Prologue
It was, so to speak, a dark and stormy night. The only form of light came from occasional flashes of lightning, and twin headlights of a military truck traveling down the dirt road.
"I think it's getting worse…" Corporal Darren said, squinting through the rain-soaked windshield.
Sergeant Ruthven, driving, gave Darren a quick look before turning his attention back to the road. "How can you tell? It just looks like more and more water to me."
"True. I'm not sure, anyway, and it's splitting hairs anyway. Man, what a storm."
"No kidding," replied Ruthven. "Heard Raccoon has a lot of 'em, but even this has to be big." The truck began to slip, and was in danger of going off the road before Ruthven brought it back under control. "Otherwise they'd have better roads…"
"It's because of the mountains, you know," said Darren, looking over.
"Really, I thought it caused deserts. You know, because – SHIT!" A flash of red flesh was caught in the headlights for a split second, before the truck bumped and something went under the wheels. Ruthven slammed on the brakes, but it was several meters before the vehicle slid to a stop on the muddy road.
"Y'okay?" Ruthven asked Darren. He nodded, then pointed outside inquisitively. Ruthven nodded, and Darren exited. He switched on his flashlight as he did so.
Ruthven growled. Great, now he's squashed something, and whether or not it had jumped in front of him in poor visibility didn't matter. He was really going to catch it now.
"Sir?" Came Darren's voice from outside, over the roaring of the rain. "Think you better come take a look at this."
"Don't call me sir, Darren, I work for my money!" Following his shout, Ruthven turned around and looked at his cargo in the back. "Hey, don't go anywhere, okay?"
Billy Coen, shackled at the wrists and ankles, looked up. He looked casual, as usual, despite the fact that he was being driven to his death. "We'll have to see how it goes," he said, mildly.
Ruthven exited the van, turning on his own flashlight as he did so. Immediately the rain drenched his hair, ran down his neck, plastered his shirt against his body. The mud squelched as he moved around the truck to where Darren was waiting. Ruthven played his flashlight close to the corporal's face, illuminating it without killing his night vision. Darren's expression was calm, but there was definitely something up. Darren didn't have to speak, just demonstrating his point by waving his flashlight slightly. Ruthven looked downward, blinking at what was revealed in the circle of white light.
It was some sort of dog, and it wasn't in good shape either. Ruthven must have hit it pretty hard, because the ribs were snapped and pointing through its skin. But patches of its skin were missing, red muscle exposed – something Ruthven knew a truck couldn't do.
Ruthven knelt, poked the dog with his flashlight - and froze. He stayed stock still, ears perked, only his eyes rolling slowly upward in concentration.
"Darren…do…you…have…your…gun." Ruthven was speaking slow and very quiet. It was peacetime, and they were supposedly unarmed, but Darren always carried an M1911, which sergeants tended to turn a blind eye towards. Ruthven only had his knife.
Darren's eyes turned slowly towards the truck. He started to lean ever so slightly forward.
Not careful enough.
There suddenly came a loud barking from everywhere at once. Darren dashed for the truck door as a mass flew out of the darkness. It struck the corporal on the back and slammed him into the vehicle. Ruthven jumped to his feet, drew his knife and slashed. The dogs yelped and turned on him.
Freed, Darren yanked open the door and grabbed at the glove compartment. Billy Coen's eyes widened, slightly, as Darren drew the 9mm handgun, and Ruthven was pushed into the truck on the seat, a dog of some sort tearing at his throat. He was stabbing it uselessly with the knife. Darren fired twice into the canine, causing it to jerk and fall silent. Ruthven gurgled.
Darren grabbed at Ruthven, demanding to know if he could help, when a second dog flew through the door and chomped down on his leg. He howled, swivelled and fired madly into the creature. Ruthven's knife slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the floor. Unseen, Billy pounced on it, grabbed it in his cuffed hands and stuck the point into the lock of his leg shackles.
Darren was bleeding, but pointing his gun into the dark when a chain went around his neck and jerked backwards. Darren choked, scrabbled, and received a knife into his lungs for his trouble. Billy's strong arm reached about, pulled the pistol out of his hand, and slung him to the side. Legs freed, Billy fell out of the truck and looked about wildly. He held the pistol in one hand, the knife in another, and sprinted into the darkness. Ruthven dead, and Darren dying, he left his old world behind.
It was, so to speak, a dark and stormy night. The only form of light came from occasional flashes of lightning, and twin headlights of a military truck traveling down the dirt road.
"I think it's getting worse…" Corporal Darren said, squinting through the rain-soaked windshield.
Sergeant Ruthven, driving, gave Darren a quick look before turning his attention back to the road. "How can you tell? It just looks like more and more water to me."
"True. I'm not sure, anyway, and it's splitting hairs anyway. Man, what a storm."
"No kidding," replied Ruthven. "Heard Raccoon has a lot of 'em, but even this has to be big." The truck began to slip, and was in danger of going off the road before Ruthven brought it back under control. "Otherwise they'd have better roads…"
"It's because of the mountains, you know," said Darren, looking over.
"Really, I thought it caused deserts. You know, because – SHIT!" A flash of red flesh was caught in the headlights for a split second, before the truck bumped and something went under the wheels. Ruthven slammed on the brakes, but it was several meters before the vehicle slid to a stop on the muddy road.
"Y'okay?" Ruthven asked Darren. He nodded, then pointed outside inquisitively. Ruthven nodded, and Darren exited. He switched on his flashlight as he did so.
Ruthven growled. Great, now he's squashed something, and whether or not it had jumped in front of him in poor visibility didn't matter. He was really going to catch it now.
"Sir?" Came Darren's voice from outside, over the roaring of the rain. "Think you better come take a look at this."
"Don't call me sir, Darren, I work for my money!" Following his shout, Ruthven turned around and looked at his cargo in the back. "Hey, don't go anywhere, okay?"
Billy Coen, shackled at the wrists and ankles, looked up. He looked casual, as usual, despite the fact that he was being driven to his death. "We'll have to see how it goes," he said, mildly.
Ruthven exited the van, turning on his own flashlight as he did so. Immediately the rain drenched his hair, ran down his neck, plastered his shirt against his body. The mud squelched as he moved around the truck to where Darren was waiting. Ruthven played his flashlight close to the corporal's face, illuminating it without killing his night vision. Darren's expression was calm, but there was definitely something up. Darren didn't have to speak, just demonstrating his point by waving his flashlight slightly. Ruthven looked downward, blinking at what was revealed in the circle of white light.
It was some sort of dog, and it wasn't in good shape either. Ruthven must have hit it pretty hard, because the ribs were snapped and pointing through its skin. But patches of its skin were missing, red muscle exposed – something Ruthven knew a truck couldn't do.
Ruthven knelt, poked the dog with his flashlight - and froze. He stayed stock still, ears perked, only his eyes rolling slowly upward in concentration.
"Darren…do…you…have…your…gun." Ruthven was speaking slow and very quiet. It was peacetime, and they were supposedly unarmed, but Darren always carried an M1911, which sergeants tended to turn a blind eye towards. Ruthven only had his knife.
Darren's eyes turned slowly towards the truck. He started to lean ever so slightly forward.
Not careful enough.
There suddenly came a loud barking from everywhere at once. Darren dashed for the truck door as a mass flew out of the darkness. It struck the corporal on the back and slammed him into the vehicle. Ruthven jumped to his feet, drew his knife and slashed. The dogs yelped and turned on him.
Freed, Darren yanked open the door and grabbed at the glove compartment. Billy Coen's eyes widened, slightly, as Darren drew the 9mm handgun, and Ruthven was pushed into the truck on the seat, a dog of some sort tearing at his throat. He was stabbing it uselessly with the knife. Darren fired twice into the canine, causing it to jerk and fall silent. Ruthven gurgled.
Darren grabbed at Ruthven, demanding to know if he could help, when a second dog flew through the door and chomped down on his leg. He howled, swivelled and fired madly into the creature. Ruthven's knife slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the floor. Unseen, Billy pounced on it, grabbed it in his cuffed hands and stuck the point into the lock of his leg shackles.
Darren was bleeding, but pointing his gun into the dark when a chain went around his neck and jerked backwards. Darren choked, scrabbled, and received a knife into his lungs for his trouble. Billy's strong arm reached about, pulled the pistol out of his hand, and slung him to the side. Legs freed, Billy fell out of the truck and looked about wildly. He held the pistol in one hand, the knife in another, and sprinted into the darkness. Ruthven dead, and Darren dying, he left his old world behind.