Well, it was an apocalypse. Obviously. Now, as to what kind it was, the Soldier did not know. It didn't seem like a zombie apocalypse. If that was the case, they would have been discovered and disemboweled by now. The sky was pretty clear, free from ash and debris. Probably not a nuclear attack or a meteor strike. The possibility for an alien invasion remained, but it seemed unlikely. The bases belonging to RED and BLU were pretty advanced. They would have been the first organizations contacted by extra-terrestrial life, if for no other purpose than to be eliminated. It wasn't wrecked enough outside to be the rapture or Ragnorak or whatever religious end of times scenario was correct. So, what was it?
"Well, gentlemen, I can tell you this much." The Soldier lowered his binoculars, then shook his head. "I have no idea what's going on."
The Spy snorted. "Finally. He admits it."
Most of the team was standing on the front porch to their barracks, taking the time to eat breakfast and talk smack to each other while the Soldier tried to come up with a strategy. They were trying to drink as much milk as possible, hoping to get rid of the additional perishables before they rotted away. The Scout had dug into a bowl of sugary cereal. The Pyro was sitting next to him, still despondent about the non-functional toaster. The rest of the team was sharing a loaf of bread, preservatives strewn about. The Frenchman preferred a cherry confit, the Scotsman orange marmalade. The Soldier had a few slices with apple butter, which he shared with the Medic. The Heavy tried everything, fascinated with every flavor. He put nearly a fourth of the loaf away on his own. It was a pretty decent bonding moment. Outside of their impending doom, of course.
"So, what d'ya think we're gonna do, then?" the Scout asked between mouthfuls of cereal.
The Soldier scratched his chin. "We do what we always do. We hold out here until we're low on supplies, then we go to the next place."
The Heavy lifted an eyebrow. "You do not think we will fight, do you? Spy says there is fire in other base. They would not come here. They have problems."
"Well, we certainly can't abandon our post," the Soldier replied.
"Fair enough." The Spy hopped down from his perch. "Zen you stay here while we get help."
The Soldier grumbled. "Frenchie, really? A retreat already?" That earned the American a two-fingered salute from the Spy.
The Medic sighed, weary enough from his team's squabbling. "So, vere is ze Engineer in all of zis? Anybody know?"
"Not a clue." The Scout swallowed another spoonful. "Sniper's out, too. No van in the garage, anyway."
The Soldier nodded. "I see. Did any of you try radioing either of them?"
That question brought an abrupt silence to the group. Both the Medic and the Spy slapped their heads. Sure, the phone lines were out, and one of the radio towers was down, but it was possible that it was still working. Perhaps there was a battery-operated emergency radio in the garage. In an era when virtually everyone communicated via telephone, secondary methods often got overlooked.
The Pyro gave the Soldier a thumbs up. "Auhl ged id." He jumped off the porch, taking an outside jog to the garage. Group discussions and planning wasn't his thing, anyway. He was better suited for action. The radio wasn't too hard to find. It was sitting on the Engineer's work bench, the solar panel on the back aimed out a window. He placed the panel on the top of the radio, then trotted back to the porch.
He didn't quite make it before he sensed something off.
The Pyro had lived through a couple different earthquakes before. He'd spent some time in California, mostly just bumming around and fighting or starting the occasional forest fire. It wasn't as deep of a rumble as that. It felt kind of shallow, trembling just beneath his feet. He stopped for a moment, waiting for the sensation to pass. Sure enough, everything became still again. Must have been nothing.
"Mrrph prf preef pfat?" the Pyro asked the team on the porch.
The Demoman scratched his head. "What's he talkin' about?"
The Scout shrugged. "I dunno. If he's not runnin' around 'n settin' things on fire, I ain't worried about it."
"Thought I felt something, too," the Heavy said. "Little thing, but something."
The Soldier smirked. He snatched up his binoculars. "Well, well, well. Maybe that was what you were sensing, gentlemen."
A beat-up Land Rover coughed its way onto the barracks. It was going fairly fast for the old beast, screeching as it came to an abrupt halt in front of the porch. The Engineer was the first to step out, somewhat shocked by the impromptu breakfast club. He felt embarrassed, but he didn't have a reason why. The Sniper jumped out of the driver's seat, rushing to the back of the van. He didn't acknowledge his teammates. He was driven by panic, rustling through his possessions like a madman.
"Well, now. What is zis, may I ask?" the Spy grinned, his words slithering out of his teeth. "Did you enjoy your holiday, laborer?"
A new flush of color appeared on the Engineer's face. "It was just fine." Pushing his brief emotional flare aside, he got onto their dilemma. "Look, did any of ya get radioed by Miss Pauling?"
"Pyro just went 'n got the bloody machine. Ain't heard a peep out of it." The Demoman sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Nothin's been workin' all day. Good thing ya came back."
"What's all out?" the Engineer asked.
That got the Scout riled up. "Everythin'! No TV, no power, no respawn! Cold water! Geez, if you'd taken any longer to get back, we'd have to start makin' radios outta coconuts or somethin'!"
The Spy frowned. He withdrew a cigarette out of his pocket. "Surely, you saw ze radio tower is down, laborer?"
"Yeah. We drove past it when—" The Engineer lost his train of thought as the Sniper dropped his heavy tool box near his feet. That Australian was skittish, beyond his usual paranoid self. Pretty much everything had been removed from his van. Guns, knives, mason jars, first aid kits, rope, duct tape, flares, a bow. He hopped back into his van before the Engineer could inquire what was going on. Probably to get more ammunition, no doubt.
The Scout raised an eyebrow. "Geez. What jumped up his butt?"
The Spy smirked. "Indeed."
"Now, listen here, fellas," the Engineer tried getting his teammates back on track. "Miss Pauling says that the other team's base has got the same problems. Hell, they're a little worse off right now. Sounds like there's been some kinda attack on their base."
"I knew it! And now, the enemy fleet is headed our way, is it? If it's a fight they want, then it's a fight they'll get!" The Soldier leapt onto his feet, already raring to go. "What is the nature of our foe?"
The Sniper muttered as he threw another round of supplies onto the porch. "Not human."
That brought an array of confused expressions from the team. It wasn't like they hadn't fought strange things on a routine basis. Hell, ghosts and floating, dismembered body parts were standard fare for them. The Medic was more excited than the rest, leaning forward with his hands folded under his chin. "And by not human, you mean vat, exactly?"
The Sniper stopped for just one moment, almost out of breath with his scurrying. "Wot I mean is—"
That strange rumble happened again. The entire team froze, not sure what was going on. Color drained from the Sniper's face, his courage waning with it. The Engineer frowned, a flitter of panic hitting him as well. It wasn't like he hadn't seen all of his teammates frightened before. There was usually a very clear reason for why they were upset. A man had a gun at their temple, a knife at their back, a trap at their feet. That probably wasn't just a little earthquake beneath their feet, not if the expression on the Sniper's face was correct.
"Not much time," the Sniper breathed. He slammed the back door to the van shut. "Get everyone to the roof before—"
There was a small little sound that came from beneath the Sniper's van. It was no greater than a soft hiss. The escaping air was followed by a horrific screech. Something was beneath the van's belly, pulling its guts apart. The entire team backed away, moving towards the door of the barracks. Crunching and gnashing follow, mortal whines from the van continuing as it was consumed from below. Something snaked around the rear passenger-side tire, chewing away at the patched rubber. A small gasp escaped the team. It was a group of orange draconian heads, each no bigger than a man's hand, all munching away.
The Sniper said words than never meant anything good, coming from a hunter as experienced as he was. "Well, that's new."
"You're kiddin' me, right?" the Scout edged toward the end of the porch. "That's it? That's what has been killin' the electricity 'round here? No problem." He grabbed one of the Sniper knives, then stepped off of the porch.
"Youngen', I wouldn't be foolin' around with that," the Engineer said.
The Scout rolled his eyes. "Ease up, ya pansies." He grabbed the long necks of the worms chewing at the Sniper's van. With one quick hack, he decapitated the lot of them. Red-orange blood seeped out of their wounds. He threw the heads aside, giving the cowering men another face. "Geez, what a bunch a—"
He didn't get an opportunity to finish his sentence.
A black beak broke the earth beneath the Scout's feet. It blossomed outwards, separating into four distinct parts. The decapitated necks on the ground shot upwards, wrapping around the young man's ankles. They pulled him into the gargantuan maw beneath him, the beaks shooting up and closing like some organic claw machine contraption. Without as much as a shriek, the Scout was swallowed whole.
Even if he was physically the slowest, the Heavy was the quickest to respond. "Upstairs! Now!" He grabbed the Medic, tossing the German over his shoulder as he bolted for the nearest roof entrance. The Demoman was the next to retreat, babbling in fright. The Spy was frozen, his mind locked up with what he had just witnessed. Lucky for him, the Soldier decided to carry him to safety. The Pyro didn't stay put long either, grabbing what supplies he could carry from the Sniper's pile on the porch and hurrying away. The Sniper picked up some of his weapons, but did not bolt. He stayed still for a few moments, firing as many shots off as he could before the Engineer dragged him away as well.
"Truckie!" the Sniper hissed. "I've gotta—"
The Engineer shook his head. "Kid's gone. Ain't no way he could have survived that!"
The Sniper growled back. "But I—"
There was no point in arguing anymore. The worm had disappeared below the sand, only its beak remaining above ground. It continued tearing away at the van, as if it were offended by its presence. By the time the Engineer and the Sniper had reached the top of their barracks, the van was half-way dragged underground. With a few last violent tugs, the Australian's home disappeared beneath the sand. When the Engineer dropped him on the roof, he had no support in his legs. He tumbled to his knees, rage and terror clouding his senses.
Shaking, the Demoman approached the edge of the roof. He slipped his beanie from his head. "Poor lad. That's no way ta go."
"Don't worry," the Engineer said, patting the Demoman on his shoulder. "Our respawn's down, but the next one over will pick him up. That's what happened ta the other team."
The Soldier lowered his eyebrows. "You mean, those other bastards got wiped out?"
The Engineer nodded. "Ended up kickin' on the emergency respawn in Coldfront."
The majority of the team shivered at the thought. Coldfront was a decent location, provided that coats and gloves were available. It was a lot of work to keep heated, never the less shoveled clear and salted. For some of them, it was a pleasant enough location. The Heavy and the Soldier enjoyed the cooler temperatures, and while they didn't have nearly as much fun with the snow as their larger comrades, the Demoman and the Medic had a pretty good tolerance for the temperature. Everyone else struggled to keep warm, usually huddling around whatever minor arson the Pyro committed.
"In most ozzer circumstances, I would kill myself to get out of zis," the Spy muttered. "I zink I will avoid ze cold today."
The Engineer shrugged. "I'm not sure he ended up there. The system's designed to have us spawn several hundred miles apart, just in case of a major catastrophic event."
The Spy grumbled. "Well, zen. Suppose you should get to contacting Miss Pauling, non? Perhaps you can whip up a radio tower, while we're trapped up here like rats."
"Sitting around here isn't going to do us any good." The Soldier took command of the situation, like always. "We need weapons and a plan. No offense, Kiwi Cupcake, but I need a real gun. "
The Sniper sighed, puffing out a low roll of air. "Whatever ya do is foine by me. Just don't go ta the ground floor."
All of the men had a nasty habit of keeping weapons in their rooms. They usually weren't loaded for safety reasons, but they were there, providing both decoration and comfort. The men slipped into the second floor in pairs, each quickly gathering their own possessions. The only one that did not peruse his room was the Engineer. He got to work on the roof, quickly popping up a dispenser. If the rest of the day was going to go this badly, the least he could do was provide a little ammunition and health.
The Engineer pursed his lips, then grabbed a handful of cartridges. He sat down next to the Sniper, slipping bullets into his vest pocket. "Sorry."
The Sniper shook his head, staring at the mound where his van was buried. "More worried about that spastic little gremlin right now."
"It—it probably was quick." The Engineer slung an arm around the tall man's shoulders. "Don't worry. He'll be okay."
The Sniper tipped the brim of his hat down. "Coulda saved him, Truckie."
"Maybe. I wasn't about ta let ya risk it." The Engineer snapped his friend around, pointing at him. "Miss Pauling said ya knew how ta take care 'a these things. We're countin' on ya. Don't go testin' yer luck."
A dry, low smile slipped onto the Sniper's face. "Ya don't want ta do what I had ta do, Truckie. Trust me."
That brought a smirk to the Engineer. "I trust ya ta help us get through this. So buck up. Otherwise, I ain't helpin' ya dig yer van back out."
The Sniper nodded. He stuck out his right hand. There was a slap of a skin palm against a metal one, and then all was right. It was strange how much a high-five could fix. "Okay, mate."
"Well, if ya two dandies are finished slappin' each others' arses, we could get ta work!"
Both the Engineer and the Sniper jolted as the Demoman approached them. He had an unusual assortment of items, to say the least. He had his grenade and sticky launchers, as well as a few swords sheathed on his back. He also had a milk crate full of a variety of bombs. The strangest item by far was the fishing rod he'd brought up. It was bent out of shape, the metal beaten and nearly snapped in half. The reel was much too loose, wire dangling off of it. There was no hook to speak of, just a wide loop at the end of the line. It was useless for catching fish.
The Sniper smiled. "Take it ya got a plan, then?"
"Ay, mate." The Demoman grinned, setting the milk crate down. "Have I got a damned fine plan for you boyos."
/***/
Author's Note:
Whoops. I've been neglecting this story. I wonder what got in the way…
I'm curious as to how to handle both the Tremors species, as well as fatalities in this story. Technically speaking, I've already killed more people in the first two chapters of this thing than the entire first entry in the Tremors saga. I don't want to get too fatal, but I'm not exactly opposed to offing a couple of people here and there. (Sorry Scout fangirls.)
Anyway—back to the species. Not sure I want to get into Assblaster territory. I might swing towards a classic Dune sandworm, or hell, maybe even explore a Sarlacc pit. Because why not?
Sorry for making you wait. Hope you enjoyed.
