by Mark Wandrey
Murdock came around, gun forward, moving in a gradual, steady pivot. They called it slicing the pie and it allowed him to focus sector by sector as he came around, ensuring the shooter could engage a target as soon as it became visible. When no target presented itself, he moved in and past the body, resisting the urge to look down and identify it. He advanced in as much of a crouch as his tortured body would allow, gun extended, sights lined up.
Dandridge was right behind, covering their six, or the area directly behind. The other man pulled the door closed, then knelt to check the body. “Dead,” he said after a moment. Murdock knew by the heat signature the person couldn’t be alive. “One of the irregulars.”
“Got it,” Murdock said, never moving from his ready position down the hall. “Moving.”
The two leapfrogged forward, covering each other as they went. As they turned another corner, they found several more dead. Then, at the gymnasium where the meeting was supposed to happen, a massacre. The pair swept the room for living heat signatures, finding none.
Murdock sighed and lifted his goggles. The glow cubes they would have used for the meeting were on their stands as if nothing had happened. A table, partly overturned, held handmade snacks brought by one of the irregulars. It added greatly to the horror of the slaughter. Then he spotted Ripper. The man was slumped in his mobility chair, riddled with bullet wounds. A battle rifle lay in his lap, still clutched in his dead hand. It was one of the new weapons, and the slide was locked back, empty.
Murdock found Tully in an adjacent room with four dead civilians. They were children. Tully’s throat had been ripped out by sharp teeth, his gun empty. He’d gone down trying to protect the children, probably the kids of some of the irregulars who didn’t want to leave them alone.
“We better get out of here,” Dandridge said, sticking his head into the room and seeing Tully’s body. He let out a little curse. “They might be back.”
“They won’t,” Murdock said. “No drones left behind, no guards monitoring.” He shook his head and sighed. “No, they think we’re dead.” We have an advantage now, he thought, but paid a terrible price for it.
“They’ll pay for this,” Dandridge snarled.
“Bet your ass they will,” Murdock agreed.
The pair took a minute to collect what weaponry they could find. It was a grisly task, to be sure, but it needed to be done. Murdock was the one to pry Ripper’s rigor-hardened, cold dead hands from his rifle. Both were weighed down when they cautiously slipped outside, wearing their goggles and keeping their heads on a swivel.
They might have been careful before entering, but the slaughter had both men at a high level of adrenaline. A thin layer of slush now covered the ground, and snow fell steadily. It was a decidedly peaceful scene that belied the horror they were leaving behind.
Once outside, Murdock made a beeline toward the lookout spot. He put all the salvaged rifles in a pile at the bottom of the lookout and examined the ladder.
“We need to get out of here,” Dandridge hissed below.
“Shut up,” Murdock snapped in reply. The ladder onto the second floor was rickety, not made for an adult man, especially not one his size. Dandridge spat and cursed as he covered the bottom while Murdock climbed.
At the top he found two young kids, neither more than eight years old. A boy and a girl, who should have been playing games or learning in school. Both were dead from laser wounds to the head, precisely delivered between the eyes. He climbed down slower than he’d gone up.
“Dead,” he said as he climbed down the ladder to where Dandridge waited.
“What now?” the other man asked
Murdock stuck the stub of a cigar in the corner of his mouth and savagely ground his teeth down on it. “Payback time.”
* * * * *
Chapter Nine
Back in their headquarters, the mood was somber. The two empty chairs around the table in the kitchen space kept drawing everyone’s eyes, as did the pile of formerly new rifles. They were all dinged and bloody now. Only seven of the group remained. Murdock hadn’t enjoyed describing the situation. The images from their night vision goggles were displayed on the Tri-V. The others enjoyed it even less.
Murdock went into the other room and returned with a heavy box, dropping it on the table with a bang, making several of them jump. “From now on everyone carries two grenades,” he said.
“Works for me,” Kelso said and took a pair.
“Me too,” Mika agreed. “I’m not going down without HecSha blood.”
Murdock was sure Tully and Ripper had gone down without taking any of them with him. Vince had said the alien mercs’ medics never left their barracks, and none of the ones coming back had looked injured. The ambush was well planned, leaving the mercs little time to respond properly while also protecting the irregulars. He knew the alien bastards were hard to kill, maybe as hard as the Xiq’tal, but a K2 grenade could take out an Oogar. If a grenade could kill a seven-foot-tall purple bear, it would fuck a HecSha up.
He watched to be sure everyone took a couple, then helped himself as well. Afterward, while the others shared a few memories of their lost comrades, he went to work.
There was no computerized or written record of any locals in the resistance. It would be far too dangerous should one of the mercs get captured and interrogated. Instead, Murdock had them memorized. Keeping names and faces in your head was a sergeant skill. You didn’t get to be the top sergeant if you couldn’t keep a hundred or so names straight. He’d been blessed with a particularly good memory.
The meeting would involve all the locals around the school who were part of the irregulars. That was fourteen people. He’d counted twelve bodies besides his two friends. Murdock sent an inquiry to Vince.
“Did any of the ones invited to the meeting not respond?”
The method of contact was simple, by necessity. The wolf pups went to each house before dawn and left a small blue rock on the porch. Too big to be blown away or missed by the occupant, it was off to the side to avoid being accidentally knocked off the porch. Innocuous in and of itself.
A different pup would return later, usually in the afternoon, and check the porch. If the rock was gone, the occupants had acknowledged the meeting and would be there. If the rock was unmoved, the message was never received. Should there be a red rock, it meant they couldn’t attend. Another signal, a white rock, meant the occupants were in trouble or being monitored. Thus far nobody had left a white rock on their porch.
“All signals were gone,” was the simple reply.
Murdock grunted and tapped an acknowledgement. He didn’t want to go into detail with Vince, mainly because he’d yet to tell him two of his pups were dead. He’d have to soon enough.
Two said they’d be there but weren’t, Murdock thought. We’ve got some weasels in the hen house.
He pulled up the map of the city and tightened in around the school. It was a residential and light commercial area, where most of the housing consisted of single-family dwellings. Working methodically as the others spoke, Murdock connected his night vision goggles to the slate and uploaded images, including screenshots of the dead. Next he checked off houses one by one based on the faces of the dead, using his memory of their names and addresses.
When he was done, the missing two were clear and certain. He wished he was surprised, he really did. Murdock got up and headed for the supply room.
“What’s up?” Mika asked. The others all looked at him.
“I need to close a loose end,” he said. One that’s cost us sixteen lives.
“It’s a fucking quisling,” Dod said and spat, “isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“We’ll go with you,” Mika said and got up to join him.
“No,” he replied.
“Why?” Greenstein asked.
“Because this one is mine to deal with, that’s why.” The others stared at him. “If I don’t close this, it’ll come back and bite us later. I
f it goes sideways, you only lose me.” He took a computer chip from his pocket and tossed it to Kelso. “If I don’t come back, use it for the big fight. I know you’ll be able to make use of it.” Kelso looked at the chip curiously.
Murdock slid into his light combat armor and got the holster for his HP-4, verifying all his AP magazines were on the belt, then added the two grenades. “If I don’t come back in an hour, proceed with the attack. Take the fucking aliens out.”
In the supply room he put some gear in a partly worn out civilian backpack then made a quiet exit through the leaky part of the abandoned building. The little surveillance drone he’d sent into the rafters watched him go without comment, having scanned his biometric signature and matched it with records. It was past midnight; he needed to hurry.
* * *
Murdock watched the house through the night vision goggles for two hours. The snow was still falling, though the temperature wasn’t low enough to freeze the ground; instead, there were several inches of slush everywhere. Finally, he saw a fleeting image of a figure leave the house and disappear into the snow.
Once he was sure he was alone, Murdock moved in and set up. By the time he was done, the snow had completely soaked him, and he was shivering with the cold. Getting old, he chided himself as he went up to the door and knocked.
There were lights on inside and the sound of voices, though it was the well past midnight. When he rapped on the door, the voices stopped. He knocked again to remove any doubt, and the door opened a few seconds later.
“Murdock,” the man said in surprise. The man blinked in confusion at the man standing on his porch in the swirling snow, seemingly unable to believe he was there.
“Jerry,” Murdock said. Jerry Sharp’s wife, Margaret, was in the living room behind her husband. Despite the hour, both wore street clothes. Jerry had his hands in the pockets of a light jacket.
Jerry looked him up and down, taking in the old merc’s soaked clothes and haggard look. “You must be freezing,” the grey-haired researcher said.
“Pretty chilly,” Murdock admitted, his teeth chattering between words.
“Well, come in, for god’s sake.” He stepped aside. Margaret backed away as if she expected violence. “You look like hell. What happened?”
“An irregulars meeting was ambushed,” he said. “Everyone is dead.”
Margaret gave a little gasp, her eyes showing horror, a hand to her mouth as she watched him like a rabbit watched a fox.
“That’s horrible,” Jerry said, reaching for Murdock’s drenched raincoat.
Murdock slipped the reach casually. “No, I can’t stay,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you since you weren’t at the meeting.” He looked over his shoulder at the dimly-lit stoop. No rock was visible. “Didn’t you get the notice?”
Jerry looked over his shoulder, then reached back to close the door. “No, we didn’t. God, the rock must have fallen off the porch in the rain! We didn’t know it was happening.”
Margaret stared at the floor like she was looking through the planet.
“Must have,” Murdock said, looking around. Jerry’s hands had gone back into his pockets. “Lucky for you, or you’d be dead, too.”
“You weren’t there?” Margaret asked, finally speaking. She glanced up at him, then quickly away.
“No,” he said. “I was running late.” Murdock stepped around her into the living room. There were big wet footprints on the carpet and little pulled-up tufts of fabric. He purposely turned his back on the Sharps and heard a slight inhale of breath, followed by a tiny click. “It was a professional job,” he said, waiting. “The HecSha killed everyone, even the two kids who were on lookout.” This time there was a gasp. “A boy and a girl,” he said, “maybe eight years old.” He waited for the gunshot and an impact against his back; it never came.
The floor reverberated slightly as someone fell to their knees. Sobs followed; feminine sobs. Then a tiny click again. Slowly Murdock turned around to see Margaret on the floor in a heap, body wracked with sobbing. Jerry stood over her, one hand gently stroking her hair, the other holding a pistol loosely at his side, barrel pointed at the floor.
Murdock removed his hand from under his raincoat where his HP-4 was still holstered. He brushed the light combat armor under the holster as he withdrew the hand. He nodded, more to himself, and moved past them toward the door.
“Don’t you want to know why?” Jerry asked.
“No,” Murdock said and opened the door. “It really doesn’t matter.” He closed the door behind him as he left.
Back out in the rain, he paused on the porch just long enough to glance over the side. There was no sign of a blue rock. He stepped down from the porch and walked steadily down the road. Three blocks away, he stopped and looked back at the Sharps’ house, the place he’d stayed for several weeks after first arriving on Valais.
The Sharps had taken him in, he’d eaten with them, and he’d learned a lot about Valais from them. Vincent Sharp, Jerry’s father, was the one who’d started bringing Earth ocean life to Valais, a brilliant plan that had turned Valais into a rich food producer. He’d taken over from his father when the man died at the hands of the pirates Murdock later killed. They’d seemed like nice people.
Murdock guessed Jerry had done it because Margaret had been talking to the aliens. Once the HecSha realized Jerry was in the irregulars, either because they got it out of Margaret or because she just told them, Jerry was fucked.
She’d never liked him, and dislike had turned to hate when Murdock had slaughtered the pirates. Some people just don’t like killing. Well, she’d been responsible for sixteen deaths today. Murdock took the device from his pocket and flipped up the plastic cover. He remembered the wet footprints in the living room. Reptilian-shaped footprints.
He mashed the button without hesitation. Three blocks away the Sharps’ house bloomed into a ball of fire from the five demolition charges he’d placed around it. The roar rolled over him a split second later. Murdock calmly put the detonator back in his pocket and walked away.
* * * * *
Chapter Ten
“We don’t have time to plan this right,” Kelso complained.
“It seems a little abrupt,” Mika agreed.
“We have to go now,” Murdock said, “while they think we’re dead.”
“He’s right,” Dandridge agreed. “The HecSha never knew how many people we had.”
“How can you be so sure?” Dolan asked.
“Because if they thought there were more, they wouldn’t all be back at the barracks,” Murdock said. Dod merely sat at the table and ground his false teeth, his face set in a rictus of barely-contained rage. The old fucker talked a good line, but it was obvious to Murdock he liked the kids. Maybe his suggestion to use them for wetwork was all just a façade.
“It doesn’t seem certain,” Greenstein said. The room was silent for a long stretch, then the perimeter alarm sounded.
All seven of them reached for weapons. A second later there was a coded series of buzzes from the concealed switch. You’d have to look carefully to find the buzzer outside. In addition, the sequence matched.
“Scared the shit out of me,” Dod grumbled.
Murdock and Dandridge got up and walked to the door. “Clean his diaper, will you?” Murdock said over his shoulder to laughs from the others and curses from Dod. At the door, despite everything being right, Murdock turned to Dandridge and verified the other man was holding one of the new heavy battle rifles. Dandridge released the safety and nodded. Murdock drew his HP-4 and let it sit along his thigh as he pulled back the heavy steel bolts and opened the door. Vince was standing there in the snow. The ground was now cold enough the kid’s hat was covered in snow. He looked like a haunted ghost.
“I thought I told you to keep watching the barracks,” Murdock said as he moved aside to let the kid in.
“I have two packs of pups watching,” Vince said as he came in. The look on his face told Murdock e
verything he needed to know.
“You’ve been to the meeting place?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Yeah,” Vince said as he came into the hideout and took off his soaked rain gear, shaking snow off his hat.
“Stupid move, kid,” Murdock said as he turned up the room’s heater.
“They killed Allan and Theresa.” Vince said, “Just shot them in the head like they were nothing.” Murdock didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. “Why?”
“Because they were lookouts,” Murdock told him. “This is war, and people die.” Vince dropped into a chair, the rest of the old mercs watching him silently, letting Murdock handle it. “This is why we didn’t want to use you kids. Those aliens don’t give two fucks about kids. Do you understand now?”
“Like the pirates who took me as a slave?”
“Worse,” Murdock said. He shrugged, “At least in some ways. Worse because they’re murdering children indifferently. At least they’re fucking aliens.” Vince looked up at him, his eyes shining. “The bastards who killed your family and took you were Humans. What’s their excuse?”
Dandridge set a hot cup of tea before Vince. The young man looked at it for a long moment, then picked it up and warmed his hands on the cup. “Who can I count on?”
“You can count on us,” Murdock said. Vince looked at each man and woman, who nodded in turn. “We’re your family, and I’ll…” he struggled with it for a moment as Vince looked at him, “and I’ll never let you down.” The tears the boy had been holding in check rolled down his cheeks, and he fell into Murdock’s arms.
The older man sat in shock for a second, then put first one arm, then the other around Vince, who gently cried for a while. Eventually Mika spoke up.