His heart hammered his chest while adrenaline pumped into his system, keeping the pain muted against the fear. The PDF trooper kicked the ground with each long legged sprint, feeling lightened without his lasgun clips and back pack. Much of his issued equipment was either used up or lost in the mad sprint when the line was broken half a kilometer back.
The boy stopped and turned sharply, his lungs drawing hard puffs of cold air and his brown eyes wide, keen on any danger that could have followed him. The only thing he saw was an encroaching fog that seemed to creep from the line some fifty meters behind him. He wanted to fire at the occasional shadows that seemed to loom in the mist, but his eyes made out the sight of trees and gnarled roots which calmed him only slightly. He bit his lip and actually pierced the bottom portion. Although he wanted to be prudent and fire, the few rounds left is his rifle represented the very last of his ammunition. The coppery taste of blood was in his mouth.
The boy spun around as he heard a soft crackle from behind, raising his gun to eye level and seeking a target. But nothing stood except blades of color-dulled grass and rain soaked mud that was common of Komaal II rainier seasons. Relaxing a little, the boy stepped forward and saw a trench below him, aside which small piles of mud that were watered down by rain. There was a figure in the pits.
Stepping forward as quietly as he could while steadying his breath, the trooper noticed the remains of a vox-caster specialist, his back pack unit a large electric device that could send and receive messages over kilometers of distance. The vox seemed to still function, sputtering static and occasional voices, but the man who wielded it was nothing but a shredded torso. His head was propped upon his shoulder and blood drooled down his lip, limbs scattered a few meters away with the tendons dragged across the mud.
The trooper covered his mouth and felt his chest and face grow cold. The nausea that formed in his stomach was hard to suppress, but somehow he managed to still the desire to dispel bile from his throat. He had seen much of the same in the last few days that could haunt him for the rest of his life, however long or short it may be.
Stepping forward, the trooper dropped into the trench and braced his knees, feeling his body slightly sink into the mud. With his lasgun tucked over his legs, he reached forward with a trembling, pale hand to the shoulder of the vox-caster and pushed the torso over, leaving the back of the man and his vox-unit facing towards the sky. Immediately the trooper covered his nose, the smell of the corpse's soiled clothes catching him off guard and again the trooper fought the desire to unleash what little remained in his stomach.
Opening his mouth to breathe through, the trooper finally summoned up the courage to reach for the vox receiver and lifted it to his mouth, "This is trooper Zek of the 2nd platoon. Is anyone still out there? Over."
Zek waited amongst screeches of white noise and static. He felt himself begin to rock on the balls of his feet, hunched over the cadaver and felt himself begin to dread.
"…-ek, this is Lieutenant Hammer. Where are you son?"
Zek felt some warmth return to his face as he lifted the receiver again, "I'd say less then a kilo from the eastern line sir. We fell, completely routed. Our sergeant didn't-"
"What happened to the line?"
"It's gone. We were over run by the fog. Then the enemy took our position within the cover of it. All six squads were eradicated. I think I'm the only survivor."
"-lright son, now listen clo-…"
White noise over took the speakers. In his frustration, Zek slapped a wet hand on the box. Somehow, the simple act of violence did the trick.
"-ou need to head west and south. Do not go north, that line was lost an hour ago. The rendezvous is set for Owens' mill. Think you can do that son?"
"Yes sir," Zek's replied frantically.
"We're pulling out in one and a half hours. You need to make the clip s-…"
Static overtook the message, but the sound of groaning some distance off changed everything. Immediately, Zek's dropped the receiver and stood up, his lasgun up and about.
Paralyzed a moment by fear, Zek's glanced down at the vox-caster and knew that the man had no spare clips on him. The dead man's bandoleer was likely torn away by the force of whatever had killed him, or taken by another trooper slightly more desperate then him. Stepping passed the body, Zek's threw himself up the slope of the trench, turning his stomach the color of brown clay as he hoisted one leg, then the other to follow.
As he stood up again, Zek's glanced behind him to spy the looming, humanoid shapes that followed. Slow and steady he backed away and took off running, running west towards the rendezvous point and his last bet for survival, his last chance to truly fight back.
As he ran, something caught his eye above him. His eyes drifted towards the night sky and took notice of a strangely large red star in the eastern hemisphere. The fact puzzled him a moment, for never in the history of his planet's astronomy had Komaal IV looked so bright red.
