Necropolis 3

by S. A. Lusher

  Greg listened to the sounds of the Augmented as they reached the power core. They came into a larger, elongated room with ramps leading up to catwalks and platforms that formed an impromptu second story.

  “Stay here, guard the door. I need to get up to the second story to get the part,” Mike said, already making for the ramps.

  “On it,” Greg replied.

  He checked his rifle over once more and glanced at Kyra, who was doing the same. Already, they could hear the sounds of Drones, not too far away.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah...I'm fucking tired, though,” Kyra replied.

  “Me too...let's just get this over with and then we can find out what happens next.”

  Kyra laughed.

  Then the first Drone rounded the corner at the opposite end of the corridor they'd just come through. Greg considered closing the door, but figured it would only delay the inevitable. He brought his digital scope to his eye, aimed and squeezed the trigger. He put down the first Drone. And the second. And the third.

  Beside him, Kyra shot the right eye out of the fourth and tore away half the skull of the fifth. They kept going, spent brass clinked against the floor, Augmented blood flying on the air, bodies piling up.

  Greg burned through three whole magazines and was in the midst of hastily reloading with a fourth when, suddenly, the tide of Drones ceased.

  “What happened?” Kyra asked, snapped out of the killing groove she'd gotten into.

  Greg frowned, staring, waiting. “I don't know...maybe that was all of them.”

  “No, something's wrong.”

  “Okay guys, I got it,” Mike said, startling them both. “What's wrong?”

  “I don't-”

  A marrow-freezing, window-shattering roar cut loose through the area. Greg felt it resonate in his skeleton. Terror tore at him, mindless and yammering. He'd heard that roar twice before. Once, back on Dis, when he'd been escaping the Dark Ops facility, and a second time on Onyx, when they were raiding the abandoned labs for data.

  What was it?

  The entire area began to tremble with footfalls.

  They were about to find out.

  “Greg, here, take this,” Mike said suddenly, passing him the part. Greg accepted it without thinking, stuffing it into one of his protected pockets.

  “We really need to leave-”

  The far wall erupted in a spray of metal and sparks and something utterly immense was admitted to the power bay. Greg's jaw unhinged and unmitigated terror flooded his mind. He stood stock-still, frozen to the metal floor of the power bay, unable to do anything. He stared at this monstrosity and finally knew madness.

  It was easily fifteen feet in height, possibly more. It had the vague shape of a man: a body, two arms, two legs, a head. Its arms were long and thick, its legs equally so. Its skin was a sickly gray with veins that pumped pure midnight running through it. Nodules of neon technology glistened along its frame.

  But none of this held Greg's attention.

  He stared up at its face, or rather its lack of a face.

  Where there should be a mouth, eyes, a nose, there was nothing but a gaping hole of pure obsidian blackness. Teeth ringed this hole, jagged and sharp and shiny, almost metallic in nature. They were spinning, like a chainsaw.

  Greg screamed.

  He felt as though he would have screamed his sanity away if it hadn't moved forward, snatched up Mike in one of its meaty, monstrous hands and ripped him in half. It fed both twitching halves into the chainsaw mouth.

  Blood sprayed across him and Kyra.

  “Greg! Fucking run!” Kyra shrieked.

  That broke the spell. With Mike's blood raining down over them, the pair turned and bolted out of the power bay, down the corridor of death they had created. Already, Greg's mind was looking for some kind of solution. While one wasn't immediately forthcoming, a few notions did take him. The first was: keep running.

  With the new terror giving awful chase, Greg and Kyra ran full tilt down the corridor, leaped over the bodies, turned and kept running.

  “Give me your grenades,” Greg said.

  “What? Why?” Kyra replied.

  “Just do it!”

  She heaved a sigh and carefully passed the three grenades she had on her as they ran. Another roar ripped through the station. Greg pocketed them and then passed her the part. She took it, began to say something, then cursed and pocketed it.

  They stopped briefly at an intersection.

  “Get to Powell, I'll catch up. I love you.” There was so much more to say, but zero time left to say it.

  “I love you, too,” Kyra whispered, and then she turned and sprinted off.

  Greg didn't even have time to watch her go. The huge beast, which had to crouch to fit into the corridor he stood in, was already there. Greg fired a few three-round bursts at it, to get its attention, and then ran again.

  He had something of an idea.

  It was dangerous, stupid, and might kill him. But at least it was an idea. He ran on, a demon from Hell snapping at his heels.

  By the time Greg made it to a hangar bay, the thing had gained on him considerably. It was practically within grabbing distance. He heard the continued churning, grinding noise of its spinning teeth that, somehow, seemed to be equal parts mechanical and organic. It was a sound he thought he would hear for the rest of his days.

  He came through small door into the hangar bay.

  A few seconds later, the nightmare beast exploded through it.

  Greg had precious, little time. He quickly scanned the area and saw a large window across the way. He prayed to whatever god might be listening that whoever had built this place had been one cheap son of a bitch.

  The monster roared again, spurring him on.

  He hit the window, bounced off and quickly knelt. Pulling out all the grenades he had on him, he piled them up against the window. The ground rumbled as the creature came closer. Greg pulled the pin on one of the grenades, turned and sprinted away. He'd made it perhaps a half dozen meters when the grenades went off, one after the other.

  This was it, moment of truth.

  Greg listened for that tell-tale sucking sound of a compromised atmosphere. For several horrid, gut-wrenching seconds, there was nothing. Just the thud-thud-thud of the monster, coming for him. And then he heard it.

  Glancing behind him, Greg saw the window had cracked. Then it exploded outwards, taking the atmosphere with it. A maelstrom of chaos broke out in the hangar. Greg grinned darkly as he spied the hulking creature lose its balance and begin to tumble backwards towards the opening, which was widening as the hull began to collapse.

  Greg began making his way across the hangar, at first leaning against the gale force winds, then, in a moment of clarity that made him feel stupid, activating his magnetic boots. He clumped his way across the bay as quickly as he could, looking back over his shoulder at the monster. It failed to get a grip on anything and then, just like that, was sucked through the hole. Greg kept going until he was across the bay and out in the corridor beyond.

  He let out his breath in a long sigh.

  “This is Bishop, I took care of it. Where are we?” Greg asked.

  “Nowhere good,” Powell replied. “When you took the part out, it destabilized the core. It's going to overload soon. I've finished with the bomb and now Campbell, Kyra and I are making our way through the station to the hangar.”

  “Can you confirm that, Kyra?” Greg asked.

  “Yep. Kinda busy shooting bad guys though,” Kyra replied.

  “Glad to hear from you, too, babe. Where's the hangar?”

  Powell told him.

  Greg ran.

  * * * * *

  The station had come to life with dead flesh and cold technology.

  Greg shot his way through a legion of bio-mechanical warriors, driven by cybernetics and ruthless efficiency. This was it. The final push. The last hurrah. The big shit. Greg was so close to escape that he could almos
t taste it.

  By the time he hit the hangar bay, his body was prepared to give up and give in. Civilizations had risen and fallen and still he hadn't slept. His last meal was less than a memory. Water was a fable. The ability to stop worrying might as well have been a legend, something people told each other to feel better during the darker times.

  Kyra, Campbell, and Powell were fighting off a small army of Drones. Greg added his own gunfire to the fray. He pushed his way through the chaos, eager to meet up with the others, to be free of this station, this chaos.

  “What's going on?” he called.

  “Bomb's ready. Now that you're here, I can install the part,” Powell replied, shouting to be heard over the chaos.

  He immediately turned and left. Greg was reluctant to let him go, but they had no choice. He saw the ship Powell had stolen, their salvation, a few dozen meters back with the cargo ramp down. Powell already jogged up it. Not far from it was the bomb, still on its hover-dolly. It was blinking steadily.

  Greg wondered if Powell had already activated it.

  He kept going, squeezing the trigger over and over, the steady thrumming of the rifle turning his fingers and shoulder numb. Beside him, Campbell and Kyra were in the same boat. There were no words as they kept the horde of Drones back.

  “Any day now!” Greg called back.

  “I'm working as quickly as I can. This is delicate. As it is, I'm uncertain if this will hold out. It might burn out as soon as you jump to FTL and leave you stranded,” Powell replied quietly over their radio link.

  Now there was a nasty thought.

  Greg decided to shut up and keep shooting. He still wasn't sure how he was going to handle Powell. The man was directly responsible for dozens of death. Of course, in doing so, he may have prevented countless thousands. Or more? Millions? Billions? How far could the Undead and the Augmented spread?

  Minutes passed, feeling like years or decades. Greg ran low on ammo. Suddenly Powell was beside them again.

  “It's done. Get onboard and go,” he said.

  “What about you?” Greg asked.

  “I'm not going with you. Someone has to stay behind and make for damn sure that bomb goes off. I was never planning on going. I deserve this and I'm the only one who is perfect for this job,” Powell explained.

  “Fine by me,” Campbell said.

  “He's right,” Kyra added. “Now let's stop standing around and talking about it and go.”

  Greg wanted to argue, wanted to say something. Even with everything Powell had done, Greg still felt that the man was fundamentally good. He had just taken the long view in a cold and calculating manner.

  How many had been forced to make similar choices?

  “Thanks,” he said finally.

  Powell nodded and began shoving the hover-dolly over to a row of what Greg realized were escape pods. Powell was going to punch out in one of the pods so that Erebus would have a harder time getting to him.

  “You've got ten minutes!” he called.

  That got them going.

  The trio moved across the hangar bay, rushing away from the seemingly endless tide of Drones. As they hurried towards the ship, Greg felt as much as heard a familiar thudding. The creature? Could it have crawled back onboard?

  How would they deal with-

  The floor beneath them burst open. They all screamed, but it was Campbell who was caught. The monster with a chainsaw for a mouth exploded from the metal deckplates they walked on, snatched him up, and before anyone could do anything, began feeding him headfirst into that nightmare of a mouth.

  Greg screamed in inarticulate rage as he saw Campbell become a cloud of blood and meaty chunks of flesh and torn metal fragments and was overcome with the suicidal urge to stay and somehow fight this beast.

  Kyra grabbed him.

  “Run!” she screamed in pain, rage, and terror.

  Greg ran. They sprinted across the bay, closing the gap between them and the cargo ramp to the ship as the enormous monster pulled itself from the ground and the army of Drones rushed towards them.

  Bolting up the ramp, Greg smashed his fist on the close button as soon as they were clear. Kyra kept running forward.

  “Who the fuck's going to fly it now?” she demanded as they hurried through the cargo bay to the cockpit.

  “I took the liberty of programming the auto-pilot. Just hit the activation and it will take you out of the hangar, engage in FTL flight, and take you to the nearest system. It should be around a day's flight,” Powell said over their radio link.

  Greg felt relief flood through him. They came into the cockpit. Kyra slid into the pilot's seat, looked around for a moment and then stabbed at a terminal. Around them, the ship rumbled. Greg let out a cry of primal joy as he felt it lift off, then move forward into the nearest airlock and begin to cycle through.

  “Godspeed. Remember me, please,” Powell said.

  A terrible thought took Greg, then. What if Powell was full of shit? Insanely, the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing they could do if he was calmed him. It was out of his hands. For once, that notion made him feel immensely relieved. He supposed that if anything went wrong now...well, he was ready to give up.

  They cleared the airlock and began moving away from the ship.

  “Look,” Kyra whispered.

  A few of the screens were tied into exterior cameras, pointed back at the station. Greg studied the scene they presented. The derelict station. The Isis and her three sisters, under control by a malignant artificial intelligence and an army of godforsaken, twisted caricatures of men. And, faintly, Powell's escape pod.

  The bomb.

  For an endless moment, time seemed to stretch into infinity, frozen and terrible. Greg had just begun to feel true fear when, suddenly, like a wave or a ripple in space, the lights aboard the station and the ships began to go out.

  Then they made the jump to faster-than-light.

  Epilogue

  –A Stoic Sunset–

  Powell had been right.

  They'd made it maybe an hour in FTL flight before the engine blew out and they were kicked back into regular space.

  “From what I can tell...we're in the middle of absolutely nowhere. And we aren't going anywhere,” Kyra said, sitting back.

  Greg paced restlessly behind her. As she said it, he stopped. A wave of lethargy washed over him. Suddenly, more than anything in the entire universe, he wanted to sleep. He yawned twice. It took an effort to stay upright and conscious.

  “What do we do?” he asked.

  “I...don't know,” Kyra murmured.

  “And the scans?”

  They'd run as many scans as had been available, trying to see if there was anything, alive, undead or whatever the hell the Augmented counted as, onboard with them, in the computer systems or even outside on the hull.

  “Clean. The ship is clean, Greg. We got out,” Kyra said.

  Greg breathed a sigh of relief. “Well...whatever we do, I think we need to sleep first. Honest-to-God, genuine sleep. Food. Drink. A shower...this ship looks just big enough that it might have something resembling a bedroom in it. And then we can think. Then we can figure out what we can do.”

  “And if we can't do anything?” Kyra asked softly.

  Greg shrugged. “Then at least Erebus and the Undead are gone for good.”

  Kyra seemed satisfied with this answer. There were heavy, dark bags beneath her bloodshot eyes, set deep into her pallid face. She looked gaunt and a little sickly. He knew he looked worse. Their lack of sleep and food was catching up with them. Greg reached out and Kyra took his hand. They laced their fingers and Kyra rested her head on his shoulder.

  They walked out of the cockpit.

  They would rest, for now.

  And figure out what to do next later.

  Dark Nexus Fiction is a self-publishing studio dedicated to bringing a wide variety of reasonably-priced content to the Amazon Kindle at a brisk pace.

  S. A. Lusher has been writing
consistently for nearly a decade now and is a great lover of horror fiction. He provides content, editing, formatting and uploading.

  http://www.facebook.com/authorsalusher

  http://twitter.com/s_a_lusher

  authorsalusher@outlook.com

  M. Knepper has been writing for even longer and operates primary on the far side of 'experimental fiction'. He provides content, editing and cover art.

  http://www.facebook.com/author.m.knepper

  http://twitter.com/m_knepper

  Regular updates for Dark Nexus Fiction can be found at:

  http://the-proximal.blogspot.com/

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  Soundtracks for some of our fiction, created by M. Knepper, can be found at:

  http://www.youtube.com/user/darknexusmedia

  http://darkexe.bandcamp.com/

  S. A. Lusher and M. Knepper also run a cover design service, Zenith Cover Design. Looking for professional-quality, reasonably-priced cover art? We offered pre-made covers for 25$ and take commissions for 30$-50$. Contact us at:

  http://www.facebook.com/Zenith.Cover.Design

  zenithcoverart@outlook.com

  Table of Contents

  written by–S. A. Lusher–

  Dedicated to M. Knepper,

  Chapter 01–Onyx–“

  Chapter 02–

  Chapter 03–Scavenger Hunt–

  Chapter 04–Darker Ops–“

  Chapter 05–

  Chapter 06–Tension–

  Chapter 07–

  Chapter 08–Apprehension–

  Chapter 09–The Dark–

  Chapter 10–The Deep–

  Chapter 11–The Terror–

  Chapter 12–

  Chapter 13–Augmented–“

  Chapter 14–Dread–

  Chapter 15–His Name Is Cage–“

  Chapter 16–Blood, Bullets, & Bombs–“

  Chapter 17–Executioners–