Hard Drop

by Will van Der Vaart

  After another hesitation, Chip sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He flipped the box upside down, tapping its base until two shiny white pills fell out into his hand. He extended his hand begrudgingly, offering the meds without saying a word.

  Ringo stared up at him gratefully. He took the pills and swallowed them dry immediately.

  “You bitch.” He said, chasing the pills down with another swig from Hog’s flask. “You’ve been holding out on me.” He coughed, slapping his chest as the alcohol chased down his throat, and turned back to Tyco. “While I’m still here, you gonna tell me what I cashed it in for?”

  Tyco considered the request momentarily. “I’ll tell you what the scan said.” He said, at last. “And what I could piece together from my briefing.”

  Ringo nodded quietly, saying nothing as he waited for him to continue.

  “The Admiralty fucked up.” Tyco began, simply, hesitating as he considered how best to explain what little he knew.

  “Big surprise there.” Ringo snorted.

  “There’s a classified research facility here, in the city. Top-cover, high-importance, no known budget.” Chip nodded along quietly. Ghost just looked away, shaking his head as if he had expected it all along. “Three weeks ago, Command gets word their latest project is a go. Full marks, total success, send the brass.”

  “Too bad they didn’t…” Hog growled. Ringo nodded along emphatically, in grim agreement.

  “From the report I saw, they were en route when this place went up in flames. No confirmed reports on how or why.”

  “What was the project?” Ringo asked.

  “Classified.” Tyco answered. “Intel said it was some kind of superweapon, the next big thing. Called it MAP-11.”

  “Shitty name.” Ringo coughed.

  “Weapons Protocol MAP-11.” Tyco repeated. “We’re here to find the weapon and neutralize it before the locals get their hands on it.”

  “Basic fire drill.” Chip coughed.

  Tyco nodded evenly. “That’s right. Get in, neutralize, get out.” He turned back to Ringo, sighing. “That’s all I know.”

  “That’s all…” Ringo said, and shook his head. Tyco grimaced.

  “That’s the job.” Tyco offered a thin smile.

  “Ain’t that the truth…” Chip muttered behind him, hands growing twitchy as the nicotine left him.

  Ringo took a deep breath and sat up straighter, wincing as he shifted in his seat. “Gonna be awful hard to do without me.” He said, grimacing as another wave of pain rocked through him. Tyco waited until it had passed, then stepped forward and extended his hand. Ringo took it gratefully.

  “Thank you.” He said. “Sir.”

  Tyco nodded and went, moving out of the tank quickly and purposefully, leaving the others to say their goodbyes. Chip followed closely on his heels, quietly tipping his hat and sliding through the door, looking away uncomfortably as he passed. Ghost paused, looking down at Ringo compassionately, and removed his pistol from its holster. Ringo took it, weighing it instinctively in his hand, and shook his head, making a face. He pulled out the magazine and stared at the two cartridges remaining, then glowered at Ghost accusingly.

  “In case you miss.” Ghost shrugged. But Ringo shook his head.

  “I won’t.”

  Ghost nodded coolly and took out another cartridge, leaving just one bullet in the magazine. He slotted it back into the gun and returned it to Ringo. The wounded man nodded approvingly.

  “Thanks.” He said, simply, letting the weapon rest in his hand. Ghost nodded calmly and went, stepping out and down onto the hard road outside.

  Mac glided past with a mumbled goodbye and ducked out, leaving just Hog and Ringo in the APC. She waited until Mac had gone, then looked down at Ringo, sadness and affection welling up through her weather-beaten face.

  “You idiot.” She said, shaking her head with a thin smile on her face. “What did you do that for?”

  Ringo shook his head and looked away, sighing heavily. “It just happened.” He said, taking a deep breath to fight the pain. Hog nodded and looked away, biting her lip. Bitter silence filled the cramped vehicle.

  “How about a kiss goodbye?” Ringo asked, finally, smiling at her with the shy sincerity of a teenager. Hog broke into a smile.

  “Come up here and get it.” She answered, teasing. Ringo tried, honestly tried, pushing himself up with his arms as far as they reached, trying to shuffle forwards without putting any weight on his bad leg. He was halfway up when it gave way beneath him, and he fell back hard on the metal bench.

  “That morphine’s some weak-ass shit.” He said gruffly, wincing, and lay back back against the seat, exhausted. Hog bent down and kissed his forehead tenderly.

  “See you ‘round.” She said, finally, and then stepped out of the tank.

  Ringo watched her go quietly, then closed his eyes, letting the pain overwhelm him. He gritted his teeth in angry frustration, feeling his abandonment keenly. Furious at his situation, he pounded his fist against his bad leg. He regretted it immediately. His face went stark white and he slumped forward, teetering on the edge of a blackout, fighting to stay conscious.

  And then, finally, he felt the morphine take hold. The warmth began in his chest and spread outwards crawling up his arm like a rising tide. It reached his head and he sighed, slumping back against the carrier wall with a faint smile on his lips.

  The team walked away from the APC in silence, picking their way through the debris. One by one, they started up the pile of garbage and through the security gate. None of them looked back. Tyco kept his eyes low, picking his way through the garbage and debris ahead of them.

  The pistol fired behind them, the shot echoing loudly in the cramped tunnel.

  “Shame about the morphine.” Chip sighed.

  Hog instinctively ran her fingers along her rosary, lips moving quietly in the dark. A few steps ahead of her, the motion caught Tyco’s eye. He glanced back at her in distaste, quietly quickening his pace.

  “Not a praying man, Cap?” Mac asked. Walking next to Tyco, he had noticed the Drop Commander’s reaction and seen his change of pace.

  “Not as a rule.” Tyco answered evenly, sticking to his faster pace. “I don’t find much comfort in it.

  “I guess I see why.” Mac nodded quietly, glancing back towards the carrier.

  “Only one verse I’ve liked in any of that scripture.” Tyco continued, shaking his head as he stepped around clumps of rotting garbage. A rat bolted just ahead of them, it’s little feet pattering quickly across the asphalt. “Only one: And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes,” He allowed himself a glance back towards the APC, towards Ringo. “And there will be no more death.”

  “Revelations 21:4.” Hog nodded approvingly, coming up behind the two men.

  “Don’t get any ideas.” Tyco said firmly. “I still hate the rest of it.”

  “Why?” Hog asked, quietly.

  “Why do I hate it?” Tyco responded, glancing back at her warily, expecting a sermon.

  “No.” She answered, keeping step with his pace. “Why that verse? Why is that one alright?”

  “Because when that happens,” Tyco growled, “We can all retire.” He threaded his way through the wreckage and walked out into the sunlight ahead. His footsteps echoed briskly against the hard concrete, accelerating as if he was eager to put as much distance between them and the metal tomb they had left behind them.

  NINE: THIN AIR

  Flip kneeled behind a high snow embankment at the roadside, peering out across the icy road. The path narrowed ahead. The snowdrifts fell away here, leaving the path ahead entirely exposed. The snow had stopped at the worst possible moment, leaving her stranded in the open, and far away from cover. Worse still, the mist rising off the fresh powder did more to hamper her vision than to hide her from sight. She was going to have to break into the open to cross the road ahead, and she would have to move quickly. It was a long hundr
ed yards to the next visible scrap of cover, a small copse of trees high up on the opposing hillside. At least her legs, aching earlier from wading through the knee-deep snow, were rested and ready now.

  Flip shivered. The snow may have stopped, but it was still cold, and now that she had stopped moving, she felt it through her suit. She glanced back down the road, listening intently, straining to pick up any trace of an oncoming engine.

  The mountain was quiet in all directions, and she stood, shaking the snow from the folds in her jumpsuit. She strapped her newfound rocket launcher tightly against her shoulders, making sure it wouldn’t shift as she ran, and stepped out on the road.

  She stepped quickly across the packed snow, staying low to keep her balance, following the road as it snaked up the small incline ahead. Cover beckoned at the top of the hill, fifty yards ahead and approaching fast. She made a beeline directly for it, moving without hesitation across the smooth surface. She had crossed the road and was halfway up the hillside when it happened.

  Her boot broke through the first layer of snow, pushing through the brittle crust and landing on the smooth, frozen ice below. She lost her footing and fell, sliding down the incline with increasing speed. Her back slammed hard against the ice, smashing against the launcher with a bone-jarring crunch and knocking the wind from her lungs. She struggled to slow herself, trying to regain her footing, fumbling at the trees to break her fall. She skidded down the slope on the far side of the hill, spreading her arms to steady herself, lifting her head to stare down the slick slope below her. With horror, she saw the thin snow cover come to a sharp point only a hundred yards ahead, peaking in a slight rise before falling in a sheer, jagged drop into the valley. She redoubled her efforts, digging in first her heels, and then her arms, fighting for traction against the solid, frozen ice underneath.

  Her boots slammed against something solid beneath the ice. The impact launched her up off the surface, and she bounced painfully, sliding sideways, kicking at the ice to keep from spinning out of control. The launcher screamed beneath her as its leading edge dug in, grinding hard into her back through the slim protection of the suit.

  She gasped, fighting to regain her breath, struggling for traction as the launcher sent her spinning. The cliff loomed not fifteen yards ahead, rushing unstoppably towards her.

  The launcher caught suddenly on something unseen, jolting her to an abrupt stop and knocking the breath from her lungs yet again. Groaning painfully, she turned slowly, fearfully, hardly daring to breathe in case the movement would dislodge her and send her sliding down into the valley.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, and she was suddenly aware of how loud and frantic her breathing had become. Working to control her panic and her heartbeat, she turned slowly, moving as little as possible but desperate to see just what had stopped her progress.

  The launcher barrel below her had shifted, working its way up her back so that its strap now lay high on her chest. One end of the strap had caught beneath her chin, and it now dug painfully against her skin. The launcher itself had wedged itself between two evergreen saplings, their slender trunks barely peeking out above the snow. They were bending almost double under her weight. Even now, it looked like they might break at any second, and she stared at them intently, willing them to hold just a little longer.

  Turning carefully onto her stomach, she forced her boots against the ice, slowly grinding them against its surface until she had found traction. She repeated the process slightly farther up, digging in the toe of her boots. With both toes dug in, she pulled her knife from her side and hacked at the ground at her waist, cutting out deeper footholds on each side.

  She lifted her boots slowly, bringing them slowly up to her waist and cautiously seeking out the holes she had dug. Finding them, she went to work digging new openings with her knife, worrying the blade into the hard-packed ice. Moving precisely and intentionally, she made her way slowly up the hill, foothold by foothold, until at last the ground leveled out.

  Exhausted, she carefully shifted her weight, using the heels of her boots for grip instead. The hillside below her was a mess of tracks, its surface pockmarked and cratered where she had carved her way up it. The ice she had dislodged on her way back up was still rolling down its surface, sliding and dropping off the precipitous ledge before falling like snow into the distant valley. Her eyes traced the long drop beyond the cliff’s edge, following it all the way down to a bank of jagged rocks several hundred feet below. The drop-off was even sharper than she’d thought at first, the sheer fall beyond unquestionably lethal. Her head spun just looking down it. Relieved and grateful to have made it back up alive, she gave herself a few minutes to catch her breath and take in her surroundings..

  Far below the rocky mountain was a hazy desert valley, shrouded in the thin blue fog of distance. It was wide and flat, stretching endlessly across the horizon, at least a hundred miles wide and completely barren, as if the terraforming had never made it this far. Not that it was untouched: the dusty desert floor was sunken in enormous, bowl-shaped depressions at regular intervals, the aboveground hallmarks of an extensive underground testing facility. The land might be devoid of life, but it had not gone unused.

  A thin strip of pavement cut through the wilderness, weaving narrowly past the doomsday minefield. Flip followed it through her scope until it ended at a barbed-wire fence. A cluster of buildings showed beyond it, squat and nondescript as if they had been painted to match the shade of the surrounding desert. A series of large hangars stood out, hulking over the low buildings around them. A long, well-built runway extended across the length of the facility, continuing several miles into the wilderness, its size speaking to the heavy, surface-to-space transports for which it was designed.

  She tapped her display, bringing up its database. She tapped again, and the unit went to work, processing the coordinates in question and scanning the building outlines for matches in its data. After a brief interval, it chirped affirmatively, signaling its recognition with a blinking red ‘CLASSIFIED’ mark. Flip smiled to herself, amused to find the fingerprints of the Admiralty’s discretion even here, four and a half thousand feet high and millions of miles from home. She touched the display, saving the coordinates to her display computer. A runway of that size was always worth keeping in mind, and anyway, they would need to arrange extraction later.

  With a last look at the mysterious complex, she dusted herself off and rose slowly to her feet. She set off up the hill, testing every footstep before putting her full weight down on it. After her narrow escape, she was not about to risk a second fall.

  She reached the road again twenty solid, hard-fought minutes later, more exhausted from navigating these few hundred yards of ice than from the miles of snowdrifts before. She had lost valuable time on her countdown, she knew, but then, that wouldn’t matter if she hadn’t survived. She turned her attentions to the beacon. It led the way onwards, its bearing directly aligned with the hard-packed white road.

  The tree cover had begun to pick up again, becoming dense enough that she could keep a thin line of trees between herself and the road, only occasionally crossing into the open. The mountain had plateaued, and the road now sloped gently downward, making her progress easier with every step. The snow felt thin underfoot, the gravel underneath it now crunching through with every step. The air felt warmer, too, and Flip moved faster and easier. Soon, she felt certain, the path would break downwards in earnest, and the route to her objective would become clear. All that remained, she told herself, was the next turn, the next rise, and she would have reached her goal.

  She made her way up a low rise in the road, her pace quickening as she neared the top. A wave of expectant elation washed over her even as she crested the slope, so hopeful was she that she would find herself staring down the road that led back down the mountain.

  Far from relief, the sight that greeted her filled her with alarm. She dropped to one knee immediately and raised her rifle to her shoulder.

>   In the clearing below was a small military base, rectangular and ringed by barbed wire, its guard towers commanding the approach down the hillside. The road she had been following led directly to its gates and continued down the mountain on the other side of the camp. Judging by the smoke rising lazily from the barracks, it was operational. And, given the blood-red design on the makeshift flag flying from the center of the facility, the soldiers operating it weren’t friendly.

  Flip scanned the area around the base, searching for other paths, an alternate trail or a cut-through. There was none. The facility before her had been built directly over the pass into the valley beyond, and its perimeter stretched all the way to the edges of the surrounding cliffs. The beacon blinked on, summoning her directly through the base. She sighed, looking wearily back the way she had come. There was no time to go back, and no other way down the mountain. One way or another, she would have to go directly through the facility.

  “Of course.” She muttered and rose to her feet, resigning herself to her task. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wasn’t like she had a choice. The countdown waited for no one.

  TEN: THE BROKEN CITY

  The devastation in the tunnel only intensified as the team approached the city. The burned-out wrecks of a dozen cars and more sat in clusters, frames white-washed by the wind that howled past them even now, standing like so many ribcages along the roadside. Skeletons sat ghostly behind the wheels, slumped at their posts where they had been left, long dead. It was eerily quiet in the narrow passage, the expectant, ominous calm doing nothing to dispel the illusion of walking through a tomb.

  The closer they came to the city, the more sinister the wreckage became. No longer was it merely piled garbage and sewage, sculpted and cultivated by runoff drainwater. Now it became something more – a statement of purposeful, calculated cruelty. Suitcases lay piled, their clasps and spines broken, looted and discarded. Empty, burned-out cars were arranged along the walls, carefully parked in parallel lines as if they were being presented at a dealership. And in the center of the road ahead, raised above the floor on a pile of debris as if on a throne, a corpse sat on a chair, its teeth open in a macabre, inviting smile, fully dressed in clothes that would have been too large for its frame, even in life. A worn sign hung around its neck reading ‘WELCOME!’ in loud, horribly cheerful lettering. A backdrop of urban and human decay surrounded it, dwarfing it malevolently in a kaleidoscope of violence. The jagged rebel design was everywhere, large and small, dotting the walls between bullet holes and over debris.