“I’m hit, but it doesn’t seem too bad. I’m going to have to circle back around,” he said to his fellow pilots. “Take out those rocket launchers!”
“Affirmative. Targeting enemy rocket launchers,” another pilot said in a nonchalant voice. The inflection of his voice was no different than that of someone ordering coffee, or sharing an anecdote with a coworker.
“Very good,” Deacon said. “Let’s not forget to provide cover for friendly vehicles. Let’s push it forward.”
He had no formal military training, but he had played a few pre-exodus shooter games on his uCom in his day, and he was proud at the jargon that he was now able to employ. He never thought he would have an occasion to use it, but as he watched the Tarsi and Eursan warriors scramble beneath him, it was just like those games: detached from the bloodshed, the evisceration. Deacon circled around again, liquidating another row of unfortunate Mendraga with his cannon fire.
****
“If anyone resists, burn their filthy hovels to the ground,” said Overseer Zehn. The overseers began to close in, followed by the human conscripts. Hammerheads emerged from their huts, barking and gesturing toward the Mendraga.
“Go back to your homes. Anyone that chooses to fight will be killed. Dead.” Zehn emphasized the last word, hoping that if any of his words got through, it would be that one.
Amid the din of inane, grunting chatter, Zehn heard one word: “No.”
Zehn spun to face in the direction of this treasonous offense. “One last warning! Anyone that does not follow instructions will be shot. Your families will be shot. Do you understand?”
The head of the overseer standing right next to Zehn exploded in a spray of red mist. The rifle report arrived milliseconds later. Then there was more rifle fire, and Zehn’s overseers began to crumple around him. He saw a muzzle flash from a nearby building, then another. A bolt of searing pain speared his left shoulder.
“Kill them all!” he screamed.
That’s when a horde of Tarsi seemed to materialize from the very air. They were unlike anything he had ever seen. Mouths full of razor teeth, claws extending from their massive hands. They were huge. Where had these beasts come from?
The overseers began to fire, and a few of the Tarsi fell. Out of the corner of his eye, Zehn saw a blur heading in the wrong direction. Pulling his pistol, he ended the human conscript’s flight with a bullet to the back.
“Anyone who flees, dies! Do you hear me?” he shouted.
A worker charged him, brandishing an enormous steel wrench.
That thing must turn a really big bolt, Zehn thought. Thenthe man brought the wrench down on Zehn’s arm, crushing the bones to powder. Screaming, Zehn fired his pistol into the hammerhead’s skull, obliterating it.
Hammerheads were now emerging from every door and window, some of them brandishing pistols and rifles. Zehn looked on in horror as more Mendraga fell under their assault. Behind him, several overseers were attempting to clamber up the sides of the buildings where the riflemen were entrenched. In this untenable position, the Mendraga’s superior speed was of little advantage; rifle fire dropped them one by one.
“Idiots, use the stairs inside!” he snarled. Then he turned to the humans. “You conscripts, head up the stairs and provide support for the overseers scaling the building!”
To his horror, the human conscripts did not respond to his commands.
Something is not right, he thought as he counted the number of overseers still standing. Then it dawned on him.
By Abraxas, the conscripts have turned against us.
SIXTEEN - Heart of Darkness
“Johnny, cut us a nice hole in that grate there,” Saul said.
“Aye aye, cap’n.” Johnny rummaged through his rucksack and produced a small ion torch, then made his way to the tunnel’s yawning maw and began the painstaking process of cutting through each of the iron bars. One by one they fell aside as he made cuts at both top and bottom.
Letho felt that watching Johnny made the waiting worse, so he looked away. His thoughts drifted to his friends. He hoped they were still alive.
Johnny placed his index finger and thumb against his teeth and whistled. The razorback edged forward into the mouth of the tunnel, and Johnny leapt into the back of the razorback, stowing his gear and taking his seat. One of the iron bars dug into the razorback’s metal hide, screeching as it tore away a curl of steel.
“Damn it, Johnny!” Saul shouted.
Johnny shrugged. “Hey, what can you do? It’s dark out here. If you wanted an expert, you should have brought Tiny.”
The razorback’s headlights chewed up the darkness that threatened to drown them. The tunnel was squat and rectangular, but with plenty of clearance for the razorback. Ancient pictograms, applied with spray cans, adorned the walls. Those who could decipher their meaning had long since passed. Occasionally they would pass a hovel or lean-to, and discarded pots and pans.
Things must have gotten really bad up there if people were choosing to live down here.
Letho thought of flash floods, the tunnels filling to the brim with roiling brown-white water, flushing out anything not bolted down.
“In five hundred feet, turn left,” Saladin said.
“That sword of yours sure is handy,” Saul said.
“Hey, do you guys hear that?” Johnny cocked an ear.
“Nope. All I hear is the purring of this sweet baby,” Saul replied, caressing the razorback’s dashboard
“Saul, stop the razorback for a second,” Johnny said.
“I don’t think that’s a wise decision.”
“Now I hear it, too,” said Letho. “It sounds like scratching or something, far off. Saladin, you want to weigh in on this one?”
“Sensors are picking up a large number of organisms moving in this direction. Bioscans are similar to previous samplings. Mutants, I believe you call them.”
“Shit!” Saul shouted.
Out of the darkness behind them, tiny fireflies began to appear, bobbing up and down in steady rhythm. The irregular patter of contorted feet and claws scraping against stone began to crescendo.
“Saul, you might want to pick up the pace a little bit,” Letho said.
“Roger that.”
Johnny began to rummage through his rucksack, producing a flashlight.
“Johnny, don’t—” Letho began.
But Johnny lit the halogen and swung the taut photon beam around to the rear of the razorback, illuminating the nightmare visages of hundreds of mutants. Their shriek was a combination of squalling infant and grinding metal. Letho felt an overwhelming urge to drop to the floor of the razorback and clamp his hands over his ears. Anything to stifle the horrible screeching.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” shouted Johnny, throwing open one of the crates and tossing assault rifles to Saul and Letho.
Letho and Johnny immediately opened fire at the swarm behind them, and the thunderous tattoo of rifle fire covered the screams of the falling mutants. They tumbled and collapsed in piles, but always more would come, clambering over fallen brothers, snarling, ropes of gray spittle clinging to their snapping jaws. Saul was shouting something, but Letho couldn’t hear him over the roar of his assault rifle. Saladin illuminated his targets and assisted his aim; not a bullet was wasted.
Headshot every time, he thought, sick to his stomach.
A frontal impact rocked the razorback, and it began fishtailing, almost throwing Letho over the edge. All at once he saw bodies of several mutants flying over his head, and the bloody, sinewy trail the razorback was leaving. Wheels spun and screamed, fighting for purchase on the gut-slick floor of the tunnel.