Burden of Sisyphus bod-1

by Jon Messenger

  Vance and Decker slipped from the cockpit and back into the stifling heat of the crew cabin. Two dozen faces turned to the pair of Pilgrims, as they finally stood upright, their expressions serious.

  “Everything good to go, Sir?” Ainj asked, pulling his sniper rifle against his body.

  “As good as we’ve ever had it.” He didn’t look at the Avalon. Still look forward, he called loudly, “Lock and load, Everyone! We’ll hit the landing zone in two minutes.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The soldiers dismounted from the Cair transports and spread out across the landscape, a sea of black-garbed figures moving forward toward the distant city. At the center of the line, Vance and his team directed search parties to inspect and clear every farmhouse along the route. As Vance feared, no people were found, though signs of a struggle were everywhere. They found signs of slaughter-bloodstains on chairs, walls, and floors throughout the many houses.

  Since the Alliance was first notified of losing contact with their outpost, enough time passed that the crops were allowed to grow wild in the fields. Vegetable stalks were crowned with heavy blooms that normally would’ve been trimmed to avoid nutrients being drained from the edible parts of the plants. Holes perforated the landscape, a result of an underground rodent population left unchecked. Whatever happened to that part of the planet, it was awhile ago and left no possibility of taming the wild landscape.

  As soldiers trudged through muddy creeks and climbed fences in various stages of disrepair, the city’s outskirts neared. Vance keyed the transmit button on his headset.

  “Platoon One, this is Command,” he said softly, not wanting to betray the heavy silence in the air. That silence startled him, as they moved through the countryside. No birds chirped in the trees, and, even in deep grasses, the scurry of small wildlife was missing. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath for fear of retribution.

  “This is Platoon One,” Warrant Harkund replied.

  “Platoon One, I want you to cover the main highway leading into the city. You’ve got our six once we’re inside.”

  “Roger that, Sir.” He cut transmission. A moment later, one quarter of the black-armored soldiers left the main group, falling in behind them, preparing to hold the entrance to the city.

  “Platoons Two and Three,” Vance said.

  “Yes, Sir,” Warrants Blythe and Onclav answered.

  “I want you to spread out. Two, you take the west. Three, move east. Move over approximately six blocks, then move north into the city paralleling the main thoroughfare. You copy?”

  “That’s a good copy, Sir,” Blythe said.

  “Wilco,” Onclav replied.

  Vance kept his radio on a channel that covered all internal platoon chatter. He listened to the commands that moved half the strike force in different directions, fanning out to cover as many southern entrances to the city as possible. With only one-quarter of the soldiers remaining, plus his own team, Vance gave hand and arm signals for Dallis and Decker to join him in the center of the column.

  When they arrived, Vance held an impromptu huddle to ensure they were fully aware of the plan.

  “We don’t have the personnel to do a house-by-house sweep,” he explained. “We have to stay vigilant while entering the heart of the city. Our objective remains the military outpost on the far side. Any records of what happened will be kept at that facility. If we run into trouble, that will also be our fallback position, since it’s the most defensible with its external defense system.”

  He turned to Decker, who lifted his helmet’s dark visor to confirm eye contact. Vance was quickly learning to like the knowledgeable, charismatic Pilgrim. “Decker, I need two or your personnel on point a minimum of three blocks ahead at all times. The business district was the most heavily damaged. Once we reach it, I need your point men scanning every alley and building. I don’t want any surprises, like snipers ambushing us, when we’re trapped between skyscrapers.

  “No problem, Sir.” He activated his microphone. “Roberts and Gythrun, rally on my position.”

  Since all the soldiers’ helmets had a forward display built into the visor that showed the leaders’ position at all times, a command like Decker’s was easy to follow. The Wyndgaart infantry soldier and an armored Avalon soon joined them.

  Decker quickly explained their responsibilities. Both nodded wordlessly before unslinging their weapons and moving to the front line of troops.

  “They’re two of my finest,” Decker explained. “They’ll be safe on their own up front.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Vance said, unconvinced. “I’d prefer not to bring anyone home in a body bag.”

  With the point men in position, the group closed the rest of the distance to the edge of the city. The point men clambered over an improvised barricade at the edge of town. The barrier, built from destroyed street carts and piled furniture, had been burned in the distant past. Only the charred remains of the furniture’s framework remained, marking one piece of debris as a sofa as opposed to the round frame of what had once been a dining room table.

  Fire damage extended to several squat residential buildings, too. Entire walls had collapsed in flames, leaving exposed, blackened stonework and allowing glimpses into the abandoned, simple lives of those who once occupied the homes. Roberts and Gythrun checked doors on different sides of the street, remarking that most were still locked despite the severe damage the buildings sustained.

  Though the fires had long since cooled, the thick smell of ash hung in the air, as Vance and the rest of the team cleared the barricade. Tusque moved up to Vance while they walked, his large snout sniffing thoughtfully in the air.

  “I got a bad feeling, Boss,” the Oterian rumbled.

  “Why’s that?” Vance knew better than to second-guess the gut feelings of one of his team. “Because of the ash in the air?”

  “It’s not the ash.” A distant look of concentration came to his eyes. “It’s what’s below the ash, more subtle but still there.”

  Vance didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “What do you smell that I can’t?”

  “Death,” he said matter-of-factly. “Burned and cooked flesh. Something a little more animalistic hanging in the air, like wet fur. An evil smell has settled over the city, Boss.”

  “I didn’t peg you as the superstitious type, Tusque.” Vance tried to ease a rising sense of precognitive dread.

  “It’s not superstition. It’s a statement of fact.” He turned to the much-shorter Pilgrim. “I know I can’t talk you out of going into the heart of the city, Boss, but I don’t think this is a simple reconnaissance mission.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Without replying, Tusque returned to his position, scanning the short buildings for any sign of movement. Decker, who watched the conversation from a distance, slid to Vance’s side, as they marched toward the tall buildings in the business district.

  “What did he have to say?” Decker asked.

  “The same thing we’ve been saying all along, that this mission has more layers than we were led to believe.” He turned to the younger Pilgrim, a sober look in his eyes. “Do me a favor, Decker. Keep your people overly vigilant. Don’t let them take anything for granted. Even if they accidentally spot one of the platoons paralleling us six blocks away, I want them to report it.”

  “Will do, Sir. I already took the liberty of letting the point men know about our concerns.”

  “Probably a good call.”

  They walked past the first of the destroyed cars. The roof was caved inward, and it drooped down enough that its weight crushed the headrests on both front seats. The hood suffered a similar blow, bowing up around the blunt trauma in its center.

  Something destroyed all the cars on the street in a similar manner, but it was the subtleties that he hadn’t seen from the air that concerned him. Across the hoods, paint was scraped away in even lines, like something was dragged across the metallic surfaces, peeling away paint. To Vance, it seemed like claw
s.

  “Halo, this is Vance.” He switched to his personal command net.

  “Go ahead, Michael,” Halo’s sweet voice replied.

  “Are you tracking any movement or heat signatures ahead of us?”

  “Negative. The coast looks clear all the way to the outpost on the far side of town.”

  “Roger.” He hoped to hear that hundreds of enemies were closing in. He hoped to hear something was trying to kill him already. Having nothing out there scared him. Something obviously killed the city’s inhabitants and destroyed the cars. The missing citizens built barricades to try to stop the unknown enemies from either entering or leaving the city. The fact that they failed meant the enemies were intelligent and deadly.

  “Keep watching for anything on the radar and let me know the second you find something.”

  “You know I will, Michael. Halo, out.”

  The main group moved toward the business district, the buildings looming over them like gaunt giants. With the sun just past its zenith, the buildings cast harsh shadows on the ground, leaving sections of the city blanketed in thick darkness.

  Vance’s unease grew, as he watched the point men disappear into the shadows and begin searching the streets, surrounded by tall buildings.

  “Sir, we’re beginning our search,” Roberts said over the radio. “We recommend you hold up the main force until we have a chance to verify that the area is clear.”

  “Good copy,” Decker said.

  Vance ordered his group to stand fast. They established a hasty defensive perimeter at their location.

  Roberts and Gythrun slipped into deep shadows, their weapons ready. Around them, empty storefronts stared back with shattered eyes. The glass from the display windows lay scattered across the street as if smashed out with great force. The faces of the buildings were marked by dark, glassless windows. Like voids in an otherwise serene, reflective surface, each shattered window loomed like a potential ambush.

  Roberts stooped and picked up a shard of glass. The surface was marred by a splatter of brown. Dried blood coated not just the piece of glass in his hand but also speckled the ground and vehicles lining the road. Placing the glass down again, he and Gythrun moved deeper into the city.

  Their weapons always at the ready, they walked on opposite sides of the street, constantly scanning darkened alleys and alcoves of storefronts, using the flashlights attached to their weapons to push back the shadows. After clearing four city blocks of skyscrapers, Roberts gestured Gythrun to join him.

  “The whole city’s dead.” His eyes scanned the area, as he spoke. “I can’t seem to find a single sign of a body, just blood everywhere.”

  Gythrun held up his fist and opened it to reveal a severed finger. The end that would’ve been attached to a knuckle was shredded, as if torn from the hand by great strength.

  “This is all I was able to find so far, and it’s not that promising.”

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  “I don’t know, but I recommend we hurry and finish our sweep, so we can all get to the outpost. Regardless of what did this, it won’t get past the outpost’s automated defenses. Sitting here, searching alleyway after alleyway in a dead city, is a huge waste of time.”

  Foot-long shards of glass fell from a nearby skyscraper, shattering on the ground. Both soldiers raised their weapons but didn’t see any movement. Tracing the fallen glass upward, Roberts saw a broken window three floors up. As he watched, another glass shard tumbled from inside the room and smashed against the sidewalk.

  “Could’ve been gravity,” Gythrun said reasonably. “Constant wear and tear. It could’ve fallen on its own.”

  “Or it could’ve been pushed, either by accident or on purpose to get our attention. Either way, we need to check it out.”

  Gythrun frowned, as Roberts activated his radio.

  “Command, this is Roberts.”

  “This is Command,” Vance replied.

  “We’re moving into one of the buildings to check a noise. We’ll be out of visual range once we’re inside.”

  “Do you need backup?” Decker asked.

  “Negative, Sir.” He shared a knowing look with Gythrun. “We think it was just loose glass breaking free. The whole place is littered with the stuff, but we want to double-check, just to be sure.”

  “Roger that,” Vance said, “but stay in radio contact. If you run into trouble, don’t wait. Call for us.”

  “That’s a good copy. Roberts, out.”

  Turning off his radio, Roberts gestured Gythrun to follow him to the building’s front entrance.

  A worn placard beside the tall double doors announced the building was an office for a financial firm. Though the hammered metal boxes around the once-glass doors still stood, glass shards were strewn across the sidewalk. Broken glass crunched underfoot, as the pair took positions on either side of the doors. Leading with a strong beam from his flashlight, Roberts entered the foyer.

  It had obviously been established to make a customer or client feel at home. On either side of the entrance, just inside the room, two living room sets of furniture sat canted at angles. The fabric covering the sofa and lounge chairs was high quality, imported from off world. None of the furniture survived the assault.

  The thickly carpeted area around the sofa was littered with white fluff, the innards of the highly stuffed furniture. Large tears marred the seats and backs of the chairs, one of which lay on its back. Moving into the foyer, the pair slid past a set of pillars and crouched low behind two large pots that once held vibrant plants, but the lack of care left them dead and withered. Tall leaves hung limply over the sides of the clay pots.

  Ahead, a semicircular receptionist’s table rested against the far wall. The pair moved forward, their footsteps muted and silent on the carpeted floor. A thin layer of dust coated the darkly lacquered surface. Peering over the top, Roberts noted a splash of blood against a display screen, but there was no sign of the receptionist or anyone else.

  A bank of elevators sat in an alcove left of the receptionist’s desk, but the lack of power left the elevators frozen and impotent. Though the light was out above the elevator, a sign above a nearby doorway read Stairs.

  “Looks like we’re walking,” Roberts whispered, his soft voice carrying in the vaulted foyer.

  He opened the door, while Gythrun slipped inside, his large wings folded tightly against his armored back. Their flashlights barely lit the pitch-black stairwell, casting light only four or five floors up the silo-like internal staircase.

  They moved cautiously. One went to the next landing while the other remained below, his weapon trained on the stairs. After moving up two flights, they stopped before a door marked with a large 3.

  Breathing deeply, they opened the door and cast their lights down a narrow hallway. A second hall ran to the left, leading deeper into the building’s core. Gythrun glanced at it, but Roberts shook his head. The room they wanted was ahead and to the right, its windows facing the main street.

  The hall had two doors set against the right side before it ended in a large door that probably held a meeting room or large office.

  They entered the hall, glad once again their footfalls were muffled on carpet. Still, Roberts’ adrenalin coursed through his veins. He tried to calm himself, as they reached the first door, but it was no use. His heart pounded in his chest like a hammer trying to crack his protective armor.

  Gythrun nodded, letting him know he was ready. Roberts’ hand closed on the door handle. Unlocked, it turned easily. With a shove, he slid it open.

  Both held their weapons ready to fire, but they looked into an empty office. The still-intact window looked down on the street, allowing fading sunlight to filter through installed blinds. Moving to the second room, they found it similarly furnished and had another intact window.

  Turning to the end of the hall, they moved quietly to the large door. Roberts reached down, feeling comforted, as his hand closed over the knife sheathed at
his side. Under his helmet, sweat matted his silver hair and ran trails over his tattoos. He heard Gythrun’s labored breathing and felt his nervousness.

  He turned the handle and let the door slide open. Their flashlights focused shafts of light into a large meeting room. Three sets of windows dominated the far wall, the middle one broken, allowing a cool breeze to blow into the building. Dim sunlight, cascading into the room in ambient waves from the setting sun, fell a few feet inside, but the light diffused farther into deeper parts of the large room until, by the far wall, the room was dark and filled with shadows.

  Against the far wall, a large conference table had been carelessly pushed against the wall, breaking one of the far legs and leaving the table slanted slightly away from the main doorway.

  Roberts entered and walked toward the broken window, checking for any sign the falling glass was anything but an accident. Though he found nothing, he peered out the window onto the shadowy street below.

  The Avalon moved toward the back wall, drawn by a second door that appeared, as his flashlight passed over the darkened area. He glanced over his shoulder, as Roberts finished his examination of the broken window. Catching the Wyndgaart’s eye, Gythrun gestured toward the back door.

  Turning back, the Avalon’s flashlight passed over a dark stain in the carpet. Examining it closer, he followed the bloody smear from the center of the conference room to the back door, where it disappeared. Reaching out, he opened the door.

  His flashlight followed the trail of blood to a half-eaten body discarded in a deep storage closet. Half the skull and both legs had been torn away. Congealed blood coated the ground around the corpse, and flecks of shredded muscle and sinew lay strewn around the front of the closet. The remaining eye in the bloated body stared at him, as if angered by the intrusion of light into its black sanctum. Gythrun flinched at the smell of rotted meat, the body having already swelled and split, releasing its gases.

  Movement behind the corpse startled him. He brought his light to bear, illuminating the closet a little deeper. His light fell upon a single, bloodstained, clawed arm that scratched eagerly at the carpet. Flipping the flashlight beam higher, light reflected off an open maw of razor-sharp teeth.