Originally, the Kite was designed to only emit low-frequency, nonlethal, EM waves that would cascade unnoticed to huge fields of rectennas in the deserts and above the junkyards of North America, the specially treated wire catching and condensing the invisible waves of power, easily convert it into simple electricity to run factories and cities. Once established in its orbit, a Kite would provide limitless, clean power for millions of homes.
Most were destroyed by the hunter/killer sats in the aftermath of skydark. Only a lone Kite remained intact and functioning, floating serenely above the ravaged world.
However, the focus of the microwave beamer had been drastically changed under the austere genius of Silas Jamaisvous, the safeties neutralized, the power grid connected directly to the mighty busbars, and the EM frequency boosted to its highest setting.
Far below the sat, an unseen dish antenna sent coded signals to the machine, and the controls inside the war sat blinked wildly as new commands flooded its master comp. Tiny retro rockets of elemental boron hissed briefly, subtly changing the direction of the silvery cone at the bottom of the Kite. Transformers hummed, its external lights dimmed, and an invisible stiletto of power stabbed through the murky atmosphere, volatizing the heavy layer of polluted clouds until a strange blue could be seen from the Tennessee valley below. Winging through the sky, birds and screamwings burst into flames and plummeted from the deadly air.
Smeared with blood and gore, the feasting muties in the Shiloh ville paused in their gorging to scratch at their skin from the millions of pinpricks stabbing every inch of their bodies. The pain rapidly increased to intolerable levels and the creatures hooted and snarled in agony, blindly clawing at their dead-white eyes. Some tried to run away, others attempted to burrow into the rocky soil, still others sought refuge inside the brick buildings of the two-legs, but nothing helped. Hair burst into flames, skin cracked open, blood flowed from the seared flesh. Dizzy and dying, unable to even comprehend what was destroying them, the insane muties foamed at the mouth and attacked one another, only to weaken and limply topple over, steam hissing from every orifice as their twisted bodies cooked solid.
A clean wind blew over the military ville, and the shrieks of the animals were quickly followed by heavy silence.
MINUTES PASSED into an hour, then two hours before the battered door to the bunker was opened and a sec man held out a hand, testing the air before daring to leave the safety of the armored room.
“All clear,” he reported with a sigh.
“Yeah, we know,” a sergeant said. “You’re still alive.”
A scowling Baron Sheffield strode from the bunker, Collette at his side. The base was dotted with chewed corpses, smashed machines, dropped weapons and countless steaming bodies. A few of the muties twitched feebly on the hot ground, their limbs moving as if possessed with a life of their own. The blues started shooting the muties, and Collette shouted for them to cease.
“Get some sledgehammers,” she commanded. “No sense wasting ammo on stationary targets.”
Shouldering their longblasters, the weary sec men moved in squads to the Quonset hut to get the required tools. At the door, a lieutenant placed his hand on a glowing pad and the door slid aside with the hiss of compressed air.
“Shitfire, we lost every slave with this attack,” Sheffield raged, walking among the dead. “You there, Major! I want that fucking gap filled with anything that’ll fit! Block that hole or I’ll use your corpse! Use a Hummer and get rubble from the quarry to block that hole completely.”
The officer saluted and rushed to the task. Overhead the sky was still a clear blue, but a ring of storm clouds was rushing in, the iris of darkness closing above the walled ville. High in the sky, winged creatures were beginning to circle the Shiloh base, many with enormous wingspans and multiple heads. The smell of the spilled blood and cooked meat drew the aerial scavengers like a insect to a searchlight.
“Bastard Kite seems to attract muties,” Sheffield grumbled, lighting a cig. “An unforeseen side effect.”
“Anything we can do about that, my lord?” a sergeant asked warily.