Necropolis (13 page)

Rolling over, Greg spied Kyra standing over him, concern and terror in her gaze. Something dropped to the ground behind her. His rifle had somehow remained in his grasp and he snapped it up. Kyra froze.

“
What-” Her sentence cut off as Greg squeezed the trigger. He narrowly avoided her neck, managing to punch a neat, bloody hole through the Stalker behind her. It collapsed to the ground. Kyra whirled around, stared at the corpse for a second, and then turned back to Greg. She laughed, offering him a hand.

“
Scared me there, for a second.” She helped him up.

“
Did it get you?” Powell’s quiet voice spoke in the silence. They both looked at him. His rifle was in hand, pointed in their direction, but not specifically at them. Greg tensed.

“
No.”

Powell stared at them both for a moment and shrugged. “We'll know soon enough.”

“Let's get the fuck out of here.”

Greg turned and put another few shots into the one that had jumped onto him. He took off his gasmask, remembering Kyra's assessment of the situation and tossed it aside. Damned thing was cracked anyway.

“What happened? Thought we heard gunshots.” Billings’s voice came over their comms.

“
Stalkers. We're fine,” Greg answered, starting to make his way down the tunnel again.

“
Good. We've run into a few ourselves. Looks like this is what happened to the staff.”

They came to the corresponding stairwell and ascended it, finding the secondary maintenance door to the power control center. The banging was louder than ever. Greg missed Cage and his sniper rifle.

“We're in position,” he reported.

“
So are we. Ease in,”
Billings replied.

Hitting the access button, Greg went first. With caution, he peered in and spied the huge, open space. To the far left, he spied the hulking form of the Berserker, banging furiously against the main door. Across the room, on a second-story catwalk he saw Billings and the others.

“I'll draw it out, everyone else, shoot the fuck out of it,” Greg whispered.

“
What? No, that's stupid,”
Kauffman replied.

“
Got a better plan?”

Billings reassured him.
“Do your thing, Greg. We'll put it down.”

“
Please be careful,” Kyra whispered.

“
Yeah. Careful.”

He looked at her for a second. Abruptly, he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, then broke away and fought off the sense of déjà vu. He moved out to the middle of the floor, raised his rifle, switched to full auto and opened fire.

“Come and get it, fucker!”

The Berserker spun to stare at him with malignant, hate-stricken eyes of burning crimson. It charged him as the others opened fire as well. Greg emptied the clip, spying black blood spewing from a dozen different wounds on the creature already, before being forced to dive out of the way. He grunted as he hit the ground and rolled.

The gunfire was interrupted only for a second as he scrambled out of the way. He stumbled to his feet and kept running, hearing the thunderous rumble of the titanic Undead as it came after him. He didn't even bother firing his weapon at this point, knowing his was little more than a distraction. The gunfire was ceaseless, overlapping itself in waves. A few times, Greg felt a bullet punch hard into his armor.

After what seemed like an eternity of running and dodging, a loud roar, followed by an immense crash, sounded. His legs shaky, Greg risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that the Berserker had toppled over, now no more than a huge, unmoving lump in the center of the vast room. Someone laughed, long and loud.

“Damn, that was fucking awesome!” Baker shouted as he and the others descended from the second story.

“
You get to do it, next time,” Greg replied in between several deep breaths. Billings clapped him hard on the back as they all converged on his position.

“
Goddamn fine work, son. Here.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a cigar. “You smoke?” Greg accepted it and a light. Billings chuckled. “I'll take that as a yes. Powell, get on that terminal, figure out what the problem is.”

As Greg puffed on his cigar, he began to notice the remains of what must have been the original team sent in scattered across the area.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“
Yeah...nasty business,” Billings replied. “I'm going to go report in, tell command to hurry up and get a fucking backup squad here. No telling how many more Stalkers are around...” Billings moved off and Baker and Kauffman began patrolling the area. Kyra lingered by his side.

“
When we get back to base, I think we should have a talk,” she said after a moment.

“
Oh? Good or bad talk?”

Kyra seemed to think for a moment, and then simply smiled. “You'll see.”

Chapter 15

–
Entering Isolation
–

Twilight was gone. The skies were pitch black, the stars hidden behind a thick layer of storm clouds. The rain had followed them from the wastelands. Greg watched Jackson from the ship. The storm seemed to have taken some of the heat from the flames that consumed portions of the city. He watched ships rise and fall from all across the area, hundreds of men and women working feverishly to save a dying city.

Lethargy laced Greg's veins now. They'd spent another two hours at the fusion plant, securing the area, making sure the technology was stable and waiting around for the second crew to show up. When they finally did, Greg and the others hurried onto their ship and took off. After a brief talk via the radio, Billings assured them they'd all get a break.

Despite the promise of a bit of R and R, Greg still felt jittery with excitement. Some of it was leftover adrenaline from fighting the creatures, but part of it was the knowledge that something seemed like it was going to happen between him and Kyra when they got back. He tried to keep his gaze steady, watching Jackson grow.

They set down inside Fort Jackson and found the hangar in much the same state it had been when they'd left. Chaos boiled everywhere, men and women scurrying to load and unload ships, flying out into the screaming maw of hell that was Jackson. Greg tried to comprehend the very probable notion that the entire planet was consumed in a similar anarchy and found it nigh incomprehensible. It just didn't seem possible.

“You should still have your same quarters. Can you find your way back?” Billings asked as they hurried across the hangar.

“
Yeah,” Greg replied.

“
Good. I managed to snag us four hours. Make the most of them. Keep your radios tuned to my frequency. I'll call you if anything happens.”

Greg and Kyra were left alone as they hit the edge of the hangar, Billings and the others dispersed into the base.

“I need a shower,” Greg announced as they walked along the corridors.

Kyra nodded.

They navigated the crowded corridors in silence. A silent tension built between them. After a little while, they managed to track down their quarters and slipped inside. Greg moved deeper into the room while Kyra shut the door behind them. He considered what would be more prudent, a shower or a meal?

He turned to ask Kyra her opinion and found her leaning against the door, staring at him.

“Is it time for that talk?” he asked after a moment.

She smirked. “I think so. You kissed me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“
Why?”

Greg took a moment to think about it. After considering and rejecting several responses, he finally settled for the truth. “Because I've got something of a crush on you and I thought I was going to die.”

Kyra laughed. “A crush? What is this, middle school? That's one thing I'm really liking about you so far...you're honest. At least as far as I can tell. Now, we could go grab a bite to eat or try to catch a nap, but I think maybe we should take this opportunity to do something else.”

“
Um...okay...um...” Greg swallowed. There was something in Kyra's gaze, something almost predatory. She advanced on him.

“
Don't be so nervous.” She put her hands on his shoulders. The adrenaline flushed through Greg’s veins in anticipation as he stared at sharp, focused blue eyes. “It's not like it's your first time.” She paused. “Well...shit, would it be? I mean...do you...remember...I mean, you must've...”

“
I honestly don't know.” This was too damned awkward.

Kyra's smile returned. “Well, just do what feels natural.” She leaned in and...froze as their radios crackled to life.

“Bishop, Mercer, sorry to do this to you but...we're needed. Emergency...you know how it is. We're needed for a quick flight into Jackson, save some asses. Back to the hangar.”
Billings’s sharp orders came across.

Kyra growled. “You have got to be kidding me!”

Greg shook his head and hit reply. “On our way.” He headed for the door.

“
I'm all fucking wet and ready and everything,” Kyra snapped, following him.

* * * * *

They managed to swing back by the armory and restock on ammo before hurrying back to the ship where they found their pissed off teammates. Baker even seemed subdued, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. The team settled into their seats in the back of the jump ship and strapped in as it took off. Kyra sat next to Greg, her frustration obvious.

“
So, what's the situation?” Greg tried to clear his mind and get the blood pumping to other places in his body.

Billings began to respond, but hesitated. He held up one hand, with his other he touched his ear: the universal sign for an incoming call. Greg half-listened to Billings's side of the conversation. Kyra distracted him. She pressed up against him and shifted so that their legs or shoulders would brush together.

“Okay, listen up.” Billings startled him back to reality. He noted that Kyra jumped as well. It seemed he was equally distracting and that made him happy. Whether or not he'd been with a woman in the past six weeks or six years, Greg found that it didn't matter much to him. He desired Kyra's closeness all the same.

“
We were supposed to provide support for a ship that went down, but another squad managed to get in there and help them. We have a new assignment. Someone picked up a faint radio signal coming from the maintenance tunnels beneath a parking garage. The message reported that a squad of Marines set up shop down there and they had a lot of spare weapons and ammo. We need all the help we can get. Unfortunately, the signal was also cut off mid-transmission. The people who picked it up were already in mid-operation, so now it's our job. Questions?”

There were none.

They flew on into the burning heart of Jackson.

* * * * *

The jump ship settled down atop the parking garage just long enough to deposit the crew, then took off again. After securing the rooftop, Greg walked to the edge and peered into the street below. Little more than a thin mist drifted down from starless skies, giving the area a mute feel. Smoke drifted on the air, as well as the smell of burnt flesh. Zombies milled about below, and he thought about picking them off from his vantage, but he noticed something different about them. Their movements seemed more coordinated, they seemed to stumble less, and they were quieter, no longer moaning. The sight chilled him.

They
were
getting smarter...or at least more capable.

“
Bishop, quit sightseeing,” Billings snapped.

Greg turned away from the ledge.

“Thought this was an underground parking garage,” Baker murmured, looking around.

“
It is, but you still need a
single story
for access, dipshit,” Kauffman replied.

“
Stow it. Baker, you're down first. Bishop, after him.” Billings doled out orders.

Greg nodded and followed Baker to a manual access ladder. Baker opened the hatch and pointed his rifle down into the dark shaft, peering within. After a moment, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and climbed down the ladder. As soon as there was room, Greg followed. Fear welled at the edges of his psyche as he enclosed himself in the narrow, poorly-lit shaft. He hated to let the rifle from his grasp, but knew he wouldn't be able to descend otherwise. Baker hit the ground below and disappeared from sight.

Relief washed over him when he didn't hear gunshots or screaming. He slipped off the ladder and grabbed his rifle, turning and hunting for any threats. They'd come to an empty storage room. Baker stood by the door, trying to get it open.

“
I think power was cut,” he murmured.

“
Fantastic...” Greg muttered. “Clear,” he said into the radio.

The others descended. Between the two of them, Greg and Baker managed to force the door open while Billings, Kauffman, and Kyra covered it with their weapons. The area beyond was lit by a fire across the street. The flickering light cast creeping shadows across the walls.

“Looks like we're alone,” Baker murmured.

“
Oh, bullshit. Those fuckers are hiding in here somewhere,” Kauffman muttered.

“
There's the maintenance room.” Greg nodded toward a door across the area from them.

They moved swiftly across the desolate parking garage, their footsteps hollow, echoing across the cave-like interior. They pried their way into the maintenance room, found the elevator didn't work and lucked into a stairwell. There were no lights now save for the bobbing, pale beams of flashlights that cut through the darkness. Greg’s chest tightened and his pulse quickened in anticipation. There were likely worse things than zombies down here. He envisioned crimson orbs staring out at him from the shadows.

Three flights down, they found a working door. The hope Greg initially felt diminished as the door opened to reveal a poorly-lit corridor. He kept his muzzle-mounted flashlight on and proceeded down the passageway.

“
First order of business is to find and secure the security station. It should provide us with a network of cameras and we can get a better idea of what the fuck went wrong down here.” Billings gave the order while chewing on a stub of a cigar.

His voice carried down the lonely corridor, adding to the sense of solitude. Greg tried to keep his finger outside the trigger guard, but the tension mounted. Straining his ears against the silence, broken only by their breathing and footsteps, he tried to pick up on any Undead that might be in the area. Stalkers were never far from his mind.

As they checked out any doors they came across, they found empty offices or dormant storage rooms. Greg couldn't shake the sense of being an archeologist investigating an ancient site, perfectly preserved. Greg found himself thinking of stories he'd read, (fiction seemed to be something that had at least somewhat escaped whatever purge had so thoroughly destroyed his memory), and how the best horror stories seemed to have some element of aftermath, some edge of cryptic enigma and mystery so perfectly sealed into it.

What happened here? Where did these people go? Of course, in this case, he had a pretty good idea, just not the specifics.

“Here it is.” Baker’s voice shattered the dim silence that enveloped them. Greg jumped, nearly squeezing off a shot. He slipped his finger back outside the trigger guard and moved down the corridor to join the kid.

“
Good job.” Billings opened the door.

He seemed distracted. Greg didn't blame him, something felt wrong here. Worse even than in the fusion plant. After clearing the room and finding it only partially lit, Powell slipped into the swivel chair and attempted to bring the systems online. The screens were all dark, the terminals themselves unlit, obviously operating on low-level power. After a moment, Powell shook his head and stood back up.

“Not enough power. Everything here is on reserve. We need to get to a generator.”

Billings sighed and played his flashlight across the walls. Centering it on a non-digital map of the area, he moved forward.

“It looks like this place did, in fact, invest in a backup generator. Memorize the route. We're heading there.”

Greg did as he was told and led the way back out into the corridor with Kyra. The others followed, bringing up the rear. They moved down a central hallway, passing closed doors in grim silence.

“Where the fuck
is
everyone?” Kauffman growled. “I mean, we haven't found
shit
. No bodies. No signs of conflict. Nothing.”

“
Everyone probably left when the shit hit the fan,” Billings replied. “Or maybe no one was here when it happened.”

They reached a T junction in the corridor and began to break left, but froze as a hissing click came echoing down the dead hallway at them. Billings raised his fist, freezing everyone in their tracks. He paused for a long moment

“Bishop, Mercer, Powell, head for the generator. Kauffman, Baker, you're with me.”

“
We're splitting up?” Kauffman whispered.

“
Command gave specific instructions to keep an eye out for any potential new mutations. It was a mission priority. We still know next to nothing about these fucking things. That sound is
not
anything I've heard so far. We're checking it out.” Billings’s voice left no room for argument.

Kaufman sighed, but didn't put up any more of a fight. Greg responded affirmatively to the new orders and led the way, breaking down the left side of the junction with Kyra and Powell. From here, he knew it wasn't far from the generator.

As Greg and the others made their way down the corridor, he began to hear noises, familiar ones. Shuffling feet, guttural voices.

“
Shit, zombies,” he whispered.