“Uh, yeah,” he replied, despite her tone.
Mitch had been thinking, his lips pursed as he furrowed a brow. “Long way back to the research station.”
“Yeah,” Josie said. Purple Company knew what needed to be done; they just didn’t like it. “People who shot us down are probably closer.” A grin appeared on her face as she looked up at the pilot. “Bet they have a ship or two.” She said it playfully to him, but Harper didn’t seem to notice. His mind had never left Gally’s question.
Most things that need leashes don’t realize that they do until it’s too late, and Boomer was no exception. He didn’t need to get his bearings after the crash, and he had a feeling that had something to do with the years of beating his equilibrium to a pulp. So, he immediately stepped out of the Atticus and walked happily, beginning his favorite part of Purple Company’s crash protocols: securing the perimeter.
There wasn’t much to see, even for a one-eyed man. Every building he passed was either dilapidated or chewed to oblivion. The few remaining chunks of shelter in the area were vacant. As much as he enjoyed the stroll, he quickly lost interest in the wintry-wasteland scenery. His thoughts were with Ox, which led to some grumbling, which turned to fiddling.
He soon realized he’d been fidgeting with a detonation tube. He didn’t know why, and only had a vague idea as to how it’d gotten into his hand in the first place. It was just instinct, he concluded. Fish had to swim, birds had to fly, Carrion—he guessed—had to carry, and Boomer had to tempt fate at every occasion.
It was the first time he’d ever thought about the reason for it, the purpose behind his self-destructive ways. Even before he joined up with Purple Company, he found himself hopping from one paycheck—which meant one explosion—to the next. And as much as he enjoyed the paychecks and their uses, nothing thrilled him quite like the noise, fury, and artistry of a good explosion. With a satisfied smile, he resumed paying attention to what he was physically doing, and realized he’d been tossing the tube into the air and then catching it. In fact, he was quite good at it.
Adding this to the list of things he considered an art form, he flicked his wrist and watched the tube spin through the air. He caught it lengthwise, consistently avoiding the detonation buttons at the top: one red and one green.
This continued for some time before a crash startled him. It wasn’t a loud crash, or a large one, but it [was the kind of crash that] came from something stirring from within the buildings. His jump occurred mid-catch, unfortunately, and the detonation tube bounced in his open palm as he looked to the source of the noise.
The gravity of the situation finally occurred to the demolitions expert, and, rather than investigate the noise, his priorities shifted to trying not to explode. He stumbled, trying to catch the tube once again in an upward motion. The grab was successful, placing the tube upright, standing in his palm between his thumb and fingers.
He let out a victorious whimper as he looked over the tube, but an ominous beeping soon ended any pride. His brow dropped as he examined the tube, realizing the detonation buttons were pressed against his palm. Luckily, the instant detonation button hadn’t been pressed, only the timed one. Even so, his eyelid twitched.
His throw was panicked and shoddy, but it worked. The beeping tube was sent spiraling into the gray distance, and the demolitions expert turned and dove before he heard a loud explosion, followed by the splash of snow.
A slight mad giggle emerged from him as he rolled onto his back. When he sat up, the giggling died off as a thought occurred to him. His eyes darted to the ruins and he heard more shifting, more stirring from the carcasses of the buildings. The realization of what made the initial crash turned his legs to jelly. A grim sneer appeared across Boomer’s face before he stumbled to his feet.
The Carrion emerged from the ruins in groups. They were slow, inquisitive. And while they approached the site of the explosion, one group stepped out and locked eyes with him. He wasn’t used to standoffs, this being only his second since joining the company. The kind of combat to which he was accustomed was less tension-oriented and more excited counting down. Fuses and timers were easy and predictable, readable. Not like these things. The demolitions expert quickened his backward walking pace.
More of them poured from the windows of the black and half-eaten buildings. Their blue bodies emerged, one by one, until Boomer could no longer count them. They had food that was less combative, but they didn’t approach him like food. They approached him like a cat would a mouse, with a playful curiosity that would turn deadly. “Aw, please, fuck off,” he whined as they stalked him. Slowly, he drew another detonation tube from his belt and slid his thumb onto the green button on the rectangular device. It gave three beeps before Boomer tossed it. Quickly spinning on one heel, he bolted back to the rest of the team.
Back at the downed ship, Josie had just finished packing. She gave a look to Gally, who was going from person to person, too eager to get the crew back on their feet. The lieutenant already missed Ox, who—if Gally had even dared to ‘help’ him pack—would have roared loud enough for her to drop it. But instead, the others begrudgingly let her help load equipment she had no experience carrying. When she finally got to Nitro, Josie watched eagerly. Finally, someone was going to tell her to go to hell; finally, someone was going to make her stop. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply raised a hand to her, said he could handle it, and she let him be. It was the most anti-climactic thing Josie had witnessed. She plopped her hands on one of the containers, wondering what could have made her captain so docile.
Just then, an explosion caught the attention of the crew. They all looked to the east of the ship, and there was a distant sound of hollering. The explosion was a dead giveaway, but Nitro stepped forward to see a man, strapped with equipment, waving his arms as he ran toward them: it was indeed Boomer.
His shouting was muffled in the distance; they strained to hear him. By the time he was back in coms range, he was screaming at the top of his lungs, causing distortion. “Run, goddamnit!”
Most of the crew didn’t hesitate. They grabbed what equipment they could and sprinted past the Atticus. Josie, however, didn’t take orders from Boomer, and looked to her captain, who was assessing the situation. When Nitro nodded, she sprinted.
The doctors, their assistant, the pilot, and Gally stampeded into the city as the Company brought up the rear. Josie would occasionally pirouette like a ballerina cowboy, firing off several shots from her sidearms to slow the monsters down. Boomer dropped some grenades as he moved, his running keeping time with his counting before each boom that gave them space. Doctor Lee pointed to a large complex with an open door that seemed defendable, and the crew ran toward it.
When they arrived at the building, they leapt through windows and doors, over countertops, and around desks. Josie and the rest of Purple Company instinctively stopped at the entrance and held their position there. She loaded a plasma rifle with a full battery and threw it to Nitro, only moments after coming to a halt. She’d anticipated him switching it to live rounds. It was a slower fire, but it was effective.
Instead, Nitro kept the firing mode on plasma, and flipped a switch by the battery. He then took out his own rifle in the other hand and flipped the same switch. A high-pitched whine erupted from each rifle as the batteries illuminated with fierce, neon purple.
Josie wanted to help, but there was no room. She stood with her back to the wall, with a sidearm in each hand, biting her lip in hesitation as Nitro and Boomer took up the only two windows. She would have said something to the captain, had him slide over or even confirmed that she wasn’t needed there. But something in Nitro’s eyes stopped her. It was a sad sight, a rage that she knew came from years of pain and loss: the wide, feral eyes of a berserker. As the batteries wailed into an overloaded state, she heard him snarling.
The rifles burning his hands only seemed to fuel his rage as he watched the beasts approach. Once the Carrion were within range, the plasma rifl
es roared, and he with them; Nitro was popping off. Not to be outdone, Boomer lobbed several grenades from his own window, grinning from ear to ear. The entrance to the complex was a lightshow of purple fire.
Harper made sure Gally did not stop running for some time, even once they’d entered the building. He made sure she was nearly to the exit before he slowed his own pace. When he was satisfied of their distance from the entrance, he leaned against a nearby desk to catch his breath. The pilot heard the explosions and plasma fire slow to a halt. The ensuing silence left him suddenly remembering the voice over the hail. It haunted him. He couldn’t shake the fact that they were announcing their presence to whatever shot them down.
“Captain!” he called out, not waiting for Nitro to calm down. Before the mercenary had turned around, Harper continued. “A word?”
A minute later, Harper and Nitro stood off to the side, just out of earshot of the rest of the group. The captain was still whirring; pacing as if he didn’t want to calm down. But Harper didn’t seem concerned by this, and provided the man a good distraction. “Thoughts on who shot us down?”
Nitro’s wild eyes finally centered, landing on the man. “Heruleans?” He recalled his own battles during deployment. As certain as he was that they’d abandoned this planet, he found it difficult to disassociate them from the enemy.
Harper shrugged, recalling his own time in the military. “The hailing code wasn’t anything I’d seen before. And the voice didn’t sound like one of them.”
“So you’re saying somebody else made themselves at home here?” Harper blinked in response, [his stance remaining solid]. The captain’s pacing slowed, but the anger hadn’t quite left him, and it reflected in his tone. “Who?” he nearly snarled, as if being held back from a well-deserved fight.
Harper shrugged. “Well, who else has access to hard lasers?” The captain stopped pacing. The casual question froze Nitro in his tracks. Hard lasers were top of the line and devastating. It wasn’t like plasma, which was more similar to burning liquid than actual air. Lasers were fierce, disintegrating, and unstoppable. They were mainly used by galactic top dogs. That factor alone eliminated mostly everyone Nitro originally considered. Now he was more interested than angry. Harper continued his own train of thought. “They called us poachers.”
“Poachers?” Nitro raised an eyebrow, grinning at the ridiculous idea. “What, those things are endangered or something?”
Harper smirked, looking at the ceiling, his voice coming out like a sigh. “Or something.”
Nitro grunted as he remembered that the plan was to steal a ship from these well-armed individuals. “Easy to track, at least,” he conceded as he looked out the nearest window. Many air particles had been obliterated in the laser fire, and three large streaks of black traced the sky. “Still.” He walked back over to the table to make eye contact with Harper. “You get the feeling she’s not telling us everything?”
Harper didn’t hesitate in his response: kneejerk honesty. “Well, I get that from all women.”
Nitro tried his best to be patient, his jaw clenching. “About the mission.”
“Oh,” Harper replied before giving it a good think. He eventually made eye contact with the captain. “Yeah,” he admitted, weakly.
6
Hey Darlin,
I miss you.
And I’m bad at these things. So.
I wish I was allowed to tell you more.
Shit, I wish I was allowed to know more.
We received a transmission a few days ago that’s got the captain pretty spooked. We’ve been at full speed ever since.
I uhm, I wanted to send you this in case—well, in case.
You’re my number one, and I, uh.
I love you.
And I’m sorry I don’t say that enough. I’m so proud of you, and I know that whatever you do with your life, you’re gonna be great.
Just be careful, okay? For me.
G’night.
Drafted Transmission from the Terminal of Lt. S. Ramone,
File Created September 8, 2314
Unsent
Sabile:
Former Herulean shopping center
Gally sat in a corner, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at a dilapidated table. The gray snow wandered in through the open windows, dusting the floor next to her. It reminded her how insignificant she was, how the universe didn’t give a damn about anything. It just carried on, so why couldn’t she?
Finally away from her office life, she was forced to wonder who she was without it. She wondered if she’d ever get to kill Rook. And if she did, what then? What would she have to go back to? A foreign thought occurred to her, one that blind-sided her and didn’t sound like her at all: her mom. Not that anyone noticed, but her head shook at the thought, as if she could simply shake it out.
Her mom’s efforts, she decided, were too little, too late. It wasn’t her that read to her at night, made her favorite breakfasts, or consoled her whenever he found her skulking in a corner because she missed her mom. Now, she missed him, and he couldn’t console her.
It was a very quiet rage that filled her, reminding her that the man who had shown her such love when she felt lonely had died alone in space. It was at this very inopportune time that Harper and Nitro approached her. That is, Harper approached her. Nitro seemed to barrel out and demand something. He grabbed the nearest chair, and it collapsed as he placed it down. So he grabbed another chair and placed it in front of her. He sat down, leaning on his knees to stare in her face. Harper was satisfied not making a scene, and sat on the table behind the mercenary. “Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked.
Nitro nodded, his eyes as mad as usual. “Me and the pilot were talking.” His bony finger danced between himself and Harper. “We were definitely shot down. We know that for a fact.” It now pointed upward, as if he were counting the facts that they knew. “We also know—” a second finger rose, “—that you government types are supposed to keep tabs on planetary airspace before and after a course is charted!”
“The planet just had an extinction event, I had assumed…”
“Bullshit!” Nitro interrupted her, leaning closer.
Without pausing, she snapped at him calmly yet firmly. “Things getting too tough for you, captain?”
Nitro laughed in anger, unable to respond to such an insult. “Oh, you piece of—” he stood up, wagging a finger at her, waiting for words to come to him that weren’t loaded in a rifle. “Oh, honey.” He ground his teeth and kicked the chair away. It clashed against the nearby wall.
Harper finally gave his input. “We think you know who shot us down.” Gally’s eyes turned to him, solemnly. It wasn’t intentional, although she was quite good at manipulating men, but she would occasionally let her face drop to reveal her inner sadness and helplessness. She was just beginning to realize her own selfishness was costing them money and lives. The change in her expression was all the confirmation Harper needed. “Ah, shit,” he grumbled.
The captain was now leaning against the wall, staring daggers at her. “I’m gonna ignore—” he started, a fist tapping the wall next to him as he spoke. “No, I’m gonna forget the fact that you knowingly withheld information that we needed in order to do our jobs. But before the next words that come out of my mouth are ‘this contract is null and void’, do you think it would be prudent to enlighten us with this information?”
“It’s the Eighth,” she conceded, speaking as if she was an outsider looking into her own horrible situation.
While the pilot didn’t react, he watched Nitro slump against the wall. He gathered from the reaction that this was bad news. “What the shit,” the captain muttered. “Why the shit.”
“More specifically, it’s Rook.”
Nitro blinked. “Their leader,” he grunted in disbelief, staring at her. “Seriously.”
“I don’t know why he’s here, but he killed my dad.”
Harper slapped the table with his palm, about to say somet
hing harsh, but thinking better of it. The only thing he did say came out rushed. “This whole thing is just a vendetta?”
Gally leaned back against the wall, no longer wanting to apologize. “Look, there’s what the job dictates, and there’s what I want.”
Nitro nodded, disdain in his voice. “Nice job cherry-picking a job that does both, by the way.” He nearly stormed off before he saw Josie approaching. “Shame it’s gonna kill us all.”
Josie gave her captain a confused look before she leaned into the conversation, as if suddenly taking an interest in a movie they were watching. She could feel the intensity, and immediately looked to Gally. “You telling them?”
Nitro nodded to answer her before he realized what she’d asked. “Wait, you knew?”
She shrugged, looking at the others as if it were obvious. “I got eyes, don’t I?” Harper tried to pretend that he didn’t feel like an idiot. But he couldn’t help thinking Josie was right; he was as blind as the rest of them. She popped open a bottle of water and sat down next to Gally. “Who’d you lose? Boyfriend? Mom?”
“Dad,” Gally whispered. “He served on the Ballpoint. Rook shot him in cold blood.”
Josie nodded. Her awkward silence and stretched facial expression suggested she was eager to help, but unsure of how. She gave Gally a comforting clap on the shoulder and stared at the floor. “That’s, uh,” she searched for the word before her tone became more decided. “That’s rough,” she said, and there was a brief silence.
Nitro’s slow nod turned into him standing, as if tired of a social function and making his way out the door. “I’ll say it’s rough.” He slapped his knees. “But, steal a ship, bring back some bodies, and get out of here. That’s the plan, and that’s what’s in the contract.”
Nearly in unison, everyone in the conversation looked at him as if he was an asshole—apart from Josie, who always wore that face. As if acknowledging their expressions, he clarified with one long sentence that built slowly into a yell. “Well, the ship part is implied. But this shit is between you and him, and I’m not making two stops!” And he stormed off, uncertain of with whom he was arguing. “I’m not!”
Stars Gods Wolves: Book One: Carrion Page 12