Hybrid Saga 01 - Hybrid (62 page)

It struck him immediately. The shots they had all received. All but him. They had been infected. Jarred almost couldn’t believe it. These poor people had been infected with one of the galaxy’s most deadly, horrific viruses, for the delight of the crowd. For sport. And he was now standing among them. He took a careful step back, actually towards the approaching gladiators, and glimpsed one of the infected being’s neck restraints. Its indicator light had changed from green to red. A quick scan of the others showed it was true for all of them. Somehow, they had managed to inject them all with a dormant strain of the virus, as the symptoms of the original were almost immediate, and trigger it on cue with the restraint device.

Jarred’s disgust was outweighed by the urgent necessity to distance himself from the contagious beings. None had made an aggressive movement yet, but he guessed it would only be a matter of time, and very little at that, before the maddening urge to attack took hold. Still aware of the
Exterminators
, who were working to surround the group; of which he was a part; he kept his primary focus on the infected, watching for the first sign of aggression that would, in turn, set the entire group into a violent frenzy. It came in the form of an almost imperceptible twitch in one of their limbs. Eerily, the crowd had gone nearly silent as they waited for the bloodshed to begin, which was the only reason he heard the guttural growl that originated from the same infected being. It then opened its mouth, letting loose an ear piercing wail, before lunging . . . directly for Jarred.

The rest of the
Cursed Hoard
followed suit, as he’d known they would, rushing forward like rabid animals. Only then did Jarred turn away, throwing himself forward at the waiting
Exterminator
he knew had been nearly within striking distance. As the gladiator swung his giant sword-like weapon for a strike that was meant to cleave him clean in half, which he easily ducked, he caught the long hilt of the weapon in one hand and pivoted around to let the much larger being tumble over himself to the ground. Jarred continued his forward momentum, letting it carry him a number of strides forward before turning.

The gladiator was attempting to get to his feet when the first of the infected reached him. He managed to bat the ravenous being away, but a half dozen more were quickly upon him, tearing and clawing at his armor. His grunts of effort soon turned to screams of anguish as his attacker’s began to find flesh through holes his armoring. Once blood had been spilt, the infected pack fell into an uncontrollable frenzy, tearing the screaming gladiator to pieces. Jarred couldn’t say he felt sorry for him. Even if he had, he didn’t have the time. The infected soon began to turn their attention to him and, still dripping with gore from their gladiatorial victim, again they charged.

Jarred brought up the long sword and, grimacing, swept it across the first infected to reach him, severing its head. He didn’t want to kill these poor people, though they hardly resembled that now, but he had been left with little choice. It was kill or be consumed by them, and he had to survive. As he moved through the attacking mob, slashing and cleaving a pathway with the brutal, but effective weapon, he tried not to think about the innocent lives he was extinguishing. Their hearts did still beat within their chests, but every one of them was already dead. The people they had been were gone, lost to the virus. To the madness it invoked. He was releasing them from its venomous hold. He would want the same for himself in their place.

Around him, the remaining five gladiators were busy dissecting their own infected mobs, each bloody strike receiving an approving roar of applause. These warriors were experienced killers, skillfully wielding their chosen weapons to the delight of the crowd, but the infected slaves, driven and bolstered by the poison that flowed through them, were unlike any other opponents they would have most likely ever faced. Vicious and unrelenting, they also lacked any sense of self preservation, the disease degenerating them into unthinking, unfeeling killers. They threw themselves, with complete disregard for what was left of their lives, at the gladiators. While many fell before the hulking warriors, some began to break through, finding openings.

Soon, another
Exterminator
fell, his cries of agony drowned out by the roar of the spectators. It seemed not to matter whether death came to the hero, or the dramatized villains. Their thirst for blood came first, and it was indeed being quenched today on both sides of this field. No doubt, the odd fallen hero only added to the drama of the event. So long as the gladiators were victorious in the end, the crowd would be satisfied.

Jarred kept himself mobile, moving across the arena floor to avoid being cornered or surrounded by any of the larger infected groups, picking off stragglers as he went. The technique seemed to be working, as the majority of the infected were swarming the
Exterminators
, who’s positions and fighting styles had been relatively static. Beginning to become overwhelmed, they had actually begun to alter their failing lone warrior strategies, forming into pairs to fend off their attackers, back to back.

The strategy was only partly successful, serving to merely draw out what was beginning to look like their inevitable downfalls. The two pairs were completely surrounded, and being nearly engulfed by the hoards of infected that were piling atop of one another to get at them. They could only keep up their desperate defenses for so long before . . .

Jarred caught a glimpse of one of the the gladiators rearing back, away from his counterpart, an infected slave firmly attached to him, biting and clawing at his face and neck. The gladiator howled in pain and anger, managing to pry his attacker loose before hurling it into the arena wall, his armored helmet being torn from his head with it. His counterpart batted away his own surrounding attackers, clearing enough space to work his way over to the gladiator who was down on one knee. Gripping his armor, he lifted his counterpart back to his feet, attempting to reestablish their back to back fighting posture. When the injured gladiator turned on his comrade, his face contorted with the same disease fueled rage as the rest of the infected, the still sane warrior hardly had time to recoil in shock. The attack came swiftly, and coupled with the combined swarming of the surrounding infected, the gladiator was quickly consumed by the hoard.

The battle had suddenly tilted quite dramatically, with only Jarred and the two gladiators remaining, and more than half the original number of infected moving in for the kill. With so few subjects left for the infected to take interest in, Jarred could no longer avoid attracting the attention of the larger hoard, though their focus seemed to be moving to thousands that shouted at them from above the twenty foot barrier wall. Some simply screamed back, before returning their attention to targets closer in proximity, but some actually began to attack and claw at the wall, as though they meant to tear it down.

Jarred ducked under another attacker as it leapt at him, arcing his long sword up to cut the being open from chest to stomach, and rolled back to his feet to be met with another charging pair. Leaping straight up himself, he somersaulted over the two, taking one’s head off with a clean sweep before landing behind the third and driving his blade down hard into it.

Returning his attention to the infected swarming the wall, who were now actually climbing atop of one another to get at the oblivious spectators above, he noted most were physically incapable of doing so, even with their virally boosted agility and strength. One of them
was
physically capable though, and Jarred’s eyes fell on the infected Fyoran, a reptilian with retractable claws, that was actually making some progress in scaling the wall.

As little as he should have cared for the well being of the thousands of spectators that were cheering for his demise, he also couldn’t just stand by and watch as one of the contagious killers made it into their midst. If that happened, the infection would spread through the large crowd like a plasma fire. It would be catastrophic, not to mention it would reduce his own chances of survival to the point of nonexistence.

Reaching back, he took aim on the maddened being, and hurled his weapon like a spear. The blade sailed through the air to impale the Fyoran, pinning in to the stone barrier wall where it writhed and screamed before finally going limp.

Jarred felt only a moment’s relief, replaced quickly by regret, as the hoard clawing at the base of the wall turned their combined attention to him, the looming bulk of the infected
Exterminator
most paramount among them. The ex-gladiator’s eyes burned red with a hungry rage that caused Jarred to take an involuntary step back. Another mistake, which he cursed himself for.

The slight movement was all it took and, nearly as one, the hoard charged.

RYZA

The holding level’s control center was easy enough to find. Ethan had marked the location on his positioner after passing over it numerous times a few hours previous. Getting there had taken some time though, crawling back through the air ducts and ceiling crawlspaces, but they needed to go undetected for as long as possible. The mechanical security forces weren’t heavy, but they were still armed, and Ethan and the others weren’t. Running into even one could bring their escape to a screeching halt. The crawlspaces had brought them directly over the control center anyhow.

It wasn’t a large room. It didn’t have to be. A single mech, which now lay in pieces on the floor, thanks to Tarik’s handiwork, had been all that was necessary to monitor the many stations on its own. Now they were at Ethan’s disposal.

The interface was fairly simple and he was able to navigate the system with relative ease, finding the desired controls after a few short moments. “What are you looking for?” Elora asked, from over his shoulder.

“Security controls,” Ethan answered, triumphantly, pointing to the monitor that was displaying a full grid layout of the entire level, including the real time locations of all prisoners
and
mechs. The monitor gave him control of everything from cell door locks and lift access, to restraint device controls. It also allowed him access to the facility’s security response measures.

“Well, what are you doing?” she pressed, as his fingers danced across the controls.

“Creating a diversion,” he replied, absently, focusing on his task.

“What kind of diversion?” Mac asked.

Ethan let out an aggravated sigh. “You too are worse than a couple of kids. I’m triggering a security alert to draw off the mechs.”

“Where?” Elora queried, leaning in closer to see what he was doing.

“In the detention area,” he answered, smirking. “Apparently, you’re attempting to escape your cell.” He watched as various red dots, signifying the security mechs on the monitor, moved towards the detention area. As they passed through the blast door that separated the area from the rest of the holding level, he readied his hand over the marker that represented the door itself. Once the last of the security mechs had entered the detention area, Ethan sealed it behind them with a touch of his finger, locking the blast proof door in place.

After a moment of, what seemed to be, stunned silence, Mac finally spoke. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

Ethan had to admit he was also a bit surprised that his planned had gone over as well as it did. But it
had
and he wasn’t going to waste any time on wondering how or why. Instead, he moved forward with his plan, which he was actually developing as he went.

Now that the security forces were at least temporarily dealt with, he could move on to the prisoners. A smile came to his face as his fingers danced over the control screen, deactivating, across the entire facility, the very wrist gauntlets that both he and Mac had been forced to wear and obey. He watched the monitors with satisfaction as the indicators that represented the facility’s cell doors and barrier fields changed from red to green, signifying their deactivation or unlocking. With the touch of a few buttons, the hundreds, if not thousands, of slaves that had been imprisoned in this place were free of it.

Almost free of it.

“Now what?” Mac asked, from over Ethan’s other shoulder. “You’ve opened all the doors. How do you plan on getting them out of here?”

“The same way as us,” Ethan answered, still scanning the monitors.

Mac snorted. “Right, kid. And just how big is this ship of yours?”

“Not big enough,” Elora answered, putting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Ethan,” she spoke to him, gently, the way she always did when trying to convince him that his head was in the clouds. “We can’t take all of these people with us. You know that. The ship would never fit them all . . .”

“I know that,” Ethan returned, trying not to be offended. He supposed it did sound a bit crazy. “We need something a lot bigger.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Mac asked.

On cue, Ethan activated one of the few security cam feeds the facility
did
have. One that displayed a full view of the enclosed bay, which the freighter that had brought them all here was still docked in. “On that,” he answered.

“Great,” Mac said, after a moment. “If we can get them all aboard, who’s going to pilot it out of here?”