Necropolis 2

by S. A. Lusher

  There was a moment's pause as the two groups stared at each other, one group clearly uncomprehending the situational evolution. Greg and the others, who unleashed a sudden hailstorm of bullets, quickly mowed them down.

  “Damn,” Greg muttered. “Never stood a chance.”

  “Seal this place off,” Powell said, marching into the bridge.

  Greg and the others moved quickly to cooperate. They secured the two primary entrances to the room and hunted for more, just in case. Powell marched straight up to the captain's seat, which sat on a raised dais in the center of the room, and sat down. He cracked his knuckles. Several moments passed as they all worked. After finding no other ways into or out of the area besides the vents, Greg took to searching the bodies.

  They were woefully under-armed. Most of the techs weren't even packing any heat at all. All he managed to find was a shotgun and a handful of shells. By the time he finished loading up, Powell finally spoke up.

  “Okay, I think we're secure.”

  The others moved to gather around him.

  “Erebus?” Cage asked.

  “As far as I can tell, he hasn't managed to infiltrate these systems. And now, he won't...at least for the moment. I've isolated us from the rest of the fleet, locked all the systems down, but an AI will always outlast a human being, so whatever we do, we'd better do it fast.”

  “So what is the plan then? You seem to have a better grasp of the situation than I do. I still say we get the hell out of here,” Greg said.

  Powell nodded. “Yes, that is our endgame. We still must build that EMP bomb, now more than ever. Erebus cannot leave this system or survive. I'm going to start looking over these cargo manifests, figure out if we have enough supplies on hand to complete construction. Now, for some bad news, there are Undead onboard in the hangars and cargo bays, and likely out in that main corridor, by now. A few ships came over and apparently most of them were infected. They barely managed to land before loosing their deadly cargo. There's Dark Ops onboard as well, holed up in the engine room. They're staying there, but I don't know how long that will last. For right now, I suggest we make this bridge our base of operations.

  “That means we'll need supplies: food, water, medical equipment, guns, and ammo. A few bedrolls would be nice, too. Luckily, all these things are within walking distance, as the foredecks contain an armory, infirmary, mess hall and living quarters. I suggest you split these jobs up among yourselves and leave me to my work, because this all needs to be done sooner, rather than later.” At that, Powell turned back to his terminal.

  Everyone looked to Greg. “All right, well...who wants to volunteer to stay behind and guard Powell, so nothing sneaks up on him and eats him?”

  “I guess I can. I could do with a sit down,” Kyra said.

  “Cage, Campbell, how about you go round up some food, water, and medical supplies? Billings and I will take the armory.”

  There were general murmurs of agreement. They went back out into the antechamber and split up. The armory was on the second floor. Greg and Billings made their way up, trudging heavily up the stairs.

  “Tired,” Billings said with a small laugh. “Don't think I've been so damned tired since Basic. How about you?”

  “Getting there...you ever have any family? Kids?” Greg replied.

  Billings shook his head. “No...there were some girls. I never wanted kids. About a year ago, on Dis, I met this girl. A Marine, another Sergeant. She was beautiful, in that way that tough chicks with muscles are. She had this big tat across her back, angel wings. Hah. Molly was her name. We almost got into a fist fight when he we first met, then, a week later, we were sleeping together. Our relationship was damned antagonistic, but man, the sex was amazing. It went on for three months.” Abruptly, Billings stopped speaking.

  “So...what happened?” Greg asked.

  “I thought we had something special. She didn't. When I tried to push, not only did she break it off, she cheated on me with two other guys in a threesome, just to prove that she didn't belong to anyone, and never would.” Billings was silent for a long moment.

  “Life is shit, Greg...I've managed to build myself a nice little 'tough, cigar-smoking soldier' thing, I know, but...hell, I can't even hold that up, now. I'm sorry, this isn't the right time for this kinda shit. There never is a right time for it, huh?”

  “I guess not,” Greg said after a moment's consideration.

  They came to the armory and opened it up. There was no one inside, but it wasn't as big as Greg would have liked and it was mostly empty. It was less of an armory and more of an extended security station. The first half of the room housed a bank of monitors that were all dead and a large, broad desk with a pair of swivel chairs. Beyond that were rows of gun lockers, most of them already pried open and empty.

  “You check the lockers, I'll check the desk,” Billings said.

  Greg felt like he should say more after Billings' grim speech, but it seemed like there was nothing to say. How the hell do you respond to something like that? He just agreed and moved along the lockers. Almost all of them were open, but in one of the unopened ones, he managed to find another rifle and a stack of magazines for it. After collecting another pair of pistols and a handful of ammo, he returned to the desk.

  “Here,” he said, setting down his shotgun, since Billings only had his pistol. “Take that.”

  “Jackpot,” Billings replied, straightening up from where he'd been rummaging around in desk drawers. He held a pack of cigarettes. Galactic Lites.

  “You want one?” he asked.

  Greg considered it for a moment. He shrugged. “We're all probably going to die anyway, right? Sure, why not.”

  He took one. Billings produced a thin, silver lighter, pulled out two of the long, narrow cigs and lit them both up. He passed one over. Greg took a long pull on it and blew out a formless cloud of blue smoke. He felt a little better.

  “Thanks,” Billings said, taking the shotgun.

  He stood and checked the weapon out. Satisfied, he nodded and led the way back out into the antechamber. Greg followed him out, and froze. A small babble of voices and the sounds of people moving came to his ears. He glanced down and spied a handful of soldiers milling around in the antechamber below them. They hadn't noticed him or Billings, yet. Greg made quick, decisive hand-gestures to Billings, and raised his weapon. As Billings raised his own piece, the door to the infirmary opened.

  Cage and Campbell stepped out. The Dark Ops soldiers froze. They were caught in the crossfire. Greg, Billings, Cage and Campbell all opened fire at once, mowing down the soldiers, who soon became nothing more than twisted metal and chewed up meat.

  Cage glanced up, “I guess we can't count on them to leave us be, huh?”

  Greg shook his head. “Nope. Looks like we're going to have to take care of this ourselves.”

  Chapter 13

  –Bits & Pieces–

  The bridge looked less like a bridge and more like a refugee camp after a particularly brutal assault by an army of mercenary raiders. Greg surveyed the area, looking up from workstation on the second story where he'd set up and laid his personal arsenal out. Powell, still glued to the captain's seat, stared intently into the screen before him, working the keyboard with fluid, dexterous fingers. Cage watched both doors. He'd managed to scavenge a sniper rifle from somewhere. Greg thought it wouldn't be much use inside of a spaceship, but, then again, the corridor down the middle of the vessel was quite a long one.

  Cage was an exceptional shot.

  Campbell and Billings organized the supplies. They'd already rolled out the bedrolls, just in case anyone found time to sleep, and now they set up a makeshift kitchen on one of the abandoned workstations. Kyra had taken up the task of figuring who was where on the ship, and coming up with their plan of attack.

  Greg slipped a fresh magazine into his pistol and secured in its holster. He checked out all the spare mags and then fitted them into their appropriate pockets. One of the soldiers
had had a pack of cigarettes on him and a gunmetal gray lighter with a flip-top on it. The pack was a new brand: Solar Flares. The name was stenciled across the side in bright neon orange and the front featured a stylized sun with a saw-edged flame whipping away from it. He currently puffed on one, and found the taste pleasant.

  “Alright, I've got a rough idea of what to do, gather round, boys,” Kyra called.

  Greg finished up, slapped a fresh magazine into his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He pocketed the cigs and lighter, and then headed down the stairs to the first floor. Everyone but Powell gathered around the workstation where Kyra sat.

  “What's happening?” Billings asked.

  “All of the Dark Ops survivors on the ship have holed up in the engine room. Undead are wandering all over the ship...though there aren't as many of them as we'd original feared. Maybe just a couple dozen.”

  “Wait, do they show up on BioScan?” Greg asked.

  “Yes. They do now. Apparently, one of the many things Dark Ops has been doing with their research was to find a way to make them show up on the scans. Unfortunately, there's still no way to tell the difference. So it could be a couple of dozen zombies or a couple of dozen Berserkers. I think we should clear the ship out, but hit up the engine room first. There are five ways into that compartment. One of them is big, and obvious, the other four are smaller openings that will give you a good view of the area. Obviously, we need to split up, hit all four simultaneously and take them out. Once they're subdued, we preform a sweep and clear out the survivors.” Kyra sat back.

  “You'd make a good Sergeant, I think,” Billings said.

  Kyra laughed grimly. “A bit late for that now, don't you think?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “So, who's going to stay and watch Powell?” Greg asked.

  “Not Campbell,” Billings said.

  “What? Why?” Campbell replied.

  “Because we don't trust you. Not Cage, either, he's too useful for an assault,” Greg said.

  “Thanks,” Cage murmured, though Greg couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

  “I'm not doing it, I did it last time,” Kyra said.

  “Well I can't do it, I'm the protagonist,” Greg said.

  They all stared at him. He shifted uncomfortably. “No one gets it?”

  “I'll do it,” Billings said. “Tired, anyway. Could do with a break.”

  With that, they headed back out into the main corridor.

  * * * * *

  Greg was glad to see there was nothing waiting for them. No Undead, no Dark Ops. He thought about Erebus and his army of hybrids. Simple things for now, but he imagined them getting more lethal and deadly sooner rather than later. Greg focused himself. He'd have to worry about that later. For now, it was just guys in black suits of armor and creatures with pale skin and black veins. He ran over the plan again.

  It was a simple plan, for which Greg was appreciative. Cargo bays were the rooms nearest to the engines, and they provided access to side corridors and maintenance junctions. According to the sensors, neither of the bays nearest the engine room were occupied by anything alive. Kyra and Greg would break right, Cage and Campbell left. From there, they'd sneak to the quartet of openings, synchronize their movements and attack.

  The four of them managed to make it to the end of the corridor without incident. They split up. Greg opened up the cargo bay and peered around. Nothing moved. He led the way into the bay, hurrying along the wall, Kyra watching his back. They found the entrance to the maintenance area and slipped in. The room they came to was stuffed with all manner of large, thin lockers along the walls, each holding tools and equipment and spare parts. As Greg walked past them, he suddenly realized what was so strange about Dark Ops.

  Whenever he'd been anywhere on Dis, excluding Dark Ops' base, the place had always felt lived in. There were scuff marks on the floor, posters slapped up across the walls, everything showed signs of wear and tear, signs of humanity. Back rooms sported graffiti or forgotten, discarded tools and trash. Dark Ops felt too perfect, too precise, even for a ship that had recently been smashed by a missile, and subjected to warfare.

  There was no humanity to the ship. To any of them, really. What did that say about Dark Ops? Greg let the thought go for now. He and Kyra continued down a narrow passageway. Greg stopped a moment later when he reached his door. He gave Kyra a quick kiss and then she was off, heading for a ladder further down that would take her to the second story and her own point of entry. He reported in and waited for the others to do so as well.

  Greg hovered by the door, double-checking that the safety was off and the single-shot function was on.

  “I'm in position,” Cage murmured.

  “Same here, let's go already!” Campbell whispered fervently.

  “Why are you so eager to turn on your old friends?” Greg asked.

  “They aren't my friends. It's a cutthroat kinda place in Dark Ops, you know? You don't get to have friends. Rather lonely, actually.”

  “Oh, my heart is bleeding for you,” Kyra said. “I'm ready.”

  “Go,” Greg said.

  Four doors opened. Greg peered out into a broad, open area where many foldout tables and crates were spread out. Two dozen men and women were hard at work on repairing a variety of broken down, sparking pieces of equipment. Greg zeroed his sights on a faceplate turned his direction, the man behind it just taking notice of him, and took the first shot. It shattered the faceplate and sent the man crashing to the floor.

  More shots rang out. Nearly half of the remaining Dark Ops personnel were put down before they scrambled to cover. Greg kept up the fire, always on the lookout for a good shot. Cage worked miracles, taking shots that seemed impossible. He never missed. Greg leaned out to take another potshot and two bullets punched him in his bulletproof vest. He stumbled back with an explosion of pain across his stomach.

  “Greg, are you okay?” Cage asked.

  “What happened? Greg, what happened?” Kyra sounded panicked.

  “I'm fine,” he managed, coughing. He tried to stand and groaned. “Shit, I think one went through.”

  “Stay down, we're almost done here,” Cage said.

  Greg tried to get up, but he immediately realized that he needed a moment to get his breath back. Instead, he crawled back along the deck, out of the way of the open door, so someone didn't snag a lucky shot on his face or neck. Something wet smeared against his stomach. He realized that one of the bullets really must've gotten through. He reached down and found the bullets, still sticking out a little.

  He grabbed the one that had gone partially through and worked it out. The action sent waves of hot, sick agony up and down his torso. Pulling the bullet out, he brought it up and examined it. It was mostly crunched up, the way bullets did when they buried themselves in armor. The tip was coated with a thick film of blood.

  “Shit,” he muttered, throwing it angrily aside.

  “Done,” Cage said. “Kyra, check on Greg. Campbell, you're with me. We're going to make double sure everyone's dead.”

  “You got it, boss,” Campbell muttered.

  A moment later, Kyra was by his side.

  “Oh, honey...why'd you take it out?” Her eyes held concern.

  “Fucker hurt me,” Greg said angrily. “Was hurting me, anyway. Damn, that hurts.”

  “Yeah, here, let's get this off for now,” Kyra replied.

  With her help, he got the vest off. Kyra pulled his shirt off. She examined the wound for a moment, and then unclasped her field medical kit from her belt.

  “You'll be fine,” she said. “Barely broke the skin.”

  “Hurt like a bitch,” Greg replied.

  “You're just a big baby.”

  “You have amazing bedside manner. Did you know that?”

  Kyra responded by slapping a bandage that had been coated with an anti-coagulant and antiseptic against the wound. Greg groaned loudly. Kyra leaned down and kissed him. She began to pull ba
ck, but he grabbed the back of neck and kept her there, kissing her more. They stayed like that for a long moment.

  “I think you owe me for that,” he said when he let her go.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Oh, indeed.”

  “I might consider that true, but you were complaining a lot for such a small wound.”

  Greg sighed and stood up. He pulled his vest back on.

  “I see. We'll discuss this later. Right now, we need to carry on.”

  They emerged from the maintenance tunnel into the main engine bay. Campbell and Cage were going over the bodies.

  “They were trying to fix the engines,” Campbell said. “Never stood a chance.”

  “I thought there'd be more,” Greg replied.

  “I'm willing to bet most of the hangars are empty. They likely went as back up for the Anubis,” Campbell explained. “We got lucky.”

  “For now,” Cage said. “Everyone here is dead. I've just confirmed it with Powell. He says he's ready for us to start hunting down all the bits and pieces of his bomb.”

  “All right then, let's go.”

  * * * * *

  The squad of survivors gathered back at the bridge. Powell had been busy. He had a stack of infopads beside him, spread out on a small extension of the captain's chair. He glanced up as they gathered around him.

  “There are lists there,” he said. “They're all different, divided up by which cargo bays the parts are in. They're linked to my terminal here, so I'll be updating them. I'm still sorting everything out. The list is incomplete and I'm not even sure where all the parts are right now, but it'd be better to get a head-start rather than standing around.”

  “Can you build this thing by yourself?” Greg asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. It'll take time, a fair amount, but I can build a high-yield EMP.”

  “How do you know all this?” Kyra asked.

  Powell shrugged. “I get bored, look up schematics when I can't sleep. Schematics are easy and they have one for this in the database, anyway.”