A Shrouded World (Book 7): Hvergelmir

by Tufo, Mark

  Are Trip and BT on that one? I think, holding my gaze to one particular pinpoint of light.

  The towering dark shape of the ridge starts petering out by the time the moon sits on the horizon. Nothing has come in the darkness to interrupt my stroll. No night runners, no demon roaring into the night, no feeling of impending doom from Overseers, no rumble of approaching motorcycles.

  I don’t like being without the relic and its capability of overriding the fear that emanates from the Overseers. But on the other side of the coin, they might not be searching for me. With him taking the device, that’s Trip’s problem now. I wonder how well BT is holding up going with the stoner? I simply can’t imagine the two of them together. If something bad shows up, you have one who pops a pill and goes to sleep and the other one folding into a ball. I don’t wish any ill will for either of them, but I hope they don’t encounter anything. If the Overseers show up, it’s likely they’ll get the relic back. However, it’s not like I’d do any better.

  I see where the ridge line comes to an end, folding back down to the desert floor. Other than that, not much has changed, terrain-wise. I’m beat after walking for so long, my thighs threatening to file criminal charges. I pause to eat and drink, hoping that will appease the muscles. It had better because I haven’t shared with them what I’m about to do.

  I start climbing up the steep slopes; the crest isn’t nearly as high here. As a matter of fact, I’m scaling one of the long descending fingers that mark the end of the chain. Dawn isn’t far off, and I want to get a good look at what lies both ahead and behind. That can best be accomplished with a little altitude.

  Stones rattle down the hillside as I clamber upward, my feet slipping more than they hold on. Winded, I make it to the crest of the ridge and peek over the top. I expect only more desert so I’m surprised when I see a lake of illumination beaming in the middle of the desert. It’s a town, or some sort of encampment. There are also several lights moving in the sky. Some circle around the location, others descending down into its midst. A couple rise up and head off into the distance. Away from the cluster of lights, a string of them are heading toward the site…vehicles.

  From the lights taking off and landing, I’m assuming I’ve come across a military base. The number of lights really denote that it’s more of a camp, at least according to what I saw during my year of service on this planet. I eye the trucks heading toward the base, likely carrying troops or supplies…perhaps a mix of both.

  Supplies are the very thing I need, but they’ll also be heavily guarded. There’s no way I can attempt an entry like before. Now, there’s a chance that this place has been reset or it may not even be the same, but stealing a helicopter doesn’t go over very well, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

  “Say,” I’ll begin, “has this place been reset?”

  “It sure has,” the nice soldier will reply, “and you’re in luck, as I don’t even remember you stealing an attack chopper.”

  “Outstanding! Then you won’t remember me taking another one.”

  “Oh, I might for a week or two, but after that, you’re good.”

  I watch the lights from the small convoy as they wend their way across the desert, not far from my position. In the middle of the grouping, a separation is created as one vehicle stops. Red lights flare from those behind as they slow, followed by those ahead. I pull out my binoculars and focus on the group.

  Two armed men in uniforms exit from the stalled vehicle, others from the trucks ahead and behind follow suit, congregating near the cab. A couple open the hood of the stricken vehicle and poke around inside. I study them as a lengthy conversation takes place. Those that left the trucks front and rear eventually return, leaving the two in the truck milling at the front. The convoy resumes their travel.

  I assume that the truck still stranded broke down and the others will send help once they reach the gates. As far as I can tell, there’s only two left behind. The other intriguing thing is that no other soldiers exited the rear, leading me to believe that the cargo is either supplies or it’s empty. I look closely at the two men, ascertaining that they’re not wearing any night vision gear that I can see.

  I look to the base, calculating just how long it will take the remaining convoy to make it to the gate, get assistance for the stranded vehicle, and return. I then figure out how long it will take me to get to the broken-down truck. Of course, they may have radioed the problem in and are already gathering mechanics and additional soldiers. So I’ll have to keep an eye out for inbound vehicles.

  I only have the inaccurate, whistler-go-to-sleep weapon. If I opt to go that route, I’ll have to hit them and remain hidden until the toxin takes effect. The other option is to sneak into the back of the truck without them discovering me. Seeing most supplies are crated in, it seems unlikely I’ll be able to keep quiet. I’ll have to double check that they aren’t carrying radios, but this should be manageable, although I’m a little nervous about going up against automatic weapons with an oversized stapler.

  I look back along my route to assure myself that I won’t get blindsided by the persistent night runners. Seeing it clear, I slide down the other side of the ridge, attempting to control my descent and not start an avalanche that will draw the guard’s attention. I have to move quickly, taking my time as I draw near. The ultimate problem might be one of escape.

  Once the soldiers come to or others arrive, the word will go out. I don’t plan on taking much, so it might go unnoticed, but they’ll sure search for anyone who took down a couple of their own. And being on foot, I won’t get far. Stealing another vehicle, however I’d manage that, won’t do shit either. You can’t outrun a helo. And with the lights I’m seeing in the skies, I won’t just have the attention of one. I revise my plan, now thinking to try and sneak onboard.

  I jog toward the headlights, monitoring both the skies and base for any sign of inbound traffic. At the first hint of any, I’ll have to double-time it back to the mountains. Those helos have thermal imaging systems and I’ll easily be spotted if they head my way. My only hope of evading will be to get back to the rougher terrain and mask myself behind a boulder. I keep my attention pinned mostly to the airborne traffic.

  I slow as I draw closer, the two soldiers standing in the direct beams of the headlights. I’m able to hear the fact that they’re talking, but not the words. I glass them momentarily, verifying that they aren’t carrying radios. They’re standing in relaxed postures, their weapons loosely held. Dropping the pack and carbines in place, I start to circle around behind the truck with only my knives, the whistler weapon, and a pry blade.

  Rising faintly in the night are the sounds of choppers beating the air into submission. I don’t know how far I’ll have to go in order to reach the whistlers, or, really, in what direction. It would be nice to have one of those birds, but I’m not about to infiltrate a base and steal one.

  I creep slowly up to the raised roadway, the pavement covered with thin layers of sand swept in sworls from the passage of vehicles. I keep the truck and wheels between me and the two soldiers. They are so close to the headlights that the strong beams wrap around their bodies, creating next to no shadow in front of the vehicle. From the rear of the truck, I have to look through the intense illumination and can’t see anything in the direction of the base.

  I’m lit in a faint red glow from the taillights. I walk slowly forward, ensuring I don’t scuff either the pavement or sand, my rubber soles absorbing the sound of my steps. The top of the tailgate is above my head. I grasp the uppermost part and pull back gently, waiting for a squeak to give me away. I want to put pressure on the latches so they don’t rattle when I hoist myself up.

  With pressure on the tailgate, I place a foot on the rear bumper, gradually adding my weight to it. Aside from the worry of sound, I don’t want the truck to rock from a sudden addition of weight. Slowly, I transfer my weight, lifting my other leg off the ground. I focus on my grip as it’s imperative that I don�
�t allow the tailgate any room to move, especially as I climb over it.

  Fully off the ground and maintaining pressure, I ease my leg over. Again, the slow process of transferring weight from one foot to the other. I move my second leg over and slowly relax my grip on the tailgate. I’m inside.

  Crates are stacked atop one another with an aisle in the middle. Inching forward, I remove my pry bar, the sound of the conversation in front of the truck drifting faintly through the thick canvas cover. Easing the pry bar on the first rectangular crate, I slowly lift the lid partway up, working around the edges to maintain an equal balance. The lid is held with nails, but not metal ones that might squeak when lifted from wood.

  The crate holds carbines stowed side by side in some cushioning, almost like shipping popcorn. I lift two out and replace the lid, not hammering it closed but making it look intact with a quick glimpse. Setting the new weapons aside, I move to another box. More weapons. On the other side are larger wooden boxes. Inside are packages which look remarkably like MREs, or as they’re called here, FTEs (Food to Eat).

  I slip a few of those out, placing them next to the weapons. Although the sound of the talking is intermittent, I notice a longer pause. Now, that happens as a new topic is found, but then I hear the sound of boots on the other side of the canvas.

  I freeze, looking at the weapons and food packages. They’re just lumps in the darkness, but contrasting with the squared corners of the crates, they might be noticed, even with a quick glance. If I move them now, that’ll be heard by the soldier walking not three feet away. I creep slowly down into a crouch, minimizing my own outline. The darkened truck bed helps, but not if someone shines a light in. Hell, even if they step close to the taillight, the radiated glow could illuminate me. As is stands, the outer boxes already reflect a faint red glow from the taillights.

  There’s a crunch of sand and the canvas moves ever so slightly from the soldier’s passage. I strain to hear a second set of footsteps, but only hear the one. Someone coughs and spits by the rear of the truck, followed by the sound of liquid splashing and a heavy sigh. I relax a little, but keep the whistler weapon trained on the rear opening. Who knows what Mr. IWantMyPrivacy will do after he finishes.

  The surge of liquid turns to intermittent splashes and then a slight pause before he zips up. I alert, staring at the opening and waiting for a face to appear. Instead, the footsteps retrace themselves along the side. I resume my search, finding cardboard boxes of ammo within one of the crates, and I feel like it’s Christmas. Thank goodness they made it easy for me by placing the things I need on top, although, I know they’re likely stacked according to whatever resource the crates contain.

  Now for the tricky part…getting out with the gear. The tailgate is too tall to reach over to the bed once I’m on the ground. I loosen my shirt and stuff the FTEs inside. I won’t be able to take as many as I’d like, but it’ll keep me going for a while. I still have a little food in my pack; it’s the water I’ll be needing before much longer. There’s some in the packages I’m taking, not enough for desert travel, but it’s better than nothing.

  I ease the ammo cartons down to the bumper, taking care, once again, not to disturb the tailgate by applying sudden pressure. I line the carbines against the tailgate, setting the last one in place, when I hear the sound of an engine approaching. That sound tells me that I have to hurry, but it also helps cover any noise that I make. Plus, the soldiers will most likely be focused on the incoming vehicle.

  I grab the two carbines, hoisting them up and over the tailgate. Taking care of my weight transfer, ensuring I don’t rock the truck, I ease down to the ground. Headlights shine down the sand-layered pavement. I creep away, keeping the stranded truck between me and the others. Louder conversations come from in front, fading as I draw further away. The red glow of the taillights illuminating me grows fainter.

  I’m swallowed again in darkness and move off the roadway. It takes me a little bit, but I manage to locate my pack and strike back toward the higher ground where I’ll hide in the rougher terrain. I’ll have to wait for night to travel again, which doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies as I’ll have night runners for company, but I can’t travel across the open desert in the daylight; they’ll surely make patrols, whether they conduct those around the base on foot or by air.

  Regardless of the risk, I've made a good haul. And, with the glow of a new dawn on the horizon, I fill the empty mags I had and check them for fit in the new carbines. The rounds fit, but I have to determine if they’re actually correct for the weapons. I ease one into the lower receiver, feeling and hearing it snap into place. By cycling the charging handle, I determine that the rounds and mags marry well. I’m armed again. So now I have to figure out how to circumvent the base, avoid runners, and do it all before I run out of water.

  The sun rises, flooding the land with light seemingly all at once. I stash my gear under a boulder and crawl to the crest. Peering over with a set of binoculars, I see pretty much what I thought I might. The roads and pathways within are straight, cut at right angles with prefab buildings or tents lining the edges. Helicopters wind their way skyward and depart while other squadrons return. Vehicles roll down avenues, tanks and other armored vehicles sit parked in neat rows.

  The base itself is situated in the middle of a desert valley, the outlines of a distant range on the far side. I again have no idea how I’m going to traverse the miles of open ground; I could probably make it to the other range of mountains in a single night. It’s the patrols and helicopters flitting about that I’m most worried about. I may have to swing wide around it.

  Looking more closely, I notice the choppers coming and going from and to my left. If that pattern holds true, I can attempt to go around to my right, the direction the truck convoy came from. But again, I’ll have to do that at night, and without a fast mode of transportation, that means an encounter with the night runners, which places me in a bind. One, they’re fucking night runners. And two, any shots fired will be heard from the base, even at this distance. Any patrol in the area will certainly hear them and I can’t imagine the place leaving this high ground uncovered. I’m actually surprised I haven’t observed any foot patrols or helicopters keeping an eye on it. Of course, this could be a base far behind the lines and their security relaxed. Hopefully that’s the case.

  Looking to the road where I made my haul, there’s still scant evidence of my trail leading toward my position. I should have hidden it better, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. I’ll just have to trust that it isn’t noticed.

  I slither down the crest, seeking the shelter of the boulder, both from the sun and from patrols. It’s nestled in a small alcove against a sheer wall of sandstone. Anyone would have to be right upon me to notice that I’m here. Tired, I lie down to catch some shuteye.

  I wake with a start, listening to my surroundings before looking. My pack and weapons are where I left them, close at hand, and a hot wind is blowing up the ravine. I’m parched and my eyes feel gritty. The sun is perched overhead, beaming down its hot rays. Taking a small drink and eating one of the FTEs, I clamber back up the ridge to see if anything has changed.

  I’m in a good spot for when night falls, the ravine narrow and steep. The high walls make this a defensible location against the night runners. And it’s on the far side, which will limit the amount of gunfire that carries toward the base. I’ve decided that I’ll hold out here, fend off the hunters, and make my way across the desert afterward. I wish there was a way to lure the night runners to the base, but I can’t think of a thing that won’t involve my capture, and I’ve had enough of that for the time being.

  Upon reaching the top, I see nothing much has changed. I’m about to head back to my little camp when I notice something shimmering in the distance. I don’t think much about the thin silver line, as it’s probably a mirage created by the heat waves rising from the surface. I take more notice when it grows a little larger. Looking at it through my binoculars,
I see a wave of sparkling white and silver rolling across the desert.

  With a shock, I realize that I’ve seen this same thing before in the town of Valhalla. It came in the midst of the zombie horde attacking and portended the coastal community resetting.

  Oh fuck! My things!

  I slide down. I know the last one reset me as well: weapons, food, ammo. But if that isn’t the case, then there’s a chance that, if I’m holding on to it, then perhaps I’ll be moved and it’ll come with me. That didn’t hold true with even the clothing I was wearing the last time, but if I lose this gear without a replacement, I might as well toss myself off one of these cliffs. I won’t last long without it.

  My heart is beating hard in my chest, stones tumbling down the ravine from my mad scramble. I reach my little hideout and clutch the weapons and pack, huddling around them. And there I wait, hearing the last of the rocks reach the bottom. Silence ensues.

  Time seems to stand still. No sound or movement. It’s just me, clutching my stuff like a little kid who doesn’t want to share. Suddenly, the heat departs, the rock and ground blurring. All of the things around me waver like a highway mirage rising from a steep desert road. And then I’m engulfed in a white void, silver sparkles dancing throughout.

  Unlike last time, I have no hope that I’ll be returned to my home world. I’ll be deposited right back here in the same surroundings under different circumstances. Or at least, that’s what happened last time. The white abruptly departs, leaving me in my place. I quickly check for my belongings only to find that they have, in fact, reverted. I’m holding my pack and suppressed M-4. I guess the white storm takes away all things found in this world.

  I’m kind of pissed. I worked hard for those weapons, and now, if I meet up with Mike, I won’t have anything for him. That is, unless I’m able to locate another supply. So, here I go through that whole thing again. I don’t envision I’ll be lucky enough to have a stranded truck like the last time. There should be a warning sign telling me, “Go back. This will be a waste of time,” or “Don’t even bother.” That sure would make this easier.