The Gristle & Bone Series (Book 1): The Flayed & The Dying

by Roach, Aaron

  The once-Burome strolled purposefully across the clearing towards the bowed enemy, exuding false confidence so that the opposing horde would not sense its disorientation at its lack of control. As it drew closer, the once-Burome became aware of something amiss about the submissive alpha on the ground, as if its concentration was not on its approaching superior, but rather on the horde at its back.

  Then, as the once-Burome came within striking distance, the enemy launched itself forward, stabbing its great ibex horns up through the once-Burome’s ribcage and lifting it up off the ground. The once-Burome cried out in rage at the surprise attack and sent its mind out to its war chiefs even as it was slammed hard against a tree.

  Dishonor! Trickery! Kill!

  But the enemy had used the surprise attack to also launch a mental assault on the once-Burome’s hivemind, and the once-Burome felt barriers being built around its center. Around It. The once-Burome’s orders simply echoed off the barriers and fell away, unheard, into a dark abyss. Behind it, the once-Burome sensed its horde, the Others and its massive swarm of seedlings, doing nothing. Immobile, they simply watched and waited.

  The once-Burome was alone.

  The once-Burome was losing.

  Weak.

  The once-Burome turned its focus to survival. The enemy’s horns had come up through the rungs of its ribs, locking it in place against the tree’s trunk. Pinned there, the enemy had the advantage and the once-Burome could do nothing but slam its clubbed fists down onto the enemy’s skull. The enemy was unyielding, taking the blows in stride and returning the strikes by stabbing into the once-Burome’s body with pronged forearms, ripping away sinew and fragments of fossilized calcium.

  ... It’s okay, Daddy. We’re going to be okay...

  Inside the once-Burome’s mind, the enemy squealed at the sudden intrusion of the memory of the girl. Sensing the enemy’s vulnerability, the once-Burome brought the memory back through the void, unleashing her.

  It's today right, Dad? Right?

  How do you spell 'eggstinkt?'

  Daddy, where’s Mom?

  The once-Burome felt the enemy retreat from its mind and the walls blocking it off from its horde begin to fall away. It felt the thoughts of its Others, its war chiefs and seedlings, flow into him like rain flooding a dried-up riverbed.

  The once-Burome snarled in satisfaction.

  War!

  Gabe and the others had trudged through the forest all day, covered in mud and grime on their hunt to kill Ibex-Face, but not encountering anything. They had been about to turn back, their mission a failure, when they heard the roaring clash of skeletals nearby. The sounds had the men scurrying up the closest trees to gain a better view.

  Now they watched through binoculars and rifle scopes as giant monsters battled for supremacy in a clearing less than a quarter mile away. They saw a skeletal they hadn’t seen before, one the size of a small building with great elk-like antlers fighting the truck-sized Ibex-Face. Despite its larger size, the newcomer was losing. Ibex-Face had the challenger pinned against a tree with its massive horns, and was skewering the beast’s body with its speared arms. Then, as those two battled, the clearing was suddenly filled with charging skeletals who ran at each other like medieval armies of old. The collision of skulls and skeletons sounded off like artillery fire, which carried over to the watchers looking on in confused awe.

  “Psst,” sounded Gabe to the others in the branches around him. He pointed to Ibex-Face and the Elk-Horns pinned against the tree. “This is our chance. Those alphas are stuck there, for now. Aim for the heads. We’ll take them both out at the same time.”

  Though the once-Burome could feel its horde winning the battle through sheer numbers, it could do nothing against its powerful enemy who held it immobilized with its battle horns against the tree. The once-Burome could not call on its Others to come to its aid; they wouldn’t come even if it tried. This was a battle between alphas, to be won by one and only one.

  As it began to die, the once-Burome once again felt its control over the horde beginning to slip,f with handfuls of others breaking their mental bonds to retreat from the battle. It let them go, its concentration focused solely on defeating the enemy. It summoned the last of its energy to bring its clubbed fists high, but before it could bring them slamming down, the enemy’s skull was suddenly jerked sideways by an outside force.

  Gunfire.

  Unchanged.

  An instant later, the once-Burome felt its own face being peppered. But its skull was thicker, and more durable than its enemy’s. Instinctively, the enemy pulled back, ripping its horns out from the once-Burome’s ribs and freeing it from the tree. The enemy stumbled back, swatting at the bullets that assaulted its face like bothersome flies.

  The once-Burome ignored the gunfire thudding into the side of its own head and used the opportunity to charge its disoriented opponent. It ducked low, scooping the enemy up with its antlers and tossing it high into the air. As the enemy started to plummet back to earth, the once-Burome stood fully erect and caught it atop the pointed ends of its horns. Before the enemy could free itself, the once-Burome reached up and grabbed the enemy around the midsection. It yanked hard, pulling the enemy’s spine down through its horns and splitting it in half.

  The enemy died there, in two pieces, splayed out upon the once-Burome’s antlered crown.

  The once-Burome bellowed its victory and the battling others immediately stopped their combat. The once-Burome opened its mind and felt the enemy’s horde flooding into its mind-web, their hundreds adding to its thousands. It felt their primal thoughts, their hunger, and knowledge. As its mind grew outwards, the once-Burome became aware of further hunting grounds, beyond the mountains and forests, to an encampment of unchanged to the north.

  Where three seedlings had found the memory of a girl.

  And the Foul One.

  -75-

  Sharpe and Maldonado sat and conversed with the shackled Hyres. The infected man did not look good; he was pale and a sheen of sweat covered his face. Though his eyes were half closed and fluttering, he did not seem like he was in pain. Whatever injection Dr. Holloway had given him was doing its job, at least.

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” Francesca asked Thaniel in a low whisper on the other side of the room. They had given the operators some space to say their goodbyes. Thaniel had already said his, with a handshake and an expression of gratitude, before stepping away and letting Sharpe and Maldonado have their own moment with their comrade.

  “I don’t know.” Thaniel answered. “I’ve never sat with a dying man before. What are you supposed to say to someone who is about to experience…that?” He shrugged, unsure of how else to put it.

  Francesca nodded. “Well, despite our current circumstances, I’m glad you guys showed up. You’ve lasted longer than the other two of your teams that were sent up here. We might actually have a chance of getting out of here alive.”

  “I’m no operator,” Thaniel said. “I might be with them, but I’m not with them. I’m not a professional soldier, I mean. I’m just a civilian journalist caught up in events beyond my control.” He paused. “Wait. You know what happened to the other teams?”

  Francesca shrugged, “Kind of.”

  Thaniel pressed on. “We came up here looking for a locator beacon – Sharpe had his hopes on finding the operator that activated it.”

  Francesca looked downward when she spoke, “There’s no one left alive up here but me. Everyone else is either dead or worse. I activated the locator after I found it in that wreck out there.”

  “Ah,” Thaniel said by way of reply, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. It was unfortunate news. With Neto dead and Hyres soon to join him, finding a survivor would have been a win in a day full of losses.

  “What happened to them, the other teams?” came Sharpe’s voice from behind, startling them. The operator’s eyes were red, and his voice was strained.

  “I’m not sure,�
�� Francesca answered. “The first team got here shortly after this whole mess started…when there were more of us alive. They died out there, in the snow, before we could even lay eyes on them. In fact, we didn’t even know they were here until we saw one of them shambling around out there. The next team arrived a few days ago, in that plane wreck. I awoke to the sound of it crashing and opened the door in time to see the survivors getting mauled by the stonemen.”

  Sharpe rubbed at the bridge of his nose in weariness and frustration, then checked his watch. There was less than two hours left before Command sent in the fire. He quickly stifled a small voice in his mind that wished the chief would hurry up and die. “Alright,” he said aloud to drown out the cruel though, “start at the beginning. What happened to Neyra? Where is he?”

  Francesca shrugged. “I haven’t seen Dr. Neyra since I left the lab the day before it all started. All I know is what I heard from the other survivors…some were saying he was the one who caused all this…some form of self-sabotage. I didn’t see, so I don’t know.”

  Thaniel nodded his head in confirmation. He briefly summarized for her the phone call he’d had with Neyra.

  “Did you know him?” Francesca asked, her eyes suspicious.

  “No, and I have no idea why he called me. I thought it was a prank call at first,” he answered.

  “Okay Doc,” Sharpe cut in impatiently, “where were you when it started? What happened to the other survivors?”

  “I was asleep in my room. I woke up to the sounds of screaming coming from the room next to mine and when I ran out to investigate, I saw them in the hallway – the stonemen, skeletals, whatever you call them attacking my colleagues. Up until that point I had only ever seen them on Neyra’s tapes…you know, from when he’d record his experiments? And only once in real life, shackled to that wall there.” She directed her head towards where Hyres was chained.

  “I ran, along with six others, and we barricaded ourselves in one of the labs. I don’t know how long we hid there; it couldn’t have been more than a day or two, but it was a terrible location to take refuge. Lots of windows and cold at night. The only reason we made it that long was because we kept our mouths shut.

  “That’s where we were when we saw the first of your teams’ guys. They were definitely military and no one we recognized from the facility. They were wandering around out there in the snow, gaping at the sky, their moans audible even from where we watched inside the lab. One of them had a bloody wound in his neck. It was deep, through an artery, and fatal. But there he was, walking around clear as day.

  “Dr. Kattar, who had been one of Neyra’s assistants, explained to us what the men had become. What you call ‘groaners,’ he called ‘drones.’ He’s how I know, or suspect, what will happen to your friend Hyres over there,” she said in an apologetic half-whisper.

  “So, what happened? How are you the only one left?” asked Thaniel.

  Francesca smiled bitterly. “Well, after we saw the dead military guys, a few us made a plan to try and get to the communications building, to see if they could get hold of Command and let them know their rescue attempt had failed. Some of the others disagreed with the plan, they didn’t want to risk leaving the lab, and said as much. An argument ensued and it grew loud enough to attract unwanted attention. The dead came bursting through the windows as soon as the first voice was raised.

  “I was the only one that made it out of the fighting alive. I broke away from the group and ran to a nearby building, the detention center where Neyra kept his would-be test subjects. There’s a tunnel there, underground, that leads to…well, here.” She nodded to the barricaded door with the bar across it. “This was Neyra’s testing room. He would use the tunnel to transport his victims from the detention center to here without risk of revealing them to satellite imagery. ‘You never know who’s watching,’ he used to say. The mad bastard.”

  “You used human test subjects?” Thaniel asked with a mixture of anger and disgust.

  “Not me,” she snapped. “Neyra. And yes. Every few weeks Command would send a ship up here with supplies – food, magazines, toiletries, things like that…and human cargo. There were people from everywhere; POWs from the Frontier, political enemies of Command, alleged terrorists, refugees from the war, sometimes even children,” she finished softly.

  “Children?” Sharpe muttered bitterly before squinting his eyes at the woman. “What exactly was your role in all this, Doc?” he demanded.

  Francesca jerked her head towards him. “I’m a medical doctor, Sharpe, and a damn good one,” she said defensively. “If you want to get specific, I specialize in infectious diseases.

  “I was brought up here under false pretenses; manipulated into the role by Command. I was told I would be helping the local Inuit population after it had been exposed to an unknown pathogen, and that this place had been set up as a quarantine zone. It wasn’t until I arrived here that I learned the truth.

  “What they wanted me to do went against everything I stood for, against the Hippocratic Oath I had taken. But what could I do? Once I discovered what Neyra was doing, there was no way they were letting me off this rock. And when I refused to do the work being asked of me? They simply threatened to put me in with the other test subjects. I had no choice…many of us here didn’t,” she finished.

  “Is there a way to stop it, a cure?” Sharpe asked, though he already suspected he knew the answer.

  “Not that I know of. You would have to check Neyra’s files.”

  “And those would be where?”

  Francesca shrugged. “Most likely in his office.”

  Sharpe nodded. “Okay, then that’s where we go next, once Hyres is…gone.” He turned to check on his teammates. Maldonado was still there, wiping sweat from the delirious Hyres’s brow.

  “That’s not a good idea, Sharpe,” Francesca answered. “Neyra’s office is on the other side of the facility.”

  Sharpe gave her an unyielding look. “Command is planning on bombing this whole damn island off the face of the earth in a less than two hours. We need to get as much information out of here as we can before that happens. All the files, all the records, anything that will help those down south to better understand and fight this infection needs to leave this rock.”

  Francesca let out a low whistle. “They’re planning on bombing the facility?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And you can’t call that off?”

  Sharpe looked at her suspiciously and shook his head, “Why would I do that?”

  Francesca sighed in frustration as she tried to explain something she barely understood. “Look, like I told you, I’m just a medical doctor – a glorified nurse to the poor bastards Neyra chose to be his human test subjects. I was not involved in the actual development of his pathogen, but what I can tell you is what Dr. Kattar and the other researchers talked about while we were holed up in the lab.

  “There’s another lab, as large as a warehouse, on the other side of the facility. That’s where the actual stoneman pathogen was created and where all this started. As I understand it, the pathogen – once fully primed and activated – gets stored in three pressurized vats just waiting to be released. Had all three been emptied… well, things would have been a lot more catastrophic. The fact that we are standing here, breathing and talking, suggests that only a partial amount of the total pathogen compound has been released.”

  “How is that a problem?” demanded Sharpe.

  “Yeah, and how could things be more catastrophic than what they already are?” added Thaniel.

  “Look, you have to remember that this whole project started out as a means to create super-soldiers, which means Command wanted control. Control over who was infected, control over who would join the ranks, control over its undead army. Control.” she repeated. “Despite being contracted to do so, Neyra wasn’t the type of man who relished the idea of handing control of his work to anybody. So, he set about trying to find a way around that. Yo
u know what can’t be controlled? The weather. That’s where Neyra found his backdoor – in the sky. He figured out a way to make his virus hydro-borne, passed through water. Now, have any of you had a drink of water since this started? Taken a shower? Yes?”

  They nodded.

  “And yet here you are, alive and well. If all three of the vats had gone off together, as they had been designed to do, almost everybody – I’m talking at least eighty percent of the human population – would be dead right now, turned into those things. They would have been infected not only by the rain, but by the water they drank, the oceans and rivers they swam in, by the H2O in the food they ate. Anything that has been exposed to, contained, or absorbed water in the weeks since Neyra unleashed his pathogen would be a source of infection. Hell, even a really humid day would spread the pathogen.

  “The fact that primary infection only occurs in the rain – as terrifying as that might be – is a good thing. At least compared to what could have potentially happened.”

  “What about the other twenty percent?” Thaniel asked, remembering his own supposed immunity to the rain.

  “Sorry?”

  “You said eighty percent of the human population would be wiped out. Why not a hundred? What about the other twenty percent?”

  Francesca shrugged, “Does it matter?” She saw the expression on his face, curiosity mixed with desperation. She sighed, relenting, “I’m sorry, Thaniel, I really don’t know. Not without more research into the matter. All I can say is that within any given population, genetic anomalies can be expected. Consider the Jukotard Virus scare from a few years ago. Many who were exposed to the virus died and succumbed within hours. For others, it took days. And then you have the ones who were infected, who still carry and are able transmit the disease, but are themselves unaffected by its symptoms. Then there are entire populations in northern Europe who are completely, inexplicably, immune to the disease. Though its only conjecture, it could be argued that the stoneman pathogen might encounter similar, varying levels of resistance in differing populations. It happens with almost all viral diseases.