Lutz stared at the wound with clinical detachment. He was good at that.
“Bad?” Piotrowicz asked.
“Well, you’ll get to keep most of your face. You might want to consider a little plastic surgery when we’re done here, though.”
“What about the burns? Are they that bad?”
“No. It’s just your face—it’s ugly as sin.” Lutz grinned. “Second degree burns mostly. You’ve got some blistering, and a little exposed meat, but I think you got lucky on this one.” He sprayed chemical scrubbers on Piotrowicz’s face that removed any chance of bacterial infection. It stung like hell. Then he painted the burned flesh with a thick salve, and reached for fresh bandages.
While he was questing for the sterile wraps, there was a sudden pain in his hand, as if it had been bitten.
What the hell? He jerked back, and peered at the spot where it had occurred. There he saw a large, black-shelled bug of some sort. The thing hadn’t given any warning, and he hadn’t even noticed it coming close. It just attacked.
The silvery teeth took most of his hand and wrist in one savage bite.
Lutz let out the tiniest little noise. He looked at the mangled wound where his hand had always been, and gave out a high-pitched wail.
* * *
Piotrowicz saw it all happen, but it was so damned fast, and he had his guard down. With people all around, he never thought anything might be able to sneak up on them.
The bug was smaller than the ones they’d fought and killed, and if he had to guess it was younger. That didn’t make it any less dangerous. The fucker lashed out at Lutz, that nasty damn tail pounded into the big man’s chest and he fell back, a soft sigh coming from the wound as a lung collapsed.
He heard voices nearby, alerted by Lutz’s wail, but they still couldn’t see him—didn’t necessarily know where it had come from.
Piotrowicz reached for his rifle, and his hand found only air. No chance he was taking his eyes off the thing, though. No chance in hell. It jumped and he kept reaching, straining for what should have been right there, damn it, and the shining black thing hopped closer and hissed and sprayed wet from its mouth as it reached for him.
He kicked the bastard in the face as hard as he could. The bug snapped backward and hit the ground. He finally risked a look, and the rifle was nowhere to be seen. He felt a cold certainty that he was a dead man.
The thing came at him again, hunkering low to the ground as it scuttled closer. Baby or not, it was a fast learner. The tail lashed back and forth, sometimes rising above its body, and he found himself watching that deadly barb.
“Need a little help here!” he shouted, hoping someone was close enough to come to his aid.
Dwadji’s voice came across the comm.
“What’s going on, Petey? Where the hell are you?”
“Got a bug here and it’s hungry!”
Vogel’s voice came from his far left.
“I’m coming,” she shouted. “Don’t move.”
“Don’t tell me! Tell this little bastard!”
The alien dropped to all fours and charged, hissing and weaving. That damned tail jabbed for his face and he blocked with his left arm, feeling the ridges on the tail scraping layers of cloth and flesh from his forearm and wrist.
Dwadji was saying something else in his ear, but he couldn’t pay enough attention to understand the words. The bug pounced on him, and he managed to catch its arms, but that wasn’t enough. Seemed like every limb on the bastard was made for cutting, because the clawed feet walked up his legs and it kicked at his chest, carving trenches into his armor and sending him staggering backward.
The only noise he could make was a gasp. The hind claws kept kicking with enough force to stop him from doing much of anything else, and the unbelievably powerful arms fought to break free from his grip. He was trembling from the effort of holding the damn thing back.
Vogel bellowed at the thing, but it kept attacking, hissing as it tried for his face with that freaky ass secondary mouth. The tail arced up and over its shoulder and came for his skull.
Piotrowicz flinched back and waited to feel the blade at the end of that thing come pounding through his brain. Instead the creature let out a surprised squeal and he felt the hot body of the thing suddenly lifted from him as Vogel smashed it sideways with the butt of her pounder.
The rifle was a grunt’s wet dream. It carried ninety rounds in the magazine that fired in single shot, three round, bursts or continuous streams. It sported four slots for artillery and two locations for bayonets. Though it was fairly heavy at eleven pounds, it was also perfectly balanced for use as a hand-to-hand tool. That was where the nickname came from.
Vogel knew how to use a pounder. The bug sailed back from the impact and curled in on itself for a moment as it rolled and skidded to a stop. When it looked back in their direction, Piotrowicz could see the broken shell of its skull. It was bleeding slightly, and the liquid sent up little puffs where it hit the ground.
Vogel flipped the weapon around and fired three rounds that hit chest, face, and the back of its elongated head.
The little bastard hit the ground, and twitched.
Piotrowicz was gasping and shaking as he climbed to his feet and looked down at the thing. It wasn’t any more than three feet long. Less than half the size of the things that had been on the van earlier.
“What the fuck is that?” He was jazzed on adrenaline, and barely aware that he was shouting.
Vogel ignored him and shot it twice more, just in case. It stayed exactly as dead as it had been before, but leaked more of its acidic blood all over the ground. Dwadji was screaming into the comm now, asking if Piotrowicz was still alive.
Why don’t you just drag your sorry ass over here to see, Piotrowicz thought to himself. “We got it,” he said into the comm.
Vogel talked into her headset while Piotrowicz moved over to check on Lutz. The man was alive, but it wasn’t looking great. His breathing was labored, and while they had a few medical supplies and he was a decent medic, the majority of their supplies were currently somewhere in the tunnels, far above. He cursed himself for listening to Manning when the man told him to give up his pack.
The rest of their group managed to get to the scene, and Silas moved to examine Lutz. While he wasn’t a medical doctor, it turned out that the woman from his group actually was. Her name was Rosemont, and she got to work on keeping Lutz alive—give or take a collapsed lung.
“What the hell happened here?” It was Cho, just arriving, and Piotrowicz filled him in. The tech’s jaw tightened, and he walked a short distance away, talking into his comm. Calling for the lift.
But there was no one. Nobody on any of the upper levels responded to his calls.
34
REGROUPING
Decker thought he just might start screaming and never stop.
The shaft they were in was narrow, and definitely underground. When they’d finally managed to get away from the ambush and stopped running for all they were worth, Manning called for names and they came up with a total of eight remaining survivors. Only a couple of them—including Decker—had functioning lights, so the darkness wrapped around them. It was one thing to be stuck in the darkness. It was another to think there might not be a light at the end of the tunnel.
Adams kept trying her motion sensors. She wasn’t alone. But none of the damned things worked.
The comm was functional, and Cho had reported what was happening back with the rest of the group. It felt as if the hub was an unimaginable distance away.
Not far ahead of him, Manning had taken to tapping the walls with his knife’s hilt. At first Decker thought he was just nervous, and wanted to keep a weapon near at hand. But the longer he kept doing it, the less that seemed to make sense. So he asked, and Manning explained as if he were talking to a very stupid relative.
“I want to know it the minute we’re not underground any longer,” the merc leader said. “We can’t do much as long as we
’re beneath the surface, but once we’re out, there’s a chance we might blow this damned popsicle stand.
“Now shut the hell up, and let me get back to it.”
Since the man was carrying a very large knife, Decker decided to listen to him.
* * *
Sometime later—it felt like days, but was probably only an hour or so—the sound of the tapping changed. One moment it was a dull thud, and the next it sounded hollow.
Manning stopped, and ran his fingertips over the entire wall of the tunnel, but there was nothing. No hidden door, no seam—nothing that indicated a weakness in the surface. Finally he swore and stepped back.
“Fuck this,” he said, and he lifted his plasma rifle. “Close your eyes!” he shouted.
Even with his lids closed, Decker could see the flare of light. The stench of the melting silicon was acrid, and tasted of salt.
“Clear!”
Decker opened his eyes, squinting at the ghost of the glare, and saw the most wonderful sight he could remember in a very long time.
The wall was slagged. The tunnels were strong enough to resist the acid of the aliens’ blood, but they weren’t able to hold their own against the heat of the plasma discharge. The edges were still white hot, slowly fading to yellow, and beyond the wound in the wall, there were lights. After the pale illumination of the flashlights and lanterns, it seemed almost as bright as a clear day.
After a few moments, Manning tested the edge of the opening he’d made. When he was satisfied, he slipped through, letting the business end of the plasma rifle take the lead. Decker closed his eyes for a moment, trying to tell whether or not there were any of the things out there. It seemed as if they were safe for the moment, and he moved forward, quickly followed by Adams.
In short order they were gathered in a cavernous mine shaft.
There were lights. Lots of them. There was space and that was a blessing. The air was stale and recycled, and it still felt like a cool breeze and tasted sweet on the tongue. Decker took great, deep breaths, and the others around him did the same. A sense of intense relief radiated from the people around him, and mingled with his own.
Adams did several deep knee bends and stretched her body. After only a moment’s hesitation Decker joined her and so did several of the others. Manning did not. He kept his eyes in motion, his face nearly expressionless as he scanned the area and assessed their location as best he could.
“Cho,” he said into the comm link. “We’re out of the damn tunnels and in a mine shaft.”
“Any idea what level you’re on?”
Manning shook his head. “No, though I think we may be above you. Are you at the console? I want to know if you can get readings off of us yet.”
“Hold on.” There was silence for a few seconds. “I’m here, but we’re still not getting readings.”
“Okay. Something’s not adding up here, I don’t care what’s in the soil, or on that ship. Low level radiation wouldn’t be causing this much trouble for our systems.”
“I get you.” Cho’s voice was clipped and professional. “I’ve had Dwadji trying different frequencies, but so far we haven’t found one to counter whatever is causing the interference.”
“Well, keep at it. I want to know what’s causing us all of this grief.”
“Gotcha,” Cho replied. “Maybe the radiation built up over time, the longer the ship was buried?”
Adams shook her head.
“I gotta cry bullshit on that,” she said, and she looked to Decker for confirmation.
He shrugged. “I’ve seen terraforming disasters, and that level of radiation can cause heavy-duty infiltration, but I have my doubts about the ship. Any level of radiation that could reach more than few hundred feet from the wreckage would have to be much heavier, and likely life-threatening.”
Manning listened, and his eyes narrowed.
“Yet Willis guaranteed that it was safe,” he said. “And we took him at his word. Something is fucked here. I want to know what.”
“We’re looking into it, boss,” Cho answered. “But it’s slow going, and we’ve had a few shitstorms down here, too.”
“Which reminds me. Are your motion sensors working?” When he said that Adams tried hers again, but had no better luck.
“Haven’t checked ’em. The way Willis was talking, there didn’t seem to be any point.”
“Well, check. If they are it helps you know if any more of those things are coming your way.”
There was silence for a moment, then Cho spoke again.
“Listen, about that,” he said. “Silas, the guy who led the expedition to the ruined city, thinks we might have a major infestation situation on our hands here. If he’s right, we may be screwed ten ways from Sunday.”
“How so?”
“From what I can understand, he thinks the bugs we’ve run across might actually be hibernating down in that city.” Another pause. “He thinks they might be waking up. We’re not talking a couple of these things, if he’s right. Silas thinks there could be hundreds of them, or maybe even more.
“He thinks they might have taken out the entire city, back in the day.”
Decker looked around, at the other mercenaries. Where they had been letting themselves relax, just a little bit, they were alert again. Weapons at ready, peering in both directions along the mine shaft.
He looked at the hole they’d come through. It was dark in there. Very dark. Anything at all could be just a few feet away, and waiting to strike.
Then he looked to his left, and saw nothing but a long expanse of dirt road. To his right was a mirror image. There were no markings, no indications of which way they should go.
Looked inward again, and tried to focus past the background noise.
There… They were nearby. He knew they were close, because he could feel them. The catch was trying to figure out where they were, before they launched another assault.
Hundreds of them? His pulse sped up. He pulled his own plasma rifle from its spot on his back, checked the charge, and reminded himself of exactly where the safety was located.
Somewhere in the distance, something made a noise loud enough to echo down the tunnel. Decker couldn’t tell which direction it came from, but he intended to find out.
Hundreds of the things. They only needed one. And then they needed to get the hell away from New Galveston, once and for all. Eyes on the prize, he told himself. And stay alive.
“Decker!”
He jumped a little at the sound of his name. It was Manning.
“What?” he responded.
“You getting any of your weird feelings?”
He nodded his head, and rolled his eyes involuntarily. He hoped Manning hadn’t seen it. But the merc seemed oblivious.
“Which direction?” Adams asked.
“Not sure,” he answered. “They’re not close now, but I think they’re more determined to find me now.” It seemed as if their hatred was focusing. He didn’t really know how the creatures worked, but it was as if they were homing in on him, like a compass points to the magnetic pole of a planet.
Decker licked his upper lip and tasted salt. He was sweating again. But he was determined not to panic—especially since it might get him killed.
“Okay,” Manning said. “So which direction… feels… like our best bet to avoid the things?” His control slipped a bit. “Give me something to work with here!”
Decker closed his eyes, and that odd squirming sensation crawled through his scalp again. After a moment, he pointed to the left.
“Then let’s go that way first to see if we can figure out where the hell we are.” To the rest he said, “Light ’em up. Keep your attention where it needs to be, and don’t let anything get near us that isn’t wearing a company outfit.”
Decker took a deep breath and spoke his mind.
“Listen, don’t think I’m crazy here, because I’m not. But maybe we should go toward them.” A couple of the mercs started to protest, but Ma
nning shut them up, and Decker continued. “If we can find them before they find us, maybe we can get the jump on the fucker.”
Manning looked him in the eyes and smiled very briefly.
“Look at you, growing a pair.” Decker might have been offended, but he heard the admiration in the man’s voice—even felt it. Manning was used to thinking he was a coward.
“I’d agree with you, but we don’t know enough about the territory,” the merc leader continued. “If they’re hiding in one of those tunnels, we could spend hours with you looking for them, and never see them. And there’s a lot less of us now. We need to keep our eyes open, and get back to the hub.”
They started walking, moving with care and watching for anything out of the ordinary. The only good news was that there weren’t too many places where the damned things could hide.
Manning got on the comm with Cho again.
“Get me Willis.”
A couple of minutes passed, and the bureaucrat came on the line.
“What do you want, Manning?” Something in his voice bothered Decker, but if it affected the merc, he didn’t show it. “Where the hell are you?”
“I think we’re on a level above you, so there must be a secondary lift—no way are the miners going to wait for days just to hitch a ride.” He paused to look around, then continued. “Any idea where we can find it? What should we be looking for?”
Willis tried to give him directions, but Manning cut him off.
“We don’t know where we are, so directions aren’t gonna do squat. What do the miners do, if they need to get out fast?”
Before he could answer, they felt the ground beneath them tremble slightly. Suddenly it began to rock more dramatically, building rapidly until they were knocked off their feet. In the distance, something rumbled loud enough to shake the walls. To protect himself from falling debris, Decker curled into a fetal position on the ground. Fragments of rock pelted them, and dust carried down the long corridor, a roiling cloud that billowed for a moment before it started to settle.
Sea of Sorrows Page 18