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Authors: Deston Munden

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BOOK: Dusk Territories: Always Burning
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Grimly, he wiped the blood using his forearm until the surface was clean. Brown chips sprinkled to the floor, residue of the liquid. Before long, he was staring at the light blue map behind a scratched plane of glass. Yet the victory was premature with the soon defeat of meeting himself in the glass for the first time
. “Oh shit!” He danced back, horrified.

What looked back at him was a twisted visage of his reflection. Lifeless white eyes stared back, socket sunken deep into his skull. His skin, once tan and covered in sunburns, was now slightly purple and peeling off of his body. The black hair left on his head was still cropped somewhat neatly, but appeared wild in this new condition. Parts of his jaw were torn off, revealing throbbing muscles that leaked blood painlessly. His teeth were decayed and yellow, even a few missing in the back.

He was dead! Graham shook his head madly. “Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated to himself. That was him in the reflection. Alive, but some sort of undead. And how that hell did that happen?

All attempts to be cool-headed left him. He slumped himself against the wall, wide-eyed. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of his hand. They were in the same condition, decayed, even a bone poking out of his index. Foolish judgment tempted him to roll up his pants legs. They were in far worse condition, basically stripped to the bone—knee caps to fibula. No wonder he felt no pain from them earlier…even if they were remarkably intact.

The corporal bit his lower lip, curling his knees to his chest. “This is mess up.” He had to think.

This was bad. He knew that. Nothing could have ever gotten him through this. His memories were jammed. All
the people he knew were probably dead. He had no clue what was going on outside. His body was dead, but his mind and
spirit moved it ever the same.

Maybe I should just off myself. Just get it over with.

He touched the barrel of his rifle. He could end it, a rain of bullet into his gullet or the head. But, would it be enough? Would he just live on like some monster and lose his freewill in the process? No. He couldn’t do it. His pride wouldn’t allow him; his honor would want him to fight. Whatever was happening, it wouldn’t take him. Not like this.

Cursing his moment of weakness, Graham stood up. Yes. Any man would have reacted like that, but few would have decided against it. He was still breathing—though he wasn’t sure if it was a necessity anymore. It’s better than being dead, completely dead. He needed to get himself together; the base won’t be forgiving for long.

Pacing back to the map, trying his best to ignore the reflection, he glared at the map. He traced his finger against the glass, mapping out the area slowly in his brain. There was an escape, not too far from him. Maybe if he hadn’t freaked out, rightfully as it was to do so, he would have been out of here by now. “Alright,” Graham said swallowing hard.
Do I really sound like my voice have gone through a grinder
?
He ignored the free floating thought. “The next fork I meet, take a right. Then keep going, until I see another left. If that’s blocked…I’ll make it back here.”

Plan stitched in his brain, he continued onward. Of course, the negative thoughts still lingered as well. He hadn’t removed himself of them, but placed them on a top shelf out of his reach. But like a child going for a jar of cookies, his mental fingers still grazed the thought once and a while. It made running through a dark corridor, that may be filled with hostile, that much worse.
      
Alternatively, he tried to focus. In a faded memory, Graham had remembered a teaching. Ken Yamashiro, the sniper in David’s group, had called it “Mushin”. Mushin was the focus, the flow, in or out of combat that allowed you to free yourself of thoughts. Anger, fear, ego…all could be gone if you centered yourself long enough. Before, it may have been instinctive to Graham. Now, it was a struggle.

But he slowly made it work. No longer did he focus on his conflicting thoughts or his condition. The surroundings became clearer, almost pristine. He felt the air around his body as he ran. His lungs didn’t burn, feet didn’t tire. He just ran, ran as fast as he could. It was liberating, releasing those venomous thoughts. Only focus. That’s what he needed.

His mind continually flashed the map in his head; he could remember landmarks from it. The janitor closet was going to be to his left. A few clicks more, he saw it. A utility room was going to be to his right. And again, he was met with such. “A few more and you will be seeing the first right.” With an abrupt stop, he met the fork in the road. “Right,” he told himself, and pivoted his body for the new change in direction.

This hallway was a bit different, wider than the previous one. There had been a large set of double doors that separated the two. However, he soon found himself jumping over those. They were torn clean off their hinges. He looked back, concerned. “What did that?” Ultimately, he decided that he did NOT want to deal with whatever did that. “Focus, David,” he growled.

He wheeled around the next corner, hastily. The next left would be to the nearest exit, and then…

What was that?

Graham slowed himself to a jog, then to a stride, and finally to a halt. He lowered himself down, eyes peering in the darkness. There were shadows, human shaped ones painted against the concrete walls near the exit. If it wasn’t for the light—or rather that his eyes could see better in the dark now—he wouldn’t have saw it.
They could be hostiles
.
He pulled the automatic rifle from his back. If so, he would have to be ready.

He held his breath.

Huh,
he thought,
I don’t need to actually breathe
.
Being a human being for…well all of his life, it was a habit. But whatever this was didn’t need air. Or at least, minimums amount of it. That scared him. But, oddly it invigorated him as well. At least it would get him through a battle if he needed to. He clutched the black, metal gun in his hands. Training told him to keep crouching and walk slowly. Caution. This needed caution.

The corner of the last left hand turn near the exit had given him ample cover. Graham knew whatever was in the hallway probably couldn’t see him. His eyes wandered, peeking around the bend. He kept the gun near his chest. It wasn’t wise to make decisions with his trigger finger rather than his mind. So, he waited and listened, keeping true to his better discipline.
Chatter soon drifted in the building

“Do you think that we will find anythin’ here? I mean, places like these are dangerous in these times,” the first voice, a deep male said.

“I’m not sure, but Drifter asked us to check the surroundings. It seems clear for the most part,” a woman answered. She paused for a second. “Do you really think it is wise for us to go anywhere near this base? There could be something—well anything really—in here that could probably kill us before we had the chance. Just look at the place.”

The man seemed to have no answer. He lit a cigarette in response, its glow lighting up the shadows. “I don’t know. The crazy old coot always seems to be right, even though…” The man trailed off. “I’m not even sure if he’s awake half of the time, you know.”

“Never stopped him from killin’ men,” the woman responded. She grabbed the cigarette from the man’s fingers, and put it to her mouth instead. From his shadow, he had nothing more than a shrug as a response, lighting another.

“He wouldn’t have sent the great Crisium to accompany me on a weapon run.” The man looked to her. She blew smoke in his face. “He wouldn’t have sent one of his best mutants for this job,” he said, swatting the smoke away.

Crisium laughed. “At least he didn’t send Wood with you, Tyrus.”

“Hell if I would have went if he had,” Tyrus grumbled.

“Scared, Ty?”

“Don’t act like he doesn’t freak you out too, Cris
. A man isn’t supposed to be that skin—“

Crisium stopped his ramble with a flick of her hand. She took another drag of the small cigarette, stepping forward. For the first time, Graham saw her eyes. They shone yellow in the darkness, like reflecting light some sort of animal. Her movements were smooth and instinctive. She put one foot in front of the other, moving in a rhythm that mimicked even the most graceful beast. She smiled, throwing the cigarette to the ground. “I saw something.”

Graham gritted his teeth.
No way.

The young woman, white as snow, continued forward. Her dark hair tumbled down her back, fanning out around her waist. She was unarmed, but looked dangerous. She pressed her fingers against her lips, tongue dancing behind it. The smile never left, instead it intensified the closer she got to the corner. Graham knew then, somehow and someway, she had seen him. He clicked off the safety, preparing for a battle.

“What did you see, Cris!” Tyrus called out. She ignored him.

Graham knew then that he had to act, and had to act
now
.
All it took was one spray. Bullets could end the battle before it even started. He wheeled around the corner, and fired.

The automatic rifle sputtered several rounds, sparks flying from the muzzle. They soared towards the woman in incredible speeds, tearing through darkness and concrete alike. Somehow, she managed to react in time, dancing away with some inhuman reaction time. She kept behind a stone pillar, giving a bit of a snarl. “What do we have here?” she cried out. “Another bandit? Another lost soul.” Crisium tipped her head from the side of the pillar, receiving another impulsive shower of metal. Again, she barely avoided the bullets, her black hair grazed by them. “What’s your name, hun? Can ya speak?”

Graham growled in turn. “Corporal David Graham, and I’m far from the bandits here.”

“Corporal, like Marine Corporal…” He could tell that she was oddly amused by this junction. “Name’s Marie Lache, but you can call me, Crisium, honey. Everyone does. How long have ya been held up here?”

“Cris! He has probably been here ever since the world lost it. Just off him!” Tyrus shouted from the entrance.

“No, no! That would be a waste of talent.” Crisium walked around the corner, hands up. Her thick soled boots echoed in the air. “David, was it? I’m not here to fight. This is only a means of survival, nowadays. You should know that.”

“What do you mean by, ‘I should know that?’”

“How else would you have survived, sweetie?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Graham turned himself completely around the corner now, gun poised at the woman approaching him.

She stopped her approach, shocked. The look in her eyes flickered from amusement to confusion. Crisium cocked her head to the side, much like a canine. “What are you?” Her voice whispered those words twice after she had said it aloud. “What—“she crossed her arms, fairly unaware of the barrel pointed at her. “You’re a new one.” She looked over her shoulder. “Ty! You have to come see this man! He—“She struggled with the words. “He’s…he’s some undead mutant.” She cocked her eyebrow.

Tyrus, a larger dark skinned man, shuffled ahead. In his hand was a pump action shotgun, most likely a Spas model. He pointed it towards Graham as well, beads of sweat dancing and dripping from his dreadlocked head. His brown eyes widened much the same way that Crisium’s did, probably even larger. “What the—“ Tyrus pumped the shotgun. Graham pointed his gun as a response.

“No fightin’,” Crisium said. She narrowed her eyes, almost closing them. “What are you, Graham?”

“Hell if I know, I just woke up like this…” Graham, cornered and a little angry despite his calm demeanor, waved the gun between the two targets. “I have
no clue
what is going on.”

“We don’t either,” Crisium admitted. “But, you seem…” she pressed her hand against Graham’s gun, “in the right mind for the most part.”

Tyrus gave a raised eyebrow. “Well, he hasn’t shot us yet.”

“Ty. I’m thinking…the Drifter might wanna see this.”

Graham held his gun harder, despite Crisium pressing down her weight on it. “I can’t trust you. My men are dead. This base is gone, and you expect…”

“I don’t expect anythin’,” Crisium interrupted. “What I am askin’ is do you want to come back with us for you can find out what’s goin’ on?”

Silence crept into the conversation. Tyrus snuck panicked glances at Crisium. Crisium didn’t return them. Instead, she kept her eyes on the ghoul of a Marine standing in front of her. She smiled. “You get outta here and on your way without no bloodshed, and we won’t have to deal with a zombie with military training. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

Graham lowered his gun. She had a point, the less bloodshed, the better in a situation like this. For now, they seemed to be trust worthy.

Tyrus must have made the same decision. He lowered his gun in turn.

“Alright, I just want to get out of here,” Graham said, exhaling.

“How ‘bout this? You seemed to have a gun, ammo, and some equipment,” Crisium said, as she quickly took in how armed Graham was. “You tell us where you got those and you get out of here. If you stay just outside here, we will take you
to our boss. Or you can just bail and pretend we never saw each other.” She put her hands up in a light hearted gesture.

“If I don’t…” Graham said.

“Then, things might get a bit bloody right now.”

Graham thought about it. In one hand, these people were probably bandits, looting dead corpses and an equally dead military base. But on the other hand, a bloody fight with them after they had been rather cordial would be underhanded and low. He sighed. From the looks of it and the way they talked, they seemed to have a right to scavenge. He sighed. “Alright, I’ll go as long as you don’t shoot me in the back.”

“Tyrus don’t shoot him in the back,” Crisium ordered, grinning.

“Woman,” Tyrus said in a protest, but stopped.

“Just tell us where the goods are, if ya please.”

From memory and honor, Graham told them the locations of the armories. Surprisingly, he could give almost every landmark he saw. At the end, h
e added: “be careful, the place is about to fall apart and you probably don’t have much time to get everything. Get what you can in one trip.”

BOOK: Dusk Territories: Always Burning
4.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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