by S. A. Lusher
“Good idea,” Drake said.
“Don't sound so fucking surprised,” Eve muttered.
They set off into the mist.
* * * * *
Someone was following him.
Which was freaking perfect, because Greg had a ringing headache, a cracked visor, a bad temper and a pound of high explosive he'd grabbed on the speedship. He hurried forward, but not too fast, wanting to draw them in. He'd heard them talking with their mechanical filters, closing in on him. As he walked, he pulled out one of the charges and played with the settings. He set it to proximity, then slowed as he came into a clearing.
Excellent.
Greg dropped the charge after activating it and ran forward, trying to get clear. The Rogue Ops troops reacted exactly as he'd hoped they would. They seemed to realize they'd been had and their little game of hide and seek was up. The time to chase was upon them. They all darted forward, racing into the clearing. Greg was too far into the mist to get a good view of anything and shoved himself behind a particularly thick tree.
A second went by. Then two, three...
A tremendous explosion ruptured the area and Greg caught sight of a black-armored body flying past the tree he hid behind. He raised his rifle and came from around the tree, preparing to clean up any survivors and maybe interrogate one, grab some information. Slowly, he made his way back to the clearing, which had a noticeable crater in the middle of it now. Several of the trees around the perimeter were slanted outwards and some were aflame. Bits of armor and body parts were scattered around the demolition site.
Greg heard footfalls, slow and unsteady, advancing on him. He took aim towards the sound and, after a moment, watched a Rogue Ops trooper slowly appear out of the mist. He'd dropped his gun, his visor was cracked and he'd been sprayed with blood. Perfect. It might take a minute to get him coherent, but he was unarmed and out of it. An easy capture and hopefully he had some info in him. Greg took a step forward.
That's when it happened.
Something dark and fast and huge snapped out of the mist just behind the soldier, grabbed him in long, slender limbs and yanked him backwards. Greg caught a flash of something green and sharp, and then he heard a loud, howling shriek and a spray of blood and guts escaped the mist, coating the already blood-soaked battlefield.
A series of rapid clicks sounded in the sudden silence.
Greg turned and began sprinting away.
CHAPTER 16
–Them–
Greg ran through the misty forest.
Normally he'd like to think that he would stay and face whatever the hell that had been. He very rarely straight up ran from a challenge, and he normally faced down monsters like this, but something about the situation was just too much. He wasn't sure if it was the mist or the way his head was hurting, not just his head but his whole damned body after being thrown around like a ragdoll in the escape pod, but he just wanted out of there.
Suddenly, a figure appeared out of the mist. He nearly fired off a shot but relaxed his finger at the last second as he saw that the armored figure in question had on black armor with silver trim, not just straight black.
They were going to have to change that at some point.
“Greg?”
“Drake?”
“Found Greg!”
Greg spied another figure appearing in the mist and relaxed even further when he saw it was Eve. He let out a heavy sigh. It was an unconscious fear he'd been carrying around ever since launching from the vessel, something he'd pushed down into his subconscious so he could focus on staying alive. Now that he knew she was alive, he felt an immense relief flood through him. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped as a loud, unfortunately familiar rapid clicking filled the air. Drake and Eve looked around.
“What the fuck was that?” Eve asked.
“I don't know, but it's big and mean and nasty. It straight up ate a Rogue Ops guy a few minutes ago. That's what I was running from.”
“I knew something was following me...” Drake muttered.
“We need to get...somewhere. Somewhere safe,” Greg said.
“You may find that difficult to achieve in this environment,” Drake replied.
“We're heading for a Rogue Ops outpost, it's not far from here. We came to investigate the explosion. I'm guessing that was you?” Eve asked.
“Yeah, that was me. Took out a squad chasing me...have you seen or heard from any of the others?” he replied.
“No. Something's blocking the radios...but we haven't heard from anyone or seen any friendly corpses,” Drake said.
“Let's get going then. I hate standing around like this,” Greg replied.
Drake grunted an agreement and Eve nodded tightly. They set off into the mist, in the direction of the camp that Drake and Eve had pinpointed. Greg took point, rifle in hand, constantly scanning the misty surroundings that enshrouded the forest. His head still ached, but the sharp pain had retreated to a low, dull throb that he could tolerate. His body ached as well, his muscles strained and his joints in misery. But Greg had gotten a lot of practice at putting up with pain over the last few months, ever since waking up on Dis.
All kinds of pain.
The rapidly clicking noises followed them as they made their way through the trees. Greg saw shadows shift uncertainly at the edges of the mist and it made him stir uncomfortably. He still wasn't sure what he'd actually seen. As they kept up the pace, they soon began coming across the remains of Rogue Ops personnel. There were severed limbs, liberal sprays of blood, small drifts of spent shell casings and shards of armor.
“Damn, whatever these things are, they're hardcore,” Eve muttered.
“Hopefully they'll keep their distance,” Greg replied.
“When has that ever happened for us?” Drake asked.
Greg grunted a reply. He stopped suddenly as they came to the perimeter of the camp they'd been looking for. Greg studied the perimeter fence, a tight-weave chainlink that had been apparently shredded and ripped open in several places.
Drake let out an appreciative whistle. “Goddamn,” he muttered. “That's triple-reinforced titanium weave fencing. Not easy stuff to cut through.”
Greg led them onwards, through a large hole in the fence. They fanned out, guns at ready, scanning the immediate area for threats or signs of life. Great, powerful work-lights punched holes in the mist and the visibility seemed somewhat better. They found a handful of prefabricated structures within the perimeter of the shredded fence. There were bodies, too. The outpost had been hit hard by whatever passed for indigenous life on the planet. Greg stepped over a relatively fresh corpse and made for the nearest prefab structure.
It looked big and important enough, resided at what must have been the center of the camp and was the only two-story building in view. Drake and Eve followed after him. Greg stepped up to the front entrance, which had been forcibly torn open. Blood had pooled on the deckplates just inside the opening and dribble over the edge of the door and onto the ground. Greg stepped into the puddle, his boot squelching loudly, and he looked around. It seemed that he'd definitely come to the command center, all right.
A two-tiered control room awaited his inspection. Consoles and terminals and workstations were packed in all along the walls, and a catwalk overhead served as a second story with even more screens and keyboards. Most of the screens were smashed, dead or registering only static. One workstation, set into the center of the back wall, still looked mostly functional, though half of it had been sprayed with bloody gore.
Eve crossed the room and took a seat at the workstation. While she set to work firing it up and gleaning whatever she could, Greg walked slowly around the large room. He tried to imagine what could have done this, basing it off of what limited information he had, but his mind kept coming up with disturbing imagery, so he ultimately turned away from the train of thought. No doubt he'd know personally soon enough. He instead looked at Drake, who stood at the entryway, his back to them, standi
ng guard, staring into the mists.
He wondered if Enzo was here. And, if he was, what Drake would ultimately do. The man was clearly a slippery bastard, as he'd fled from them twice now. He wondered about a lot of things, but ran out of time to think about them as Eve called them over. Greg and Drake joined her, studying the screens that still functioned.
“Radio's working,” she said. “I've been listening in on Rogue Ops. Seems they're largely in retreat, back to the mountain. What they call 'the bugs' are too much to deal with. Which means we need to hurry before they lock themselves in and we have an even harder time getting to our objective than before.”
“Any idea if Enzo is here?” Drake asked.
“No, I can't find any references to him but that doesn't mean he's not here.”
Greg turned away from them as he told them to figure out the quickest route there, then he activated his radio. “This is Bishop to anyone left alive, come back.”
“I'm here, Bishop,” Morrow said morosely.
“What's your situation?”
“Well and truly fucked,” Morrow replied.
With a sigh, Hoyt came onto the air. “We're fine. We've found each other but we haven't found anyone else, alive or dead.”
Greg quickly caught them up on the situation and gave them instructions on how to get to the outpost from where they were at, with help from the outpost's own scanning equipment. He warned them to watch their backs, then tried to find Keron. Unfortunately, after several unsuccessful tries, he gave up, fearing the man dead, hoping that either his radio was broken, he was out of range or intentionally ignoring the calls.
Time passed. Seconds bled into minutes. Greg wandered by the broken-out windows of the prefab command structure, staring into the swirling gray mists. Every now and then he'd heard the clicking of the 'bugs', whatever they were. His gaze kept getting caught on the crack running through his visor. He wished there was some way to fix it, but realistically, his best bet was to simply replace it, and that was kind of an in depth, involved process. On top of that, he didn't have the know-how, the tools or the patience to complete it.
While there was time, he did open up his visor and pop a trio of extra strength painkillers. He dry-swallowed them unhappily and replaced the visor. Eventually, enough time passed and Morrow and Hoyt joined them. The pair of Spec Ops soldiers looked a bit battered but still walked tall and didn't seem to have suffered any serious injuries. Greg covered them as they walked into the command module. He had an idea that the bugs weren't going to be sticking to the shadows and hanging back just out of sight forever.
“So, what's the plan?” Hoyt asked. She had a big nasty shotgun in hand, something long and black with a huge bore.
“We drive,” Eve replied. “They cut a path from here straight to the mountain. Shouldn't be too difficult and hopefully we can find a vehicle here and make the drive.”
“What about Keron?” Hoyt asked.
Greg shook his head. “We can't wait around for him, unfortunately. The mission takes precedent above all else.”
“Doesn't it always?” Morrow muttered unhappily.
They left the command module and spread throughout the camp, searching for a ride out of there. Greg moved among the mists by himself, unhappy with the situation. The clicking was louder and closer now. The bugs were nearby and they were getting restless, tired of the game of cat and mouse, no doubt ready to reveal themselves. He imagined that they had run out of Rogue Ops to eat since they had all pulled back to the mountain base. He hurried through the structures, stepping over bodies, searching with increased desperation.
Finally, they found what they were looking for at the edge of the camp, what once must have served as an impromptu garage. The structure was little more than a covered thing, open at the front and back, meant to keep the elements off the vehicles. Tools and spare parts were scattered along the concrete floor and a single jeep was left inside. It had a covered cab where two could sit and an open back where either cargo or troops would reside. It was empty of cargo and the driver's side door was open. Greg peered within.
The key was still in the ignition.
Whoever was trying to flee hadn't quite made it.
“Get in back,” Drake said. “I'll drive. We'll likely need cover fire.”
As Drake got into the jeep and started up the engine, Greg looked round sharply. The clicking suddenly cut off. He glanced out to the front of the building, where Hoyt stood guard, looking around in the mists. Morrow and Eve were climbing in the back.
“Fall back!” Greg shouted. “Hoyt, fall-”
Something dark and huge and green flashed past the opening and took Hoyt with it. She began screaming and the staccato sounds of gunfire were heard, accompanied by muzzle flare. Suddenly, the gunfire and the screaming cut off.
A great deal of blood sprayed across the opening.
“Get in!” Drake screamed.
Morrow was screaming Hoyt's name. Greg turned and sprinted back to the jeep. He hauled himself up and into the back.
More were coming.
Before he even had a chance to sit down, Drake gunned it out of the garage. One of the bugs leaped in front of the vehicle and was run down. A thick green spray of gore was jettisoned into the air as the jeep smashed through it. Greg scrambled to get into one of the seats, clutching at his rifle. Eve and Morrow were already firing off shots. Greg stood and then fell over as Drake took a hard turn, then another. He crashed right into one of the seats and as he was trying to get his breath back, he felt the vehicle jerked suddenly.
One of the bugs had landed on the top of the cabin. Greg had his first real look at the things that had been hounding him.
It definitely looked like a bug all right. It had an angular body of deep jade, with brighter green streaks running along its hardened body. It had six bent legs and two arm-like limbs jutting out of the front, just below its hideous, malformed, bulbous head and face. It let out a shriek, opening its mandibles, and Greg responded appropriately. He flipped his rifle to full auto and let loose a deadly barrage of armor-piercers. Eve and Morrow quickly joined in and they managed to blow the bug to pieces. What was left slumped off the vehicle.
They drove on.
All around them, the forest was coming to life. The bugs were coming, massing at the edge of the path that Rogue Ops had cut cleanly through the trees. Drake didn't let up, no doubt pushing the pedal down as far as it would go. Greg slapped a fresh magazine into his rifle, flipped it back to three-round burst and steadied his aim, preparing to defend the jeep. Eve and Morrow did the same. Greg found himself wishing that Keron and Hoyt had made it. This was going to be one hell of a battle and he wasn't sure if they'd survive.
The bugs began leaping for the vehicle.
Greg sighted one and fired three times in quick succession, putting a spray of bullets through its yawning maw. He had a fleeting imagine of the back of its head bursting open like a ripe watermelon and a plume of dark green gore. Then he was turning his attention to the next beast, firing over and over again. Beside him, Eve and Morrow fought viciously, their movements quick and calculated. Greg emptied the magazine in his rifle, putting down another three bugs, then slapped a fresh one in and burned through it as well.
A dozen bugs fell. Then two dozen.
Still they came.
Greg didn't like the way this was going. They kept jumping onto the jeep, causing it to swerve and jerk and twist. Drake was doing the best he could, and he and Eve and Morrow were keeping up the fight, but it was only so long until one of them fell off or the jeep-
Greg let out a cry of shock as the frame of jeep jerked once more. He felt the whole thing turning, turning, turning...Drake was fighting for control. And then control was lost. The bug that had landed on the jeep made the thing too top-heavy and Drake had had to swerve to miss a particularly thick clutch of bugs that had leaped in front of it. Greg found himself wondering, for just an idle second, if this had been a planned thing.
Then the jeep flipped.
Greg screamed as he was thrown free of the back. He sailed through the air, bracing himself because he knew this was going to hurt. And it did. The breath was driven from his lungs as he hit the ground and rolled several times. His limbs exploded with pain, his chest blossomed with crimson hurt and his head felt like someone had suddenly fed barbed wire through it. Slowly, he came to a stop. He tasted blood and he was dizzy.
Slowly, much more slowly than was demanded, he lurched to his feet. Around him, the world tilted and swam. Colors were muted and sounds were distant and oddly quiet. He saw the jeep, flipped over on one side. As he looked, the door burst open and Drake climbed from it. Further away, he spied two sluggishly moving figures. Eve and Morrow.
And the bugs.
The bugs were closing in on them.
Greg tried to shout a warning, tried to raise his gun, but he realized he'd lost it in the crash. His pistol then. He reached for his pistol but his fingers were numb. His voice was hoarse and he only managed a thick, racking cough.
The bugs closed in on Eve and Morrow, a dozen of them easily.
They were dead.
Greg tried stumbled forward, fingers finally finding his pistol, then he heard, clearly and coldly, over the radio, “Get down, now.”
Eve and Morrow dropped.
Greg watched as a concentrated spray of gunfire swept back and forth across the area, mowing down the dozen or so bugs and another dozen in the immediate area. Greg emptied his pistol into more of the bugs that weren't caught in the barrage of red hot death. Drake added his own gunfire to the storm of bullets. Greg emptied his pistol and hastily reloaded it, ready for more, but the gunfire fell away and for several seconds, all was silent.
Keron walked onto the gore-soaked pathway from his hidden position in the treeline, reloading his immense gun. “We need to move, now,” he said.
There was no argument as Eve and Morrow quickly regained their feet. Greg spied his rifle a few steps away, holstered his pistol and snatched it up. Drake dropped down from the top of the overturned jeep and they all gathered in the center of the path. Dead ahead was the entrance to the facility buried in the mountain, the doors fitted into an opening that was carved directly into the base of the mountain itself. They had been torn away, ripped open by brute force. For now, the bugs either had fallen back or their number had been exhausted.