Twenty-eight transgenics trudged toward the oncoming Croatoan mob with guns and fists drawn, ready for action.
"Here comes another easy slaughter," Max said to Zack as they neared the people-mass.
They all shared the wounds of a transgenic soldier: cuts, light bruises, maybe a broken bone or two or a gunshot wound – nothing from which they couldn't heal, and quickly.
They collided with the mass and began their work, their same routine they'd been through every other day for almost eight months. This was the work for which they were designed; they were a walking, strategic, transgenic army, marching mostly on empty stomachs. They were nomadic, assessing and eliminating the Croatoan threat as they moved along.
When they needed sleep, they slept in camps, abandoned buildings, and abandoned homes. They ate only what they needed to survive, they drank as much water as they could.
But they were not as militarized or emotionless as the Manticore officers would have wanted.
The army, especially after a tough or lengthy fight, would head to any open or abandoned bar, depending on what part of the country they were in, and let off steam and release the pressure.
Some soldiers moved on, some stayed. Some alleviated their stress and boredom by hooking up or self-medicating or drinking.
Alec used to drink, Max thought. And now so do I.
Despite the soldiers lost or missing, relaxing or fighting, they all continued on as one entity.
Max swung a ridiculously hard right cross into a Croat with a blue corduroy jacket on, and heard a sickening crack as her fist slammed into the bone beneath his mushy-under-her-knuckles face. Blood rushed out of his nostrils as he stumbled backward and caught his balance. He shook his head like a wet shaggy dog shakes of water, shrugging off her punch, and advanced toward her, his near-subhuman growl vibrating through his throat.
Max gritted her teeth and kicked him hard in the stomach. Blue Cord toppled forward, doubling over and revealing several bites at his neck and fresh claw marks on his back.
"So that's how you got infected," she said, more to herself than to him.
Blue Cord stood up and continued after her, a crazed look taking over his remaining facial features.
"Max! Need backup?" came Zack's question. He had been fighting a nearby Croat, himself.
"Nope!" she called. "He just doesn't know how to stay down." Max's hand moved to her hip holster and unsheathed her blade. She lunged forward, slicing into the man and pulling the blade upward with a grunt.
Blue Cord fell to the ground and twitched.
Max, satisfied that this time the offender would stay down, turned to face Krit. He seemed to be battling a brother-sister team of twins. He looked to the nonchalant Max as she sheathed her knife.
"Behind you!" the dark-haired transgenic warned. Max's eyes grew big as she spun around.
The ugly, infected man she'd just gutted moments ago came at her full speed. She prepared to grab him by the neck, but in a surprisingly quick maneuver, he lunged forward and bit down hard on her hand.
"You son of a bitch!" she shouted. Max struggled her hand free from his vice-like jaws, and then brought both free hands up to snap his neck. Clean break.
His limp body collapsed to the ground.
Krit finished off one of the twins with a twist of the neck and turned back to Max. "You okay?"
Max hustled to his side and kicked the brother twin in the shin with awesome force. His leg snapped in half as the Croat went down. He tried to claw his way to Krit, who reached down and broke his neck slowly, listening to each crack until the satisfying fatal click.
"Yeah, I'll be fine," Max finally answered. "I used my last bandage, though." She inspected her bleeding wound.
Krit pulled some fabric from his cargo pant pocket and tossed it to her. She quickly wrapped her hand.
The two then turned, looking either for a comrade in need or a new victim.
Before they found another Croat, they heard a noise which called their attention to the top of the hill, over which they saw a shiny black Impala drive, high-beams on and old rock blaring.
"Who the hell…?" Max trailed.
"Do they know what they're getting themselves into?" Krit asked.
Both soldiers headed toward the vehicle as it crossed the valley quickly. It seemed like the vehicle was moving toward the transgenic-infused Croat-mass.
"Move!" Max shouted to her fellow soldiers, cupping her hands at her mouth. "Get out of the way!"
There were only a dozen Croats left on the battlefield, and she could see the unwillingness in her comrades' eyes to give up their fights dwindle as the car revved closer and closer.
The transgenics scattered out as the Impala hit the closest Croat, sending him flying toward two others. All three were knocked down with a split second to spare before being run over.
"Holy shit!" exclaimed Zack in awe.
The Impala spun and skidded to a stop, the passenger's side door opening toward Max.
A very tall man climbed out of the car and leveled the scope of his rifle to shoulder height. He aimed just past Max and squeezed the trigger. Within the same second, she felt splatter at the side of her head and unconsciously raised a hand to it. When she pulled it into her vision, she saw brains. She snapped her head right and saw the now headless corpse stretched face down in the mud.
"Thanks," Max said to the tall dark-haired man.
He threw her a half smile and turned to face the remaining Croats. "Dean!" he shouted, taking off around the Impala, raising his gun at an oncoming Croat.
Max took off toward the mass as the tall guy squeezed of another round. She blurred to his side and he did a double-take at her apparent speed then returned his attention to the scuffle in front of them. Max followed his gaze and saw a tall (but not as tall as the dark-haired guy) dirty blonde – who apparently was named Dean. They watched him fight a particularly stubborn Croat, who had grabbed Dean by the collar and was trying desperately to bite him.
Dean fought with his back to them, wrangling one arm free only to throw an elbow to the Croat's face. The infected's head rocked back and returned to Dean's fist, bloodied from the broken nose of the Croat's body.
The tall man passed his rifle to Max and pulled a knife from his jacket. He held the blade between his thumb and forefinger. "Dean!" he shouted.
"Kinda busy right now, Sammy," Dean shot back, his scruffy voice grating over the few other fights. Dean pulled his own knife from somewhere (Max couldn't tell) and gutted the Croat in an almost identical fashion to what Max had done minutes ago. She watched with some excitement.
'Sammy,' on the other hand, re-sheathed his metal, obviously dejected.
The Croat fell forward. Dean grabbed his hair in one fist, and swept his now-empty left hand in front of the attacker's face. He carefully situated his hand at the Croat's chin and twisted his neck in one fluid movement.
As he heard the snap, he turned to the 'Sammy' guy with a smile and said, "Too easy. I don't feel like he was even trying."
Dean shifted his sight to Max. He smiled charmingly. "Hi," he said, before turning back to Sammy.
Max wasn't sure she had actually just seen what she had just seen.
Dean picked his knife up and wiped it on cloth he fished from his pocket, then crouched down. He slid his knife back into his boot, brushed the dirt off his knee, and stood up.
Max's face paled the moment he looked back to her and she saw his face clearly for the first time.
"You okay?" Dean asked, moving a few steps closer.
Max raised the rifle and aimed at Dean, whose hands lifted up defensively.
"Whoa, whoa… It's okay," he tried.
"It sure as hell isn't!" Max shouted.
Krit and Zack came up behind Max as Dean stared at her. The other transgenics had ganged up on the remaining Croats and were otherwise occupied.
"Who the hell are you?"