From the Depths of the Darkness, Enlightenment
Light was a friend behind them, seeing them off as they set on their journey into the world below.
Justin managed to keep his cool during the argument and didn't tell anyone that the Pelican was already capable of slipspace flight.
Just as Gibson foretold, the Warthog ruse gave a better understanding of everyone in their company. And while that certainly helped identify where people stood, no one's situation actually improved because of it. If anything, matters were now worse. And that fact couldn't have come at more inopportune time. With only guesses and worries on everyone's mind, a trek into the deepening dark would only play on those uncertainties. There was little truth to go off of now.
But Gibson had convinced Justin to take that path with the group. Gibson believed it was all for good reason. Hopefully, everyone remaining would last long enough to know what it was.
The remaining survivors stepped forth, and were once again swallowed by the darkness to come.
Joe Hendricksson was the last in as he high-stepped over a pile of rubble displaced from the crash-landed ship. One by one they disappeared in front of him, almost instantly sucked up by the void. He briefly glanced back, regarding the escape craft one last time. Even though the vessel was totally useless from the damage it sustained during re-entry, he couldn't help but marvel at it for just a moment longer. That ship saved his life. Whoever designed the on-board life support system was either a genius, or their invention was aided by divine intervention, by God Joe would spend more time with Bill, gaining better insight into the world of faith while his luck was up. If God was the explanation for his survival, better to compound on it by getting on His good graces.
He smiled before turning to follow the others into the mines…when something caught his peripherals. He froze for an instant, his heart immediately starting to thump in his chest. An internal dose of adrenaline coursed from his chest and into all his veins. All the memories of the world he left behind suddenly came back. He almost didn't believe that what he currently saw was real.
His long lost fears resurfaced.
But…no. It couldn't be.
Joe looked just below the prow of the crashed ship where the clay surface had been lifted up by burrow trails, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Two distinct tunnels—no bigger than the size of his hand—were just barely under the ground stretching from the crash site to the open plains. Was it possible?
Joe wondered.
He left the nuclear waste of Sirius 6B long behind. And he journeyed through unimaginable distance and time, unaccompanied. It was little more than a memory after more than 400 years adrift in deep space.
A hand on his shoulder startled him. He turned back towards the cave and saw Ken standing there.
"What's wrong, Joe?"
Joe didn't answer Ken for the moment, and looked back towards the ship where the tracks lay. Even if it was what he suspected, at least the tracks looked as though they headed outside the mines rather than in. Whatever it was that created those lines, they were apparently more interested in the world outside. Furthermore, equally daunting threats loomed back in the city, far behind them now. Both issues were immaterial for the moment. His mind had to be on the present task. He'd have to worry about coming to grips with it all later. He was safe…for the time being.
"Nothing's wrong," Joe eventually replied, "just pissed that she's in-op. You know how it is."
"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Pelicans in these days have a good service record, but unless you've got a crew chief on hand and a warehouse full of parts, forget about ever fixing class-A failures in the field."
"So you can fly us outta here once we get that ship, right?"
"Sure. The Pelican was my primary rating. But I haven't flow in ten years, so don't expect much."
"I won't hold it against you. Just do your best; that's all anyone can ask of you."
Joe glanced back one last time before following Ken into the darkness.
Already, the mine's walls were closing in around them. They swallowed what light there was with relative ease, the group on the verge of crossing into eternal dark. A total absence of light just a few meters in front, as if floating in darkness, Justin witnessed the loss of vision looming. It was as if the journey should be halted right then and there. Better to postpone for fourteen hours until the sun would be back in full force. But there was no going back. Time had already run out. This was the only way, now.
Out of curiosity, Justin looked down at the ground right before he became one with the darkness, and discovered the Yellow Trumpet that grew there was no longer present. He surmised it was from the mine entrance collapsing a few days ago. Better off, he thought.
Justin slipped on a pair of NVGs, and the world around him changed from jet-black to ghostly, green fuzz. He once again had an edge over his surroundings. But even with assisted optics, Justin could only assess the way in front for about eight meters. The fact that his night vision goggles operated on the necessity of at least some ambient light to function dictated that he wouldn't be rewarded with much clarity being that there was barely a sliver of luminosity to begin with. It was already darkening outside to boot.
With the other set of NVGs in his possession, Chris donned them as well. He relished the fact he had an extra pair for himself—the third set he told no one about. He panned around: the walls were jagged and stripped clean of minerals thus far in, no glitter to them at all. The floor was a fine layer of silt. Chris flipped his NVGs up and away from his eyes, staring down in the direction of his own hands—currently grasping a UNSC standard issue pistol. Chris experimented, bringing his hands up to his face. They were invisible, as if he was only a pair of eyes this moment, which were utterly useless. He was a meandering spirit himself in this netherworld. Such lack of control was disheartening, but at least any possible zombies wouldn't see him either, or so he hoped; there was no telling the extent of their physical abilities. He stole a deep breath and repositioned his optics over his eyes again, watching intently over the surroundings as they all slowly stepped deeper, now at a downward grade, as if traveling straight to Hell.
In a sense, they were.
Chris broke the silence, "Anyone know the story behind the word shit?"
"What are you talking about?" Ken responded.
"The word shit. It has a history just like any other word."
"What's the story then?"
"Well, as ancient colonists settled North America, they had to sail there. The journey took months. Any plants they brought with them for food would have to be fertilized. So they used manure, animal droppings and stuff."
"Sounds disgusting." Joe said.
"So," Chris' shaky voice echoed all around, "they would always store the plants in the bowels of the ship—no pun intended—and keep them there to avoid the salt mist until they arrived at their destination. Well, it only took a few times for the whole world to discover that anyone who wandered below decks in the night time with a candle would set the whole boat ablaze, methane gasses from the manure.
"The common practice from then on was to place the manure in the well-ventilated areas of the ship. When they crated the shit for transit, they stenciled the letters S.H.I.T. on the boxes, which stood for 'Ship High In Transport'. Shit."
"I would be laughing," Ken said, "but I'm too nervous. Bad timing, kid."
"It's okay." Chris said. "I was just trying to pass the time."
Justin didn't need to articulate his voice. The solid rock confines amplified it. He whispered, "Alright, people, a little more discipline is needed here. We need to stay quiet; we have no idea of what's ahead. And stay in close; I know most of you can't see, but I'll let you know if you get ahead of me."
It seemed to Chris that Justin almost uttered the words with an aberrant compassion, so atypical to what he'd witnessed of Justin's mannerisms for all his time on Traxus IX. Maybe Chris wasn't the only one the mines were beginning to unnerve. He looked around: though he couldn't make out great detail, he could clearly see that everyone's features were tensed and wary, the lines of their faces contorted with a burgeoning fear. Everyone, including himself, already begged for a timely release from this environment.
But it would never come.
"We're at five-hundred meters. How much further?" Justin whispered over his shoulder.
No answer came from Gibson.
Justin stopped, turned around and looked for the admin. He was nestled closely in between Joe and Bill further aft, looking dubiously to the ground as he sauntered forth, his attention everywhere except where it needed to be. Justin turned a 180 again, briefly glancing behind him further into the mine shaft. It was clear for at least five meters. Backpedaling, he made his way to Gibson, eyes constantly glued to the void ahead like a trained sentry. He never once diverted his eyes from that direction. "What's up, Gibson?"
"Damned NVGs are giving me a hard time."
Justin could hear him fumbling with the hardware, angrily from the sound of it.
"Don't break it yet, they might still be functioning. Did you check the charge on them before we entered?"
"No, I forgot." Gibson articulated a weak laugh. "No going back though, eh?"
"We've got my set of eyes and they're fully charged. The path is narrow, so I'll definitely know when something's coming. And if something comes, all we have to do is pour clips into that general direction. So no worries, let's keep pressing."
"And you're sure we've got ammo for repeated encounters like that?"
"Positive."
"Okay," Gibson sighed, "I'll just stay here in the back. Let's get this shit over with."
"Roger. Now, how much further?"
"I don't know. How long have we been walking?"
"Five minutes, five-hundred meters."
"Only five-hundred?"
"Keep your God-damned voice down." Justin whispered with an impossible amount of cool.
Gibson began breathing rapidly. "Okay, it's gotta be less than two kilometers now, but I can't be sure."
"Jesus. Two kilometers? That's fucking ridiculous. We're definitely breaking this up into two days. We're going one more kilometer and then we're setting up camp."
"In here?"
"Ever heard of a thing called guard duty? We rotate two people out every two hours, and they'll take a pair of NVGs with them. You should've told me it was more than two klicks, man. Any more surprises while we're on the subject?"
"No."
Justin strode back up the point of the formation. "Then let's move."
"Bill, I'm getting this feeling that things can't go on much longer like this."
"Tell me why, Chris."
"I think the group is tearing apart."
Chris could make out Bill's face perfectly as they walked side by side, about ten paces behind the majority of the others. The ground was smooth rock now, no fine layer of sand to cushion their footfalls. But at least the ground was consistent and harbored no surprises, so Chris could place his attention away from his own footing and gauge other nuances—the behavior of those people he was with. Every time Chris watched him respond, Bill could never look him in the eyes—but that was not by choice, merely circumstance. Chris knew that Bill, just like everyone else without NVGs, couldn't see anything. But Chris could see Bill just fine. He waited for the holy man's answer as he studied his face in the dark, his disposition so impossibly fair and even despite the situation.
"You say the group is tearing apart. It was never really held together to begin with." Bill answered with surprising bluntness. "Justin formed this cut-throat alliance based on mutual goals, yes? As soon as either Justin or Sergei is no longer needed, they're no longer needed."
"They both went along with this alliance despite their own intentions," said Chris, "I know that. I think it's worse than that, now. Now, I think they've both changed. Especially Justin. I'm worried about him, Bill."
"You've never worried about him before. Why is it different for you this time?"
"He's not thinking straight. He's less concerned with survival and more concerned about his principles."
"I do not understand."
"Before, he was willing to team up with anyone on Traxus IX as long as they could fire a gun. But I think the Kaiser got the better of him back there. He doesn't just dislike the Sergei, Bill. He hates him. He hates every square inch of the man. He wants him dead, whether by his hand or someone else's."
"Hate is a strong emotion." Bill offered, not really sure what to say. "…But it's understandable for a man in Justin's position to be wary of Sergei. But maybe some day they'll both see the err of their ways."
"Bill, that some day will never come if we don't do something to settle things down right now. You may not see it yet, but I do. One of them is gonna kill the other, because they both know they can't share power. You need to keep an eye out on both of them. Do you hear me? Do you want to lose Justin?"
"Of course not."
"Then borrow some of the faith you've been putting in God and use it for yourself. Help me out."
Layla had managed to keep her cool and stay alert. She didn't let her fears get the best of her despite blindly stepping into pure nothingness. A few times she felt the onset of vertigo with no visual reference. But she relied on something that could never be taken away, even on Traxus IX: gravity. The only force keeping her steady was the downward pull itself. She knew where 'down' was. Therefore, all the rest could be discerned in the mind. She suddenly felt a warm, gentle hand run over her forearm. She had no idea who it could be. She said nothing, made no unusual or sudden movements, just kept walking as normal.
Another few seconds…
"How are you holding up?" Justin whispered.
She sighed. "Oh jeez, I was hoping that was you. That guy, Jaggo, has been staring at me ever since we left the factory."
"If he ever makes you feel uncomfortable again, tell me. I'll put out his other eye."
Layla chuckled. "You're silly."
Justin withdrew his hand.
Despite the fact that Layla could see absolutely nothing, she looked around. "So, how much further do you think?"
"You know, honestly, I have no idea. All this shit looks just the same as it did five minutes ago and the electronics' margin of error has been increasing. I think we'll just stop in another few minutes though. I'm sure some people are getting tired. Sound good?"
"Yeah, that sounds good. My legs are aching already."
"Yeah, this downhill slope is doing none of us any good. And the ground is so hard."
"You know what I could really go for right now?" she said.
"What?"
"A scalp massage. If I were back home, my real home, that's where I'd be. A massage parlor."
"The little things. Withdrawal from the little things always hurts the most."
"Oh my God, yes."
"Well, when we get outta here, I'll be your masseuse."
"I'm gonna hold you to that. Hey, did I hear right up there? Sergei tried to convince Chris that a Pelican can go faster than light?
"Yep, you heard right."
"That's not possible, right?"
"Right. Chris got all worked up, thinking we could order parts through Gibson and build that thing up to go into slipspace. Good plan, but it would take weeks to make it happen. And that's if we had no more problems with these aliens."
"Maybe some day it could happen. Maybe if we survive long enough."
"And maybe some day me and you can leave this place, together." Justin glanced around him, then looked back to her.
Her gaze was already rigidly trained on him, his figure, even though there was no way she could witness the seldom-seen excitement in his eyes.
"What are you saying?" she said.
Justin wish he could come out with it, that indeed the Pelican was already good to go, faster than light. That Gibson hadn't been quite the man they took him for all these years. But he didn't want to risk it here, not even a whisper."
"Nothing," Justin flatly, "just entertaining possibilities here."
"Yeah."
A tone that Justin hadn't heard in her voice since they slept together reached his ears. "Do you think we'll ever get off Traxus Nine?"
"Don't say this to anyone...but I think there's a good chance of it."
The group had progressed even further.
Despite zero visibility and the sounds of their own movements reverberating around them, and drafts of unknown origin swiping at their skin, none of them overtly complained. Not one word, not one fuss. Justin panned around with assisted optics: none of them actually looked afraid anymore. So careless was their collective posture that many of them walked with their heads down, a natural autopilot. They were relying solely on one person to call commands. Fools, Justin thought.
Time marched on with the survivors, and their minds became accustomed to their surroundings. Accustomed to so much change within so short a timespan.
It may've felt natural and easy, but it was precisely what Justin was trying so hard to avoid: complacency.
It was foolhardy to assume the best, especially in this place. Only one person had any Godly idea of what was going on in front of them: Justin.
He almost had it in him to butstroke the wall with his weapon to create some measure of pandemonium, something to stir them, to get them sharp-eyed and attentive again. But if there was any sort of enemy in the reaches ahead, that would merely invite trouble rather than create discipline within the group. At any rate, it mattered not how vigilant they were; Justin was the only set of eyes. Did their level of alertness have any meaning? They could not fight what they could not see.
Nevertheless, they had to be ready to fire blindly ahead if Justin so chose. Realizing that, Justin became slightly angered at their unwary conduct.
But unbeknownst to Justin, he wasn't the only one with night vision in possession.
Something was up ahead and Justin froze.
Though he couldn't see as far as the origin of the noise, he nevertheless leaned to the side. "Stop." he whispered emphatically.
He remained there with his sight on the group, making sure the order was obeyed. But it didn't appear that any of them were about to flout him. They complied, for they heard it too, impossible not to hear such a noise in such a finite amount of space.
"What in God's good name is that?" Chris whispered, scooting to just aft of Bill.
"It could be trouble. Let's remain quiet and await Justin's judgment."
Justin looked back to the front, nothing in sight. But it was there, just barely beyond the optic's range. Something was rustling in the distance, possibly scraping at the walls. Whatever it was that could cause such a noise, it had to have been hard and strong enough to rub against rock the way it did.
Justin backpedaled a slight amount and became flush with the line of survivors holding steady from wall to wall, the human collective entirely occupying the width of the narrow confine. "If you're not locked and loaded," Justin said, "you're wrong."
"Did you see anything?" Ken asked while feeling for the exact location of his weapon's safety switch.
"Nothing." Justin answered.
Unbeknownst to all but Chris, Justin backpedaled even more. He was now two paces aft of the majority of the group. Chris found that odd. He watched Justin glance around uneasily.
Chris then looked back to the source of the ruckus up ahead. Nothing.
What was to come next baffled everyone.
"HEY!" Justin shouted.
The words echoed down the shaft, off the walls, in every imaginable direction. All the survivors instantly twitched in fear, wondering what drove Justin to possibly resign all their lives in an instant.
Then, to only Justin and Chris, the answer to that question appeared from the darkness.
One of the horrid zombies came into the view of anyone who possessed working NVGs. It stormed up the incline and directly to them, no intention about it other than to kill anything living it could find.
Chris waited for Justin's order to fire into the void ahead, waited for the right moment in which maximum damage could be inflicted without letting it veer to close to them.
The order didn't come.
"Justin?" Chris whispered. "When?"
Justin didn't acknowledge him, just stared ahead at the fast-approaching creature, which was Hell-bent on murdering someone.
"Justin?"
Still, no answer.
Chris looked at all those around him: they were tensed and ready, but they could not see…and their leader wasn't issuing any commands. Ahead now, the creature was nearly upon them. Chris remembered how adept they were at spanning great distance in a single bound, how they preferred to leap and pounce on their prey from afar. It was now within that gap.
"JUSTIN?"
The man still was unreachable for some reason. Chris raised his weapon and prepared to douse the creature with all his ammo, but before he could, Justin sidestepped behind Jaggo and kicked the crippled man in the back, thrusting him forward into the encroaching zombie.
Chris witnessed it all with perfect clarity.
First, the zombie ran right into Jaggo and together they chest-butted one another. Before the human even registered the impact, the zombie had whipped one of its tentacles at his neck. The carotid artery was punctured, and a fountain of colorless, liquid gore spurted all over Chris' lenses. The look on Jaggo's face was one of acceptance, of instant defeat. He dropped to his knees with his eyes closed, perhaps praying it would just be quick and painless.
It was quick.
But it was not painless.
The zombie used its host's mouth to chomp down on the crown of Jaggo's skull. Hair and a large fragment of cranium were removed, then the blood really started to gush out. Chris pointed his weapon at Justin, then back to the creature, back to Justin, unsure of what was happening. But the zombie was exactly sure. It was killing Jaggo, and would feed on each human one by one until they were all dead.
The fallen Jaggo caught Chris' attention again. Right as the boy placed his eyes back to that horrid sight of fright and predation, he realized there were no more sounds; the zombie merely stood over its victim, Jaggo motionless, lifeless. Jaggo was dead quicker than Chris realized.
Not even any thought required, Chris stepped forth towards the zombie with two brisk strides and took aim, once again prepared to stop it dead. But before he could act, for the second time, Justin took care of it for him. A deafening roar and a fleeting flash simultaneously filled the area, followed by the garrulous crash of an undead body to the ground not a few seconds later. Justin had put a hole clean in its chest. Only silence lingered.
Chris merely stood and stared at a man who was alive not even a minute ago, trying to take stock of what just transpired while everyone around him pointed their weapons into random vectors. They were oblivious.
Chris was full of shock. He knew it, but he still had to process it. Was he going mad? Was he seeing things? Of course not. What he saw really did happen. But Chris kept silent, unable to produce any words. What he witnessed baffled him beyond all known belief. A man was just killed in cold blood, something Chris never thought he would witness in his whole lifetime. And yet, here he was, witness to it all. The whole, bloody act. And Justin was the perpetrator.
Chris watched through blazing, tearful eyes as Justin scooped up Jaggo's belongings—his weapon, his ammo and his personal affects.
"Are we safe?" Bill asked, unsure of where to place his sights.
"Yes. But Jaggo is dead." Justin's reply echoed. "A zombie just came out of nowhere. Too fast. Way too fucking fast."
"You killed it, right?"
"Not sure. We'd better check."
"You check." Ken said.
Justin did so without a word or hint of irritation despite his reluctance to ever take an orders from another.
"Holy shit." Justin said as he knelt down. "Guys, get over here!"
Everyone came running up and crowded around the fallen creature.
"Anyone recognize this?" he said, shining a flashlight on the would-be face of the host.
"Oh my God," Layla said, "That's Jim Carsa."
"Let me see!" the Kaiser shouted, butting his way forth. He knelt down as Justin had earlier, his face speaking curiosity. "They got him." he declared.
"Not much left of your personal staff now, is there, Kaiser?" Justin said. His words fell on deaf ears as Sergei examined the body. Sergei wasn't fazed by the insult, nor was he particularly fazed by Jim's apparent fate.
Yeah, you heartless bastard. Justin thought.
"I wondered where he went to." Chris said. "Hadn't seen him since we found that flower."
"What flower?" Layla asked.
"…Nothing." Chris said. "It's nothing. Justin?"
"Right." Justin said. "Let's keep moving."
"Lord be with you in the final hour." Bill whispered into the air.
Justin briefly glanced upwards at Bill, shaking his head in confusion. "I suggest me get moving." Justin urged. "Every zombie within two klicks could've heard that, maybe even farther in here. Let's keep walking just a little more. We'll shack up for the night."
Justin scanned the periphery as the remaining survivors set up camp for the night under his watch. It was always night this far in.
"Damn," Joe said, "I almost prefer walking again. It's dead cold in here."
"Then everyone huddle in close to conserve body warmth." Justin said over his shoulder, eyes ever to the depths of the mine. There was no answer and no one moving. "Alright, then, suit yourselves."
Eventually, Chris had realized what happened. He spent the last 15 minutes replaying that horrid scene over and over in his mind. Justin sent Jaggo to his death. He had betrayed another.
Had Justin truly gone mad? Had the flower he induced finally claimed him?
But over those 15 minutes, Chris also had the chance to calm down. At first, he kept his mind occupied with the simple task of opening the tough hide of an MRE, its thick plastic showing an incredible affinity for staying sealed. Chris eventually had to break out the buck knife he stole from the stockyard. He stabbed at it once, then enlarged the hole with two fingers before it finally gave way. The foodstuff was packed full of items: the main course was tortellini in a cardboard packaging accompanied by a Magnesium/Sodium-filled heating element. All he had to do was add a few drops of water from his canteen, also stolen. While he waited for the pasta to warm, he appetized his hunger with crunchy crackers and a peanut butter spread, suprisingly tasty despite the food being very close to the end of its 5-year shelf-life. He rummaged through the rest and found a spiced poundcake for desert, a teabag, a packet of electrolyte-rich drink sweetener and a ziploc full of M&M chocolates. His heart rate had finally reached equilibrium after all this, no longer racing. His adrenaline had settled, and now he had food in his stomach. He could finally think clearly.
Chris reflected back to when he first arrived here, how Justin greeted him and how he treated him thus far.
Justin wasn't a good friend, not by a long shot. Then again, Chris never had a true friend. He had no contacts, no one he could ever call on after long years apart, no one to rely on, never a family for support. Chris was very much alone in the universe.
But the funny thing he just realized was that Justin had been the best friend he ever knew ever since entering the world of Traxus IX, the best friend in his entire life if measuring up the merit of his deeds alone. Justin was rough around the edges, but he saved Chris' life twice. Once, at the courtyard his second night here; the other time, when Paulie and his men showed up at their igloo.
Maybe it was his own fault in a way. From everything Chris knew about human nature, the likes of Justin and the likes of Kaiser Sergei were on opposite sides of the spectrum, seemingly always at odds with one another in terms of ethics and morality. Reid and Sergei, sworn enemies since day one here—each with their own set of guiding principles. Did that mean Jaggo's killing was justifiable? Should it always be war here?
Chris had vowed to be the diffuser of the situation, but he failed to act quickly enough.
Some time later, Chris had finished the rest of his night's rations. He had disposed of the waste by stuffing the wrappers and containers back into a pouch in his backpack. He could feel the weight of the high-calorie meal setting in. Along with that, his eyes grew heavy. The steady state of physical and mental distress over the past few hours was ever present like a direct current voltage. He held a slight amount of concern about falling asleep in such a place, but he wasn't alone. And he heard Justin mention something of guard duty earlier. Thankful for the fact that he wasn't picked for it, Chris let the lethargy sink in. So much had happened. He needed rest. He needed the OFF switch.
But rest wouldn't come, not yet. He heard the pattering of footsteps work their way closer to him. He donned his NVGs and looked up.
"Hey, kid. How are you holding up?"
"Fine, Justin."
"You didn't tell me you had a pair of NVGs."
"You never asked me."
"You took them for yourself?"
"Yeah, I took 'em from the stockyard when I gathered up the other two pairs for you guys. They're pretty cool, huh?"
"They sure are. Why don't you put them to good use and do guard duty with Ken."
Chris sighed. "For how long?"
"Two hours. Got a watch?"
"No."
"Then here," Justin said, tossing his timepiece on Chris' lap, "have mine. Get to it."
"How'd you get here anyways?"
"I was a stowaway on a cargo freighter. I came here to find work before I would join the Marines. I always heard people talking about how anyone could find work with the THI. Figured I couldn't go wrong at their busiest location. Turns out they didn't know much."
"…You could say that. But you've been doing pretty well here, kid."
"Thanks. I'm trying not to lose it like everyone else."
"Yeah, it's got a shit load of problems. Gangs, psycho drug dealers, warlords, and maybe more…and now zombies."
"So it's more like ten shit loads then."
Ken chuckled. "…You could say that. Say, what time is it now?"
Chris panned his NVGs down to his wrist. "It's about time to go. Let's head back."
After a short trek back, Chris and Ken could see a faint glow up ahead. The group had lit a fire. Chris and Ken exchanged short, wary glances at one another.
"Who's idea was this?" Ken mumbled.
Within voice range, Justin saw them approaching by the flickers of light against their shadowy figures.
"See anything?" Justin called out.
"Everything seems to be okay out there." Chris said, slightly winded from the walk.
"Alright," Justin announced, "whoever's next, get out there."
Joe and Layla stood together. On his way out, Joe approached Chris. "Can I have those?"
"Sure." Chris said, handing the NVGs over in mid-stride.
As the pairs of guards passed one another by, Chris stopped short of the group sitting flame-side. He looked squarely at Justin. "What, this is safe? Making a fire like this?"
"We'll see better with a fire, and it's fucking cold."
"Oh."
"Fire keeps the rats away." Justin added.
Chris cracked open a bottle of water, poured the contents into his canteen, chucked the empty bottle and started drinking. "Rats, huh?"
"Yep."
Chris chuckled. "I had this friend once. He used to eat 'em, rats." Chris removed his flannel-lined overcoat and took a seat by the fire. "And Justin, you'll appreciate this. You don't just heat up the oil. No-no-no, that makes them stick to the pan. What you do is you get your pan really hot, then you put in your oil cold, and that's when you add your rats." Chris' hand movements became more articulate as he spoke, "But be careful not to crowd the pan or else it sucks the heat right outta the oil. And you gotta keep flipping them or they'll burn and you don't wanna go there. And I swear…my friend said that if you cook 'em up just right they taste like—"
"—Chris, you must be confusing me with someone who gives a shit."
Chris fell silent and looked dubiously to the ground, nearly chastized by Justin's callousness.
"How's the battery life on your NVGs?" Justin asserted.
"Before I handed them to Joe they were at sixty percent."
Justin didn't answer.
Looking through the green haze of the NVGs for however long Joe Hendricksson had stood watch for, he was starting to feel the boredom set in. A few times, he caught himself losing focus on the darkness ahead, which wasn't good. For one, everyone was counting on him. If he blew it, they'd all be devoured or maimed, and that was after he was a goner. Also, they had already encountered one ravenous zombie; it wasn't improbable that there were more lurking the deep recesses of the world.
"So," Layla asked, breaking the silence that gripped them, "I never got to ask you where you were from. I've never seen you around."
"Earth."
"What's it like there?"
"I can't really answer that."
"Why not?"
"I shouldn't even be alive to talk about it. That ship back there…"
"Yeah?"
"That was mine. It's an escape vessel. I came from Sirius Six-B. I left that place in the year twenty seventy-eight."
"My God! You're…you're over four-hundred years old!"
"Now you know." Joe smiled. "But…I'd imagine Earth is the same as any other place. Just millions of people living their lives the best way they can."
"I'd like to see that place someday." She smiled, "Justin and I are going."
"Best of luck to you. I really hope you two get there."
Something instantly alerted the two of them. "What's that?" Joe whispered.
"Another one?" she asked. "Tell me the instant you see it. I'm gonna unload a whole clip on its ass."
"I don't see anything."
"But you hear that, right?"
A moment later, it got louder: a hoarse undulation of breath, in and out, in and out. It was the most ragged, leather-lunged cough of a breath either of them had ever heard. Nothing human could be making such a sickly, wet sound.
"Hard not to." Joe said, raising his weapon into sight.
"Wait…" Layla said, pouring all her focus into hearing. "It's getting closer." she whispered lower. "Tell me when."
Then, a stranger noise permeated the void.
"What's that?" she whispered.
"It sounds metallic." Joe answered.
A strange jingle of unknown metal on rock resounded through the sloped mine shaft. For the moment, it was a steady rustle, a metallic ping echoing about every two seconds.
Instantly, the frequency multiplied. The echoing increased and got louder. The proximity was indiscernible as it amplified off the walls, but it definitely ventured closer. Now, the tempo of the rustling was as a heartbeat, thumping in their ears and clanging against the rock the louder it got, until both Layla and Joe lost their nerve. As if to kick them while they were down, their fears were confirmed.
The maker of all the noise produced a blood-curdling shriek. It nearly deafened them both, the noise somewhat too close.
"I think we should get back to the group now." Joe shouted.
The two of them turned and bolted.
Chris watched the flames dance and play shadows against the walls. The synthetic resin fuel beneath the sizzling display crackled and spat charred cinders in all directions, which cooled once they bounced off the ground not a few inches away. Once again, Chris felt sleep calling him as warmth and modest comfort returned. He'd only get two hours which was far from ideal, especially factoring in all the stress he had been through since his last sleep. But he had to capitalize on this opportunity. Before he rested his head down on his backpack, he caught the side of Ken Sopher's face staring off into the distance, deep in thought. And right as Chris closed his eyes, a familiar and unwanted voice crept in.
"You saw what happened." the Kaiser said.
Chris rolled over and saw that Sergei had scooted his way closer to him. "Saw what?"
"When Jaggo died, how did he go out?"
"He went down swinging, Kaiser."
"You're hiding something. Don't sugarcoat."
"I don't know what it is you want to hear, honestly."
"You don't have to tell me anything. I can see it in your eyes. This fire tells me everything I need to know. So, now I'll ask you, who is the real villain among us?"
Joe and Layla ran for their lives.
The noise wasn't getting softer, which meant it was pacing right with them, running them down. And they weren't about to compare their endurance with its. They had already seen what these creatures were capable of.
But to Joe and Layla, that was okay. They'd rather deal with this monster as a group than by themselves. The rest of the survivors were not far ahead.
"Not much further now!" Joe shouted over his dwindling breath.
Layla almost entertained the impulse to look over her shoulder, but that would take away a stride or two, which were precious right now.
"There's the fire!" she shouted.
Ahead was salvation.
Joe could almost hear the crackling and see shadowy shapes milling about the orange glow, so hazy from this distance.
"HEY!" Joe shouted.
The figures ahead stopped moving, their outlines fixed into position.
"They heard us." Joe said, pumping his legs despite the lactic acid building in them.
Layla was right beside him, running the hardest she ever had in her life.
The glow got closer and closer, brighter and brighter.
"There's one right behind us!" Joe shouted.
As they got to within a stone's throw away from Justin and the others, their legs about gave in and they faltered towards the ground, rolling to a grinding halt at the remaining survivors' feet.
Justin switched on his optics and peered ahead. The sound nearly gave the creature away before he could even make out its silhouette in the shadowy distance. "Everyone, FIRE!" he ordered.
The pitch black ambience became a myriad of white and orange-yellows as all manner of muzzles flashed in the direction of the incoming threat. At first, Justin saw that none of the rounds fazed it. But the closer it drew, the slower it advanced. Finally, after more than five seconds of steady firing, the monster dropped in its tracks, letting out one final gurgle as its testament to unremitting malevolence.
The mine shaft was dark again. Silence settled as the ringing lingered in everyone's ears from the tremendous volley they served unto the death of the murderous zombie.
"Stay here." Justin ordered everyone.
He stepped forth. The carcass of the fallen humanoid already gave off pungent odors. It was a burden to simply confirm its death.
Justin stepped over and around it, attained a good look at its head. A venture to identify the host...before they turned. Maybe a drug lord. Maybe a factory worker. Maybe a familiar face, once.
It was of little consequence. The face was so badly mangled that not even a forensic scientist could gather the truth. There weren't even any teeth left in the victim, just viny scilia protruding from the mandibles lying limply.
"Did you know that person?" Chris asked.
"No. There's no face this time. I guess the parasite that claimed this one decided to do some Feng Shui."
"That's terrible, Justin." Layla said.
"Wait," Justin said, "What's this? There's a chain tied around its neck."
"What?" Layla shouted. "Let me see!" She stepped closer to the corpse, "That explains the metal sound we heard." she said, turning to Joe.
"That's right." Hendricksson said. "Just what the Hell is going on here?"
Justin picked up the chain. "Let's follow this and find out."
The group had another new task.
On top of reaching the high-yield cache of weaponry, they had to find just what exactly was going on in the mines. A zombie, chained up like a caged animal. Only one thing was now certain: things would either get stranger or clearer. Only time would be their next obstacle to truth.
But designs of a different nature were playing on the survivor collective as well. Presently, Chris occupied the lower third of the group, panning around with his night vision, periodically glancing back at the stragglers to ensure the formation was intact. No one needed the ears of a fox to sense the overweight admin approaching at Chris' heels.
"Hey, kid. How are you holding up down here?"
"Fine." Everyone here was anything but fine, Chris especially. The lone witness to murder from the man he once trusted most—he was sure he had seen it all at the young age of sixteen, no less. "Any more questions?"
"Let me talk to you for a minute. Alone."
Chris slowed his step until everyone else was an amicable distance in front of him and Gibson. "Speak."
"Justin, myself and Ken have got a plan going to get rid of the Kaiser. You need to be on-board so you're not blind-sided by this when it happens."
"What's the plan?"
"…We're not really sure yet. It kind of has to be played by ear. My best advice to you is to be on alert when we get close to the Pelican. That's when it'll happen. Steer clear of the action, and keep your gun at the ready. Hopefully, you won't be needed. Justin's confident he can end it quickly. Sergei is all alone now, so it should be easy. Then again, there's no doubt he's desperate. He knows he's all alone. I just wanted to let you know the recent developments."
"I can't believe it's actually going to happen."
"C'mon, kid, it has to happen. Look at him. Look at what he's done, what he's committed his life to. Do you really think he can change overnight? Chris, that kind of man...he isn't a man."
"No, I believe anyone can change. We're not executioners, Mister Gibson."
"Look, I don't like this sort of thing any more than the next guy, but the truth is it must be done. Listen to the part of you that fears his very presence. That's your good, incorruptible part. That man is evil."
"That's not true. He hasn't turned on us yet and he easily could have."
Gibson sighed, "Who knows what's true or not? Sergei, whether he'll turn on us or not, is dirty. He knows this about himself. And he knows that we know. Even if you forgive him, it doesn't mean that he'll forgive himself. The point is: the whole fucking situation is dirty. And dirty times call for dirty deeds, yes?"
Chris nodded bitterly, sensing the tears swelling up again. "Casualties of war."
"That's right, Chris, casualties of war. Distance yourself from emotion. You'll live longer."
Chris caught no particular expression from the admin before he quickened his pace, catching up to the rest of the group.
"How long have we been following this chain?" Gibson grunted.
"I don't know." Justin said, half-occupied. "A while I suppose."
On Justin's lead, the survivor collective traversed ever deeper, the pace somewhat swifter this time around.
"What happened to stopping one kilometer in, and resting?"
"If you're tired, cry about it. We're not stopping now."
From the rear of the crowd, Chris thought he heard Mr. Gibson whimper in between his panting breaths.
Ken quickened his pace and strode up beside Justin. "What do you think is going on here?"
"Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's something strange. First of all, how in the Hell would anyone be able to wrap a chain around one of these bastard's necks? I don't see that happening. You'd need a dozen strong men to do that. Even then, at least one of them would get shit-canned in the process. We have to investigate."
"Why, Justin? Why not just forget about it and do what we've set out to do? It's safer to get the weapons we need, and we do need them. We don't know how many more of those super-zombies are out there...in here."
"I know what you're thinking, Ken. I know what everyone else is thinking too: why mettle in affairs that aren't ours? Why risk more danger? Truthfully, for me, I need to know. This is bigger than us. This is bigger than our escape, too."
"I'm sure you know by now that everyone else has been running scared these last few days. I'm not sure we have the nerve to do this anymore, Justin. We need a break. We need the Pelican. There, is that what you wanted? To know that you were right all along?"
Justin chuckled darkly. "I don't care about being right anymore. Not since I found this!" Justin rattled the chain recklessly against the bedrock, a fierce echo painting an audible bull's-eye over their location. "I just care about the truth...and we're gonna get straight to the heart of it."
As Justin advanced further inward with the group in tow, the chain he held slackly in his hand fell to the ground aft of his step, link by link clanging impetuously to the ground. The group reluctantly followed.
Right as Gibson let out another one of his irritated, explosive sighs, Justin halted.
"Stop." he ordered.
Silence followed.
No one said a word. No one moved.
Chris saw the situation perfectly from the rear of the group. Up ahead, bathed in a ghostly green fuzz, was Justin…holding the end of the line.
Chris inched forth. On the way up, he offered a soothing pat on the back to all near him before reaching Justin's side. Taking his place, he assessed the way ahead before placing his gaze to a massive palisade driven into the earth before him. Jutting up into the air about waist high, it looked to be solid metal, the sturdy chain attached to it.
"This is new." Chris offered.
"This is bad." Justin corrected.
"I guess ordinarily this would be a good thing." Chris said, meeting Justin's gaze. "But I guess not now?"
"Look at it. It would take some kind of heavy machinery to puncture solid bedrock like this. And the fabrication is way too clean. This was no accident. Someone put this here."
"But what for?"
"Now that is the question."
Together, as if sharing one mind, Justin and Chris stepped forth again, past the anchor.
"Everybody, come on." Justin ordered. "Slowly."
"That will be far enough." a voice echoed out.
Everyone froze. The string of words unleashed upon the encompassing void seemed to blast right by all the survivors and roil beyond them, clamouring all the way up the mine shaft.
Justin and Chris looked around. There was nothing ahead. They glanced back beyond the others. There was nothing behind.
"Umm...where did that come from?" Chris whispered tensely.
Justin stiffened and answered through gritted teeth, "I don't know."
Five minutes.
It had been five, whole minutes since that command was shouted into the darkness. Justin gradually became more animate as time elapsed, looking all around for the presence.
"Who are you and what is going on?" Justin demanded.
No answer came. The only substance present in the mine shaft with them was a cold, brisk draft of air.
"C'mon." Justin ordered the group. He began walking, then stopped a few seconds later. The only footfalls registering about the air were his own. He turned around.
No one else had followed.
"Ignore that voice." Justin instructed. "Of course it doesn't want us here. Ever see The Wizard of Oz?"
Justin spun on a heel and resumed his progress.
One more step and he was halted mid-stride by a blinding light. It shone in his face and saturated his optic's display, eventually overcoming the limits of his own visual accuuity in the form of sharp pain. Pure, white light invaded his squinted lids. He instantly covered his face with one arm and removed his NVGs with the other. From wall to wall, an aura so pure and intense stunned them all.
Moments later, it subsided a slight amount, barely allowing them to see.
They all squinted with creased brows, wondering what it could be that was capable of producing such luminosity. And just then, the light was instantly doused. The world grew dark again with purple spots swarming the ambience like otherworldly fireflies.
"I assume you came this far to find the answers to all your questions."
Justin deftly reached up for the NVG's activation switch, fumbling for it in the dark. He refastened the strap around his head and tapped the control switch, but the display didn't respond. The comforting, pale-green panorama never returned. All he got was pitch-black. The optics were dead.
"Precision EMP. You will see what I want you to see, nothing more. You will go where I tell you to, nowhere else. If you take issue, you can go back the way you came. If you are compliant with these terms, then follow me."
Heavy footfalls in front signaled to the group that there was someone , or something large and heavy in front leading them. It went on in silence for a while, with nothing spoken and nothing accomplished. Only walking further into the mysterious unknown, an equally anonymous leader taking them to whatever fate lied ahead.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Justin asked aloud after some moments.
There was no response, just the steady pounding of what was presumably footsteps into the hard ground.
"Are you the one who speaks to me?"
Still, no answer.
The steady thuds stopped. It halted.
Then, lights recessed into the ceiling turned on. A natural white glow filled the area.
The one that guided them was revealed.
"My name is Doctor Kleiner."
A humanoid silhouette fluidly turned to face them upon visibility being restored. A suit of bulky power armor resided before them, the clear faceplate of it showing a middle-aged man with thick glasses and a balding scalp. His face was the only organic feature visible under the gargantuan chassis.
"You've wandered into a classified research facility. Normally, I'd have my sentries turn you away—"
"—Normally?" Justin raised his chin at the visor towering over him.
"These aren't normal circumstances, are they?" the Doctor's voice emitter resounded flatly.
"Nothing about any of this is normal to us."
"Rightly so, but you and your followers have shown to be quite enduring. I've had my eye on you ever since you decided to go back into the city. Your very presence here warrants my respect."
"Well, thanks and all, Doctor, but I'd like to know just what in the Sam Hell is happening. Are you and your buddies playing God down here?"
"You could say that, Mister Reid."