“Why?”
“For their amusement maybe. Perhaps this is all nothing but sport to them. But by keeping the universe in a perpetual state of conflict, it might also hinder any potential threats from rising against them. If they remain isolated on their world, they can continue to influence these proxy wars and neutralize any civilizations that grow too powerful.”
Ally did not find any of that comforting as she gazed into the fire. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a really fun person to be around?”
Matt glanced at his daughter and cracked a rueful smirk. Her sarcasm bordered on gallows humor.
With her eyes still on the fire, she returned it. “Sorry.”
Matt’s smile broadened as he looked away. Finally, the ice was starting to thaw.
They sat in silence for another hour, the flames beginning to weaken as dawn approached, the snow taking on a faint glow.
“Tell me, how did you manage to survive all those years alone?” Matt asked her.
She did not answer him.
He saw the reluctance in her eyes but pressed her anyway. “Ally, I want to know what happened to you.”
But her mind was elsewhere. She looked out at the forest, her breath misting. The trees were beginning to take sharper forms through the light. She thought they looked beautiful. She took a deep breath as her eyes returned to tending the fire with her stick. “After Nan and Pops were gone, I was on my own for the first four years.”
“I can only imagine how tough that must have been for you.”
“The Scourge’s transmission rates were extremely aggressive. Completely off the scale. How I managed to avoid infection during those years is beyond me. I lived in absolute squalor. I was a rat, scavenging for anything I could find… then Liam came along one day and found me.’
“He came to Mom and Dad’s farmhouse?”
Ally nodded solemnly. “He was quite a few years older. Handsome, kind, ex-USC - although he was never deployed off-world. After he lost his family to the Scourge, he formed a small Militia with some other locals. They went through each town, searching for survivors, helping anyone they could find, killing off any Afflicted they came across. So, he took me in and trained me. Taught me how to fire a weapon - how to survive without living like an animal.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He saved me. Gave me a reason to live. A reason to fight.”
“Sounds like he was a good man. I’m sorry I never got the chance to meet him.” As Matt continued to watch her, he suddenly felt overcome with a deep, bracing calm. While the innocent little girl he once knew had been replaced with a battle-hardened soldier, he was proud of the woman she had become.
“Yeah. Me too.” Ally stood and began kicking snow onto the fire. “We should move out.”
“Roger that.” Matt stood and joined her, kicking snow onto the dying fire.
Fifteen
By the time Matt and Ally had reached the heart of Breb, much of the town was still bathed in the cold shadow of the Carpathian Mountains. They passed under a moss-crusted archway made of limestone. Naturally formed, it looked to be centuries old. The narrow road that led directly through town was a mix of mud and patchy asphalt, dotted with the occasional heap of livestock dung.
A few old cars and horse-drawn wagons passed them by as townsfolk went about their early-morning business. Aside from some homes and stores still utilizing thatched roofing, a grimy old windmill was the only manmade structure that dominated the skyline. This remote blip of civilization seemed at odds with the twenty-first century. It gave Matt the feel of a Medieval village. In many ways, it still was.
They weaved deeper through the town, garnering suspicious looks from some of the locals, their voices excitedly hushed as they gossiped among themselves. After they passed a young Romanian boy, no older than six or seven, dancing in a bear suit to an old Gypsy man playing his accordion, Matt caught a glimpse of something in the distance.
A tall, hooded figure, moving through the crowd on the opposite side of the street, people stepping out of its way. They did this not out of respect, but fear.
Matt’s eyes struggled to focus as the figure clung to the shadows as if purposely avoiding sunlight. It appeared to be stealthily trailing them from a distance. The way it moved signaled tradecraft.
And then, he saw its face.
Eyes like nail guns, pale and malignant. The black garb it wore revealed glimpses of sinewy tendons clenching over rail-thin muscle. The familiar, sickly grey complexion immediately betrayed its disguise. It was not of this world - an apparition, phasing itself between light and dark.
A Wraith spy.
Matt snatched Ally firmly by the arm and steered her off the main road into a small alleyway between two stores.
“The hell are you doing?” she protested, yanking her arm from his grip.
Eyes still scanning the passing street traffic, Matt pressed himself against the wall. “I think there’s a Wraith on our tail.”
Ally spun her attention to the street. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“How positive?”
“We can’t afford to wait and find out, kind of positive.” From the tone of his voice Ally knew this was serious. As she went to draw her concealed blaster, Matt gently blocked her hand from rising. “Not yet. We need to find somewhere we can lay low for a while. The last thing we want is a gunfight breaking out in the middle of this place.”
“If word gets back to Cromwell—”
“Cromwell already knows we’re here. But right now, we need to hide our scent. Once the sun goes down, we can slip away unnoticed.”
They both turned and hurried to the end of the alleyway, disappearing into another side street, emerging into a small marketplace that was filled with live poultry and fresh goods.
Suspicious eyes tracked them as Matt led the way, burrowing through the crowd of wary locals. Ally kept a brisk pace, trying to look natural, trying to look small. With his pulse racing, Matt’s movement remained calm, yet methodical, mentally cycling through the motions of some exfil procedure he had honed and choreographed in his mind a thousand times before.
When they rounded a corner, Matt saw an old traditional tavern in the distance. Dark and uninviting, cobbled together from brick and wood, it was still a much better option than remaining exposed on the street.
With the possibility of sanctuary only a few feet away, Matt could feel his heart thundering in his chest as they crossed the street, resisting the urge to run, playing it as normal as possible as they entered. Before disappearing inside, he glanced over his shoulder and surveyed the street behind them.
The Wraith spy was nowhere to be seen. For now.
With their backs to the wall, Matt and Ally sat hunched at a wooden pew, nursing glasses of warm beer, nestled in a musty corner of the town’s only pub. This place was a cavernous, rowdy, piss-filled hovel, solely inhabited by local drunks, many shooting them unfriendly looks while mumbling amongst themselves.
Ally took a shallow sip of her drink, trying hard not to grimace at the yeasty bitterness. “God, this stuff tastes horrible.” She kept her eyes fixed on a large table of rough-looking men across the bar – a motley mix of Gypsies, Albanians, and Romanians, their sheepskins, cheap leather, homespun embroidery, and jewelry made from melted coins, cut an exotic profile she was not used to seeing. All of them appeared to be of varying ages, the youngest in his early twenties, the oldest in his sixties. Every few minutes they would turn to them then quickly look away. “We need to find a car,” she said in a taut whisper.
“In good time,” Matt replied, feeling somewhat emasculated sitting near these large, smelly men of the earth. His eyes and nostrils stung from the overbearing stench of nicotine and beer.
“Sooner the better. “We’re getting some nasty looks.”
“That’s because they know we don’t belong here.” Matt took a lazy swig of his beer, his eyes studying the stained-glass panel behind the bar.
It was a depiction of
the Virgin Mary cradling her dead son. A Pieta in blood-colored panels. The vaulted ceiling, along with the dark, nicotine-coated beams and scuffed wooden pews, gave Matt the impression this place was once a small chapel.
Suddenly, Matt and Ally snapped their attention to the huge Romanian man who stormed into the tavern. He was mid-forties. Perhaps slightly younger. The spiky black hair, heavy leather jacket, and even heavier beard gave him a brawny, thuggish look. A few of the nearby men yelled out after him, hollering and cackling. He ignored them all. Instead, he glanced directly at Matt and Ally and headed straight for the bar. The second he reached it, he leaned over to talk to the grizzled bartender.
When Matt saw the bartender’s eyes flick to them, he calmly leaned closer to Ally. “Yeah, we need to leave.”
Ally was already sliding out of the pew. “Way ahead of you.”
As Matt stood, the poor old man they had robbed the previous night suddenly hobbled into the pub, his back hunched over. Matt sighed with defeat. “Ah, crap.”
Eyes squinting, the old man immediately spotted Matt and Ally standing there. He called out after the huge Romanian man. “Asta suntei, asta suntei!” he yelled excitedly.
Everyone in the pub stopped what they were doing and turned to the two strange-looking foreigners. As the huge Romanian man swung around and began lurching menacingly towards them, they slowly backed themselves up against the wall.
Matt leaned closer to his daughter again and spoke as softly as he could. “Whatever happens, no shooting.”
“Why?” she asked, her hand already inconspicuously moving towards the fold of her jacket.
“Because these people are not the enemy. Age and position are still respected here. This old man is probably someone important. Just gotta convince them we’re not here to cause any trouble.”
Ally shot her father an incredulous look. “We’re a little past that, don’t you think?”
“Just let me do the talking.”
The poor old man kept yapping to the rest of the pub while pointing at Matt and Ally accusingly. Although still frail, his tone had shifted from excitement to anger, rising to the point of being shrill. Based on that, Matt was certain he was recounting a more exaggerated and dramatic tale of what happened the night before.
The huge Romanian man now stood before them, a nasty scowl jigsawed unevenly across his granite features. The very presence of foreigners wearing pseudo-military clothes seemed to visibly grate on him. “You are the two scumbags who thought you could come into our town and fuck over my grandfather.” His English was harsh, every word tainted by a thick Romanian accent.
Matt calmly raised his hands in appeasement. “Sir, you must be mistaken. My daughter and I are simply two thirsty tourists passing through your lovely village. We mean no trouble.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Without warning, the huge Romanian man lunged forward and swiped the two glasses off the table. The other patrons recoiled as a tsunami of beer and glass exploded against the wall next to them. Excited babble broke out among them as a maniacal grin slowly formed underneath the huge Romanian man’s beard. He tightened his fists, taking a second to size Matt up. “I did not realize Americans came so cheap in Eastern Europe these days.”
Despite the man’s aggression, Matt remained calm, possessing a tactical patience he had spent years training himself to master. It was then he realized this man’s gripe was about something far more significant than theft. These people were terrified of outsiders for one obvious reason. “You think we work for those hooded men? The men who move silently amongst your people?”
“So, you do know of them,” the huge Romanian man sneered. “The Grey Devils.”
“Hard not to notice, my friend. But I can assure you, we have no connection to them at all.”
“Perhaps not. But you are thieves,” he growled. “For us, this is a matter of dignity. It has always been a matter of dignity. We Romanians have been fucked over by everyone. Romans. Celts. Turks. Persians. And now, we find the Americans are here to take what little we have.”
“Look, we’re not here to cause your people any harm. We’ll just be on our way.”
The huge Romanian stepped closer to Matt, blocking any possibility of him getting past. The gesture was not just for intimidation, it was a prelude to something much worse. “Before I break your jaw, tell me, what else are you doing in Breb, aside from stealing?”
“Looking for the exit,” Ally calmly stated.
The huge Romanian man pivoted to Ally, drilling her with a murderous look. “What did you just say to me, whore?”
Matt closed his eyes and exhaled. Fuck. There it went, his last attempt at avoiding any violence. This was about to go South. He suddenly feared for this man’s life.
Ally’s stony gaze remained fixed on the seething mountain of brawn that was now towering over her. “I said, it might be wise to go and sit down… before you get hurt.”
Out of nowhere, the huge Romanian man ripped out an M9 Beretta from his leather jacket. But before he could even aim the damn thing, Ally had already disarmed him with a powerful thrust, snapping his wrist while simultaneously snatching the weapon from his grip. He yelped from the bolt of pain, then tried to swing a haymaker with his other fist. Ally acted on it, almost like it was an afterthought. She pistol-whipped him across the jaw, then drove her open palm into his nose like a piston. Blood erupted as he began to sway like an ancient tree about to topple.
Ally decided to finish it. She was all motion, vaulting a nearby table to launch a bone-crushing sidekick into the huge man’s jaw. He was already unconscious by the time he plowed headfirst into the base of the wooden pew.
Matt stood there in stunned silence. So did the rest of the pub. It all happened so quickly.
Ally ejected the Beretta’s magazine and then disassembled the entire weapon in a few lightning-quick moves, tossing the receiver, along with the slide and barrel assembly onto the bar. She then turned and caught Matt’s bewildered look. “What? You said no guns.”
When the poor old man scrambled out the entrance in a panic, Matt turned to the stunned onlookers. It was so quiet you could hear a mouse blink.
Sixteen
Matt and Ally walked swiftly out of the tavern, trying to look as nondescript as humanly possible. They had no idea which way the town exit was, but they needed to reach it. They began scanning the street for a vehicle they could acquire. They had no doubt the Wraith spy would be back on their tail any second, if not already. Matt was turning his head back-and-forth like a sentry turret to ensure they weren’t being pursued.
“There!” Ally said upon spotting a small Fiat 500 being reverse parked by a local man.
When several angry patrons staggered out from the tavern, yelling after them, that swift walk turned into a full-tilt run. Hearing all the commotion, people in the street stopped to watch Matt and Ally take off towards the car.
The second they reached it; Matt drew his blaster as the unaware man climbed out of his vehicle. Shock and confusion drained the color from his face when he saw the sleek-looking weapon aimed directly at him. He immediately understood what was happening and raised his hands. “Nu trage, nu trage!” he pleaded. “Don’t shoot!”
“Out!” Matt screamed at the fear-stricken local, snatching him by the collar and wrenching him forward. He motioned to the keys the man was holding in his jittery hands. “Keys! Give me the keys!” The terrified man tossed them to Matt, retracting his arm as if he’d just hand-fed an alligator some raw meat.
Seeing Ally move to him, he raised his hands higher and started whimpering. She shoved him out of her way as Matt climbed in and kicked over the engine. It spluttered to life with a sound that indicated it could die at any moment. Not a good sign, because Ally could now see a black SUV hammering down the street towards them. “Um... I think it’s them.”
Matt revved the engine more, spotting the sinister-looking vehicle gaining on them. “Yup, that’s them. Seat belt, please.” Ally jumped
in and buckled her seatbelt as Matt threw the car into gear and stomped the accelerator.
The car owner was now yelling at them angrily as more locals descended on the scene to watch the carnage. Most of them had never witnessed a real carjacking before. This was the most excitement the streets of Breb had most likely seen since the height of World War II.
The tiny alloy wheels vomited muddy snow as Matt slid onto the road and floored it. Some locals who were crossing the street were forced to leap out of the way as the car sped off.
Ally nervously swiveled in her seat to see a Wraith operative leaning out of the passenger side window of the SUV, dressed in what appeared to be black fatigues, carefully aiming a Reaper-rifle at them. “Get down!” she screamed as the back and front windshields simultaneously exploded with a deafening boom. A bolt of plasma lanced the vehicle, almost splitting it in half. Another inch or two either way and one of them would have been directly hit.
“Hooo, shit!” Matt screamed, the wind now cutting his eyes. “You OK?”
“Yeah!” Ally screamed in return, frantically brushing away bits of laminated glass from her jacket collar, the wind now whistling through the exposed car. Matt ripped the wheel hard again as another rail of plasma cleaved the air. She grunted with annoyance as the car spun sideways into another narrow street, gravity tossing her shoulder-first into her door.
The car blasted along the street, mounting a patchy sidewalk before sharply veering back onto the road, fishtailing until Matt regained control of the wheel. He began to purposely swerve to break the gunman’s line of sight until the car shot up a curving hill. When they reached the top, they were presented with two choices: left, or right.
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