“We’ve got company at the rear,” Barb said, flicking the light around to look over her shoulder. More of the Old Ones were clambering down the upper passageway behind her. “Could use some help here.”
“On my way,” Randell said, starting to chimbley up the passage.
“ No time,” Barb said, opening fire on the group to the front.
The. 45-caliber frangible rounds poured into the mass of Old One spawn, blasting the two in the lead into a pile of ichor and goo. Unfortunately, that had forced her to clock out her magazine.
She dropped the mag, not even bothering to catch it for a reload, and slid another in, fumbling the replacement slightly due to the unfamiliar weapon.
The Old Ones had gotten into the domed area by then, spreading out to either side, with a couple coming across the roof. She took those out, and one of the ones on the walls then backed up so that they would have to come through the narrow portion to get her.
She could hear Randell firing from behind her and just hoped he could keep the mass to the rear off her back.
Master Sergeant Attie had moved to the opening below her and engaged the Old Ones above him in the domed area. His fire was solid and precise, the. 45-caliber rounds shredding every Old One in sight. With the narrowness of the passage overhead, there was no way that they could get to the party from above. They had to either come at them on the floor or get past Barb to the wider portion behind her.
“I’m good,” Randell said. “No more this way.” He was actually perched with his back braced to either side of the passage in a domed section, so he had a pretty good view.
“And we’re clear here,” Master Sergeant Attie said as the last Old One dropped in a splatter to the floor.
“Shamblers,” Janea said, reloading her weapon. She’d been covering the floor below Randell. “They’re easy enough with the right weapons. I’m not looking forward to running into another skru-gnon.”
“Anybody get a count?” Attie asked.
“About seven your way,” Struletz said. “Three to the rear.”
“How many of these things are there?” Randell asked angrily. He’d slid down the passage to the floor again and reloaded. He also reloaded his expended magazines.
“At a guess, it depends how long the Gar has been manifested and how much it’s had to eat,” Janea said, shrugging and starting to reload her magazines from the stores they’d brought with them. “The Gar spins these things off of its essence. If it’s been manifested for a short time and the food is limited, a few dozen. If it’s been a long time and pretty much unlimited food? Thousands?”
“We don’t have enough ammo for thousands,” Struletz pointed out.
“Catch,” Attie said, tossing Barb’s refilled magazine to her. “That hit me in the helmet, by the way.”
“Sorry,” Barb said, shrugging. “I wasn’t exactly going to try to reholster it under the circumstances.”
“Nope, we’re good,” Attie said. “Move out?”
“Let’s take an alert break,” Barb said, thoughtfully. “That little firefight is bound to have attracted some attention. If somebody takes the other side of this dome, we’re in a good, defensible position. Let’s see what thing wicked this way comes.”
“Any progress on finding where the Gar might be?” Janea asked, taking out a bottle of water.
“Graham’s got a team coming up with lists of buyers in the area,” Randell said. “We figure it has to be cattle or pigs or something, from the description of how much this thing eats. There are several animal auctions in the area and they’ve gotten lists of all the purchases from them. So far, nothing’s standing out.”
“Who buys the animals?” Struletz asked.
“You want the short class on animal husbandry?” Randell asked with a chuckle. “My dad had a small farm. Cattle, it works like this. Farmer has a bunch of cows. The cows have babies, male and female. The females he keeps. The males he sells at auction. Other farmers, that don’t want to bother with breeding, buy the males and deball them. Those sit out on grass and feed up for a few years as steers. Feed-lots buy the steers and feed them up. Slaughterhouses buy the steers. From time to time the breeding farmer takes his bull to auction, sells it and gets a different one. Then he puts it to the cows, some of which are the daughters of the former bull. Which is why you’ve got to change bulls from time to time. So there’s some minor sales of cows when a farmer has too many or needs to raise cash, a few bulls change hands, but mostly it’s steers that get moved around. It’s all carefully tracked because of mad-cow and other stuff. So there’s plenty of records.”
“So what are you looking for?” Janea asked.
“Anomalies,” Randell said. “Farmers who are buying a lot of mature steers, mostly. Or a lot of cows. If you’re talking at least a head a day, that’s thirty head a month. Farmers don’t buy thirty head in a month. They don’t buy thirty calves a month, generally. Not in this area.”
“Be back,” Barb said, sliding off her perch and moving forward.
“Problems?” Attie asked.
“Just an idea,” Barb said.
She clambered down the passage to the next domed area, keeping a careful eye out in case any Old Ones had lingered, then paused at the next narrow section of the upper passage.
Juggling her pack out was a bit awkward, but she removed a spool of wire from it and then put it back on her back.
She used the wire first to attach one of her fragmentation grenades to the wall, then ran a section of wire across the passageway. Last, she straightened the cotter pin on the grenade, and then carefully tied the wire into the pin.
“Set a little present for our friends in case they come back,” Barb said as she settled back into her perch. “Grenade IED. Give us some warning that doesn’t involve Laz spitting and hissing.” She stroked the cat gratefully. “Thanks, Laz.”
“That’s the sort of thing I’m supposed to be thinking of,” Attie said. “Want me to set one to the rear?”
“Trail seemed to go this way,” Barb said. “The only thing to the rear is however Laz got in, and he got through presumably without running into any of them. Most of them should be to our front. Up to you, but it would just be a booby trap I’d have to get past. Not to mention Laz, who I don’t think understands tripwires.”
“Point,” Attie said. “We don’t have any movement yet.”
“Think I’m taking counsel of my fears?” Barb asked.
“No, ma’am,” Attie said. “Just pointing out that we’re in here to see if we can find the lair of this Gar thing. Which we’re not doing.”
“I’d like to see what responds to the fire,” Barb said. “Give it thirty minutes.”
She dropped her pack again and pulled out a ration bar.
“Besides, I’m hungry.”
She was on her third ration bar, and the thirty minutes were nearly up, when there was the crack and szting of a grenade going off down the passageway.
“Heads up!” she shouted, dropping her FLIR and going to IR.
She braced against the side, pointed at the narrow opening to the domed area, and waited. And waited.
“Just a scout?” Attie said.
“No,” Barb said a moment later. “Not just a scout!”
This time the things attacked from every level. They were pouring down the upper passage in a mass but more were clambering along the sides and the ground. There seemed to be hundreds.
“I’ve got ground,” Struletz said, taking a knee next to the standing master sergeant.
“Middle,” Attie said, triggering a burst into the mass coming down the passage.
“Top,” Barb said, firing into the mass. Targeting any one of the Old Ones was nearly impossible. The tentacled monstrosities were writhing into and across each other, and the small bodies were nearly impossible to make out between the FLIR and the way that they chaotically moved. Chopping them apart with. 45 was the only way to go.
“Take left,” Randell said, appearing to her side. “I’ll fire across to right.”