Authors: S. A. Lusher
“So...what's the game plan?” Billings smoked again, his face wreathed in a pall of blue smoke as he puffed away on the fat cigar.
Greg ran through the plan. “You and Baker go outside, get that cage ready. I'm going to be bait, lure the bastard to the cage. Once he's in, slam the door shut. If it all goes wrong, try to kill it before it kills me.”
“Okay, you are
not
doing this.”
Kyra was insistent.
“
This sounds awesome.” Baker sounded more like a kid than usual.
“
I was afraid of something like this,” Billings murmured. “All right, come on, kid. Let's get into position.”
“
Greg, I'm serious.”
Kyra’s concern hit him where it hurt, but he had to do this.
“
Kyra...don't worry. I'll be fine.”
“
And if you aren't?”
“
You get to say 'I told you so'.”
Kyra sighed, but fell silent. After Billings and Baker were in position, Greg moved around the first floor. He wondered why the Stalker hadn't already attacked. They'd been in the base for a while now. Maybe there were too many of them together? He moved slowly through the corridors, occasionally talking to the others over the radio, trying to appear like he wasn't just acting like bait. While he walked, he memorized the quickest route of escape and thought about why he was so adamant to do this.
It was, he realized, incredibly stupid.
The main reason he'd given, about helping find a cure, it was true, to be sure, but didn't hold up. There were hundreds of DI soldiers now, much more qualified to capture some of the Undead. Kyra was right, they probably didn't care if he died trying to do their job.
But there was more to it, wasn't there?
Some part of his psyche accused him of glory-seeking. Was he doing this just to impress the others? That didn't quite scan, either. Kyra would just be angry at him. Powell probably wouldn't care one way or the other. Baker would certainly be impressed, but he was kind of easy to impress. No, it wasn't that.
Maybe it was for the adrenaline. Was he a thrill-seeker? Maybe-Greg barely managed to throw himself out of the way when the Stalker dropped into the corridor. He resisted the urge to blow it away where it stood. Instead he turned and sprinted down the hallway. Its panting breath and claws scrabbling against the floor followed him. He hooked a left, lurched into the lobby, and made for the open doorway.
Expecting claws in his back at any second, he bolted into the rain.
“Go!
Fucking run
!” Billings roared.
Greg ran full tilt toward the cage, sprinting as fast as he could. Even over the eternal rain, he could hear the thing making wretched squealing noises as it chased after him, driven by some all-consuming need.
The cage was ahead, drawing closer, getting bigger. Greg prayed that he was going to make it. That it was all going to work out. That he wouldn't become a mindless killing machine, intent only on murder.
“
Now
!” Billings screamed.
Greg nearly ran into the cage. Instead, he dove to the side. There was a loud, metallic clang followed by another with frantic shouts from Billings and Baker. Greg scrambled to his feet. He squinted in the brilliant spotlights from the ship. He saw that the cage was on its back now, and rattling violently.
“Son of a bitch, we pulled it off.” Billings grinned broadly.
He came over and slapped Greg on the back.
“So he's not dead?”
Kyra’s voice came across the radio, low and angry.
“
Still here, I'm afraid.” His voice shook with fear and adrenaline, but he felt good, really damned good.
“
You're
going
to be afraid.”
Kyra sounded pissed, but relieved. Greg wondered what he was getting himself into.
“
Come on, let's get this thing reattached and get in out of this rain.”
Chapter 18
“Looks like we've got company,” Billings murmured.
Greg came out of the slight doze he'd drifted off into and glanced out the window. They were making for a rain-slicked landing pad outside Fort Jackson that held a group of almost unnaturally still black-armored figures.
Repairing the communications array had taken longer than Greg had hoped. Kyra and Powell worked until the first rays of sunshine crested the far horizon. The omnipresent clouds filtered the light, turning it mute and gray. He and the others finished clearing out the base, finding a couple of zombies hiding away. Occasionally, Greg had gone to check on his caged Stalker. It stared at him out of the small, unbreakable window with eyes full of inhuman malice. He found himself staring back, trying to figure the thing out.
When Kyra had finished up, Greg wanted a moment alone with her, he wasn't sure why, maybe to apologize, but they'd been called back to base.
They landed. Greg and the others unhitched their safety harnesses and stood, marching slowly down the ramp into the eternal rain. How did it rain so much? This was a desert area, and deserts didn't hold water. He wondered why he knew that, and then thought that maybe the dirt here was simply different.
Four of the soldiers broke away from the group and moved to the caged Stalker, detached the cage from the ship and started toward the base with it.
Two of the remaining soldiers tested the group with quick proficiency.
Greg spoke up. “You know turn time is like five minutes, right? If one of us was infected, we'd never survive the ride back.”
“Blood samples are useful,” one of them said after a long moment.
Once they finished up, the third, who had held back, now stepped forward.
“Greg Bishop, Kyra Mercer, come with me. Now. The rest of you, I suggest you use this time to eat, shower, get some rest, and be ready for more fighting.” The voice that spoke came through the same mechanical filter the first man had sported, but was female. It sent a chill down Greg's spine. The one that had spoken now stared at him, her face hidden behind polarized glass.
“
Okay,” he managed.
Before long, he and Kyra were seated in a chilled, stark briefing room. The other two soldiers, who never said a word or done anything to indicate there was an actual human underneath that armor, now stood by the door at attention. Greg and Kyra sat at one end of the briefing table while the mysterious woman took a seat at the front of it. She stared at them for a long moment, still hidden behind her visor.
“My name is Starck. I'm an Investigator with DI. I understand both of you served in the wastelands. Mercer, we have your file, we know where you served. Bishop...there was some kind of data recovery problem. Your file is corrupted. Where did you serve?”
Greg let an uncomfortable moment pass, trying to find the right thing to say, whether or not to lie. Finally, he was reduced to the truth.
“I don't know,” he stated finally. It was then he really hated not being able to see Starck's face. It made him uncomfortable and, he realized, that was probably the entire purpose of the damned faceplate. Hidden behind the visor, she seemed less human and more...something else. Machine, maybe. Insect, perhaps.
“
How's that?” she asked, after a brief pause.
Greg spent the next ten minutes going over the story of how he’d woken up in a red metal tomb in the wastelands, his only company that of the dead. Starck was silent the entire time. For all he knew, she might have been sleeping.
“Have you been checked out?”
Greg stared at her. “Yeah, we couldn't find anything.”
Starck stood. “Come with me.”
After a quick walk through the base to an infirmary, Greg was ordered to lie down on an examination table. He noted all the equipment looked new, advanced. He marveled at how quickly and efficiently DI worked. Beneath him, the examination table hummed as it worked. Kyra stood by his side, protectively, while Starck sat beside the table and the ever-silent men stood behind her, their weapons still in hand.
The table finished its humming. Greg sat up.
“
Hmm.” Starck made a sound as she scanned the readings.
“
What?”
“
You're right. There's nothing technically wrong with your head, aside from a few bumps and bruises, but those cannot account for your memory loss. This is a genuine mystery...” She continued to stare down at the readout.
“
So...what do you want with us?”
“
What you call the wastelands...we've determined that they spawned the outbreak. We're still searching, narrowing it down. We need to find the zero point...and patient zero. The first one who caught the virus. I'm being sent to an outpost to try and get some data, try to piece together a timeline and an origin. My superiors felt I should have at least a few of those from the area with me, so I'm taking you and your team. From what I can tell, you've proven quite...efficient, especially with the capture of that Stalker.”
Abruptly, Starck broke off and turned to leave, indicating for them to follow. Greg found it jarring, but moved to follow her all the same. Kyra fell into step next to him and the two silent soldiers followed.
They walked through the base until they came to the armory, where Billings and the others were gearing up. They all looked haggard, but willing to keep going. As Greg started replenishing his spent ammo, his eyes drifted across a sniper rifle and he suddenly wondered what Cage was up to. How could he let so much time pass without sparing a thought for the sniper? If not for Cage, he and Kyra would probably be dead.
Greg thought for a moment about trying to get in touch, but with the sudden influx of hundreds of new soldiers and personnel and the titanic responsibility of tending to an entire planet overrun by undead mutations, it seemed impossible. He supposed Cage was off doing his own thing, hopefully still alive at least.
It was difficult to imagine something that could kill Cage.
Greg finished prepping his gear and again he and the others were whisked through the base, led by Starck and her two followers. They came back to the hangar and then plunged back out into the rain. A moment later, they were all loaded up onto another jump ship. The back ramp closed up and it took off into the brightening sky.
“So, who are your friends?” Billings directed the question to Starck.
Greg noticed that he, Kyra, and his squad had sat on the left side of the ship while Starck and the other two occupied the right.
“Campbell and Rez,” she said simply.
Greg waited for more, but there was none. He decided that there wasn't going to be any meaningful conversations on the ride out and decided to catch a nap.
* * * * *
“
Everyone up.”
Greg snapped awake and unlatched from his seat, standing and readying his rifle. The back ramp opened. Muted sunshine and the smell of rain flooded the cabin. Greg and Kyra went down first, stomping into the muddy earth, guns at ready.
The others followed, quickly securing the area. They’d come to what appeared to be a military outpost. A ten-foot concrete wall surrounded the compound. The front gate was broken and bloody, hanging at an awkward angle. It creaked ominously in the wind, the only sound for miles. Greg scanned the area, seeing nothing but a few inert corpses, face-down in the mud. He moved toward the base.
“
What the fuck...what is that?” someone called out.
He looked around, then, as a shadow fell across him.
Greg looked up.
“
Shoot it...
shoot it
!” He thought it might have been Kauffman screaming.
He couldn't stop staring.
It was hideous. Gray skin, black eyes...and
wings
. Powerful, black-veined wings carried it through the air. The hands that were attached to the too-long arms were equipped with vicious, razor-sharp claws.
Something new.
Something that could
fly
.
It swooped down for Greg with a shriek. It all seemed to happen so fast. A hail of gunfire punched through the gray hide of the beast, sending it off course and crashing into the ground. Greg snapped out of it. He jogged over to the body and shot it twice in the head, just to be sure.
“This is bad.” Starck hurried over with Rez and Campbell.
Everyone gathered around the creature.
“You guys had no idea about this?” Greg asked.
“
What? No. We barely began to collect data on them...given enough time, we
might
be able to predict mutations, but...this is a huge surprise,” Starck replied.
“
You guys seem to work pretty fast for disease specialists,” Greg said.
Starck stared at him for a long moment. “Clear the base.”
As if on cue, a piercing shriek cut through the air. Greg’s veins froze and his guts turned to stone. One, two, three...over half a dozen of the new creatures launched into the air from within the base's walls.
There were no words, only bullets. Greg sighted one of the creatures, fired, missed. He focused, fired again, and nailed it through the neck. The creature shrieked and plummeted earthward. He tracked another, desperate to put them down.
Chaos boiled around him, the squad firing into the air, everyone's face a mask of cold concentration. Greg nearly had a shot on the one he tracked when it dive-bombed. He caught a glimpse of Baker, who was standing in front of the broken gate. Greg felt his throat seize.
“
Baker
!”
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, time segmented by heartbeats, freeze-frames from a horror movie. Baker turned, sighted the creature, fired almost point blank. It crashed into him and he was lost beneath a tangle of thrashing gray limbs. Leaving the others to take care of the remaining creatures, Greg rushed to Baker. Halfway there, he saw the creature shift, then slide to the side. Baker climbed to his feet. He laughed with relief.
“I'm okay!” he called. “Guys, I'm okay-”
It was then that a Berserker burst through the remains of the front gate, wrapped one of its massive hands around Baker's head and squeezed.
“BAKER!”
Greg turned his former comrade's name into a war cry as he sighted the creature and opened fire. The gunshots provided a staccato background to his insane scream. He poured bullets in the titanic frame of the Berserker. It let out a roar and threw Baker's remains aside, coming directly for Greg now. He emptied the weapon, pulled out the pistol and emptied that.
The beast still rushed at him like a cruise missile.
At the last second, he managed to throw himself out of the way. As he twisted around, Campbell, or maybe Rez, ran at the beast, pointed his weapon at its head as it attempted to recover from charging Greg, and squeezed the trigger. A powerful discharge tore away a good portion of the creature's skull, sending it sprawling.
Kyra approached him, offering him a helping hand.
“
What were you thinking?” Kyra pulled him to his feet and he saw the rest of the flying monstrosities had been dealt with. He shook his head.
“
Baker...” he managed.
At that moment, Greg realized he hadn't seen anyone he'd grown even remotely close to die yet. Baker was the first. It hurt, like a wound in his gut. His eyes found Baker's headless corpse, now lying a dozen meters away on its side. He approached it. When he came to stand over it, Greg realized just how dehumanizing a decapitation was. This thing didn't even resemble Baker. It seemed more like a prop and less like a human being. The others gathered around him.
“Damn,” Billings muttered.
Powell simply stared at the body, and Kauffman seemed at a loss for words.
“I'm sorry about your friend, but we have a job to do.” Starck broke their mourning.
Greg looked over at her. He wanted to say something biting in response, wanted to yell at her, but a part of him knew she was right. How many had died so far? How many more would die if they didn't unravel the mystery sounding the outbreak?
He knew he would mourn for Baker in his own time, in his own way, later.
The base was a series of one and two story structures spread out within the confines of the wall. Greg moved through the compound with a sort of mute numbness, his reactions automatic. There were zombies, but no more mutations lingered. They moved through the building with a quick proficiency, especially Starck and her two men. They navigated a barracks, a mess hall, storage compartments, and, as usual, a bloody infirmary.
Almost an hour passed before they managed to get the base cleared. Greg found himself enjoying the slaughter, as though he was taking revenge, working out his aggression on the undead creatures. He found himself wondering why he cared so much about Baker's death. It wasn't as if he'd known the man for very long.