Necropolis 3 (9 page)

“
We'll watch the door, check it. Hurry,” Greg replied.

The pair nodded and turned their attention to the readout screens. They worked silently while Greg, Kyra, and Campbell double-checked every conceivable hiding place and then moved to guard the only way in.

Greg looked out into the tunnel while the two worked. The midnight gloom seemed to push in on them from every direction, despite their flashlights. The sounds of conflict were closer. Greg doubted that the Drones needed light to see, but he wondered about the Undead. Were they at a disadvantage, or could they see in the dark via some extra sense? Either way, it sounded like a truly epic war was being waged in the tunnels.

“
Does that thing like...hurt?” Campbell asked suddenly.

Greg glanced over at him. He realized Campbell was looking down at his metal arm. He looked down at it, then back up at Campbell.

“Sometimes, but I think it's a phantom pain,” Greg replied.

“
Phantom pain?” Campbell asked.

“
Like when you get your hair cut really short after it's been really long, and for a little while, you think it’s still there and you can still kind of feel it. You know?” Kyra explained.

“
Yeah, I guess. Man, that sucks,” Campbell said.

“
Understatement of the century,” Greg muttered.

“
How'd you get it?” Mike asked from across the room.

Greg glanced over. Mike and Linda still had their backs turned, working on the generator, but he could tell they were very interested.

“The Augmented captured me, strapped me to a table, and cut my fucking arm off with a bone saw,” he replied. “I passed out and when I woke up it was there.”

There was a long silence.

“That sucks,” Linda said.

Greg laughed. “Yeah, understatement of the century, again.”

More seconds ticked by in forbidding gloom. Finally, Linda straightened up.

“
We're fucked,” she declared.

“
Why? What's wrong?” Greg asked.

“
They've completely severed this thing. It'll take a long time and a big team to fix and honestly, we don't have the time or the resources.”

“
So, we're screwed?” Campbell asked.

“
No, not completely,” Mike said. “There's a pair of emergency generators further on down the tunnel. We need to get there and activate them, and make sure nothing gets to them.”

“
Alright...shit, let's go.”

They left the generator room and came back into the main tunnel. The fighting was definitely closer. The survivors moved quickly towards the chaos, sticking to the left-hand side of the tunnel, trying to keep out of the way. Mike assured them the generator rooms weren't too far away, just another couple of dozen meters down the way.

Greg stared at the chaos of conflict, starkly lit by flashes of gunfire, and realized that he'd been right. It was Augmented versus Undead. They were ripping into each other with an insane ferocity that held no room for mercy or reason. Drones battled more than twice their number in zombies, Speed Demons, Rippers, and Lancers, with a few Berserkers thrown in. But more and more Drones seemed to  come from somewhere.

Greg and the others slipped by unnoticed for the most part. Occasionally, a zombie or Drone would get too close and have to be put down, but they managed to reach the first back-up generator without running into any real trouble. As before, Greg, Kyra, and Campbell guarded the door while Linda and Mike worked on the equipment.

Nothing came and tried to break the door down while they worked. Greg could feel his muscles become more and more tense in apprehension. Ten agonizing minutes passed before there was a sharp
click
and Mike called out,

“
Done!”

“
Why aren't there any lights?” Kyra asked.

“
We need to activate both before they lights come back on,” Linda replied.

“
Well...I'm not sure it'd be a good idea to leave this one unguarded. It’s obvious the Augmented have it out for us and know where to hit us,” Greg said.

“
Good point, let's call for reinforcements now that we know what the hell is actually going on down here,” Mike replied.

Greg listened while he called up to Lynch and explained the situation. A moment later she promised to send Burne down with a squad of his better security personnel. They waited in grim darkness, listening to the sounds of conflict slowly dying down.

“When Burne gets close, we're going to head out there and help them mop up,” Greg said.

The others agreed and gathered by the door. Several more moments passed, and then Burne let them know via the radio that he and his men were near. Greg opened the door and went out guns blazing. The others joined him, blasting away the surviving members of the Undead and the Augmented. Caught between Greg and his squad and Burne and his squad, both groups of enemies were quickly reduced to a heap of corpses.

Burne crossed the field of bodies and joined Greg and the others.

“
Get to it,” he growled, still clearly pissed about the whole metal-arm, infection situation.

Greg tried not to hold it against him. Greg and the others moved into the second generator room, cleared it and then fired it up. After a sharp
click
, followed by a loud
pop
, the lights flickered to life and the soothing sound of white noise whispered through the area. Greg felt an immense relief flow through him.

“
Come on, let's get back topside,” Linda said.

Greg listened to Burne ordering his men to hang around down in the tunnel and guard the generators with their lives.

As they made their way back up, Lynch came onto the radio.

“
We've got another problem.”

Chapter 08

–
Apprehension
–

By the time they'd reemerged from beneath the dead surface of the moon, Lynch had managed to paint the whole grim picture for them. Greg found the whole thing mind-boggling. How could so many things
possibly
go wrong? It seemed as though there would be some kind of natural law, something intrinsic about the universe that would give you a break, a short reprieve, even for an hour or two.

Of course, Greg knew that there was no such rule. In fact, if anything, it seemed to go the
other
way: if something could fuck up, it would, given enough time. He brooded over this as he hustled down a central corridor with Kyra, Campbell, and Linda. Mike had gone back to headquarters. They were currently making for an airlock.

Lynch had informed them that after going through all that trouble to get the power back on, the oxygen systems had failed, and since they still kind of needed oxygen to stay alive, Greg needed to lead a small team onto the dead surface and make repairs. It was to be expected that Augmented would be waiting for them, as it was obvious by now that the half-machine, half-flesh nightmares were intent on fucking over the survivors.

They came to the end of the corridor, turned, and made their way down another. Greg glanced back at Linda.

“
Tell me you've got something better than basic pressure suits.”

Linda nodded. “Yeah, don't worry.”

“Where is this place, anyway?” Campbell asked.

“
They hit an exterior piece of equipment that helps route oxygen flow. It's about a hundred meters away from the airlock we're going to,” Linda replied.

They reached the end of the second corridor and passed through a small antechamber, which led them to an abandoned locker room. Linda led them over to a row of large lockers and pried one of them open.

A small, but sturdy-looking suit resided within. Linda pulled it out, opened it up, and pulled it on.

“
This is the same model suit the miners use. It's very durable and can stand up to explosions and gunfire, for the most part. It's a good idea not to try and test it. Go grab one, pull it on, we're heading out onto the surface.”

They split up, each of them taking a locker. Greg held up his suit and gave it a once over. It was like a bulky jumpsuit. The material felt thin, but at the same time very strong. He frowned; still studying the black-gray material, then shrugged and pulled it on. He found a helmet and pulled it into place.

While the others suited up, Greg activated the small screen mounted on his left wrist, and when the option arrived, booted up the suit-check function. A few seconds passed and confirmed that all systems were working, he had an hour of oxygen and his suit's integrity had stood up to a standard pressure check.

He attached the holster and pistol to his hip, slung the shotgun across his back and the rifle over his neck. After that, he packed down his pockets with extra magazines of ammo. Feeling about as good as he was going to about all this, he turned and studied the others. They looked ready as well. Greg fired up the radio and tested it.

“Okay,” he said after they'd confirmed the radios worked. “Let's get this over with.”

They turned and made their way into one of two working airlocks left in the structure. Greg went first, rifle ready, just in case anything decided to come and wait for them just outside the exterior door.

Once everyone was in, he cycled them through. The door opened. Nothing but gray rock and the infinity of space awaited their inspection. Greg cautiously peered out, first left, then right. Nothing, although the exterior lights all along the left side were out. Never a good sign. He flicked on the flashlight mounted on the end of his rifle.

“
Come on,” he said quietly.

The four suited figures emerged from the airlock, which closed without sound behind them. Greg played his light across the surface and the exterior wall, hunting for traps or anything lying in wait for them. He could see nothing, but the light didn't seem to extend very far. Silently, he led the way.

The exterior was ominous in a way that only the dead vacuum of space could be. From the way that he could hear himself breathing to the way he couldn't hear his own feet, everything about an airless environment made Greg's skin crawl. Not to mention the fact that if his suit ruptured, that'd pretty much be it.

He hoped these suits were as strong as Linda promised.

“What was that?”
Campbell asked, his voice a ghostly whispering come over the radio.

Greg froze. “What? Where?”

“Thought I saw something up ahead. Light glinting off metal.”

Greg frowned and focused hard. His flashlight was turned up to maximum power. Distantly, several dozen meters ahead, he thought he could see a little bit of movement. His light glinted off something.

“That's likely some Drones, get ready,” he said.

They moved forward, weapons drawn, shifting position so that they weren't all in a single file and could all get a clear shot on the Drones. As they came within half a dozen meters, the light finally revealed a collection of Drones hanging around the exterior wall. He got things started with a three-round burst that tore away half the skull of the nearest Drone. They leaped into action, racing along the surface towards the squad.

Greg and the others kept up a steady rate of fire, and within seconds the half a dozen Drones were on the ground, motionless in the dead of space.

“
That was easy,”
Campbell murmured.

“
Too easy,” Greg replied uneasily.

He glanced up.

Something sailed with perfect silence and grace through the air. Two feet, one of them booted, the other made of metal, crashed into his chest. Greg grunted as he was thrown to the rocky ground. Around him, chaos boiled. He saw more dark shapes sailing to the ground. He saw the sparks of gunfire in the eternal darkness. The whole of his attention honed in on the thing straddling his chest. A knife came for his neck.

He abandoned the grip on his gun, grabbed the wrists of the hands that were bringing a knife ever closer to him and pressed. It was like pushing against a bulldozer. The muscles were driven by machinery, able to survive in an exposed vacuum and clearly lacked any sense of mercy or pain. Greg shouted for help, but couldn't tell if anyone heard him. The battle still raged. Twin orbs of neon, cycling through the primary colors, glared down at him.

The tip of the blade dipped relentlessly forward.

Greg put all his strength into pushing back and managed to bring the blade to a standstill. It took the entirety of his effort. If he could just get his pistol out, he could shoot the thing in the fact, but even as it was, he wouldn't be able to keep it at bay for much longer. Suddenly, the pressure was released and the body flew off him.

The Drone had been shot in the head. Greg scrambled to his feet, bringing his rifle into play, and looked around.

“
Don't worry, we got it,”
Kyra said.
“You okay?”

“
Yeah,” Greg replied. “Just great.”

He surveyed the scene of carnage and destruction. Another half dozen Drones lay dead and broken across the rocky ground. Linda made her way to a large piece of equipment that jutted out of the wall. Greg let her get to work, listening to her mutter to herself over the comms network, and gazed out over the surface of the moon. Kyra came to stand next to him while Campbell poked at the bodies they'd produced.

“These things are
creepy
,”
he muttered.

“
You okay?”
Kyra asked.

“
Yeah, I'm all right. Just a little scared. Those things are
strong
,” Greg replied.

They stood there together in silence for a long moment. Greg felt comforted by Kyra's presence, even though they were both in suits. He began wondering about their future. Provided they made it out of here and he wasn't somehow permanently infected, where would their relationship go? It was a tough question. Would she put up with his bullshit? Would he put up with hers? So far, she didn't seem to have any serious flaws, but he hadn't exactly had the time to sit down and really examine her. What was her great downfall?

At least he knew his: his memory. It made him boring. He had no stories to tell, at least none that didn't relate to zombies, secret government agencies, and artificial intelligences. He
did
remember that communication was fairly important in a relationship. You had to be able to communicate on a day-to-day basis.

He sighed, this was something to worry about later. If Kyra decided to leave him or, hell, if maybe he decided to leave her, then, well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he just had to worry about being alive.

“Shit,”
Linda said suddenly, jarring him from his silent contemplation.
“There's a part I need to repair.”

Greg glanced back. Linda broke away from the wall and looked around. She pointed and he followed her finger. Not too far away, he spied a small shed.

“What's that?” Greg asked.

“
Storage shed for parts. Come on.”
They trekked towards the shed.
“They tried to make repairs a little more convenient. There's a bunch of spare parts for the oxygen systems in there, so that we didn't have to go back inside and hunt for spare parts, then come back out.”

They honed in on the shack. Greg felt a strange sense of unease settle over him. He glanced around, but could see nothing.

“Hold up.” He halted they came within range.

The others came to a stop. He stared at the shed for a long moment, frowning, then made a slow circuit around the exterior of the small building. There was nothing, but, after a moment, he realized there were no windows.

“How do you get in? Is there an airlock?” he asked, rejoining the others.

“
No, it's just a regular door,”
Linda replied.

“
Stay here, cover me.”

He walked over to the shack, stared at the door, then, after a long, uncomfortable moment, slid up against the wall and hit the open button.

The door opened.

Nothing came out. He peered cautiously inside. There was no light. Carefully, he played his beam across the interior.

“Oh
fuck me
!” Greg yelled.

Something roughly the size of a truck exploded out the front door, tearing away the frame in a silent symphony of sparks and rending metal. Greg backed up, firing as he beheld a new terror.

Well, not new, not exactly.

Erebus had gotten its hands on a Berserker, and decided to play hell with the thing. What stood before Greg was a titanic beast of flesh and metal. Its chest was covered with wire-mesh. Circuitry ran down its arms and legs. Both eyes had been cut out, and replaced with glowing, neon implants. They glared an angry crimson. Steel, serrated claws had been grafted onto the end of its fingers. The Berserker turned and stared at Greg.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

It came for him.

He emptied his magazine, backed away from it, slapped a fresh one in, and switched to full auto. The bullets didn't seem to be doing much. The others opened fire as well, doing as much damage as possible.

Greg made a broad arc, trying to regroup with the others. The Berserker suddenly shot forward and backhanded him. He flew backwards a few meters and landed lighter than he would have otherwise, due to the lesser gravity of the moon, on the ground. He grunted and rolled several times. He ended up a groaning mass of pain. Panic ripped through him as he thought his suit might have gotten punctured. Greg scrambled to his feet. A few seconds passed as his equilibrium righted.

He couldn't feel the air rushing out or cold death seeping in.

He was okay. Greg saw the Berserker had its back to him, advancing on the others, who were retreating and firing frantically at it. This thing needed to die,
now
. A plan flickered through his head. Before he could think better of it, Greg sprinted forward. He pulled out his pistol and, as he drew close, jumped.

The artificial gravity didn't extend beyond the facility. He jumped much higher than he would have in normal gravity and landed on the Berserker's back. Working quickly, he brought the pistol around and up, stuffing the barrel into the thing's mouth. He squeezed the trigger, once, twice, over and over again until the gun was empty.

The top of its head exploded, spraying his visor with black gore.

The Berserker stood for a long moment, and then toppled over. Greg laughed as he pulled himself to his feet and reloaded his pistol.

“You have
really
got a knack for this,”
Campbell said.

Greg shrugged. “I keep getting practice.”

After making sure he was okay, the group got back to work. Linda managed to salvage the part in question from the shed and installed it. They hurried back to the airlock, eager to be free of the airless environment. However, as they cycled through the airlock, Linda dropped another bit of bad news on them.