Dusk Territories: Always Burning

by Munden, Deston

  Pub grinned. “We could’ve, you’re a smart cookie. You would’ve figured it out eventually.”

  “’cause what’s the fun in that,” Haggis added.

  “Stop doin’ that weird brother thing again,” Crisium interrupted, annoyed.

  “Piss on it, girl,”” The two brothers hissed.

  Graham gave a sharp hush. “There’s a reason I asked the engine to be cut off. We’re in enemy territory. I can feel them. Stay close.”

  Taking the lead was the logical choice. Graham took cautious steps forward, taking in the surroundings into his memory. He tore through the brush, rearing east of where they had left the vehicle. From maps of the charted area—though unreliable—gave them a good idea on approximately where to look. Too far they would end up in the Atlantic Ocean, given that a large part of Florida had dropped into the sea. If the bunker wasn’t in the sea, it’s possible to be somewhere in the direction they were headed.

  Boots sloshed against the thick mud as they trekked through wilderness. Snakes, almost the size of a mythological basilisk, slithered down the path. Large spiders hung in the trees, spinning their large webs that tangled even large birds. Frogs leaped across, with hulking mutations in the legs and their backs. The animals were probably half of the deaths here. The environment was the other.

  Graham had to be careful on where he took the team. More than a few times, Crisium’s keen senses told them where to watch out for. She was good, he admitted. She knew where to step and called out any danger before it actually started. If she hadn’t, Pub would have lost a boot or worse when he was caught into a pool of thick slime. Of course, they pulled him out before it had resulted to that, much to his embarrassment.

  About a few hours away from the truck, they had entered the deepest of the forest. That was when they saw it, the bunker.

  The construct was built in a depression within the land. A grey and thick dome, it remained where other buildings hadn’t. Mildew dripped from the small cracks within it, and more than enough plants made its home there. There aren’t any trees. This place was preserved, and even cleared occasionally. By now, with the ravenous growth of trees from the chemicals, he would have thought it to be covered. But it wasn’t from what he could see. He pushed a leaf aside, peering into the canyon below.

  He gritted his teeth.

  There were people there. White armored men and women patrolled the perimeter. Each was armed with powerful looking weapons, modified in various different ways. More than a few had arm bands, but all of them had an insignia on their shoulder. Graham couldn’t see what it was, but somehow he knew it meant something. Well I guess we know something’s here now. Attack on sight, their stances said. A patrol was never so rigid.

  “Guys…”

  Crisum looked over his shoulder. “What—oh shit.”

  Haggis and Pub peeked around their commander’s body, and both went pale. “That’s not good,” Pub started.

  “What’s not go—aw damn…” Haggis finished.

  “Wanna clue me in?” Graham asked.

  They reeled themselves back into the trees. Everyone went stiff. Graham’s was out of anxiousness, everyone else out of pure shock. Silence was the loudest speaker for a while. “Care to tell me why everyone’s gone all…quiet?”

  “Descendants.”

  “They’re bad news, Graham. Real bad.” Haggis’ normally amused voice donned a seriousness that was uncharacteristic of him. He pulled the sniper rifle from his back, a slick Steyr model. “It’s going to get bloody.”

  “The Descendants are the soldiers of the Ancestors,” Crisium explained. “They don’t like us.”

  “By don’t like us she means that we tripped over a quite a few things we don’t suppose to know about.” Pub nodded to Graham’s SAW. “Give me that, sonny.”

  “What?”

  Pub lurched over Graham, taking the light machine gun from his grasp. With his free hand, the Scotsmen dug into his own holster, brandishing a silenced pistol. He placed the gun in his commander’s palm. “You have best chance to getting in there undetected…don’t give me that look. You’re already an ugly bastard; don’t need to scowl like that.”

  He knew it was the right choice, in his mind at least. If they were to survive this, they would have to use the land itself towards their advantage. A bunker like that couldn’t be as well protected in the inside as the out. Once he was inside, he could get whatever he was looking for and leave as quickly as he came. That would require some luck and a lot of cover fire. The only wish that he had was that he had more people. Should have brought the rest of my group. His mind imagined them fuming at the thought of being left behind.

  “Look over there.”

  “No one’s sight’s as good as yours, Marie.”

  She shrugged in agreement as she pointed what caught her attention. In the distance was a man in shagged rags, a long snake wrapped around his neck and a bear at his side. “Beastmaster is back. Didn’t you kill him?”

  Graham eyed the man. Beastmaster looked thinner and raving mad. Bones showed underneath his layer of skin not bundled in cloth. His hair was longer, eyes redder, and body quivering. “No, he got away before I could kill him. Made friends with the local wild life, I see.”

  Graham grunted, feeling the weight of Pub’s pistol. Paired with his knife and his pistol, it’ll be fine. They would need all the fire power out here to even survive. “Are you going to handle that? I’ve seen what you can…”

  “Turn into. It’s a gift.” Crisium cracked her knuckles, stretching. “I’m the one animal he can’t control. Tried to kill him once before. Ragnar stopped me before I could, a bit of a shame.” She took a long pause. “If he’s here, Ragnar is.”

  “And Wood guessed that River might be here as well. Damn crazy ass girl.” Haggis growled a string of words that made no sense to anyone besides his brother. “If you can’t, don’t fight ‘em. Especially if they’re together.”

  “Well. We can’t sit here and talk about it. You two, land cover fire. Keep moving. Crisium, you’re going to have to handle Beastmaster for me. Cover my sixth until then. The moment you get a chance, kill that man.”

  “Oh. I’ll get a chance.”

  The group gave a curt nod.

  “Haggis. Pub. Which of you have the better arm?”

  “Well…I dare say, Mr. Graham. That would be me,” Haggis grinned, receiving a frown from Pub. “He couldn’t throw a ball to save his life.”

  “At least I have other balls that work perfectly fine,” Pub snapped.

  “That’s not what the girlies be telling me.”

  “Stop it you two! We have to get this done. Now!” Graham flicked his eyes back and forth. “Throw a grenade to disrupt the ring of defenses and start the assault. Wait until we get around the side. I’ll give the signal via radio, so keep your com channels on.”

  “Aye sir!”

  “Let’s get going, Crisium.”

  A quick equipment check, as well as some distribution of ammo, handled itself quickly amongst the group. The men were armed with as much ammo as they could handle for their weapons. Crisium, however, kept just as light as possible. From her own account, the transformation left her unequipped in more than one way. They departed as prepared as they possibly could. The road was going to be tough. Graham just hoped that the risk equaled the reward.

  Tearing through the brush, Graham and Crisium kept careful to make as little sound as possible. They kept an eye on the happenings below them. The white soldiers didn’t speak amongst themselves often, when they did, it was for the briefest of moments. Even from here, they looked to be emotionally frozen. The way they grasped their guns, the way they stood and walked, there was nothing there. Whomever these people worked for, they had forged monsters out of men.

  They made it across the other side, undetected amongst the leaves. Graham dug into his pocket, bringing out the small brown box. “Crisium. Wanna…do your thing now?”
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br />   “I’ll be a few,” she said pulling off her jacket and wheeling behind a tree. “Start the assault, it won’t take long.”

  Graham pressed the button on the side of the radio. “Haggis, Pub.”

  “Aye, sir. Haggis speakin’.”

  “Start the assault in 5…4…3…2…1…”

  If his heart could race, he would have felt it throbbing up his chest. Instead, the solemn beats of his heart increased slightly. He missed his old friend adrenaline, pumping through his veins. It was no longer with him. He had to wait.

  Graham saw it whistling through the air. Haggis must have one hell of a good throwing arm. The grenade bounced, rolling at the feet of a man. He noticed it far too late, before the explosion consumed him, ripping him apart as well as several men around him.

  Instantly, the fire fight started. The other side of the bunker’s ground was set ablaze with rapid fire. A good five or so men were taken down in about a few good seconds before any of them realized it had started. Beastmaster’s snake kept itself coiled around its master, absorbing many of the bullets with its thick hide while hissing in pain. He was not going to be killed in the fire fight, Graham knew. That is why Crisium would have to handle him.

  “Crisiu—“

  He couldn’t get her name out, before he saw a large shadow soaring over his head. The beast landed in the depression, tearing its way easily through the ranks. I still can’t get used to that. He saw glimpses of the wolf before. The black and gold fur was thick like leather armor. The horns that he saw were long, curled things that protruded from her head and down her back. A blood curling howl resounded through the air, as she let out an inferno from her mouth. Nothing, not even movies, could prepare you for that sight.

  The moment she got to the ground, she made a beeline to Beastmaster. The man looked pale, deathly so. He backed up, sending his bear to do the dirty work, only for it to be set aflame by the hellfire. She swatted the animal away as though it was made of paper, growling menacingly at her target. Those red eyes glared with blood thirst. Graham didn’t even have to wait to see what would happen next; he knew that he would be dead before he even got through halfway of the bunker.

  Graham knew that he couldn’t watch the fight further to see it happen. He needed to make it inside. Caution thrown to the wind, he jumped from the cliff, sliding himself down the incline of the depression. His boots grinded against the rocks, legs and buttocks burning from the constant friction, made it an uncomfortable experience. He made it to the ground with rather few new wounds, losing only some of his deoxygenated blood. Tirelessly, he kept moving forward. He stayed out of the lines of sights, avoiding stray bullets with any cover he could find.

  Haggis and Pub was holding their own. They had disorientated a superior force, but not only that, had cleaned out at least half. As Graham veered around a corner, he saw one of the Descendent’s head being split open by a sniper shot. Blood ooze from the back of his skull, pouring from his helmet like red wine from the neck of a bottle. Bits of pink stained the liquid, making it rather a grotesque sight even for a trained soldier.

  Damn who trained those Scottish boys? He pushed the thought aside. Survival needed to be priority. Survival is always first for you, the little voice in his head whispered.

  Low to the ground, but moving quickly, he made it to the entrance. One of the soldier caught in the fire fight, and faced the direction of the twins, fired a three round burst into the trees. He was in the way. Graham grabbed the man by the throat, pulled his knife, and plunged in the smallest place between where his helmet and armor touched. The victim didn’t gurgle; the knife was in and out, before it could even be soaked in blood. He placed them down, shadowing into the bunker.

  Yeah. That’s what you’re good at. Killing. Stop pretending you’re any less of a weapon than that knife.

  Graham jailed that thought as well. He was something more and so was this fight.

  11

  Blood Pour

  “People like you had the chance to change the world. You couldn’t. Now, others will. This isn’t your playground anymore.”

  The moment that he entered the bunker, his body tingled with anxiousness. There was only darkness here in this windowless complex. Each light footstep sounded like claps of thunder in his ears. He tried to ignore the tension tingling up his spine. He was hunting. Not alone, there were other predators watching the predator move. Graham cleared his corner with his pistol. He wasn’t going to be prey to anything.

  To a normal man, these hallways would have been nothing but pitch darkness to the eyes. Graham saw well enough. Long cracks lined the dirty grey walls, stained with spray paint and graffiti. Blood splatters and bones huddled together in corners, resonating hopelessness. The smells were bad, as though people came here to wait for death to take them. Graham knew that he would be adding to the death pool. Years of training told him that.

  He pressed his back against a corner. Beams from flashlights danced around in the corridor ahead. Graham fought the urge to look. It was human habit to be curious. Curiosity usually got people killed. So he waited, watched the shadows as they turned before he struck.

  Graham withdrew from his cover and fired twice, both hitting the men in the back of the necks. The first one died instantly, the bullet slipping through their only true weak spot and crashing into the spine. The second, however, missed the sweet spot. That soldier fell to the ground by the force, holding the back of his head. Cursing, Graham dashed forward, seizing the man by the crown of the head, and then stabbing him in his throat with the knife. “Sloppy,” the Marine whispered to himself, lying the man down.

  A closer look allowed him to see one of the bands of the Descendants. It was a simple black cloth on his bicep, marked with a strange arch symbol. He frowned. He couldn’t worry about that now. Outside, the battle still raged. Sound scarcely breached the stone walls. Waves that did were that of washed out gunfire, roars, and explosives. He couldn’t stay here for long.

  If only I brought the rest of the team, Graham thought again. No. You can’t doubt your decision. His core team wasn’t ready for a fire fight of this caliber. Someone would have died or worse. No, this was the best possible outcome. That was if he could do this quickly. Haggis, Pub, and Crisium were important to the Drifter’s team. Them lost would severely cripple further operation. I have to act fast.

  Taking the corridor at a little faster pace, still careful, Graham wheeled around the corners. He made notes of the surroundings. The bunker was a labyrinth, ever growing in his mind. Some corridors led to others while some just looped around to the throat of the layout. What he did know was shadows were friends. Sneaking was still a fresh concept in his head. Built for outright fire fights was how he had been taught. But, this was fresh and he…enjoyed it.

  He saw another man walking through the corridor. This one, a bald man with a stringy white and black beard, had no helm and was chattering something over the radio. Ammo couldn’t be wasted, nor could this Intel. He waited, crouched. “What’d you mean we may have an infiltration? And why’s it taking so long to take out a small party,” the soldier barked. “Lieutenant Brink would be furious—not to mention those two nutcases.”

  Graham took a step forward, sheathing his weapons. Bump. Bump. Bump. His prey’s heartbeat that had a sound and a taste touched his senses as he kept forward. His boots made no sound, his breath held, and fingers itched to clamp around his unsuspecting victim in a bloody urge. That’s right. Just stay there. The moment that he was behind the man, the man turned. He must have felt death creep on him. “Intrude—“

  Snap. Crunch.

  Graham snapped his neck and smashed the man skull open with the sole of his boot. Like a melon being thrown into a wall, blood sprayed into the ground and meat leaked from the open wound. Broken teeth, spittle, and bile lined the man’s contorted face. The impact was hard, almost barbaric. One stomp left him hardly recognizable, just twisted flesh and broken bones. A few stomps
later, there was nothing left of the man’s face.

  “Shit,” Graham whispered to himself. He hadn’t expected that. The man was dead before he had even hit the ground. The added brutality was rattling. Blood stained the black leather ridges of his boots. He couldn’t risk the man living. He might have made some guttural sound through the radio, he reasoned. Instinct took over, the very closest thing to human bloodlust. Why his bare hands, though…why the urge? ‘Cause that’s what you wanted to do to these men. That’s what you want to do. This world’s changing you.

  No. Removing the thought from his head, he pressed forward. Killing was something he did. There was no use crying about it, even if it bothered him. The center room, he focused on. The center room.

  Seconds stretched themselves thickly over his mission. The outside party couldn’t last much longer, he knew. Acting fast felt essential. He needed to—

  Wait.

  At first, the sound was just echoes. He couldn’t quite make them out. Graham pulled his gun from its holster and looked through the gun’s sight in slow steps. The closer he got, the more that the voice cleared up. It was singing. Female, young, Graham noted. She was younger than twenty, he knew. She sang a song without any lyrics. Somehow, that made her sound innocent. Innocence had died in this world, though. Graham cleared another corner. The singing was getting louder, closer. She was close. She was…

  Swooooosh. Right behind him.

  A trail of fire, a deep teal, licked against the ground blazing. It was almost alive, twitching and swaying like seaweed underwater. There were no crackling sounds. Embers screamed with high pitched voices as they died. That was no ordinary flame. That was a demon power. Graham turned to see the lady from which this flame came. The singing stopped.

  A young girl sat on the shoulders of a giant, her index finger still aflame. “Graham-cracker! It seems like we finally found you.” She giggled. “Or we could say that you found us. Either way, we’re here and we’re meeting, so hi!”