by S. A. Lusher
“Let's split up, two to a bay. Billings, you're with me,” Greg said.
“Uh, sure,” Billings replied.
Kyra glanced over at Greg. She walked over to him and pulled him aside. “You avoiding me?”
Greg laughed easily. “No. I...” he glanced behind her at Billings, who was fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. “Worried about Billings, I guess.”
Kyra twisted her lips unhappily, and then glanced back at the Sergeant. “Okay, fine. But I would like a moment or two alone with you at some point.”
“Hey, I take longer than two minutes.”
“That's not what I meant-”
Greg laughed. “I know, I know.” He kissed her. “Can you stay and watch Powell? I'd rather not have to stick you with Campbell.”
“Ugh, that guy. Yeah, fine. I'm starving anyway.”
“We'll get some time together. I promise...inasmuch as I can promise something in all this hellish chaos.”
They kissed again. Greg went and gathered the others. He took an infopad and Cage took another. They left the bridge once more, hunting down the cargo bays in question. The infopad screen held a list of items, and Greg realized, when touched, each item would open a new window to show a picture of said item.
The list was headed by 'Cargo Bay 04'.
“Now, BioScan said there are four Undead inside,” Greg said as they came to the entryway. “Could be anything.”
“I'm ready,” Billings replied.
Greg nodded and opened the door. Nothing jumped out at them. They edged into the bay. A faint whiff of undeath came to Greg. He raised his rifle and tightened his grasp. Silently, the two men began working their way through the area, in between pyramids of crates. Greg wondered how they were going to get these down, but figured it was a problem for later. Somewhere up ahead, something shifted.
Greg glanced at Billings, who nodded. He'd heard it, too. They edged along one side of a crate pyramid and as they came to the corner, stepped out into the corridor created between stacks. A pair of zombies waited for them, crouched among the crates. Greg and Billings both fired simultaneously. Each zombie fell, a new hole in its head.
“Well, that's two-”
“Look out!” Billings shoved Greg aside.
A Creeper leaped where Greg had been and hit the ground some distance away. It scrabbled, trying to turn around and pounce again. Billings switched his rifle to full auto and hosed the thing down with a stream of bullets. Greg pulled himself to his feet.
“Holy shit, thanks.” He clapped Billings on the shoulder.
Billings chuckled. “No problem. Let's go find that last bastard.”
After another few minutes of hunting, they located a final zombie and put it down. Greg conferred with Kyra to have her double-check the BioScan and made sure nothing new had crept into the bay. Once she assured them that nothing had, Greg located a terminal and fired it up. He was determined to figure out how this cargo bay worked.
“So, Billings,” he said as he worked. “You always this grim?”
Billings laughed. “Blunt, Greg. Very blunt. That's good, I've never had time for bullshitters. But no, not always. I actually kind of liked my job. It wasn't much, but you know, it was something I felt like I was good at. I can't tell you how awesome that feels after a lifetime of failure and apathy. I had some friends, drinking buddies, really. My squad liked me, back when they were still alive. Before this whole zombie apocalypse thing, I was on my way to recovery. I'd even started fooling around with another girl, a civilian, this time.”
“What was she like?” Greg asked. He was beginning to understand how the cargo categorization system actually worked.
“Pretty, a couple years younger than I was. She lived in an apartment by herself in Jackson and she was a dockhand down at the starport. She was tough, and fit. She took defense classes. Her name was Jamie. Blonde. Always had a thing for blondes. I'd just taken to spending the night at her apartment when I could get away with it when the undead shit hit the industrial strength fan. I don't know, I guess I've kind of reverted. If you're worried about me doing my job, don't. I still know how to point and shoot.”
“It's not that, not quite,” Greg replied. “I just...I don't know. I guess I'm cursed with empathy...oh, shit, I think I just figured it out. Check it out...they pile all the redundant shit within the pyramid, so everything we need, we should be able to get by getting into the exterior crates. We won't have to do any digging, and the crates can be opened along the side that's sticking out. And...I've found the first thing we're looking for. Come on.”
They crossed the bay and ascended three stories of one of the stacks.
“Empathy, huh? You're okay, Greg. I think we would've been friends if we'd been stationed together,” Billings said.
“Nothing says we can't still be friends now.”
“Ha! I think the three armies of bad guys might say otherwise.”
“Only if they win. If we get out of this, I'll let you buy me a beer.”
“Oh, man, you're so fucking generous, Greg.”
Billings laughed and they began their hunt for spare parts.
* * * * *
Hours passed. Occasionally, the list updated. Greg managed to locate a hover-dolly, supported by an anti-grav unit, and an empty crate. He stored the empty crate on the dolly, and began filling it up with spare parts. He and Billings kept talking as they fought to keep up with the list. Eventually, they marked off everything and decided it was time to take a break. They pushed the hover-dolly to the bridge and found everyone else gathered there. Cage and Campbell were eating. Kyra was sitting at one of the workstations and Powell hadn't moved.
“Hey,” she said, glancing over when Greg came into the room.
“Hey. Break time,” he replied, pushing the hover-dolly to one side and walking straight up to the makeshift kitchen.
Billings joined him as he popped open a can of Vex soda that had been salvaged from the ship's mess hall and drained the entire thing in one go. He tossed it aside, and stuffed a frozen meal claiming to be a slice of beef and mashed potatoes into a microwave that had been likewise liberated from the kitchen. Kyra came over to him.
“So, break time, huh?” she asked.
“Yes,” Greg replied.
“There's a maintenance closet over there,” Billings said.
Greg looked at Kyra, who immediately caught and held his eyes. He chewed on his lip for a moment, then took her hand and hurried across the bridge.
* * * * *
After Greg and Kyra emerged from the supply closet, Greg grabbed his meal, found it had gone cold, reheated it and consumed it in a matter of minutes. By the time break was over, he decided maybe now it was time to get to know Cage. As much as someone could go about that. He paired Campbell up with Billings and sent them off to another cargo bay. As he and Cage headed for their own, he couldn't help but think about how much this all resembled their time spent at the communications relay, or the repair and storage outpost.
“You know, Cage, it's occurred to me that I don't know anything about you,” Greg said after they'd begun their hunt for more parts in a new cargo bay.
“Oh, yeah?” Cage replied.
“Yeah. Anything to say?”
Cage was silent for a long moment. Greg had almost decided that the silent sniper was going to remain as such when he finally spoke.
“There isn't much to tell, really. I grew up in a colony on Koss, little forest planet, pretty far out. Got a job in a local mine when I graduated, hunted the local wildlife in my spare time. I met a girl, fell in love, we got married. Had a kid. Then pirates hit the colony. Wife and kid were killed and I was supposed to die, too. They put a bullet in my head, but by some trick of medical science, I survived. The colony was burned to the ground. I wanted revenge, so I joined up with SI,” Cage explained quietly.
“Christ, Cage...I'm sorry.”
“Me too.”
After a long moment, Greg said, “SI? Not the Marines?”<
br />
“No, not the Marines.”
“Why?”
“They remind me too much of mercenaries and pirates. Tough guys with guns and bad attitudes. Those guys back on Dis, the ones I saved you from, those were Marines.”
“You must not think much of Billings and Powell, huh?”
“Not at first...it doesn't matter now. We're all good at staying alive. That's what matters. Keep alive, get revenge, try to remove as much suffering from the galaxy as you can before you get snuffed out,” Cage said.
Greg wasn't sure what to say to that.
Neither man spoke for a long time.
* * * * *
“I have some bad news. Some very bad news,” Powell said when Greg and Cage returned to the bridge. They'd gathered almost everything on the list.
Greg's heart sank. “What?”
“I've completed my list of parts and a list of parts onboard.”
“We're missing some, aren't we?” Cage asked.
“Just one. An important piece. It isn't listed in inventory on this ship. What's worse, it isn't listened in inventory on any of the others...except for one.”
“What is it?” Greg asked.
“A core component. Basically, without it, the bomb won't work.”
“Which ship?” Kyra asked.
“The Anubis.”
Dead silence settled over the bridge.
“So, who goes back?” Kyra asked quietly.
“I'd say the best of us stay behind. That means Powell and Cage. Start putting the bomb together. Everyone else...gear up. We're headed back into hell,” Greg replied.
Chapter 14
–Back Into Hell–
“I can't believe we fucking have to go back over there,” Campbell muttered miserably.
“We'll be fine,” Greg replied.
Campbell shrugged. “Sure we will.”
They came into one of two hangars aboard the ship. Greg realized he still didn't know the name of the vessel they were on. Not that it mattered. Powell assured him that there was a compliment of fully functional jump ships still in their metal nests, waiting for use. Sure enough, Greg spied half a dozen of them, lined up, ready to go.
“Does anyone actually know how to fly?” he asked, suddenly realizing that Powell had been the one in the pilot's chair all this time.
“I can,” Campbell said.
“Me too, if it comes to it,” Billings replied.
“You'll fly us over, Billings,” Greg said.
Campbell sighed heavily. “Are you ever going to trust me?”
“You've been in the group for like twelve hours. Besides, there have been too many coincidences. I'm still not entirely convinced you're on our side,” Greg replied.
“So, why do you keep me around?” Campbell asked after a moment.
“Mainly for someone to trip if I need to run away from something big and nasty.”
“You're a real bastard.”
They lowered the back ramp of the ship and climbed aboard after making sure nothing lethal waited for them. Billings moved ahead into the cockpit and settled into the pilot's seat. Campbell sat in the far corner of the cabin and stared glumly at the floor. Greg secured the back ramp and then sat down next to Kyra.
“So, we got any idea where this thing actually is?” Greg asked.
Kyra held up an infopad. “Yes. Powell uploaded the information here. I suggest we memorize it in case we lose this thing.”
The ship shuddered around them as Billings freed it from its cradle and began to edge it forward into the airlock. Greg studied the data, trying to take his mind off the fact that he was going to a place he'd been specifically warned not to come back to. The Anubis was a death ship now, likely more than it had been before. How much worse was it at this point? Nearly eight hours had gone by. How fast could Erebus work? What hell awaited them?
Greg focused on the details. They'd land in a hangar nearest the cargo bay they needed. Unfortunately, several of the hangars aboard the Anubis registered as atmospherically ruptured and environmentally unstable. The cargo bay was nestled deep in the heart of the ship. From a simple perspective, it should be as easy as landing, walking to the cargo bay in question, retrieving the spare part and then walking back to the ship.
Then they'd leave, and that would be that.
Of course, there was all manner of living nightmare fuel in between them and their intended target.
Greg heaved a sigh and, after memorizing the pertinent data, opted to stare out the window at the stars drifting by.
* * * * *
“Oh hell, I think we've got a welcoming party,” Billings announced.
They proceeded to land in the hangar now, coming out of one of the many airlocks. Greg stood and hurried forward, standing behind Billings in the cockpit, staring through the front windows. A welcoming party was putting it mildly: there was a full-blown reception committee. Greg stared out into the broad expanse of hangar, frowning intensely at the several dozen Undead that were milling about, just beginning to take notice of them.
They were mostly zombies, but there were enough Lancers and Berserkers mixed in that he was really beginning to worry.
Billings laughed easily as he settled the ship into its cradle, and then lit up a fresh cigarette. “Not to worry, Greg. This time, we've got an easy way out.”
With that, he gripped the controls for the minigun mounted on the nose of the ship and brought it to life. There was a pause as Billings seemed to savor the slaughter that was to come. Then he squeezed the dual triggers. The minigun spoke. The nearest Undead, a Berserker, was picked up by the sheer force of the bullets and thrown into a pile of crates that went flying, knocking down other Undead.
Billings laughed wildly as he swung the minigun around in a wide arc, spraying the ranks of decaying, inhuman creatures with a torrent of metal death. Greg felt exhilaration shoot through him as he watched, and was vaguely aware of the others coming to join him and watch the show. Billings kept it for nearly a minute and a half before he finally released the triggers. As the minigun stopped spinning, nothing moved in the hangar.
“Good job,” Greg said, clapping the Sergeant on the shoulder.
“Thanks...my absolute pleasure.” He still grinned.
“Come on, let's get down there and get this show on the road.” Greg turned and left the cockpit, heading back into the cabin.
The quartet of survivors took a moment to ready themselves for the nightmare ahead. They double-checked their arsenals, salvaged whatever spare magazines of ammo and weapons they could from the onboard gun lockers and secured their armor. Once everyone was as ready as they were going to be, Greg lowered the ramp.
Nothing waited for them on the platform that would grant them access down to the rest of the hangar. Greg made his way down the ramp and across the platform, trying to get a better view of the area. The acrid stench of gunpowder and the raw reek of decayed flesh ate away at his nostrils, igniting his veins with adrenaline.
“Let's go,” he called.
They hurried down the platform and moved across the bay, stepping over bodies and avoiding pools of black blood. They reached the far door and Greg hit the access button. The door slid into the wall, revealing a flickering, bloodied length of corridor that stretched away from them to the left and right.
Greg poked his head out and took a cautious look around. Vague shapes, they could have been zombies or Drones, moved somewhere far down to the left, dozens of meters away. Other than that, it was clear. Greg breathed a small sigh of relief. They had to go the other way. Quickly and quietly, the quartet hurried down the battered, bloodied corridor. As they navigated the ship, sounds, near and far, assaulted Greg's ears.
Somewhere, men and women were screaming. The quiet respiration of the oxygen systems had become an ominous, continual hiss. The hum of power had taken on a sinister, low quality. Things banged, buzzed, and drilled. Something howled, and something else let out a shriek that lasted long after human lungs would hav
e been able to sustain it. Worst of all, perhaps, was the light. Where it didn't flicker, it had become very dim.
“Christ, this place is creepy,” Campbell whispered after they'd reached the end of the corridor and rode a lift down two floors.
“No shit,” Greg muttered. “Let's just get in and out as quick as we can.”
The lift opened and admitted them to a small back room. They stepped out of it into a dim, carpeted corridor. This leg of the journey called for them to head through another residential area. Greg led them down the corridor, took a left, and hurried down another. The area was ominously quiet and empty. He turned another corner and then stopped. Kyra bumped into it him.
“What is it?” she hissed.
“It's...look,” Greg murmured.
They came around the corner with him and stared up at the section of wall he was currently fixated upon.
“What the fuck?” Campbell whispered.
Painted across the corridor wall, in thick swathes of black and red blood, was a simple message. Just three words.
Beware the Augmented.
“What the hell are the Augmented?” Campbell asked after a long moment.
“Must be Erebus' boys,” Billings murmured.
“Creepy,” Kyra said quietly.
“Come on, we need to get a move on,” Greg said.
They pressed on. As they neared the edge of the residential zone, a symphony of noises that appeared both mechanical and biological in nature came to Greg. He hesitated as he approached the next corner. Cautiously, he peered into the next corridor. There was nothing there. He frowned, listening for the sounds, which had ceased. After waiting a moment longer, Greg finally led the others around the corner.
The hallway ended in an elevator that would bring them down another level to a medical wing. The elevator doors were in sight. After another moment's hesitation, they pressed on, eager to be free of the Anubis. As Greg passed one of the dozens of closed doors that led to individual living quarters, it opened and something stepped out. He leapt back, raising his weapon, and found himself staring at a fresh terror.