Krillaz

by Morris Kenyon

CHAPTER 6: WE INVESTIGATE THE LIGHT.

   

  After a session of augmented sleep – not wanting nightmares, I switched off my Dreamcaster mode and I guess everyone else did the same – we loaded up and rolled out after a hasty breakfast. I think we were all on edge after the Krilla's savage attack of yesterday.

  Kham checked the probable location of the still flashing signal on his GPS and decided that it came from City Hall. That was one of Bas-Hinna's tallest buildings and would be an obvious landmark. We drove onto and down the main drag again. The storm-battered, crumbling buildings now choked by bryophytes filled us with gloom. Well, they did me and Clemency anyway.

  She sat next to me on the bench seat with her helmet off. Her body was slumped forwards, her hands between her knees. Her ash-blonde hair fell around her face and I was so tempted to sweep it back and kiss her lips. I wondered what they would taste like. I no longer thought of her as a grade-A ball-breaker but a woman who was less than happy with the situation she found herself in – I guess that she'd lost whatever taste for slaughtering vermin she had originally come with.

  "You feeling alright?" I asked.

  She glanced up. Çrámerr had grabbed the turret seat and was swivelling about taking no notice of us.

  "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm not sure this is worth it. I don't know what nearly getting killed is supposed to teach us about better management techniques."

  Opposite, Hari Thalami nodded warily. Only the 110% loyal corporate man, Geroge NcDona stuck up for the trip. "It will show how we cope with fear, demonstrate our ability to handle crisis situations. After this, anything the boardroom throws at us will seem easy."

  We looked at him. Nobody needed telepathic implants – which I hate – to know what the other two thought of that little speech. We passed a cemetery and the small, stone gravestones also smothered by bryophytes did nothing to lift the atmosphere.

  "Yee-Haa!" yelled Çrámerr from up in the turret. He loosed off several shots. "Got 'em!" He'd blasted a little Krilla group scavenging through the bone-yard. He leaned down into the main compartment, his handsome face grinning with delight.

  "Hey, I wonder if anyone in that graveyard ever thought about cloning? Did I ever tell you that's one of the perks when you get to my level – Economou pays for a clone? Nice little extra. So while I'm having fun with you guys, my clone's hard at work in the office. Hope he's behaving himself!" Çrámerr laughed before swinging back up into the turret. "I've got another spare – just in case. It's key to be buttoned-down at all times."

  I looked at Clemency, eyes open with horror. There's another Çrámerr out there in the universe? Possibly two? One is too many.

  The Steg slowed to a crawl. Peering out, I saw we had reached a cracked parking lot outside City Hall. Faded signs directed the various users to the right place. We pulled up right outside double-doors that were hanging off their hinges.

  "Make sure you have plenty of ammunition," Çrámerr said unnecessarily.

  Once again, Kham checked the executives' armour. Satisfied, he gave us our instructions. "After the hospital, we're not splitting up. Stick together, nice and tight. The beacon must be on one of the top floors so we'll head there. I'll take point; Vargo tail. Keep your eyes open – and if it gets noisy, take care."

  As with the hospital, the main entrance lobby of City Hall was totally trashed. Bryophytes covered the floor with smaller climbing species trailing over the walls and ceiling. A few paces in, Kham stooped and inspected the floor.

  Çrámerr pushed forwards until he was directly behind the guide. "What is it?"

  Kham stood and showed us several large pellets. "Krilla spoor. Lots of it. Fresh, too."

  "The key is to take all precautions while we deep-dive this place," Çrámerr said to his execs. To be honest, nobody needed to be told that.

  We made our way past what had once been an impressive Italianate marble reception desk and down a wide corridor. In the deep gloom, we all turned on our head-lamps and splashed beams of white light over the water stained walls. We passed a bank of elevators before hitting the stairwell.

  "How many floors are there?" I called out from the back.

  "Seven," Kham called back. "And a basement level, as well. But we needn't go down there."

  Both Clemency and Hari Thalami looked relieved. Owing to their rat ancestry, Krillaz prefer to lair below ground. Kham put his shoulder to the door and shoved. The swollen wood scraped over a tiled floor revealing worn stairs leading up and down. Greasy marks on the walls showed that this was a rat-man thoroughfare.

  Kham made his way up to the first return and poked his weapon – an M-88 Mettallist Hi-Ripper like mine – up the next flight. "It's clear," he called to us. We followed, me keeping an eye on what was happening behind and below us. No way did I want Krillaz sneaking up on us.

  Only Çrámerr didn't seem affected by nerves. Fist-pumping the air, he called, "let's show 'em what Economou's management is capable of!" Only his acolyte, Geroge NcDona raised a cheer.

  In our semi-military formation we carried on up the staircase, Kham pausing to assess any possible threat before carrying on upwards. The man knew what he was doing and no blame can be attached to him for what happened next. These things happen.

  With no warning, lumps of Konkreet hurtled down on us followed by debris from the office blocks – desk plinths, filing cabinets, even a vending machine. The machine – a solidly built piece of steel and glass crashed down on top of Kham. He wore good armour but a quarter tonne machine falling on your head from ten metres has only one effect. It crushed his skull like an eggshell and Kham fell as if pole-axed. The vending machine toppled over, slamming NcDona into the wall. With a cry of shock, Çrámerr leaped out of the way, fetching up against the outer wall.

  More rubble rained down. Now we all heard the shrill tittering laughter of Krillaz from above. Taking advantage of our disarray, Krillaz raced down the stairs. Using their prehensile tails, others swung down from the banisters. A flood of lean, scabrous, greyish bodies, all with their strong hyena jaws gaping wide poured towards us.

  For the first time, Çrámerr didn't come out with some management-speak. Protecting NcDona's body with his own, he crouched and swung his 10mm carbine into position. Another overpowered weapon but at this point, who cares. The gas-powered slugs ripped into the first Krillaz, tearing great holes through their bodies before slamming into those behind.

  "Time to do the coconut shuffle," yelled Çrámerr. Sounded as if he was having fun. He fired again and again.

  Not bothering to show fearlessness in the face of the enemy, Hari Thalami stepped up to his boss's side, his Gatling PPD at the ready. He aimed his weapon upwards and a hail of razor-sharp plastic flechettes greeted the Krillaz. Blood and guts poured down on us in a gory, red rain as well as dying and dead Krillaz. But there were still plenty of live ones as well.

  The lead rat-men fell on Çrámerr and Thalami, smothering them with their bodies; their strong, fang-filled jaws going for the two men's throats and other vulnerable parts. Thalami screamed. I watched, horrified, as he tried to wrap his finger around his Gatling's trigger – and it was bitten off. He screamed again, a high-pitched shriek of agony that cut through the noise. Another bit into his boot, its terrible jaws crunching into bone.

  Now they had tasted blood, there was no stopping the Krillaz. It was them or us – simple as that. More and more raced down from the upper floors. NcDona groaned and rolled away from the wall. Just as well he wasn't shooting – his Augmented Flux-Blaster was too powerful to deal with those Krillaz swarming over his colleagues. He'd have annihilated them as well as the rat-men.

  With Clemency in the way, I had only a very limited field of fire. Then my helmet's aural enhancers detected sounds coming from behind me. Like scratching on Konkreet. I spun around in less than a nanosecond of time. Not literally, but you get the idea. My mouth flopped open for an instant. Hurrying up the stairs from the basement was another clan of Krillaz. />
  Bringing up the rear, forcing his clan on was a big albino male, his pink eyes glowing in the gloom. The monster carried a length of metal piping. There had been rumours about tool-using Krillaz – although the scientists safe back in their labs said that was impossible. He also wore the remnants of some poor person's bullet-proof vest. How the monster had worked out how to put it on beats me. Beside him, a younger albino – his son? I thought – had a matching helmet perched on his misshapen skull. Still another held a tube-like Bassoonka, but the weapon was all bent out of shape and was carried like a cudgel. The rest were in front, jaws agape, ready to bite and rend.

  My finger slipped within the trigger guard and I squeezed. Immediately, shards from my Mettallist Hi-Ripper tore into the scurrying rat-men. Now they'd lost the element of surprise, the Krillaz had nothing to lose and raced up the stairs, arms outstretched to grab us into their bone-crunching jaws.

  We were caught in a classic pincer movement. How had they worked that one out? Or was it just bad chance? But I didn't have time to think – I guess none of us did – merely react to what was going down now. The lead Krillaz – a couple of darker females, I think – went down under my Hi-Ripper's deadly hailstorm of death. They fell a couple of metres from me in lakes of dark, red blood and then the rest trampled over their still twitching bodies, so desperate was their need for fresh meat.

  Taking a step back, I lifted the Hi-Ripper, aimed it at the face of a pale juvenile – not albino but its patchy fur wasn't far different in colour. It wasn't a pretty sight after my rapidly gyrating shards virtually decapitated it. Even above the roar of battle, I heard a howl of rage and agony coming from that big albino at the back. Had I killed his son? I hoped so.

  The headless rat-man collapsed at my feet, I kicked its corpse away and aimed at the one following it. Then still another, with more smarts than the rest dived for my booted feet, knocking me off balance. Still firing, the Hi-Ripper's shards went wildly into the ceiling and plaster dust swirled down.

  Following its pack-buddy's lead, another Krilla took me down by the knees. These Krillaz weren't stupid – cunning and viciousness defines them. Even their rat-like brains knew they would be killed by our weapons unless they got up close and personal with us and used their numbers and jaws to overwhelm us.

  Desperately, I tried to recall who was on their feet where they were. Kham, I reckoned was dead – or at least hors de combat – and I couldn't hear the methodical boom-boom of Geroge NcDona's Augmented Flux-Blaster. That was bad news. My enhanced vision saw Clemency L'Alleyn's Bassoonka firing at the horde of Krillaz coming down the stairs. Likewise Çrámerr's 10mm carbine.

  A big Krilla pinned down my firing arm and then tried to chew off my wrist. Another joined it, then another. The three started squabbling among themselves, their high-pitched chittering grating on my ears.

  "Help!" I screamed over the comms-link. "Now!"

  There was a deafening bang just by my ear-piece. Clemency's long-barrelled Bassoonka poked down and blew a huge hole in the monstrosity chomping on my wrist. It flew backwards – looking less hi-manoid and more like a charred steak. She moved the barrel a few centimetres and a second Krilla shot backwards, smashing into its fellows.

  My arm freed from their weight, I jerked free, ripped my trusty diamond knife free and skewered another. Blood drenched my combat trousers but an instant later I was on my feet. I flexed my arm and sent a spray of metal shards into the bodies of those still advancing up the stairs. They faltered, their albino leader holding them back, regrouping them. I fired at him but sensing my intention the rat-man dropped to the floor and my shards caught a scrawny, pallid Krilla in the chest.

  More and more Krillaz poured up the stairs, their evil eyes staring at us with hatred. Even with our advanced weaponry there was no way our little group could make it through that horde. I glanced over my shoulder at the Krillaz above us.

  Çrámerr's 10mm, Clemency's Bassoonka and Hari Thalami's Gatling PPD had made short work of them. Many of the Krillaz were dead or dying, their final cries and squeaks as they fought oblivion hateful to our ears. However, the rest's blood-lust was still working overtime. They wanted meat – fresh and dripping with blood.

  Then disaster struck. Because of his injury, Hari Thalami was having trouble reloading his Gatling – like I said earlier, it's a very effective close-combat weapon but heavy on ammunition. Partly covered by Çrámerr he was struggling to pull another cylinder from out his battle-vest's pocket. His dark face – and I remember it well – was a rictus grin of pain and terror. This was not what he'd signed on for but I admired his courage.

  An injured blackish Krilla, its legs and torso covered in a multitude of wounds, reached down. Maybe sensing Thalami's fear, the rat-man dived for Thalami's waist, wrapping its forelimbs about him. Then with one superhi-man – or super-Krilla? – twist and flick, still clinging on for grim death, it hurled him over the banister railing following him down the stairwell's central void into the waiting horde of rat-men below.

  The man had no chance. There was a dull thud as hi-man and rat-man hit the Konkreet floor and then all the other Krillaz below fell on them. It was like watching the sea boil. There was one short scream, abruptly cut off.

  We all paled. They did and I know I must have done. I felt sick, physically sick and it was all I could do to hold my breakfast rations down. Mentally, I shook myself. This was no good. At this rate the monsters would get to devour us all.

  Glancing downstairs, it was obvious we weren't getting out that way. Looking up, over Çrámerr's shoulder, I saw the smaller group of Krillaz still fighting. A burst of fire from the 10mm and Clemency's Bassoonka took out another couple and then the rest turned tail and fled – literally – this time.

  "Up... up!" I shouted over the comms-link, pointing for added emphasis.

  "What about Kham?" said Clemency.

  "We can't take his body – not and save ourselves. Leave it – it might delay them," I called back.

  "We're not on the same page here," Çrámerr butted in. "We can't just leave him."

  "You carry the dead weight if you want," I said, responding in similar management-speak. "It'll only slow us down."

  Even with Thalami's body – and their dead friends – to satisfy them, the Krillaz below were now advancing up the stairs. Realising he was flogging a dead horse, as the saying goes, Çrámerr hurried upstairs to the next return and took up a firing stance. The few Krillaz braver than the rest turned and fled along various corridors leading off the staircase.

  Supporting Geroge NcDona, who had gone worryingly pale, with sweat pouring down his face, we made our way up to the top floor. Now Clemency took rearguard. "Don't want to hurry you, but...," she said. She didn't have to say anything. Evil scratching and high-pitched sniggering followed us.

  The Krillaz were in hot pursuit.