Eza looked at Vance’s hand with an expressionless face. Nodding slowly, he brushed the hand aside and joined Yen in searching the building.
Nearly an hour later, the sound of hammering and welding filled the outpost’s main building. Having thoroughly searched the structure, they found a storehouse of maintenance equipment, including arc welders and enough tools to fortify the building. Two exterior doors had been pried open, though it wasn’t clear whether the former residents of the outpost or the Seques did the damage. Unnoticed by the stalking Seques, the survivors had time to weld shut the doors again and push heavy furniture against the frames for support.
Though reinforcing the building was loud, it did little to block out the howling and scraping of predators outside. The turret guns had long since run out of ammunition and fallen silent, leaving piles of bodies behind. Still, the Seques surrounded the building in waves, their numbers seemingly infinite. They threw themselves against the metal and stone exterior with ferocious blows. Doors and windows shook under the assault, but the extra metal plating held.
Where gaps appeared at doors or windows, a survivor quickly slid his weapon barrel through and fired a few rounds into the face of a hungry Seque.
Vance did his best to avoid Yen and Eza. The work required to defend their little outpost occupied much of his time but did little to abate the burning hatred he felt toward his team members. In a moment of curiosity and weakness, they condemned over 100 brave soldiers to death, including Aleiz. The soldiers who died had nothing to do with their mistake, but they paid the ultimate price. His anger toward Yen and Eza, however, was nothing compared to the burning desire for vengeance against Captain Young.
He was still focused on his anger when he stumbled upon the outpost’s control center. The room was cast in darkness, having no windows through which light could enter. His meager flashlight glistened off dormant screens and consoles.
In front of the door, chairs and desks were overturned in a weak attempt at a barricade. The center of the furniture wall was smashed, casting slivers of wood and metal across the floor.
Reaching down, he picked up a discarded shell casing, its exterior dark with dried blood. Smears of blood spread across the floor and splashed against the immobile consoles.
“Looks like they made a final stand here,” Decker said, walking up behind him.
Vance didn’t bother turning. “That’s how it looks. A fat lot of good it did them.”
Together, they stared into the dark room. From the distance, they heard the pounding of hammers and of Seques. Vance rubbed his trimmed beard, then his eyes, which burned from weariness.
“I wish we knew what they tried when defending themselves,” he said, his voice carrying in the empty room. “For starters, why was there still ammunition left in the turret guns? Were any of them able to evacuate the planet, or did they all die here? If they stayed and died, where are the bodies? If we knew what they tried, we wouldn’t have to backtrack and make the same mistakes.”
“We could try firing up one of the consoles,” Decker suggested. “I don’t know what sort of data they stored in here, especially when they were being hunted, but it might give us a chance.”
“Do we have any way to power the computers?” He finally turned to face the Pilgrim.
“The maintenance room has a small generator. I can’t imagine there’s much juice left in it, but it might be enough to run a single computer console. It would be slow going to search through all the files without the mainframe running its diagnostic software, but it’s better than nothing.”
Vance allowed a brief moment of hope to seep through his steadily depressing world. “Do it. Get whoever you need to help, but start going through these files. I figure we’ve got only a couple hours before sunrise. By then I want an answer for how we’ll get off this rock.”
Standing aside, as soldiers carried the heavy generator into the control center, Vance watched Decker and Yen pull thick cables from under the console table and attach electrodes from the generator. Though they worked quickly, Vance grew impatient and was eager to start searching the computer files.
Stepping away from the console, Decker and Yen wiped sweat, grease, and dust from their faces before shaking hands.
“Does that mean you’re ready?” Vance asked Decker. He and Yen refused to make eye contact.
“Let’s fire it up and find out.” Decker motioned to Yen, who pressed a yellow button on the side of the portable generator.
The old machine coughed a cloud of black smoke onto the floor, as its gears sought purchase. The old oil and fuel within struggled to ignite, and the generator rattled against the smooth floor. Finally spurting another cloud of noxious, black smoke, it hummed and found a rhythm to its operation.
The large view screen glowed, casting the room in pale blue light. The trio squinted against the sudden intrusion of light, as the console ran a diagnostic start-up program. Slowly, the screen changed to a steady, blinking prompt.
Yen entered the first line of a search protocol and sat back, as the console slowly spat out data. Vance watched the slow system move through the search query.
Tapping Decker’s arm, he gestured the Pilgrim to join him in the hall. Once they were out of earshot, Vance chewed his lower lip.
“What’s bothering you, Sir?” Decker asked.
“The search is going too slow.” He stared over Decker’s shoulder at the monitor in the control room. “At this rate, by the time it finds anything of value, it’ll be tomorrow night. The Seques don’t seem like the patient type. I don’t know if they’ll wait that long.”
“I don’t see what other option we have.”
Vance nodded knowingly and reached into the dark pouch firmly affixed to his hip. Unlatching the top, he pulled out a smooth, black sphere just larger than his palm. “A covert operations team never goes on a mission without a contingency plan.”
“Is that…?” Decker’s eyes widened in surprise.
“It’s a thermal nuclear bomb.” Vance’s voice never wavered, as he held the device of mass destruction. “If we can’t find a way out, I intend to set it off and take the threat outside with us.”
“Sir,” Decker said, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper, “that thing will level the entire city.”
“And irradiate the countryside for hundreds of miles in all directions. I’m fully aware of its capabilities, but I don’t see we have much choice.”
“What about survivors?”
“What survivors?” Vance replied coarsely. “Take a look around, Decker. We’re the only survivors, at least in any radius the bomb will affect.”
Decker narrowed his eyes before gently placing his hand on the orb. Pushing down softly, he lowered Vance’s hand. “Put that thing away. Give me until tomorrow night. If I can’t find an answer by then, I’ll back you when you use the bomb.”
Vance stared at the brash, young Pilgrim. He wanted Decker to be right, to find an answer hidden somewhere in the computer files on the console, but in his heart, he feared their search was in vain. In the end, he felt certain he’d have to use the bomb.
“You have until tomorrow night—if we survive that long. We’re completely surrounded by Seque. I don’t know how anyone will survive an entire day in this hellhole.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Seque was caught by surprise by the inky black form launching itself through the air. It lashed out with jagged claws, slashing the Seque’s chest and arms. A clawed hand struck the side of the beast’s face, digging sharp nails through the monster’s tough hide. Latching its fingers under the Seque’s skin, the figure clawed downward.
Gray hide tore from the vicious slash, spewing green, frothy blood, as the nails dragged farther down its face. Tearing past the Seque’s left eye, a sharp nail ripped open the enlarged orb, deflating the eye and spilling sickly white fluid down the Seque’s ruined face.
Collapsing to the ground, the Seque mewled in pain, as it clutched the flap of danglin
g flesh and favored its ruined eye. A barbed tail struck from the dark figure, piercing the Seque’s exposed neck. Green blood sprayed from the punctured artery, dousing the assassin’s glossy exoskeleton and pouring in rivulets to the ground.
Ixibas stepped away from his most-recent kill and scanned the empty street. Nothing moved. No red eyes glowed at the Lithid from the darkness. Gesturing behind him, he brought Tusque limping from the shadow of a nearby alley, supported on either side by a pair of infantry soldiers. During their run, they encountered only four Seques, roaming freely from the pack as if on patrol. Each had been hastily dispatched with little or no sound, a blessing for the tired, injured group.
After being separated from the main group, Ixibas, Tusque, and four infantry soldiers made the difficult decision to leave the main road and enter a series of maze-like alleys that led deeper into the city proper—and deeper into regions dominated by the predatory Seque. At first, their departure from the main thoroughfare was disastrous. Seque leaped from rooftop to rooftop in steady pursuit, while others crashed through the narrow streets behind them or cut across their path.
Though Ixibas hated to admit it, the barking, nipping Seque drove them constantly forward. Two of the soldiers were lost in a sea of claws and teeth, their screams fading in the distance, as the others ran on. Pateros and Hollander survived, bearing the weight of the badly injured Oterian.
Ixibas scanned the road again, a sense of paranoia filling his mind. With the injured Tusque, Ixibas harbored little hope of escaping with the Oterian still alive. Miraculously, after being pursued through a myriad of side streets, the Seque suddenly faded into the shadows as quickly as they appeared.
Exhausted, sweaty, and bleeding, the four collapsed against the nearest building. Air burned in their lungs, as they struggled for breath. Though they wanted rest, Ixibas drove them on, putting more distance between them and the pack that pursued them.
After cautiously crossing four more streets, they encountered only the meager guard force of the Seque army. He began to think of them as an organized army after watching their behavior in combat. The group of four was funneled farther and farther from the military outpost, to the point where they were near the edge of the city. The Lithid had no doubt they’d never be allowed to flee the city completely. That path would be heavily guarded and would end in disaster. Instead, he searched for a nondescript building where they could hide, while they tried to find a way past the impregnable Seque defenses.
A little way up the street, he saw what he wanted. Motioning the others to follow, he ignored their groans of pain and disappointment, as he forced them on. Moving from shadow to shadow, Ixibas sneaked forward as scout, keeping distance between himself and the loud, labored breathing of the wounded Oterian. Eventually he reached the building and checked both alleys that flanked the small, squat house. Relieved, he noted no windows on either side, with only a single, shuttered window on the front. The seclusion meant the house was the perfect place to lay low while they healed wounds and discussed their next moves.
The front door wasn’t locked, and deep claw marks indicated it was opened by force once before. Still, the latch was intact, allowing Ixibas to close and lock the door behind the other three. Their flashlights pushed back the darkness of the slender, one-room house. A sturdy bed sat against one wall, while the opposite wall showed a combination kitchen and dining room. Rotten food sat at the table, the top stained with dark splashes. Ixibas didn’t bother inspecting further, having seen too much splattered blood throughout the city.
Pateros and Hollander lowered Tusque on the bed, which creaked dangerously under his weight. With him face down, they inspected the gashes lining his back and the severed muscle of his ruined calf. From the effort of fleeing, none of the wounds had closed, and all oozed viscous blood to coat his thick fur.
Wordlessly, Ixibas removed the pack from Hollander’s shoulders and set it on the table to rifle through the contents. The first-aid pouch was buried near the bottom. With a brush of his hand, he gently slid the bowls of ruined food to the edge of the table and unrolled the medical kit.
A variety of pads, bottles, and sharp metal instruments stared back at him, as he unfurled the pouch. He sorted through the ointments and sprays until he settled on a larger bottle with a wide-mouthed spray nozzle. He walked to his injured teammate and stopped short. His featureless face turned to the Uligart and Wyndgaart infantry soldiers.
“You might want to hold him down.” His gravelly voice broke the silence that held between them for several hours. He knew neither of the men had a chance of holding down an Oterian thrashing in pain, but it made them feel important and part of the team, and he needed a close-knit team willing to follow orders.
Ixibas leaned forward until his dark, oval face was inches from Tusque’s ear. He heard pained breath moving through the Oterian’s mouth and sympathized for the additional pain he was about to cause. Infection was already settling in where thick saliva from the Seque’s mouth fell over the wounds.
“This is going to hurt,” he said, adding, “a lot. You’ll want to scream, but you can’t. I need you to be a soldier and internalize the pain. If you scream, they’ll find us and kill us all.”
Tusque nodded imperceptibly. Standing over the Oterian’s back, Ixibas examined the wounds with a single clawed hand. He pulled back the torn flaps of skin with surgical precision, though Tusque flinched from pain, as the Lithid’s claws scraped exposed flesh. Ixibas raised the bottle until it was less than an inch from the wound.
Depressing the top, he shot foaming liquid until it filled the gaping wounds. Tusque’s back arched from the pain. Through tightly clenched teeth, he whimpered. The foam spread through the injuries, cauterizing exposed muscle and stopping the oozing blood.
Ixibas moved from injury to injury for less than a minute, inserting foam, much to Tusque’s dismay, until the bottle was empty. The Oterian’s heavy breathing settled into a comfortable rhythm, as pain drove him unconscious.
The other three collapsed to the floor, overwhelmed by exhaustion. Ixibas’ featureless face failed to show any of the weariness and concern evident on the other two.
“We can’t keep running like this,” Hollander whispered. “I’m exhausted and cramping in muscles I didn’t know I had.”
“We won’t be running for a while.” Ixibas’ words eased the Uligart’s concern, though his voice sounded rougher than traditionally came from a Lithid. “He needs time to heal. Until then, we’ll be hard-pressed to wake him, much less move him.”
“Thanks the gods we were able to lose them.” Pateros sighed and leaned his head heavily against the wall. Sweat glistened over his tanned skin and brightly colored tattoos.
“We didn’t lose them, you fool,” Ixibas hissed. “They let us go. They drove us exactly where they wanted and turned away.”
“Why would they let us escape?” Hollander painfully pushed away from the wall.
“We weren’t the target. They weren’t trying to kill us, just get us away from the others. We’re separated by dozens of city blocks. They separated us to make us easy prey. Now they can pick us off at their leisure.”
“You can’t know that,” Pateros said.
“I can,” he replied harshly. “If you don’t believe me, take a look out that window using the thermals on your helmet.”
Hollander and Pateros looked at each other before clambering to their feet and donning their helmets. They moved to the window and slowly pushed back the left shutter so they could look toward the heart of the city. Under thermals, the streets were cast in shades of dark blue and black, their heat from the day already expended. As they looked toward the far side of the city, toward the outpost, their eyes widened in astonishment.
The sky above the outpost glowed with deep red that flickered as if the flames of hell swallowed the compound. The red glow swirled around the buildings in a dancing circle, as the sea of Seques moved as one, trying to find a gap in the impenetrable building. The glow
reached to the sky in a pillar of light, casting a red pallor over the nearby city like an evil blanket.
Even in the cool night air, the pair of soldiers wiped sweat from their faces. Closing the shutter, they slid down the wall as one, both looking dejected, as they removed their helmets.
“How can there be so many of them?” Hollander asked. “There would need to be thousands to make the glow that strong.”
“If not more.” Ixibas’ rough voice cut across the darkness.
“They’re on the far side of the city.” A tinge of pleading entered Pateros’ voice. “Now’s our best chance to get out of here. Why are we waiting?”
“You just looked out the window, and you have to ask?” Ixibas asked angrily. “When have Seques ever moved with a military mentality? Yet here we are, cut off from any chance of reinforcements and no chance of being evacuated any time soon. Something changed those creatures into the killers we encountered. Whatever gave them that much intelligence also made them smart enough not to let four Alliance soldiers walk casually out of the city.
“You didn’t look the other way, but I’m willing to bet you would’ve seen a fine red glow around the edges of the city, too. There’s no escape unless the Seques let us.”
“We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” Pateros asked quietly.
“It’s very possible. Make peace with whatever gods you pray to. The sun will rise in a couple hours. We’ll figure out what to do then. Try to sleep. I’ll take first watch.”
The sun broke over the tops of the business district and flooded light into the squat building where the foursome huddled. Tusque stirred slowly, letting the recently sealed wounds stretch before trying to do anything as brazen as stand. As soon as he was confident he’d feel nothing more than mild pain, he pushed himself off the bed and looked around the small room.
“Glad to see you’re still alive,” a gravelly voice said.
Turning, he saw Ixibas’ dark form leaning against the wall beside the window. The shutter was thrown wide, letting sunlight flood the room.
Burden of Sisyphus Page 17