Patrick consulted his rig and found the command unit, dropping a digital pin on the map that allowed him to navigate through the maze using a waypoint. As he further checked the schematics he pointed to two areas on the large scale readout and presented his arm to Mag.
“Squad Marsters was set to enter here and Squad Ulanti here,” he said as Mag looked at the rig, “All of the mining tunnels are equidistant from the hab, so unless they got turned around and ended up going down a fabricated shaft that wasn’t part of the original compound, they should be converging on the hab bloc by now.”
“This is a big place, but sound carries in these things. It’s only because of the buzz of people and the hum of the power lines that most people don’t notice what their neighbor is saying,” added Samuel as he continued to move his light back and forth to scan the perimeter, “Back home the first thing that happens during a blackout is listening to everybody’s business.”
“You don’t realize just how loud people are until they shut up,” said Ben as he joined the group, “This place is a tomb.”
“Copy that, move out,” said Mag, giving the signal to move forward.
The squad continued down the main avenue of the hab as their lights illuminated evidence of one or more brutally violent firefights. The spent shell casings were all shotgun cartridges, the standard issue weapons provided to security forces in Grotto space. The guns and corresponding ammunition were cheap to manufacture and the weapon itself, not to mention the wounds it created, were highly effective in the execution of security operations. Samuel silently pointed out several more drill bits and even a saw blade embedded in the walls, some of which were crusty with old blood.
Patrick stepped in a pile of dung that seemed to have bits of bone and teeth in it. The squad as a whole each gave thanks for the power of their re-breathers to filter out what they imagined must have been a horrible stench permeating the hab. Ben wiped his finger across the guard rail of a gangplank once they’d ascended a flight of stairs to reach the second level and his finger came away with a fine layer of dust.
“Not to be overly creepy or anything, considering what we’ve just been through, but now that I’m looking at it, this whole place is covered in dust,” Ben observed as he looked at the rest of the group.
“So?” said Patrick as he ran his own hand over the rail to see for himself.
“The major contributing factor to dust,” Mag said, “in a sealed environment, is human skin cells. We shed more than most folks realize. Sure, it’s a mining compound, but you wouldn’t have this much of a layer after ten years of being sealed up.” She hefted her rifle into a more aggressive posture.
“I’ve seen this sort of thing on derelict ship salvages. Pretty standard story actually. Malfunction or damage sets the vessel adrift, the air filtration systems stop working even though life support stays active, since it’s on emergency backup grids. If there’s even one survivor who stays alive on the ship for more than a few months without dying of starvation, thirst, or whatever, then the ship is covered in a layer of dust.”
“That’s some knowledge that’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life, thanks, Boss,” piped up Aaron as he lifted his head weakly. Aaron’s face was covered in a fine green sheen, as if he’d dunked his face in pond water and come away with a patina of scum.
“At least you’re still alive to be haunted,” said Patrick as he did his best to smile reassuringly, then to Mag he said, “We’re two flights up, one more flight to go then maybe twenty meters and we’ll be there.”
Progress was slow going, as each marine checked and re-checked their corners, all of them now keenly aware that the creatures could be anywhere, and that someone, somehow, could possibly still be alive inside the hab.
In answer to their silent questions an ear-splitting shriek erupted in the darkness, but it was impossible to tell from what direction it came. It was answered by the staccato pounding of a combat rifle. Suddenly, more inhuman voices rang out of the dark and the sounds of running feet and scrabbling claws could be heard all around them.
“Get up the stairs! I want that security station! Go! Go!” bellowed Mag as the squad hustled to follow her orders.
Samuel sprinted up the stairs as fast as his battle armor would allow him. He did not want to get caught in the middle of a firefight exposed on the stairwell, not that the gangplank was much better. The moment he stepped into the open a spinning blade that looked as if it had once been part of a stone-thresher came hurtling out of the darkness toward him. He threw himself to the floor as the blade ricocheted off of the metal girder, throwing out sparks, and clattered over the side of the gangplank.
Samuel rose into a crouch and fired three shots in the direction from which the blade had come, though if he hit anything he couldn’t tell. Ben came pounding up the stairs behind him. As he passed Samuel, the gunner thumbed off the safety switch of his weapon.
Running footsteps scraped against the metal of the gangplank as one of the creatures rushed the marines. Combined shots from both Samuel and Ben pitched its body over the rail.
The bestial screams and gunfire continued elsewhere in the compound and soon Mag, Patrick, and a barely conscious Aaron joined the others on the gangplank. They ran as fast as they could across it, with Samuel in the front sweeping his gun in all directions as he looked for possible threats.
As more projectiles, drill bits, nails, and other random bits of twisted metal pelted the area around the squad, frequently pinging off of the marine’s battle armor, Mag dropped to a knee and reached for her flares. The veteran started igniting them and throwing them in every direction. Some sailed through the air before falling down to land one or two flights below them while others bounced off of units and landed on gangplanks on their level. One even landed on a gangplank above them. As the boss was throwing flares, the rest of the squad was able to see in the resulting red glow, that the hab bloc was swarming with the creatures.
It would only be in the debriefing, many hours later, that some of the marines of Tango Platoon would recall seeing the creatures actually fighting and killing each other, though in the heat of the moment, all any of the marines could see were swarms of hostiles bearing down on them from all directions.
Samuel raised his rifle and fired several rounds through the back and neck of a creature that was crawling towards them while upside down on the bottom of the gangplank above them. Ben swept his heavy machine gun in a wide one hundred and eighty degree arc as he squeezed the trigger and spit hundreds of rounds at the enemy.
Mag pushed Samuel ahead of her, gesturing to what he could see was the security unit as the rest of the squad rushed for the promise of safety while Ben covered their movements with a withering hail of fire. As Samuel ran, his path was blocked for a tense moment by one of the creatures as it dropped down and landed in front of him. Not breaking stride, he put round after round into the creature. By the time he stepped over its body, the hostile was riddled with holes.
Now that they could see the enemy more clearly, Samuel was convinced that these creatures had once been the mining crew. Nearly all of the creatures wore remnants of either environmental suits or Grotto civilian clothing.
Patrick shouted and pointed, revealing Squad Marsters as it fought its way up the stairs from the East. As he did, one of the hostile hurled a spinning blade that slammed into his back. Patrick’s battle armor protected him from being wounded by the blade, but the impact knocked him to the ground. Aaron was too weak to stand and had been using Patrick as support. Robbed of that, the wounded marine collapsed in a heap on top of his comrade.