Hey all, sorry this has taken so long, work and life been gettin in the way!! Hope you enjoy!
Part 12
Cold fear crawled sinuously down Dassion's spine as he looked upon the scene before him. He hid, along with Dar and Mira, in a small, shaded alcove that led onto a damaged gantry which itself overlooked a large hanger bay. He could taste the arid tinge of differing fuels in the otherwise stale air, and the pungent smell of lubricants and spacecraft engines almost bled from the walls it was so strong. The hanger was half a kilometre high, and was just as wide, the interior damaged like the gantry, with ruined cargo lifters rusting on the floor and dark scorch marks staining the ground and walls from previous fires. Several rotting carcasses lay amongst broken machinery, unfortunate workers or off-line servitors – luckily though, they were motionless and merely dead rather than something worse.
The chilling surroundings did not upset Dassion though. What frightened him the most at present was the bulky troop-lander that sat in the centre of the bay like a bulbous bruise, spewing forth dangerous looking soldier-like figures.
His worst fears had come true. He remembered such monsters from his days fighting in the Tharactus War. A shudder rippled through him at the memories. The Archenemy were the foulest adversaries of the Imperium. Chaos incarnate. More evil than any zombie victim, more callous than any down-hive dealer and more dangerous than any plague. They were slaves to the darkest of Gods. And they had now set foot upon Tharius.
The lander looked like the same one he had seen previously. Upon closer inspection it more resembled an old assault drop-ship, though it had been heavily modified, with extra armour plating attached to its hull haphazardly - and variously added weaponry bristled from it too. The hull was a mixture of green and black. Red painted symbols adorned its sides and it hurt the eye to look at them. The cooling engines hissed and growled while fuel and lubricant dripped from rusting hydraulics and various cracks under its distended belly. Instead of landing struts, the ship had jagged landing claws that gouged deeply into the landing pad. The flyer looked sick, he thought, and in a worse state than old Hermia. It was a miracle that it flew, he mused. Overall, the lander looked like a cancerous cell that had somehow blossomed and grown into the hanger bay.
The power of chaos was not to be underestimated, he knew.
'No… oh no…' a voice stuttered.
Dassion turned from his vantage point, towards the voice. As he did so he heard Mira's laspistol power up with a soft whine, and Dar's hefty shotgun being racked and loaded.
Vern stood before them, his face contorted in fright. When he saw the guns aimed toward him he raised his hands defensively and took a step back, 'It's me, Vern!' he said in a shaky voice.
Anger welled up inside Dassion. 'What are you doing here?' he hissed. 'I told you to stay with the ship!'
Both Dar and Mira lowered their weapons, Mira muttering under her breath harshly. Vern, though visibly shaken, recovered enough to speak. 'S-sorry Dassion. I just… I just wanted to see what was going on for myself.'
'What about the Hermia? What if one of these people find her,' he said, gesturing out over to the chaos lander, 'or if plague carrier's find her?'
'I-I didn't think, I'm sorry.'
Dar suddenly put a large hand on Dassion's shoulder. 'Quiet.'
Dassion turned from the feeble minded fool, Dar bringing him back into the moment. He glanced over at the chaos troops once more, a morbid curiosity overcoming his emotions. The realisation of why Dar had grabbed him so urgently hit him all–too-quickly: several zombies shuffled towards the lander. What would happen now? he thought, would they attack the chaos soldiers? The answer unfolded before him, and the shock of it hit him like an augmented ogryn…
The enemy soldiers were not firing on the zombies or looking frightened in the slightest, even though they had clear line of sight to the undead beasts. The Archenemy fighters seemed to be heavily armed with a variety of assault guns, rifles and pistols; as well as various wicked looking knifes, swords and clubs. They wore dark fatigues and solid looking body armour. Above all, they were well suited for combat and death. But it did not answer why they were so nonchalant towards the shambling parodies of life that edged towards them.
A small, podgy-looking individual then stepped out of the lander. Most of their features were hid under a matted, dirty-looking hooded cloak that covered them from head to toe, but it did not hide the unhealthy weight or gait to them. Dassion immediately perceived that they were in charge, and that they more powerful than they looked. His feelings were answered swiftly too, as the hooded figure merely raised their hand to the closing zombies and they stopped in their tracks. Like servitors to a tech-magus, they seemed to be under his command. The hooded figure issued some form of instruction and the zombies and they turned from the lander, shambling back to the exits. The soldiers became animated too, forming around the hooded figure.
Then, without any hesitation, the cloaked leader turned and looked directly up at Dassion and his colleagues, their crooked hand rising to point to Dassion's' location.
Mira sprang to action, rising from her crouch and grabbing Dassion's shoulder. 'They've seen us!' she spat 'move, back to the Hermia!'
The chill fear he had felt moments ago seemed to turn to a burning in his chest, and panic momentarily froze him. But Mira's steely grip tore him out of it and he was dragged to his feet. They scrambled away from the gantry hurriedly, all four of them rushing to escape as the first hard rounds impacted across the walls around them, the sound a shocking, deep cry of violence.
The Hermia. They had to reach her or they would die for sure, Dassion though. The Hermia was their only chance with dusk so close and the chaos soldiers pursuing them.
He ran with the others, his old muscles straining with the effort, his thoughts turning dark as he realised just how lucky they would have to be to survive this time.
*
Carson's head throbbed to the beat of pain. It was a beat he realised, a horrible rhythm that danced with his heartbeat and crushed his brain.
He looked out at the morning sun, its rays momentarily blinding him as they crept through the silent city. He could here a couple of birds sing in the sky – a strange, weird occurrence so deep into the city. But he welcomed it.
Several hours ago he awoke under the carcass of Bore, and it took him his full strength of will and a full hour to free himself. Hunger took him next, and he hunted in the dark, dingy remains of the Tech-factory for some food, finally finding rotting scraps in what he guessed was some form of workers rest area. Luckily he also found re-processed pure water tanks and drunk his fill, then filled up several bottles water for his journey – many of the water sources in the city were now diseased or spoiled in some way. Food he would have to continue foraging for.
Then he turned his attention to transport. He found what he was looking for fairly fast. For years he enjoyed coming to the place and looking at them. He found several motorbikes in the factorium – fast, lithe modes of transport that could surely be the only way these days to travel through the city. He chose a sleek, black high-end Swifter, its slender body and powerful engine more than adequate for traversing through the cluttered streets. He powered its engines and waited for morning.
Now he stood outside the factorium, holding the bikes handlebars on both hands. Even after the food and water he felt weak, and he could see how thin he was becoming. If the zombies didn't get him, starvation might. But he knew things were changing – he had seen the flyers in the sky. It was not only himself and the hordes of undead that inhabited the city any more. Life had been found.
And he promised himself he would find that life.
Carson hit the activation panel on the bike and its engine roared to life with a throaty growl. As he jumped on and moved into the street he saw two birds – frightened by the sound – fly up high into the morning sky. They became small dots all-to-quickly, disappearing into the wispy clouds and the light blue hue, lost forever.
But Carson would remember them forever – symbols of hope and survival. Their sight seemed to brush away the nightmares of the previous night.
He turned the throttle on the swifter and rushed through the streets towards the spaceport, hope in his heart.