Cargo

A Villa Beyond The Cacti

I wait until dawn, hiding in the garage washroom. The nightmare of monstrous noise had completely disappeared by midnight, and I might have slept a few minutes here or there. Lying there on the mechanic's crawler, I continue to debate my future actions. Everything points to continuing with the delivery, insane as it seems. I imagine arriving at the destination and unloading the crates, stained with gore and covered with the dead body parts of a rival gang who seem to have been trying to steal the drug-making equipment.

Would the owner be pleased?

And this thing? Does it belong to them?

I conclude it's some kind of animal, a smuggled panther perhaps.

What is the alternative? The authorities would lump me in with the drug cartel, my innocence proofless without implants. I can't really run away. Eventually, the cops or the cartel will catch up to me.

This animal is nocturnal, I debate in my head.

After a few hours, as the desert heat level returns to high, I head back to the roller door and manually open it, certain of what to expect. The splatter of blood is the first thing I see. There are no bodies, just pools of red fluid drying in the hot air. I walk towards the Cyberstar, noticing the bloodied footprints made by human shoes and a pair printed by a clawed foot.

Bipedal.

I don't know what to make of it, as I return to my truck. The back doors are closed, so I head to the cabin and climb inside.

"Bring up the manifest," I order the AutoMIND.

"Affirmative," states Avocado.

"What are the contact details for the Raven Mountain delivery?"

The data flashes on the console.

"Make the call."

The speakers pulse with the dial tone, echoing over the sweltering breeze outside, when a gruff, earthy male voice answers, "Saluton?"

My mouth goes numb. My throat is too dry to activate.

"Where are my artefacts, cajero?" says the voice.

"I am running a little late. I ran into a few problems."

"I don't recommend you make them my problems."

I begin with, "The cargo..." but my tongue snags my words.

"The delivery of the cargo is your only problem. Deliver the package immediately."

I muster up the right, most appropriate attitude. "I was ambushed by bikers. Vipers. I'm guessing they were not your friends."

I hear the hissing of breath. "It's not the artefacts they're after. Give them what they want. Bring the remainder to me."

"They died," I say. The words just keep pushing themselves out. "A bunch of people, killed. Police are involved; it's a mess."

"You did this, cajero?"

"No, the cargo did this."

There is a long pause "Listen to me, cajero. I will send someone to pick it up."

"No, this location..." I look around at the evidence; an orgy of blood and murder. "Not possible. I will come to you and deliver the cargo. I just don't want any trouble."

"As long as you don't run away, cajero. There is no escaping it. Deliver the cargo and you will get no trouble."

"I'm on my way." I breathe a sigh of relief. Once the call drops off, I order, "Let's go. Avocado, get us there."