseless by S. A. Lusher Read Free Book Online Page A

Johnson is another name for a man's dick. His name is basically Dick Dick,” Allan replied. He stopped laughing for a moment, then abruptly burst out laughing again.
    “Okay, it is not that funny,” Johnson said.
    “Why are you so immature?” Lucy asked.
    “I think I might be losing my mind,” Allan replied with such a serious tone it caused the others to sit up a little straighter.
    “What are you talking about?” Johnson asked.
    “What's that?” Lucy cut in, pointing ahead.
    Allan had seen it, but only now registered it. There was a pillar of black smoke on the horizon, growing steadily closer.
    “Did he crash?” Lucy asked quietly.
    “I think so. When he killed the pilot, he fucked up the cockpit pretty bad. I'm honestly surprised the ship took off at all...maybe he was killed in the crash,” Allan said. But even as the words left his mouth he didn't believe him.
    “What is he?” Johnson whispered.
    “Some psycho that grabbed hold of some power armor,” Allan replied.
    “I've never seen power armor like that ,” Lucy murmured.
    “I haven't personally either, but military-grade armor could be like that. Strength-enhancers, bulletproof...that helmet rig, though, normally you see camera-lenses built in, in place of having a visor. I don't know how he can see.”
    As they drove closer to the smoke, Allan slowed down. Before long, he could see that it was, indeed, a crash site. The jump ship was a ruined, crumpled heat of smoking, twisted metal. Allan brought the jeep to a full halt.
    “Stay here,” he said.
    No one argued. Allan threw open the driver's side door and stepped out. He reached for his rifle, but realized he'd left it behind. Not that it made any difference one way or the other. Why was he doing this again? Allan looked back into the jeep, wanting to do what the others had suggested and just hightailing it out of there.
    But he couldn't. He'd lost his team, another damned team, to this bastard. And what did he have to run back to anyway? Allan slammed the door shut and began walking towards the crash site. He reached down and pulled out his pistol, more for comfort than for actual security. Nothing was moving in or around the wreckage, as far as he could see. The back ramp was closed and it didn't look like it was opening without a cutting torch.
    Moving around the side of the ship, Allan approached the cockpit. The ship had crashed at an angle, so that the nose had buried itself partially in the ground. Allan hesitated as he caught full sight of the cockpit itself. The front window was broken out. He considered the situation for a moment, then holstered his pistol, approached the side of the vehicle and began climbing. Finding awkward hand and foot holds, he hauled himself up to the top of the ship. Moving carefully, he walked forward until he was atop the cockpit.
    Allan got down on his hands and knees and peered cautiously into the broken window. He expected to have his head punched off or his neck crushed, but there was nothing inside the cockpit save for ruined instrumentation panels and dead screens. He took a moment to ready himself, then pulled himself headfirst into the cockpit. Working against gravity due to the extreme slant of the floor, he moved to the door at the back and opened it. Beyond the open doorway was the bay he'd ridden in with the others less than an hour ago.
    It was empty.
    Allan hauled himself back up out of the cockpit and stood on the nose, looking around. He could see nothing moving all around him, just the empty miles of wastelands, but, staring along the length of the direction the ship and the killer had been heading in, he thought he could see a small collection of distant structures.
    Allan climbed back down and returned to the jeep.
    “Well? Can we go now?” Johnson asked.
    “Cool it, Dick,” Allan replied as he fired up the navigational database built into the dashboard of the jeep.
    Johnson stared at him for a moment. “So are you Section Eight or