“You heard the Sarge,” Styles growls. “Asses in motion!”
The next thing I know, we’re hustling to gather our gear and scrambling up the ramp that leads into the belly of the Vulture craft.
As much as I’ve been longing to escape this hole and get hands-on into the struggle between the Establishment and the freedom fighters, I never thought it would be under these conditions.
How am I going to face off with rebels, and not murder them while also not giving myself away?
THREE
The Vulture craft swoops down into the canyon of Asclepius Valley, jostling us with its bumpy landing.
My old nemesis Captain Valerian, her lean body already clad in a form-fitting gray envirosuit, bustles through the cockpit door. For a split second, I flash back to that time in the alley with Digory when we watched from the sewer grates as she unleashed a Canid on that poor kid. I can still hear those screams.
Everyone snaps to attention, but Valerian barely acknowledges us, as if we’re specks of dust to be flicked away.
She points to the overhead compartments. “Listen up, Flame Squad. Your mission is multifold. Fight your way past the traitors until you get into the research facility. Once inside, dispose of any opposition and retake the labs until reinforcements arrive. Do not touch a thing. It is vital that the insurrectionists not smuggle any of the research out of the valley.
And finally, be careful not to trigger the facility’s failsafe. If you do, you’ll only have fifteen minutes to get your butts out of there. Now suit up, kiddies. We wouldn’t want any blemishes on that sensitive skin. No telling what bio-weapons those insurrectionists have been cooking up.”
Reasonable. Except I don’t think it’s the insurrectionists who have been dabbling in bio-warfare.
Arrah pauses and turns to Valerian. “Permission to speak, Captain?”
Valerian glares at her. “What is it, Private?”
“What about the civvies? Won’t they be in the line of fire?” She glances at me, then back. “How are we supposed to know the dif—”
“Any civilians in your way are to be considered collateral damage,” Valerian snaps. “Now get moving. Keep helmet coms on channel three.” As she rumbles past me, she sighs. “One day you’ll learn.”
The cabin’s filled with the creaks and clicks of harnesses being disengaged. For the next thirty seconds we all scramble into our envirosuits and snap on our oval helmets equipped with built-in scanner shades.
“Thanks for backing me up, Spark,” Arrah grumbles as she zips up her suit. “I thought you understood.”
“Ooh,” Leander chuckles. “Poor little Arrah’s afraid we might hurt somebody.”
Rodrigo slaps him on the back. “I say bring ’em all on—civvies included.”
Dahlia smirks and shoots me a look. “Just more target practice.”
Ignoring them, I lock my helmet into place and stare down Arrah. “Just keep your mind on the mission. You’re not going to be helping anyone if you’re dead.”
Grabbing my own pulsator rifle, I follow the others down the gangplank and into the carnage of Asclepius Valley, which has been transformed from a quaint borough of neatly paved streets into a scorched landscape of pathways littered with bodies.
“Stay in formation!” Leander shouts.
I can barely hear his voice through my helmet over the shrieks and weapon fire. We scramble down a side street toward the research facility.
When we emerge into the remnants of an intersection, the smoke becomes less dense. Searing sunlight bleeds through the dark plumes that smudge the morning sky, providing vivid snippets of the devastation looming all around us. Downed power cables hiss and crack, snaking across the ruined sidewalks. Dark pools have formed in craggy potholes—filled with fuel? Blood? I can’t be sure. Most of us are panting like a pack of Canids, drenched in sweat even with the temperature regulators in our suits.
A woman shambles out of an alleyway in front of us. The once-white lab coat she’s wearing is drenched in blood. I wince as I catch sight of crimson handprint stains.
“Thank the Deity,” she wheezes as she stumbles closer. “We need help…”
My mouth goes dry as she staggers toward me, her eyes bleeding and her yellowed skin ravaged by oozing pustules. I can’t help but think of what happened to Digory.
“Stay back!” Leander shouts.
But I’m frozen in place as the woman collapses against me, her grip surprisingly strong, her face desperate.
“Please stop the pain…” she croaks.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to take you back to MedCen and—”
Black blood bursts from her cracked lips, spraying my helmet.
Instinctively, I swipe at my faceplate with a gloved hand as she begins to scream.
“It hurts,” she wails. “Stop the pain. STOP THE PAIN!” She digs her fingers into her eyes, clawing, twisting them into clots of gory pulp.
“Move away from her, Spark!” This time it’s Rodrigo who’s yelling.
Arrah rips me free as the madwoman begins to laugh, hysterical, drawn-out blubbering. “That’s better.” She grins through blood-caked teeth. “Now it’s your turn…” Her still-dripping fingers curl into claws and she lunges, grabbing for my suit.
I whip my pulsator toward her, but before I can fire, a searing burst of heat soars over my shoulder and engulfs the woman, turning her into a writhing torch of human flesh.
She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t make any sound.
Behind me, Dahlia lets loose another blast from her flamethrower before releasing the trigger and shifting the still-smoking nozzle in my direction. “You’re welcome.”
Rodrigo’s holomap lets out a plaintive beep. “The research center’s up ahead!”
Leander slaps me on the back. “C’mon! Let’s roll!”
The roar of Squawkers zooming overhead drowns out the rest of his words. We run after him, trying our best to keep formation. Explosions rip chunks from the ground and remaining buildings, spraying the air with a deadly mixture of glass shards, blinding grit, and flaming projectiles.
Refugees scramble around us, dodging debris, clutching bloody stumps. One young woman is staggering around, a gore-soaked hand pressed to her abdomen.
Just ahead, another explosion rips through a half-dozen fleeing people. Screams are cut short as heads burst, spewing brain matter like over-ripe melons.
I grit my teeth. No Simulation has prepared any of us for this. At least these people died quickly.
The front of the research lab is a smoldering crater of debris, blocking the entryway.
“Damn it!’ Leander spits.
“Any other ways in, Rod-Man?”
The holomap is a blur in Rodrigo’s palm as he scans through it. “There’s a subterranean loading ramp they use to ship supplies, about a hundred and fifty yards around the corner. From there, we can splice into the freight elevator bank, bypass security, and hitch a ride into the main complex.”
“Then I guess we better not waste any more time.” Dahlia sprints in that direction, the rest of us on her heels.
The loading ramp dips down at a steep forty-five degree angle, into a thick wall of blackness.
“Great,” Rodrigo mutters. “Power must’ve been knocked out by the blasts.”
“Or cut deliberately,” Arrah says.
Leander punches a button on his helmet. “Everyone switch to shadow-imaging tech.”
The blackness is replaced by a sea of sickly green infrared images. A couple of freight sleds lie crashed into piles, their cases of med supplies strewn across the bay floor.
“Dahlia,” Leander whispers. “You and me take point. Arrah and Rod-Man assume flanking positions. Spark—”