Hands reached down in claws, rigor mortis having twisted the muscles and pulled on their ashen skin. Thick blood poured over the pile, some congealed and some still running free, from dismembered limbs and free-falling organs that spilled from torn, half-eaten bodies. Cascading down the tiers of corpses to the floor, it pooled into a lake of dark-red blood.
Tusque and Hollander panned their lights up to expose the peak of the bodies nearly fifty feet above the floor. Dozens of freshly dismembered figures were tossed haphazardly onto the pile, their dark body armor visible.
“It’s every person from the city,” Hollander breathed.
“And our own friends.” Tusque stared at the torn, bloodied, armored soldiers atop the pile.
“We need to leave here now,” Ixibas hissed, his heart racing.
“We can’t,” Hollander replied. “Pateros is down there. I won’t leave one of our own after all we’ve been through.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Ixibas’ voice took on a hard edge. “It’s already too late.”
Around the room, red eyes emerged from unseen tunnels and behind the pile of corpses. First, a couple dozen sets of eyes appeared, but the number grew, as the noise of combined growls of anger filled the room. Seques crawled from their cubbies, awakened from their sleep by intruding lights and voices. Hundreds of them awoke and entered the central chamber, seeing four helpless soldiers on the far side. Having just woken, their hunger for fresh meat was great.
“There are so many of them,” Hollander said, stunned.
“We can’t fight that many,” Tusque said meekly. “We’re going to die, aren’t we, Boss?”
“If we are,” Ixibas growled, “let’s make sure we kill as many of these bastards as we can before we go. Kill them all!”
The sound of gunfire and howls of rage filled the tunnels under the city.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The sun dipped behind some of the taller buildings, casting shadows that stretched nearly to the outpost. Outside, sitting side-by-side, Eza and Vance watched it set.
“Sir,” Eza said.
“I see it, too.” Vance watched the shadows grow longer, as the day faded toward night. “It’s time to go.”
They quickly climbed to their feet and hurried inside, the door having been opened for them by those who guarded the sturdy building. Without pause, they walked to the control room, where Yen and Decker still searched through endless files.
“We’re losing daylight fast,” Vance said, without formalities or friendly conversation. “Now would be a great time to tell me you have something.”
Yen leaned toward the console, typing furiously. Without breaking his locked gaze on the screen, he muttered, “Almost there. Bypassing the last of the virus protocols right now.”
“He’s been working nonstop,” Decker explained, “without sleep, breaks, or barely any food and water. He works like a man possessed, or someone with something to prove.”
“Got it!” Yen stretched his aching back and pressed a button, executing the program he created.
Emergency lights came on, casting a red glow over everything in the building, turning their skin amber. In the red light, their worn expressions and tired eyes made them look like animated corpses. A loud siren sounded in conjunction with a distress beacon being projected from the computer system.
“How long do you expect this to take?” Vance shouted over the siren.
“Not long,” Yen replied, his voice nearly lost in the din. “If there’s a ship within range, even a patrol on the outskirts of this galaxy, they’ll pick up the signal and reply within a couple minutes.”
“And until then?” Eza asked, his head throbbing from the noise.
“Until then, we wait.” Yen shrugged. “Any replies will come up on the display screen with a location and ETA.”
“Is there any way to shut off the siren?” Decker asked.
Other survivors gathered outside the door, most with hands over their ears.
“Give me a second.” Yen typed again.
Within moments, the sound died, leaving silence throughout the outpost. Vance opened his mouth wide a few times, trying to shake free of the ringing that persisted even after the siren stopped.
Though the suspense was overbearing, no one moved, as they awaited a response. Vance sat farthest from the others, lost in thought. Throughout their ordeal on the planet, his emotions had been a rollercoaster, rocketing between the extremes of hope and despair. More than once, he saw opportunities through which he bore hope of not only survival but escape, only to see them dashed by the cunning, dangerous Seques.
Members of the team, who appeared virtually indestructible, were killed by the monsters stalking his group. It was easier, he found, to sink deeper into a dark depression than to hope for salvation.
Once more, he sat in a room, hoping a savior would appear to snatch them from death. It wasn’t the first time he sat in such a situation, awaiting rescue. In every other instance, however, Halo was there to save him and his team. Her rescues were unerring, and Vance excelled in covert operations because of her help.
Halo was gone. His team was scattered and mostly dead, and he was forced to rely on the salvation of a stranger, someone he never met, and, to be honest, wasn’t even sure was in space with a rescue ship. He had to admit there was a good chance no savior would come. There was a distinct possibility that, after barely slipping through death’s fingers so many times before, that he might finally die.
Vance couldn't argue with the luck he had during his career. Many of the awards pinned on his dress uniform came from surviving situations that seemed beyond hope. In all those cases, he hadn’t survived because he feared death. He welcomed death’s embrace.
That time was different. Dying meant sacrificing the lives of those who relied on him. In that city, he already let over one hundred soldiers die while serving under his command. He refused to believe there would be no salvation, that the men with him, who already survived so much, would die alone and forgotten.
Vance wouldn’t allow that to happen. Somehow, some way, he would find a solution. Thus far, he realized he’d been playing the role of hero. Heroes didn’t die alone on a planet and let down those who depended on them. They found solutions. They were granted one last chance, a final option through which they could escape.
He needed that option. He needed a ship to respond.
“I’m getting something on the screen,” Yen said, breaking Vance from his reverie. “Sir, it’s a ship, but you won’t believe where!”
“Out with it!” Vance ordered.
“It’s here, in the city, not even four blocks from where we are.”
“Captain,” the communications officer onboard the Goliath said, “we’re picking up a distress signal.”
“From where?” Captain Young sat forward on his chair on the bridge.
“From Purseus II, Sir.”
“Give me a visual.” His display revealed flickering lines of text, which his eyes quickly followed. He smiled appreciatively and muttered, “What’s your game, Vance? What are you trying to do?”
He looked up from his console. “Helmsman, slow our exit from the system. Come to a complete stop and bring us into orbit around one of the nearby gas giants. I want to be available should those soldiers find a way off planet.”
“Roger, Sir,” the navigator said. “Coming to full stop.”
“”All right, Michael,” the captain said softly. “Let’s see what you’re capable of.”
“It’s a Cair ship, Sir,” Yen said, as schematics on the responding ship flooded over his screen. “It’s being stored in one of the warehouses on the compound, straight out the easternmost door. It looks like it was powered down, but once it detected our distress call, it started powering its main system.”
“Is it space-worthy?” Vance wouldn’t leave the safety of the compound unless he was absolutely sure of his escape.