The tram hummed along in almost complete silence. Trent sat down in the small area allotted to passengers and contemplated his situation. He was cut off from the rest of the galaxy, no communications, no means of escaping the moon, fighting against some kind of nightmarish alien infection and all he had to back him up was a handful of Yellowjackets. To be fair, Yellowjackets were typically badass, but to him, they were number three on the list. Survivors holding the number one position and Spartans at a close second.
The others were shifting around the area, talking quietly to each other or cleaning weapons. Tori was manning the controls. Trent went about checking over his weapons, making sure they were fully loaded and ready for action. He wasn't sure why he did it anymore, he couldn't remember the last time he'd forgotten to reload or experienced a jam of some kind. He supposed luck did have its privileges. Trent began studying the upcoming base via his database.
It was essentially a larger version of the one they had just come from. More warehouses, a separate dormitory complex, four landing pads and a bigger control tower. It was hooked up to other bases exactly like the one they'd just come from. It was a distribution network for the immediate region of land, funneling off supplies to and from space. Minerals and heavy metals went out, supplies and sometimes personnel came in.
Trent broadened his view of the map, looking for something more interesting. Perhaps something that might help him on his search, a medical center or something. He saw the complex of distribution centers, the weather station, the comms relay...a few more comms relays...a medical center! It was small and pretty far away, another good fifty miles to the north, but it was only area in the region that made any sense to go to.
Trent cleared his throat. "All right everyone, listen up. It looks like there's a medical center fifty miles north of here. Once we hit the distribution complex, we're going to do a quick search of it and load up the vehicles onto another track that will take us twenty miles north, then we'll get out and drive the rest of the way." There were a string of affirmative responses. Trent sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. He began to really regret not hitting a little bit of morphine before he dropped. The weed was good, but it was already fading.
Some part of Trent thought that maybe he was beginning to rely on all this shit. The booze, the weed, the adrenaline and morphine cocktails, the women...but, when he got right down to the hard end of that line of thought, he had to genuinely ask himself what else did he have to live for? Besides his friends and this job...there was nothing. He had no family left. He didn't really have anyone outside of the Survivors.
Trent knew he should count himself lucky that he even had this job and those friends. There were many more who had a hell of a lot less. But part of him was beginning to not really care anymore. He'd faced down the Covenant, he'd seen the Flood rise and fall a dozen times by now, he'd fought monsters and bad guys...what did it matter anymore?
There would be more Survivors to deal with this crap...
Trent derailed that line of thought. It was utterly selfish and irresponsible to think things like that. He had to care, because, as apathetic as he had become, as bitter as he had become, he still thought that humanity as a whole deserved to be protected. And he was capable enough to be compelled to do some protecting.
Trent glanced up as the tram began to slow. They were nearly there.
The process of not only searching the center but switching over the vehicles to another tram and tunnel was long and arduous. Trent took Dribs, Garet and Duvall with him to investigate the station, leaving the others to deal with the task of reloading the vehicles onto a separate tram. Which meant they had to offload them, get them back up to the surface level, getting them to another warehouse and reloading them.
Trent led the others up a narrow stairwell to the topside warehouse. It became immediately obvious that something violent had gone on and recently. A fire burned somewhere in the warehouse, several huge crates had been toppled, their contents spilled across the gritty, oil-stained floor. Blood, black and red, was sprayed liberally across the area.
Distantly, Trent could hear something thumping around.
A quiet growl sounded. Trent swallowed. He prepared himself to face another horror, ready to see that same, awful visage of terror as he had the others spread out, cover and follow him. They began to wind slowly through the warehouse. They honed in on the sound of the heavy footfalls. Trent came around a large stack of crates and found himself staring at an entirely new terror. This thing was even less human than the one before.
It stood a good six and a half feet tall, walking on legs that were bent in the wrong direction. Sprouting out of its backside, like a demented tail, was a human torso. It had too long arms, its hands ending in splits with jagged claws. Its head had cracked open at the top and growing a bizarre, tube-like protrusion stuffed with teeth. Its skin was a mottled, sickly gray-red color. It issued a deep growl as it sensed Trent.
He and the others opened fire, spraying the thing with bullets. Garet stepped forward, leveling his flamethrower at the beast. It charged and crashed right into him, sending him flying backwards. The flamethrower flew from his hands. Trent let his SAW hang by its sling, knelt and retrieved the weapon. He leveled it at the monster, which was preparing for another attack, and opened up. The flames immediately consumed the horrid beast. It began roaring and flailing around. The squad gave it a wide berth, waiting until it collapsed.
Trent helped Garet to his feet and tried to pass the flamethrower back.
Garet shook his head. "Maybe you should hold onto that thing. I think you can use it better than me," he said. Trent considered it, then nodded and shrugged out the SAW. He passed the weapon to Garet, who accepted it with a thanks.
They continued their search of the warehouse after making sure the new abomination was dead. Once they had cleared it, they allowed the others to continue the process of transferring the vehicles. They moved on to the warehouse that would lead them to their next destination and cleared it and the tram station beneath.
Once the route was cleared, Trent let the rest of the squad continue with their final loading procedures, then continued his investigation. The hunt through the warehouses and subsequent tram stations was long and tedious. There was a great deal of devastation. Blood and burned bodies everywhere. It was obvious that the infection had hit hard here. They encountered another few horrors shambling through the warehouses. It was unclear what they were doing and how much, if any, of their humanity remained.
Trent found himself already growing accustomed to exterminating them. He was glad to have the flamethrower, but knew he needed fuel for it. Garet hadn't been able to locate any, and they couldn't find any spare canisters in the warehouses. They spent an hour doing a sweep of the warehouses and tram stations, then moved on to the dormitories structure. By that time, the others had finished loading up. Trent left Tori and Alex to guard the tram and sent the rest to begin clearing out the control tower. The faster they could leave, the happier Trent would be.
The dormitories were as grim and haunting as the warehouses. Perhaps more so. While the warehouses spoke of work and gritty, industrial technology, the dorms spoke of life and leisure and sometimes love. Trent had mostly hardened himself against the knowledge that there were genuine people in situations like these, people who probably didn't deserve whatever nightmarish, insane events had befallen them. It was an essential part of the job. But, sometimes, he'd see something small: a locket, a picture on the wall, a note. It shot straight past all his defenses and hit him in what little heart he had left.
He sucked it up, like he always did. He had to. Those in the control tower were wrapping up their search just as Trent and the others were wrapping up theirs. Trent ended up in the infirmary. It had been hit hard, but not hard enough that he didn't notice the very obvious case of hypodermic needles sitting at the far end of the room next to a computer terminal. It was still on, a text document open, words scrawled across the screen in blocky black text. Trent frowned and told the others to check the room while he investigate this curiosity.
To whom it concerns, this is the only bit of data of any relevance that we have managed to discern about the Infection. A man can become infected without anyone else's knowledge. Once the Infection has taken over, it will do everything in its power to remain hidden and strike in the dark, to infect others. Presently, there are only two methodologies of testing and exposing an Infected. The first is to mix their blood with Blue Nine, a cleansing compound meant to disinfect infirmaries. I have rigged all of our hypos with Blue Nine. The second, more basic way, is to take a sample of blood and apply a bit of burning metal to it. Both should result in the same thing. If there is no infection: nothing. If there is an infection: a loud, piercing shriek.
"Guys, get over here. Right now," Trent said. He opened up his comms. "Everyone report to the infirmary immediately." He looked over the container and felt a bit of subtle relief: there were enough hypos for all of them. He let everyone read the document as they came in and soon all nine of them stood silent and solemn.
"So...basically what you're saying," Duvall said uneasily. "Is that any one of us could be infected right now...and we wouldn't know it?"
Trent nodded. "That's what it sounds like."
"I don't get it..." Garet said quietly. "I mean, how do you become infected? We're all in suits."
"Airborne? Bloodborne? No idea. Have you been keeping your suits airtight? I haven't, I don't want to waste my suit's oxygen." The group admitted sadly that they hadn't.
"But...I still don't get it. I mean, okay, from what we've seen so far, the infection is pretty damned obvious. I mean, you saw those things."
"I don't know, Garet. But I do know that we have a viable test."
"Oh sure, that could be complete bullshit." The others shifted nervously. The concept that one or more of them could be posing as a human, a monster in disguise...it was more than a little disturbing. Trent grabbed one of the hypos.
"I just need a little bit of blood," Trent replied.
"...you go first," Garet said. Trent nodded. He had a sense of fair play. He stuck the needle into the injector port that came standard in all suits, meant for ease of access for injections. He hit the button and extracted a small bit of blood. It stung, but it was nothing he wasn't used to by now. He held it up for them all to see, then hit the mixer. The Blue Nine, which glowed blue in a smaller shaft of glass attached to the top of the needle, was released into his blood. He waited. There was no reaction. He let out a small sigh of relief.
"I'll go next," Duvall said.
"It doesn't really prove anything," Tori pointed out.
"We'll test everyone, then we'll see," Trent replied. He tossed away the used hypo and got another. He used it on Duvall and hit the mixer. Nothing. He moved on, making those he tested stand a little to the side, for which they seemed vaguely relieved. Tori was clean. Alex. Meso. Tori still didn't seem convinced that this was actually accomplishing anything. And Trent quietly agreed with her. Until he tested Garet.
"Let's get this over with," he sighed. "Goddamn hate needles." Trent stuck the needle in, took the blood and raised it a little. He hit the mixer. Almost instantly a loud shriek pierced the chilled air and the glass container exploded. Trent cried out in shock, dropping what was left of the hypo, and took a step back from Garet, who was now frozen stock still. Through his clear visor, Trent could see that his face had gone completely blank.
Trent raised the flamethrower, then watched in pure, fascinated horror as Garet's entire body began to vibrate violently. At first, Trent thought he was having some kind of seizure...until bits and pieces of his helmet and shards of his faceplate were sent flying in every direction. Garet's face had begun to melt off, revealing a twisted skeletal structure that only vaguely resembled humanity. His skin fell away and tentacles shot out of his eyes. More of his armor was coming off as blood and other fluids sprayed everywhere.
"What's happening?! What's happening!?" Alex screamed.
"Torch it, Temple!" Duvall roared. Trent was snapped out of his trance and squeezed the trigger. It was clear that Garet was almost done doing...whatever it was he'd been doing. He lit up like a torch. The others backed away from the shrieking inferno. The thing that had once been Garet took a few stumbling steps, then collapsed, burning silently. After a few moments, Trent pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall and put it out. The corpse smoldered quietly, smelling of pure evil.
"What...what was that!?" Duvall snapped.
Trent was staring at the corpse. "I guess...when they're exposed they...burst out, to defend themselves," he said softly.
"Holy Christ..." Tori whispered. "I guess you were right." Trent looked up, at the others who hadn't been tested yet. He was tempted to believe there could be no others, that any infected members now knew for a fact that the test worked and that they'd soon be exposed. That if there were any infected in the group, they would've just burst out or maybe run when Garet had gone. But he couldn't take any chances.
"Here, cover me," he said, handing the flamethrower to Duvall, who nodded and accepted it silently. Trent stared grimly at those who remained. Steven. Martin. Dribs. Trent settled his gaze narrowly on Dribs, who hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward. He grabbed another needle, stuck it through the port and took some blood. He took a step back, holding the hypo a little away from him. The others tensed. Trent hit the mixer. Nothing.
Dribs seemed to visibly relax.
"All right, get over there," Trent said. Dribs nodded and moved to be with the others. Trent grabbed the final hypos and tested the others. Nothing. They were clean. Trent felt a little odd. He had been almost certain that Dribs had been infected. Was he just being paranoid? Or was Dribs just a pretty emotionless guy? It bugged Trent, but he let it go. They now had a proven method of exposing the infection.
"All right, everyone. Spread out, searching the infirmary. Hypos and Blue Nine. I want it all," Trent said. They nodded without comment, shocked into silence, and began their search. Unfortunately, whoever had written that note was right: he'd loaded up the last of the hypos with the last of the Blue Nine. They'd just have to keep an eye out for it during their travels. Their search complete, the group, now eight, moved back to the proper tram.
Trent sat in silent contemplation as the tram shot through the flickering, bloody tunnels, towards an unknown destination.
