Necropolis (12 page)

They came to the living quarters. Lynch found an empty room, wished them good luck, and told them he'd be back when he found them a team, but he'd give them about an hour’s downtime. Greg thanked him and hurried into the room. He sat down on one of the beds and opened up the infopad, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

He found a picture of himself staring back at him. Next to it, his name and rank. He laughed when he saw
CPL
in bold letters next to his name.

“
What?” Kyra closed the door and came to stand next to him. “What's it say?”

“
I'm a Corporal. I've been in Security-Investigations for...four years. I'm twenty six. No siblings. I was stationed at...huh, doesn't say.”

“
What? Lemme see.” Greg handed infopad over to Kyra, who inspected it for a few moments longer than she probably needed to. Finally, she handed it back.

“
Huh, strange. Must have been a corruption in the file. Well, I'm going to go take a shower.” She headed for the bathroom.

“
Find what you were looking for?” Greg asked. She hesitated, then turned back to him and he realized with something of a shock that she was blushing.

“
I...sorry,” she murmured.

“
What
were
you looking for?”

She sighed. “Just...checking your criminal record. Infractions and reprimands section. I wanted to see if you really were dangerous or a rapist or anything. I just...wanted to be sure.”

“Am I?”

She smiled. “No. You've got a clean record. So, either you're boring...or good at getting away with it. I guess I'll find out.”

With that, she slipped into the bathroom. Greg returned his attention to the file as he heard the shower start running. There was very little in his file. He ran out of information just a few minutes later. The name of the planet he'd been born on said nothing to him. The names of his parents. The high school he attended.

Greg began to worry that he was boring.

He glanced up as Kyra stepped out from the bathroom, her hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail. She smiled at him.

“
How about while you take a shower, I go grab some food and we have our date in here while we still can. Military rations for dinner in someone else's living quarters might not be the best, but I get the feeling things are about to get a lot more dangerous, so I want to take what I can get.”

Greg agreed and watched her go.

The thought of a date with Kyra, even one as simple as this, helped ease his worries, but not by much. He tried to find a new uniform, but the dresser was bare. Giving up, he headed into the bathroom and started showering, unable to shake the dark thoughts from his mind. He was so worried that he was some kind of asshole or moron or misogynist, but the thought that he was boring hadn't even occurred to him.

Greg tried to tell himself that this proved nothing. The file might just be light, info might be missing. Maybe he was just really, really good at his job. If that was true, then why was he stuck out in the middle of fucking nowhere?

By the time he'd toweled off and dressed, he found Kyra sitting at one of the two small desks in the room, the other chair pulled up to it, two heated-up rations and bottles of water sitting in front of her. He sat down beside her and they ate.

“
This is a little awkward,” Greg admitted after a moment. Kyra laughed a little too loudly, and then looked back down at her food.

“
Yeah. It is. I've...kind of fallen out of practice. The whole dating thing.”

“
I'm assuming I have, as well, but the file doesn't say anything about that. Fuck, I could be really good at picking up girls.”

Kyra rolled her eyes. “Or you could be a total loser.”

“Yeah...I guess so. Kinda feel like one now. I have no idea what to talk about. Um...where'd you grow up?”

Kyra laughed. “Not bad for conversation, I guess. I grew up on a little moon called Thule. Pretty little place, boring as shit. My mom was in Security-Investigations. She was tough, but a little over-protective. She ran security for a colony and we lived in a nice little two bedroom apartment. I lived on that moon until I was seventeen.”

“Where was your dad in all this?”

Kyra sighed. “Gone. Skipped out when I was born. There were a few boyfriends, but my mom made sure none of them ever tried to play dad. Eventually...she just stopped dating. It was tough on her.” Kyra fell silent.

Greg wasn't sure if he'd picked the right topic. “Why'd you sign up with SI?”

“
It's...complicated. I'd hate to kill the mood.” She fidgeted in her seat.

“
If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine.”

“
Maybe later. I-”

They both broke off as the comm unit embedded in the wall chimed. Greg stood and hurried over
to it. He hit the reply button. Lynch's face appeared onto the screen.

“
Got a team for you. Got a guy coming to grab you. He'll bring you to the hangar, and brief you on the mission.”

Lynch's face disappeared before Greg could respond. A moment later, there was another chime, this time it was the door. Greg answered it. A grim-faced man with a couple days’ growth of beard, wild blue eyes, and a thin cigar puffing away between his teeth awaited them. He wore bloodied, blackened, Marine armor and had a gasmask shoved up over his head.

“Greg Bishop? Kyra Mercer?”

“
That's us.” Greg nodded.

“
Meal's over. Come on, got some asses to pull out of a fire.”

Chapter 14

–
Blackout
–

The chaos seemed to grow as they threaded their way through the corridors. An uncomfortable feeling grew in Greg’s gut. He glanced at Kyra, reassured by her calm demeanor and stoic face. She caught his glance and grinned at him. They continued shouldering their way through the crowd, catching snippets of rushed or tired conversation, until the man leading them chose a door seemingly at random and slipped in.

Inside was an armory that looked more makeshift than anything else. A scattering of foldout tables, their tops littered with weapons, ammo magazines, and spare parts, filled the room. The soldier led them to a trio of other men in armor.

“These the new guys?” a skinny private with wild eyes asked as he stared down the sight of his machine gun.

“
Yep,” the man in charge replied. “Gear up. We'll do the introductions on the flight over.”

Greg spent a few moments hunting through the armory to find a spare set of armor. It was a snug fit, but he managed to get it on over his uniform and secured one of the broad, faceplate gasmasks over his head. He joined the others at their table and secured a powerful looking, black snub-barreled pistol with a large magazine in a thigh holster. He took a little bit longer selecting his primary weapon. Having grown use to the shotgun, Greg felt most comfortable with it, but was it honestly the best weapon?

Finally, he selected an assault rifle that sported a single-shot, three-round burst or full auto selection. He flipped on the safety, set it to single-shot and slung it over his shoulder. The others seemed eager to go, so he stuffed his pockets with spare clips and indicated he was ready. They plunged back into the chaos and navigated the corridors until the newly formed group came to an equally crowded hangar.

The tension refused to abate as they hurried through the shifting crowd toward a sleek black craft near the edge of the hangar. Was it fear or anticipation? As he hustled up the ramp into the belly of the ship, Greg surmised that it must be the abrupt shift of pace and environment that had his nerves on edge. He'd spent days out there in the rainy calm of the gray, wet wastelands, punctuated only by a few moments of insane, intense action. After that long, quiet interlude, he was now being thrown into the grinder.

Before everyone was even settled and strapped in, the back ramp began to close and the ship lifted off.

“
Okay, introductions. My name is Sergeant Billings. I'm in charge,” the man who'd led them around shouted to be heard over the engines. He then proceeded to light up a fresh cigar. Greg realized that in their very short time together, the man hadn’t gone even a few seconds without a cigar in his mouth.

“
My name is Greg Bishop. Corporal,” Greg said after a moment of awkward silence.

“
Lance Corporal Kyra Mercer,” Kyra threw in. She sat next to him, her shoulder touching his. It was distracting, even with the armor.

“
I am Private fucking Jerome Baker.” Greg recognized him as the only one to speak during their encounter in the armory. The kid stuck out his hand across the rumbling interior of the ship. Greg shook it. Baker pumped his hand enthusiastically.

“
Baker is going to get himself killed,” Billings said matter-of-factly. Baker rolled his eyes and sat back. He popped his neck.

“
I've been waiting for a zombie outbreak since the day I was born.” He grinned. The man sat beside him, equally young and skinny, rolled his eyes. Greg found it difficult to tell the two apart from behind their armor.

“
Private Kauffman.” He fidgeted.

“
Baker is dumb as a rock, but makes up for it with how much fun he has putting holes in undead heads. Kauffman has a crippling fear of the undead that’s only offset by how unwilling he is to die,” Billings filled in. “They aren't exactly the best at communication.”

“
Who's the gloomy gus?” Kyra glanced at the final member.

“
Lance Corporal Powell.” The man greeted without looking at them. His gasmask was in the seat next to him and he had yet to look away from the infopad clasped firmly in his thin-fingered hands. Powell was a man in his late twenties with dark skin. Intelligence hid behind his eyes. Billings snorted and shrugged.

“
Powell is our certified genius. You'll have to watch him. He becomes so immersed in his work he forgets to watch his six.”

“
Your team seems kind of...mismatched.” Greg expected not only more men, but also more of the competent, tough variety. Baker was the closest to expectations he found himself with, hints of what a solider should be like, dredged up from the dark foggy depths of his locked-away memories.

“
It's been hell.” A weariness crept into Billings’s voice. “I don't suppose either of you are a medic, huh?” Greg and Kyra shook their heads. Billings cursed. “We lost our medic on our last run into the city, and our Corporals. It was a bad run...but enough with the intros. Time to get down to it. Our mission.”

Everyone turned their attention to Billings. Even Powell put aside his infopad. Billings grinned around his cigar.

“Jackson draws its power from a fusion plant several miles away. We've been relying on that plant for a whole shitload of things. If anything happens to it, our situation becomes much more fucked. We've got a squad up there, making sure everything goes smoothly, but they sent out a distress call a few hours ago. Another squad went in to figure out what happened because they didn't get a chance to fully articulate their problem.”

He paused for a moment and flicked some ash onto the deck plates.

“They never reported back.”

“
So we're the backup, huh?” Greg asked.

Billings nodded. “Yep. You two gonna be cool to follow orders? I'll admit, I haven't worked with SI before, but I heard stories...”

“We'll be fine.” Kyra narrowed her eyes.

Again Billings nodded. “Good to know. The fusion plant is to be treated as hostile territory. We should also be doing this in a timely manner, as there have been interruptions in the power flow. They're piecing together another crew of marines and tech-heads to maintain it, but for now...we're all they've got. Let's come back from this one alive.”

* * * * *

The ship landed fifty meters from the entrance. Greg followed Baker, who volunteered to be first man out. They moved down the ramp. Twilight fell, the sun nearing completion of its slow burn toward the horizon. There were storm clouds in the distance. Greg hoped the storm front would reach Jackson before long. Part of him missed the rainy, dismal atmosphere of the wastelands.

The fusion plant loomed above them, a dark monolith of modern technology. There were lights in the windows, and as he secured the perimeter and waited for the others to hustle out, he thought he saw some shapes moving behind the glass.

“
Have you been told about the new ones? The lethal ones?” Greg glanced at Billings, who had stopped beside him.

“
Yep.” Billings chewed his cigar. “Word's gone out over the airwaves. Even got names for 'em. The stealthy, skinny ones we've taken to calling Stalkers. The bigger ones, they're Berserkers. We've also heard rumors of other types.”

Greg hesitated. “Like?”

“Dunno. They're just rumors. No specifics. Hold on, gotta do this the right way...” Billings slipped on his mask and then activated his radio. He called out to anyone who might still be alive in the plant. Greg scanned the area

“
Where's the first squad's ship?” he asked when Billings fell silent, unable to raise anyone on the short-range.

“
Left as soon as they dropped them off. Ours is staying behind this time and our pilot is listening in so we can get an idea of what's going on in there...in case we all die.”

“
Wonderful.”

They moved cautiously toward the fusion plant. Flicking the safety off his rifle, Greg prepared for action. Tension sang through his body, tempering his muscles. He tried to remain calm, loose, ready for chaos.

The doors in the main entryway slid half-way into their niches in the walls. Baker peered into the gap, poking his gun through first. He slipped in. Everyone waited, scanning their surroundings. Greg heard nothing but the team and the winds, whispering across the plains.

He realized that Kyra hadn't brought a gasmask. “Where's your mask?”

She shrugged. “Couldn't find one, but I don't think they help anyway. Don't get the infection by breathing anything in. Just the bites, far as I've seen.”

“
Clear!” Baker called, making Greg jump.

He moved in next, followed by the others. The main lobby was a broad, empty room. The room appeared utilitarian in nature. Little more than a circular desk and a couple of tables sporting coffee makers and water-coolers occupied the space. The team secured the area, spying two doors along the left and right walls, while Powell made for the front desk without comment. Both doors were closed and could have hidden anything.

“Do you hear that?” Greg asked after the silence really began to settle in.

“
Yes,” Billings murmured.

“
Oh man...sounds like banging. Wonder if something's going to break down a door to get to us.” Baker shifted his rifle back and forth between both doors.

“
Will you shut the fuck up?” Kauffman hissed.

“
Stow that shit. Powell, what have you got for me?” Billings glanced to where Powell stood behind the desk.

“
Nothing. This terminal is dead.” Powell moved away from the desk.

“
All right. Let's go. Stay sharp.”

They moved deeper into the structure, making their way into a monitoring center. A sense of abrupt abandonment and tense foreboding permeated the area, just like the others Greg had seen. He hunted for clues and soon spied broken-out ventilation grates in the ceiling.

“Stalkers.” He pointed the ruined grates out.

The monitoring stations, screens and easy-clean keyboards sealed behind smooth plastic, were all sprayed with blood. There were no bodies. Powell marched across the center, righted one of the swivel chairs and sat at the cleanest station that still worked. He settled into place and got to work. The banging sound, which wasn't as distant as before, continued.

“I bet that's a Berserker.” Baker’s voice held the excitement of a boy on Christmas morning.

Greg rolled his eyes. He could see why Billings thought the kid was as good as dead.

“You know this isn't a video game, right?” Kyra frowned at the kid.

Baker shrugged as though this fact had been pointed out to him several times before. “Duh. It's better. I get to
live
it.”

Kyra heaved a sigh and shook her head.

“Don't worry, he isn't a complete waste.” Billings chuckled. “Powell?”

“
I have a map of the installation. I'm unable to determine the problem. For that, I'll need to visit the primary power center. I'd also say that the banging noises seem to be coming from there. I'd suggest we take two secondary entrances into the room and perform a two-pronged attack.” Powell rose from his chair to join the rest of them.

“
Sounds good.”

They all studied the map and memorized their routes. Billings would take Kauffman and Baker. Greg and Kyra would have Powell. Greg didn’t like their route, which took them through the underground maintenance tunnels. Once everyone was ready, they split up. Greg opted to lead the way, though he wasn't sure why.

He found the entrance to the maintenance tunnels a moment later. Staring down the short stairwell that plunged into the earth, Greg hesitated. There was something down there. He could feel it. After another few seconds, he moved down the stairs. Flicking on the flashlight attached to the end of the rifle, he scouted the area.

They'd come to a bland length of corridor bathed in ominous, flickering light. Large sprays of blood colored the tiled floor and ran down the walls. Greg glanced up. More broken-out vent grates. Stalkers, to be sure. They made slow progress through the underground, straining their ears against the silence.

The lights continued to flicker. Some of them were already dead. About halfway down the corridor, a surge rolled through the building, briefly plunging them all into darkness. Terror seized Greg, his throat closing up, his guts turned to ice. The lights flared back to life, then resumed flickering.

“
Shit,” Kyra whispered.

“
Let's get the hell out of here.” Greg hurried forward.

They pressed on, the sense of being watched rising. Greg kept glancing at the ceiling, the dark holes in the metal, easy points of access where inhuman things might lurk. They continued down the corridor.

When the attack came, it was so fast that Greg didn't have time to react.

There was a sound from somewhere overhead. Kyra screamed. A gunshot went off, and then there was an immense pressure on his back. Greg was forced to the ground, the breath driven from his lungs, the gasmask cracked. A loud shriek pierced his eardrums. It was followed by a second and third gunshot, and then the pressure was lifted from him.