The sparse sunlight that was able to reach their position from behind the moon slowly began to fade. The approaching ship cast an ominous shadow across the Hideaway’s bow. It drowned everything else in an eerie blackness.
Barnes felt his eyes widen in fright. On the other side of the viewport, the metal boarding tube stretched like a probing hand toward the outside of the Hideaway.
"Parker get down here!" Barnes screamed into his headset.
"We're lighting it up in two minutes," Parker answered back.
"There's no time for that. They're coming in now! Punch energy into the ship as soon as you leave. And blast a sensor scan at that second ship! If that’s even going do us any good anymore. But we're going to have boarders right fucking now!"
Parker didn't answer. Only a slight burst of static came back through Barnes' earpiece. Another large jolt shook the Hideaway’s walls.
Barnes stuck his forehead up against the view window. The boarding tube had latched itself onto the Hideaway’s side. The sound of hissing air came from the direction of the landing bay. Barnes grabbed both weapons, and with his two hands cupped together, scooped what remaining ammunition he could into the giant bag.
"Parker!" he ran down the corridor and yelled into his headset. "They're resetting the vacuum! The only thing left is for them to bust open the door!"
Barnes turned a corner and almost collided with Parker sprinting from the opposite side.
Barnes ripped off his headset and threw it to the floor.
"They're coming," Barnes said quietly.
He dropped the weapons he carried across his back and turned the bag of hand weapons upside down. Its contents spilled across their feet. They scrambled along the deck to load the last of the empty firearms.
"Everything ready?" Parker wheezed at him.
"The Defenders will be completely primed when you throw the switch. Same thing with the nukes. They've got power, but it'll take thirty seconds to arm."
"I just bled some mid-level power to the command center for a full sensor scan on that second ship."
"Anything?"
When the last weapon had been loaded, Barnes and Parker stuffed as much of the remaining ammunition as they could into the pockets of their flight suits.
Parker threw the empty bags under the grates of the floor deck. Barnes clicked the last weapon he loaded to its ready position and handed it to Parker. Parker took it with one hand and maneuvered the other three he had strapped behind his own back into a more comfortable position.
"Not yet," Parker replied quietly.
They ran side-by-side down the corridor until they reached a metal access ladder jutting from the wall to their left. Parker jumped at it grabbing the rungs with his hand and slipping his boots around its side. Releasing his grip on the rungs, he slid down deeper into the ship.
He landed with a thump on the metal grates of the landing bay where a flurry of sparks spit from the air and spilled across his boots.
He looked over at the landing bay door. There was a bright red and yellow glow around its frame as someone on the other side worked to burn through. Turning his gaze to one of the landing bay’s viewports, he saw the dark ominous shape of the landing tube latched securely against the Hideaway’s side.
Parker pulled one of the weapons from behind his back. Stepping quickly away from the ladder, he flipped the safety from its trigger. Barnes dropped to the ground next to him and did the same.
Parker backed away from the door deeper into the giant vastness of the landing bay. Barnes followed closely next to him with his weapon pointed at the small curls of flame starting to lick around the sides of the door. Its metal began to groan and bend inward.
Again side-by-side, Barnes and Parker stepped back towards a small command console near the rearmost wall of the bay. Their fingers rested nervously on the triggers of their assault rifles.
The thick metal surrounding the door started to emit a brighter glow. They could hear the voices of the men holding the torches on the other side.
Resting his rifle across the top of the console, Parker jabbed quickly at its keyboard to access the ship’s command center network.
The flurry of sparks from the glowing door increased. Its metal buckled further away from its frame. Barnes slid his feet slowly back across the metal floor grates inching towards the rear of the landing bay and the tunnels at the edge of the room. The tunnels led to the rear of the ship and the docking tubes of the two Defender fighters.
"What are we going to do, Jed? You have to decide right the fuck now. When they break through, are we going to talk? Or are we going to shoot?"
Parker scowled at the terminal.
"I still can't confirm anything. There just aren't any identification codes being sent out there. By anyone. There’s just no way to tell who they are."
"Talk or fire, Jed? It’s obvious they're not supposed to be here."
Parker continued to tap at the controls.
"What about that second ship?"
"It’s holding a steady course. Definitely not drifting or in orbit. It’s coming this way too."
"Parker listen to me," Barnes said backing further away from the terminal towards the rear of the bay. "Whoever's out there has locked onto the ship without permission and is trying to board without making any attempt to identify themselves."
The hull of the Hideaway shook hard again thrown about by the thruster movement of the attaching ship. The glow from the landing bay door became even more intense. Both men raised their hands to shield their eyes.
“And on top of that, there’s another ship out there.”
The searing metal of the door glowed brightly as its frame fell completely in.
"Until I say otherwise, we are defending a hostile takeover of the ship," Parker said ignoring Barnes’ last statement. He straightened up and backed away from the console. He grabbed the assault rifle he had placed on top of it and pulled the rest of the weapons from across his back.
With quick motions of his arm, he readied each weapon’s arming mechanism. When they were all set to fire, he slung them back across his shoulder and retreated after Barnes towards the tunnels at the back of the bay.
"Are you ready for this, Barnes?"
Barnes nodded. His face was a ghostly white as he readied his own weapon and backed away next to Parker from the disintegrating door.
Its frame groaned one last time, gave a final blast of fiery sparks, and made a loud crash when it landed across the floor.
Chapter 19
The three men moved single file slowly through the darkness. They stuck close to the shadows as they made their way quietly through the wreckage of the destroyed dome.
Tuttle held his weapon tightly against his cheek. He trained its tip over the shoulder of Captain Mike Samuel, the man who stepped noiselessly in front of him.
A small light bobbed from Samuel's shoulder. Its beam was dim enough so that it wouldn’t give them away in the darkness but gave off just enough light to help them navigate what laid ahead of them across the floor.
Tuttle's heart and stomach were sick. The bodies of those not able to escape littered the ground. Hands and arms sprawled about in grotesque positions. Many of their eyes stared wide. Some of their mouths were open in still silent screams.
Tuttle stepped carefully ahead. Without looking down, he moved the toes of his boots gently around trying to find a clear path in front of him. Captain “Corn” Cranden moved cautiously behind him.
They took a few more quiet steps down the dark hallway. The clamor of artillery and small explosions echoed throughout the structure. Small fires still burned along the walls and on the floor. The smell of seared and rotting flesh threatened to choke them all.
There was also the subtle sensation that J.G.U. soldiers were still skulking about. It was something they all felt. All three men kept their fingers clasped tightly across their triggers.
Their progress through the halls was painstakingly slow. And the ste
nch of the dead was almost overwhelming.
Tuttle felt something near his foot. A stinging pain from his ankle quickly followed. Something soft gave way beneath his feet. It made a sound like a tree branch that had suddenly snapped.
Tuttle stared down at the fair skin of a small arm that reached out to him from the darkness. The arm stretched from the ghostly form of a young female. Her broken body was sprawled along the floor against the wall.
Tuttle stopped for a moment to catch his breath.
He inhaled slowly and deeply trying to force the shock from his body. Or at least push it back as far as he could.
Tuttle bent down and gently tucked her arm against her body making the way clear for them to pass.
Standing back up, Tuttle reached across his shoulder and hit a switch at the top of his gear. Like the other men ahead of him, a small light appeared that cut lightly through the gloom. Freeing a hand from his weapon, he repositioned his shoulder lamp so that its beam pointed towards the ground.
So that they could at least see what it was they were stepping through.
Still a few paces in front of Tuttle and Cranden, Samuel quietly stopped. The small beams of their shoulder lamps pushed away just enough of the shadows and gloom to reveal an intersecting corridor across their path.
Like a spirit moving through the darkness, Samuel turned and pressed his back up against the passage wall. He pulled his weapon in close to his chest and head. Tuttle slid over to the other side of the corridor. Cranden moved noiselessly up to Tuttle’s side.
"This one," Samuel said softly. "This one running across. Corridor two command level. We’re getting close to where we need to be."
Except for the dying sounds of the battle coming from outside the dome and the last of the tanks battering their way through its base, the corridors were strangely silent.
But Tuttle could still feel the presence of the J.G.U. still lurking about. They snuck through the dimness and walked amidst the dead. Tormenting the tortured souls on whose graves they trespassed with every tread.
The intensity of the silence made Tuttle want to scream.
It all reminded him of what he himself had done. His mind began to race, and his soul became a victim of his own tortured frenzied thoughts. He feared he would never be forgiven for helping create the bloody carnage that surrounded him along the ground. For not saving John Kirken. If anything, the one act that might had allowed him to atone for the war he helped cause.
His mind and spirit yearned desperately for another chance to somehow make things right. It was the only thing that continued to push his feet forward. The only thing that kept breath in his body and his heart from missing a beat.
He walked through the passageways littered with the dead trying to find a way to save himself. The burning need to erase his mistakes was the only thing that kept him from turning the weapon he gripped tightly in the dark against himself.
"Checking corridor two," Cranden whispered close to Tuttle's ear.
He pulled out a small black pear-shaped device in the palm of his hand. He stepped closer to Tuttle and pressed the device against his back to hide the glow from the display. He set his weapon down on the ground and stared intently at the facility schematics that scrolled across. He made two small adjustments on the device which made soft clicks in the dark.
He switched off the device and stepped back away from Tuttle. The slight glow it sent through the corridor quickly disappeared. He stuffed it back into his gear and reached down to pick up his weapon.
"Right. Head right," he said quietly. "We’re almost there."
"You read anything else?" Samuel said keeping his back to the wall and not looking at either of the two men across from him.
His shoulder lamp tipped down towards the battered torso of a young male lying on the ground in front of them. The man’s legs stretched grotesquely out behind his back. His eyes were open. A gaping red hole stained the white uniform covering his chest.
Tuttle tried to press himself further into the steel wall behind him.
The man’s mouth seemed to scream defiance and accusation into Tuttle’s ears. Tuttle closed his eyes and tried to block it out. Hoping the whole world might just disappear.
"Nothing indicating life," Cranden said looking ahead into the corridor crossing their path.
Its dark opening stretched both to the right and left. He didn’t look at what was at his feet. He stepped in front of Tuttle and Samuel into the next corridor.
"No soldiers, no nothing. At least not on this floor. This could be a wasted trip."
"We're not here looking for survivors…or prisoners…," Samuel said gravely as Cranden turned right and disappeared around the corner of the passageway.
Samuel stepped away from the wall and followed him leaving Tuttle alone in the passage.
Tuttle stood there for a moment and took in several hard deep breaths. He tapped his forehead lightly against his raised weapon and continued battling the voices of the tortured souls standing there with him in the gloom.
Their spirits pressed at him from everywhere through the blackness.
Tuttle waited a few seconds for his thoughts to finish their tormenting burst. When his mind had a chance to briefly rest, he held his weapon ready in front of his chest. He turned around and stared into the shadows behind them making sure no one approached through the empty corridor.
Satisfied they were still the only ones making their way through that section of the facility, he turned back towards the dim bobbing shoulder lamps of the men in front of him twenty feet down the corridor. Stepping quietly, he followed their glow to the end of the passage. Both men looked at him when he rejoined them, but neither of them spoke. Their attention was focused on where their lamps pointed towards an opening in the wall.
Samuel and Cranden stood on either side of a dark doorway and whispered to each other silently.
Tuttle adjusted his own shoulder lamp and stepped closer in. His senses were alive with dread and wariness at what could be waiting for them in the blackness of the overrun dome. He turned around again to make sure no one approached from the way they had come.
Tuttle inched closer to Cranden and Samuel. He reached Cranden first. Samuel leaned against the wall on the far side of the doorway.
When he finally stood near Cranden’s shoulder, the medic pulled his sweaty gaze away from his weapon sight and stared straight into Tuttle’s face. Tuttle's shoulder lamp glowed softly across his cheek. Holding his look briefly in the artificial light, Tuttle couldn’t tell if it was fear or accusation sitting behind Cranden’s eyes.
Finally breaking his gaze, Cranden turned and stepped into the room. Tuttle moved in closer and stood across from Samuel just outside the doorway.
He tucked the base of his assault rifle tightly against his ear and pointed it inside the doorway at whatever was hidden in the dark.
Barely visible in the dim light of their shoulder lamps, a bloody trail stretched out in front of them across the floor. Tuttle could smell its fresh stench.
"We're almost to the command center," Samuel whispered to him from behind the trigger of his own assault rifle.
The light on Cranden's shoulder bobbed eerily as he made his way deeper into the gloom. He stopped when a movement ahead of him caught the beam of his light.
At the same time all three could hear a sporadic clinking noise disturbing the screaming silence of the room.
Cranden moved his light across the trail of blood along the floor looking for the noise. Back along the furthest wall, shapes began to slowly disentangle themselves from the surrounding dark.
Every few seconds a tiny "clink" interrupted the encompassing silence.
Cranden slowly moved his fingers and readied his weapon to fire. The faint click of the arming mechanism sounded like a cannon across the black chamber.
Tuttle stepped away from Samuel and followed Cranden inside. His feet slipped when he stepped through the trail of blood stretching across the floor.
>
Suddenly the light on the top of Cranden's shoulder stopped. Its beam carved ahead into the blackness but did not reveal the sound in front of them. Tuttle stepped further into the room and stood next to Cranden.
The sound of his own breath roared like a raging forest fire in his head.
As they moved further inside, a different sound came to their ears. This one was quiet, rhythmic and slow like water dripping from a faucet.
Tuttle felt his stomach turn over in his gut.
"Jesus Christ," he heard Cranden breathe as he reached into his gear and pulled out a larger light.
With a loud click, a sharp steady beam cut like a laser through the heavy darkness.
Tuttle felt his heart stop in his chest.
Two bodies hung in front of them.
Two sets of shredded wrists drooped from bloody shackles. The bodies of two men dangled limply from their bindings like pieces of recently butchered meat. Fresh blood seeped from their bodies and dripped from the tips of their hanging feet. The quiet clinking came from the chains as the bodies continued to gently swing.
The body closest to them was turned to its side. Its head was pressed up against the chest of the other hanging next to him.
Lt. Chris Shriver’s eyes were still open wide. His lips were stretched and twisted as if they had fallen loose from his teeth. It had been some time since their last defiant scream.
Cranden reached across the beam of his lamp and tugged at the other body hanging at Shriver’s side. Pulling gently at the bloody shackles, he brought Dome Commander Steven Corrado's broken form around.
As he did, air escaping a swollen pocket in the dead man’s lung made a loud gurgling sound. Cranden jerked back in surprise, and his feet slipped awkwardly in the blood on the floor.
Tuttle caught him as he fell back.
"Son of a bitch," Cranden swore softly as he quickly balanced again on his feet. He raised his arm and pointed his lamp again at the two suspended bodies.
"What do ya got?" Samuel whispered from where he stood guard just outside the room.
"Two more dead," Cranden said running his light up and down their swaying forms. "These guys a little more recent though. One is still wearing his headset. These guys weren’t just killed outright. This was an interrogation."
Overrun: Project Hideaway Page 21