Extinction Shadow
Page 33
“You gonna ditch us when you find a steady town job?”
It was loud enough with the wind and the tires rumbling, and other peoples’ shouted conversations that Perry wasn’t concerned about being overheard. He didn’t really think Hauten would care anyway. Turnover on the outfit was high amongst greenhorns, and nothing to balk at.
“Depends on how much Hauten pays,” she replied.
“You ever goin’ back to Junction City?”
This time she did look at him. “I dunno, Perry. You ever going back to what you did before?”
Perry stared at her. He didn’t care for the way she said it. Like she knew about Perry’s past. But that was impossible. No one knew. He’d never told anyone.
He quickly changed the subject. “When we get to the bottom, stay with me. Do what I tell you and watch where you put your feet and your hands.”
The smell of blood was palpable now.
Perry could taste it on his tongue.
It was more humid down here in the valley than it had been on the ridge.
Despite it being the Deadmoon, out here where the earth had been scorched, the sun shone hot, no matter the time of year. And when it baked a pond made up of five thousand liters of blood, then it turned the valley into something of a steam room.
“Dogs and ants and spiders!” Hauten reminded them one last time, and then began to slow the buggy. As it rolled to a halt amid a cloud of dust, he looked back at them from the controls. “Work quick and we won’t have to mess with any of that shit, yeah? Alright. Get to work.”
Perry slid out of his seat and over the horizontal bar of metal. The black paint on it was hot to the touch. Flaking off. Rusty underneath. He went to the back, and Teran followed.
“Jax! Tiller!” Hauten called out, exiting his driver’s seat. “Get some guns.”
At the back of the buggy, Stuber had dropped to the ground. His Roq-11 .458 rifle was strapped to his back at the moment. He pulled a long, battered, black case out to the edge of the buggy’s cargo bed. He undid the locks and lifted the cover.
Inside were two shotguns nestled next to each other, and a large, silver pistol.
The Mercy Pistol. Stuber left that where it was, but he grabbed the two shotguns in each of his meaty paws and turned, just as Jax and Tiller trotted up.
Tiller made it a point to shoulder past Perry.
Stuber shoved the shotguns in their hands. Jax ran his sunken, blue eyes over his, charged a round into the chamber, and then shoved his arm through the braided sling. He turned and walked off.
Tiller had the shotgun in both hands and he tried to pull it, but Stuber held on.
Tiller stared up at the ex-legionnaire, confused.
Stuber held the shotgun in his right hand. With his left, he jabbed an index finger like a dart into Tiller’s chest. Tiller let out an offended yelp and glared.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Stuber growled.
“I won’t,” Tiller grunted indignantly. He jerked hard and Stuber let him have the shotgun.
Tiller checked his action, just like Jax had, although the movements were not as sure. Tiller did most of what he did in an attempt to look as experienced as Jax.
When Tiller was satisfied that he had a loaded shotgun, he gave a baleful look over his shoulder at Stuber, and then marched off. He made another attempt to shoulder Perry, but Perry saw it coming and slid out of the way.
“’Scuse me,” Tiller said anyways. Kept walking.
Perry felt that flowing river deep inside of him.
The blur of red.
As much as Perry enjoyed watching Stuber mess with Tiller, it only meant that Tiller was going to be more pissy than usual today.
“Come on,” Hauten hollered, reaching the back of the buggy. “Buckets. Work quick. Quick, quick, quick. Lezgo lezgo lezgo.”
There was a stack of buckets. They hadn’t made it down to the valley in their original, stowed position. Perry grabbed two from the jumbled pile and gave one to Teran. He started towards the battlefield.
“We’re here for the brass. Don’t try to loot the bodies: some of the legionnaires booby-trap themselves before they die. Besides that, we’ve got a delicate understanding with several other scavenging outfits—they let us have the brass, we let them have the armor, or the tech, or whatever their flavor of scrap is. All you gotta do is pick up brass. If it’s severely dented, leave it. If you can see a spider web inside it, leave it—those things are poisonous. Don’t try to move anything that already has an ant mound on it. If you notice anybody that’s still alive, don’t touch them, don’t move them, and don’t talk to them. Just call for Stuber.”
The very first body they reached was still alive.
A man with half his face blown off.
His chestplate rose and fell with hitching breaths. His massive shield lay still attached to his left arm, dented and dinged, the edges chipped from thousands of projectiles that had skimmed by him.
But one had found him. And one was all you needed.
His blue sagum identified him as a legionnaire of The Light.
The dying legionnaire reached a hand towards them. He tried to speak, but couldn’t.
Perry first eyed the man’s right hand to see if he was still armed. Both sides left the bodies, but they were careful to retrieve the weapons. Funny how they did that.
Perry saw no weapons. He turned his head to project his voice back over his shoulder, but he kept his eye on the dying soldier in front of him.
“Stuber!”
The soldier knew what was next. Whatever he wanted, he forgot about it, and his outstretched arm fell to his side. He sat there with his chestplate heaving, his one good eye still looking straight at Perry.
Perry heard the sound of retching behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Teran, doubled over with a thick rope of yellowy stomach juices issuing from her mouth and nose.
He turned back to the dying legionnaire.
The man’s one remaining eye was a pleasant hazel color. The eye was nice and round. Thick lashes. He might’ve been a popular man with the ladies, Perry thought, though with half his face missing, it was difficult to tell if he was handsome. Maybe he just had nice eyes.
Stuber came over. Perry gestured to the dying soldier.
Stuber knelt before the man, as he would so many times that day. He put his hand on the soldier’s forehead and he said the words that Perry didn’t even need to hear, he knew them so well by now.
“In the eyes of the gods, it matters not the color of your banner, but the courage of your heart. Under the watchful gaze of Nur, the Eighth Son, all warriors are brothers. As your brother, I bear witness to Halan, the Eldest Son, that you have fought your fight. Be at peace. Accept this mercy, and go to The After.”
The dying man closed his eyes as Stuber put the large, silver pistol against his head and gave him mercy.
And, as he always did, Perry watched, and thought, That could have been me.
And that made him think of the Tall Man.
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About the Authors
Nicholas Sansbury Smith is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Hell Divers series. His other work includes the Extinction Cycle series, the Trackers series, and the Orbs series. He worked for Iowa Homeland Security and Emergency Management in disaster planning and mitigation before switching careers to focus on his one true passion—writing. When he isn’t writing or daydreaming about the apocalypse, he enjoys running, biking, spending time with his family, and traveling the world. He is an Ironman triathlete and lives in Iowa with his wife, their dogs, and a house full of books.
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Anthony J Melchiorri is a scientist with a PhD in bioengineering. Originally from the Midwest, he now lives in Texas. By day, he develops cellular therapies and 3D-printable artificial organs. By night, he writes apocalyptic, medical, and science-fiction thrillers that blend real-world research with other-worldly possibility, including works like The Tide and Eternal Frontier. When he isn’t in the lab or at the keyboard, he spends his time running, reading, hiking, and traveling in search of new story ideas.
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About the Authors