And that's three. John Bradford remained perfectly still on the tree's thick branch, his rifle sighted carefully at the target below him. Engaging it would be madness, but if it did see him, he would at least have the first shot. Across from him, her shotgun laid neatly across her lap, Jane Kelly watched John's every movement, likely hoping to pick up new tricks. Most people would have kept their attention on the creature below.
It always struck John as unfair that the hunters, nearly eight foot tall killing machines, opted to travel in groups of three. Just one could overwhelm any human, or even group of humans, but the Combine never fell short of manpower, nor the desire to use it. The hunter below shifted in place, the large antennae on its back twitching. Aside from its muffled shuffling, all John could hear were the sounds of blissfully ignorant birdsong, and the sound of wind through the leaves.
The hunter let out a single electronic whoop, something that never failed to send a shiver down John's spine. He grimaced as another whoop was returned, roughly a quarter of a mile to the east if he was any judge. Good. Their movements have been consistent so far. The hunter's two vertically aligned eyes swiveled this way and that, but its physiology made it difficult to see upward – it would have to angle its entire body towards the sky. The hunter instead simply cantered back and forth, making soft electronic chirrups as it completed its sweep. Then, as if called by some unseen signal, it cantered off into the bushes.
Kelly lifted her right hand and showed three fingers. Her brown eyebrows disappeared beneath her beanie. John gave her a thumbs up and then raised two fingers of his own. Two minutes. Should be enough to maximize the amount of time the hunters spend running around. The distraction team had not reacted with enthusiasm upon being told they would be deliberately attracting hunters. John made sure to emphasize where the real danger was.
We'll have about fifteen minutes. Maybe. Enough to do some damage. He scratched one of the old scars on his face, and then ran a finger down the length of it, cheek to jawbone. We're not adding any more today. Okay?
Jane Kelly suddenly held up a fist. At first, John did not hear anything. A few seconds later, he caught it. Chopper blades. Helicopter or gunship? In the Outlands, it could be either. Is my hearing really going that badly? Probably too much close-by gunfire and explosions. At least I can still see okay.
The sound of the chopper grew louder. John glanced up, grimacing, hoping it would just pass on by. They were in no condition to deal with Combine air support. First pass this bastard has made in a week of surveillance. Did they catch on to us? Is something up? A blast of sound from above answered his question.
"Vital alert: anomalous biotics confirmed. Redeploying Outland Sector 17 Overwatch to urban regions. Stand by for further instruction. Code: Analyze. Clamp. Protect."
The hunter chopper passed overhead at a speed that suggested it was urgently needed elsewhere. The message looped twice more, becoming fainter as it went. John cocked an eyebrow at Jane, who shrugged.
"Wasn't me," she whispered.
"Less Outland activity can only be good for us." John glanced down at his watch. Ten seconds. He looked back up with a grin."You ready?"
"Oh yeah." Kelly returned his grin with a flourish. John gave her the nod. She adjusted the mic at her lips. "Moe, do it."
On cue, the sound of distant gunfire erupted a ways to the southwest of their location. Good, it carries nicely. The chatter went on for several seconds before terminating in a few sharp bursts. Another electronic whoop echoed from the east of them, returned twice more before falling silent.
"They're on the hunt. Get out of there!" Jane flicked the mic to the side of her face and then began lowering herself. John followed suit, ignoring the twinge in his knees and making sure his AR2 remained secured on its sling. They fell to the ground with a crunching of leaves underfoot.
"Move." Jane took point, shotgun at the ready. John pressed himself against each tree and covered her, checking for any movement. It might have been unnecessary, but they had already had one unexpected helicopter today. Knowing their luck, a second group of hunters might have shown up since yesterday.
The trees gave way to the lip of a small cliff. Below them, what John liked to think of as an "augmented" settlement. There were plenty of little shacks and abandoned village scattered throughout the area, long picked clean of anything useful. The Combine occasionally liked to move in where convenient or useful, implementing a few of their own personal touches to make the village more defensible. The additions were always quite noticeable.
Here, a tower made out of that blasted blue-black metal the Combine were so fond of, twisting out of the ground like some mutant tree. A single guard stood at the top, rifle in his arms. Good. If it doesn't get damaged in the fall, we can use that. The others, six by John's count, patrolled below. At present, John could only see three, all of which stood at the southwest portion of the village, staring out in the direction of the gunfire. Backs turned. Good.
"Tell Ramirez she's cleared to engage." John did not turn to Jane as he spoke, instead sighting down the closest soldier he could see on the ground. "The tower, first. Tell her not to miss this time."
"Ramirez!" hissed Jane. "Take down the guy on the tower!"
"Quick and quiet." John could just barely hear Ana's reply over the radio. He certainly did not hear the report of her own weapon, a jerry-rigged crossbow, nor did he see the bolt travelling to the target. The cry of the soldier and the sudden turn of his fellows told him all he needed to know.
"Weapons free!" John let loose a burst of fire from his pulse rifle. The meaty report sounded like music to his ears, and the spurt of red from his target the applause. He fired two more sharp bursts, the rounds peppering the ground around the target as he began to hustle to the nearest cover, a broken-down tractor. The other two scattered, the dull vocoded radio chatter not quite carrying to John's location. He was sure he could get the gist of it. Anticitizens. Alert, alert. Exterminate, exterminate.
"We have fifteen minutes to do this, let's go!" John motioned for Jane to move. If they weren't on a bit of a time limit, he would normally hold on to the elevated position for as long as possible. In this case, they didn't have time, and they did have one excellent trump card. "Toss a frag into that house on the right and clear it, I'll take these other guys."
They dashed down the slope, legs carrying them while gravity dragged them forward. John collided with the wooden fence surrounding the perimeter at nearly full force, flattening himself against it and preparing to circle around.
"Two, from the north!" called out Jane. "Ramirez, drop one! Osei, where are you?"
A sharp burst of gunfire from the east answered that question. A neat flank. A soldier called out, his voice cutting short with a grunt. Two down. They all sound the same when they die. John circled around the corner of the fence. A stretch of road greeted him ahead. Osei's gunfire did not stop, and John could hear the familiar metallic rustling of the Overwatch as they repositioned themselves, giving calm reports all the while.
"Overwatch, sector is not controlled. We have active anticitizens. Requesting reserve activation."
"Bouncer, bouncer!"
A sharp bang came from behind John, all the glass in the building breaking in unison. Jane's shotgun blasts followed the din, and John smiled to himself. So far, so good. He swung around the corner, weapon at the ready. Another trooper stood before him, submachine gun braced against a generator, firing at the window of the recently bombed building. John aimed for the face.
Eat shit. Two quick bursts, brap brap. The first made the soldier wheel around, blood running down its shattered mask, the second made it fall with a familiar muffled grunt. John slinked back into his corner, tapping his rifle on the side. It reloaded with a series of satisfying metallic clinks. Osei's gunfire kept up all the while.
"Two, out in the open, heading your way!"
John peeked his head out and swore. He shifted right as the wood around him splintered, rounds punching through the decaying material and where he would have been if he were terminally stupid. He pulled a grenade free from his bandolier, ripped the pin out, and pulled the tab. With a grunt, he tossed it overhead, the LED light leaving a crimson trail in his vision.
"Bouncer! Back up!" John grinned and kept his sights on the road ahead. If they were stupid enough to round the corner … but they were never stupid enough. In a head on fight, what someone would call a "fair" one, he knew who always won.
The grenade burst in a shower of metal. No fatalities. Shame. And they still hadn't swung around the corner. John shifted in the other direction, hoping his teammates would pick up these last two. Several further shotgun blasts raised his hopes.
Come on. We don't have much longer. The fence gave way to an open stretch that led behind several buildings, each more decrepit looking than the last. Osei's gunfire had stopped, but Jane had stopped firing. Come on, Kelly … He peeked from the edge of the fence, and saw only bodies. With a sigh, he darted from cover.
The reaction came immediately. John's heart practically burst as he realized with a shock, as even old soldier did, that holy shit, they are shooting at me! They could kill me! But he kept running, breathing growing ragged as the anxiety jacked up a notch. He flattened himself against the closest building, watching the ground he had just trod on puff up from the impacts of bullets. This time, he did hear a muffled fwump from Ramirez's weapon.
"Got one!"
John smiled, then realized his hand felt warm. He looked down at his side. Ah, shit. Sticky red came away from his hand as he pulled it away, and he suddenly felt his legs wobble.
"Outbreak, outbreak, out- argh!" One more for Jane Kelly. John tried to smile, but it wasn't quite coming. Gotta get this treated quick.
"All clear!" John could hear Jane's footfalls, the crunch of combat boots on gravel. "Ramirez, get down here, we've got like seven minutes. Bradford! Bradford!"
"I'm hit!" called out John. "I need a medkit." He slid against the wall, likely leaving a streak of red as he went down. Shit, this never gets easier. His vision darkened for a moment. Seemed like a good time for a nap.
The familiar hot sting woke him right up.
"Fuck!" John started, feeling life (and pain) flowing back into his veins and nerves. He looked up to see Jane with a cheeky gun and a syringe, looking down at him.
"I got two, Osei got one, and Ana got two. What does that leave you with?"
"One," groaned John, feeling for his side. The blood remained, but the wound did not. Still, the skin always felt tender afterwards. "Just one."
"And you got shot. You're slowing down." If Kelly expected this to cheer John up, well, it didn't. Age comes to us all. Well, the lucky ones. He could recall a salty old colonel who'd served in both Iraq Wars, back in the day. Something he said always stuck with him. Cherish getting old, Lieutenant. It's a privilege not everyone gets to enjoy.
"I know." John glared at her. "Help me up. We've got – what? Five minutes? How long was I gone?"
"Five minutes," confirmed Jane, extending a hand. She pulled John up with a grunt. "Just a few seconds, you big baby. What did Uriah say to look out for again?"
"He said we'd know it when we saw it. I'll check out the main building." John dusted himself off. Jane leaned down and plucked his rifle from the ground. He took it sheepishly. "Grab everything we can use. Pulse rifles, blankets, pillows, medical supplies, food, ammunition. I'll take care of the priority." John paused, listening. Something whooped in the distance. It sounded closer than he liked. "Let's do this with a quickness."
"Gotcha – see you in five!" Jane trotted off, shotgun in arms, backpack jiggling on back. Hopefully she wouldn't complain too much when she had to lug the spoils back to White Forest. That went for Ramirez, too.
Speaking of Ramirez, the woman emerged, flushed from the bushes, her crossbow secured on her back. She smiled when she saw John, only for it to turn into a frown of concern when she saw the blood.
"You're-"
"Alive." John jerked a bloody thumb into the village. "Get busy. And good shooting."
"Thanks." The woman hurried onward. John followed her, a little slower than he would have liked. Peter Osei already stood in the village center, shoving fallen Combine weapons into his backpack. He gave the two of them a nod as they jogged by, busy at his task. Good. Good. John wondered if Osei had seen the blood.
The main Combine building must have once been a barn. It still stank of hay, even if none remained. John pushed open the door with a grunt, his side twinging. The inside – it still always came as a shock. Wood with Combine terminals mounted on it, the metal and wiring latching on like some parasitic growth. The barn hummed with electricity. An empty weapons rack lined the wall.
What bothered John wasn't that civilian buildings had been adapted for military use. It was the fact that the changes were just tacked on, the old ground down by the new without any regard for converting existing architecture for their purposes. They would simply build alongside rotting buildings until the old fell away and only the Combine remained.
John swept the rest of the place with his eyes. Sure enough, the vort hadn't lied. One of the Combine's people containers occupied the corner of the room, emanating cold. Probably awaiting transport. Probably someone important. Generally, VIPs tended to be scientists. Occasionally engineers. People the Combine could steal from. John walked up to the chilly prison, looking it up and down. Gotta get it open quickly. You better be worth it. Well, that wouldn't be hard. An easily treatable gunshot wound wasn't much of a price to pay.
John faced the terminal and pressed a single button. The terminal flashed red. Good. Active. He pulled his e-mag from his belt, and shielded his eyes. Just like Ms. Vance showed you. Do it. The e-mag jumped once, an arc of bright lightning sparking forth. The terminal crackled with energy, the blue display changing to something more … open.
Another electronic whoop sounded from outside, closer. John tapped the keys with a quickness, breathing a little unsteady. His side ached, making his nose wrinkle. There. Container control. Specimen … unknown? Requesting priority status? They had sent a priority message to the Citadel for pickup yesterday, but no one had picked up the phone. Is something happening in the city? Between this and the Overwatch's announcement, it looked likely. John keyed the container's release, hoping that, if nothing else, Wallace Breen would pitch a small fit at this loss. And who knows? Maybe it's that secret weapon you've always been waiting for.
The container hissed from behind him, the room growing markedly colder as it did so. John folded his arms and watched. Peter Osei sauntered in as the container began to crack open, backpack bulging with God-knew-what.
"By Freeman, we gave them a beating," he crowed, grinning at John. John gave an irritable wave of the hand.
"Forget about Freeman. This one was us." The container began to open, the dark silhouette of a figure now visible from inside. Shape is definitely human. "VIP bound for the Citadel, it said. Three guesses as to who we've got here?" Don't say Gordon Freeman. Osei only shrugged, smiling. The fog began to clear. John stepped forward, prepared to catch the person if they fell. Instead…
"Well, I don't know this guy," said Osei from behind him, sidling up to John and looking the man in front of them up and down. Clean-shaven, buzz cut, clad in fatigues. "Looks like a relic from the Seven Hour War." Osei nudged John in the ribs. "Kinda like y-"
"Adrian?"
The man slumped forward, unconscious, and John caught him roughly around the shoulders. Osei gaped at the two of them, a mixture of confusion and being impressed flitting across his broad face.
"You know this guy?"
John opened his mouth to answer but the words went unspoken. A sharp alarm sounded, and the terminal flashed red, painting the brown walls of the barn crimson.
"Vital alert: anticitizen presence detected. Mandate retrieval of anomalous signature imprint. All Outland forces converge. Probe. Expunge. Amputate."
"What the fuck?" Jane Kelly ran in, took one look at what was going on, and then began making frantic hand gestures. "Drop the guy, they're gonna come from all directions! We got the crap, let's go!"
John shifted Adrian's body, felt the weight in his arms. He would not be easy to carry, they would be pursued, and there was quite the distance between here and White Forest. But he heard the clink of dog tags beneath his fatigues. Yeah. It's him.
"No man left behind." John hoisted him up over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Radio White Forest to pull out the vorts and whoever they can spare. I left this man at Black Mesa, I'm not leaving him here."
"What?" But Jane Kelly complied, furiously storming out of the barn, practically shouting at home base to send out their best, they would have everything bearing down on them. Osei merely followed John out, gawping. Ramirez ran at them from another building, waving her arms, a pillow precariously peeking out from her half-open backpack.
"Out! We're leaving!" John jogged as fast as he could back the way they came. Something whooped from behind him, way too close by. "Airwatch and all available ground forces will converge on this location. We have to go!"
"But who's the guy?" asked Ana. John did not answer. He was saving his breath for his push up the hill. For the miles to come, possibly with hostiles in pursuit.
"VIP!" shouted Kelly, easily catching up to John. "We take him back to White Forest! Haul ass!"
John grunted, the body weighing him down more than he'd like to admit. The sweat formed freely on his brow, not helped by two more whoops in quick succession from behind them – likely in the village they had just vacated.
Branches whipped by his face as he jogged, back aching, legs burning, Adrian dangling. The others kept the pace but did not hurry ahead of him, Osei periodically checking back with his pulse rifle. Alternate fire. Take the first one down quick and make them think about just trying to run us down.
Another whoop ripped through the forest. This time a scream answered it. Shit!
"Down! Down, one's ahead of us!"
The four of them threw themselves to the ground and rolled under the brush. Adrian landed, lifeless, atop John, forcing him to crawl awkwardly to somewhere half-hidden. He left Adrian in place, shifting the sling and moving his rifle into place. Something akin to giggling, only demonic and cybernetic, came from somewhere on his left. A stick crunched underfoot. Very heavy underfoot.
Hunters looked even bigger from beneath the ground. And they had no problems looking beneath them. At least, when prone and covered by forest debris, they were less likely to see you right away. The hunter emerged from behind the trees, its massive feet leaving heavy imprints on the leaves. Its two blue eyes swiveled this way and that, searching the ground. It beeped twice before letting out a low growl. Ana whimpered from somewhere close to John.
The hunter let out a long, low note. Somewhere behind John, another answered. A second set of heavy footfalls let him know that one more member of the pack was accounted for. The second beeped twice and growled, its footsteps growing closer. John shut his eyes and tried to control his breathing. They're going to find us. The trick is making that initial engagement more costly for them than for us.
The hunter in front of him growled again, taking a step forward. John inched his barrel upward a tad, hand feeling for the orb release button. One shot. All it takes. Slight delay on firing. In the corner of his eye, Osei similarly adjusted from flat on his belly, facing the opposite direction. The hunter's feelers at the bottom of its face twitched. It stepped forward, face scanning the ground. It gave a low whoop. John began to apply pressure to the button.
"No-"
Low reports from the right! John pressed the button and the orb ripped free. It smashed into the hunter and made it scream one final time, its body dissolving before John's eyes. Only … where was the blood coming from? And what was that high-pitched whine?
The other hunter screamed, and John jumped up, leaving Adrian where he lay. Don't get trampled on. Peter Osei lay pinned against the ground, several quivering blue flechettes lodged in his bloody sternum, weapon lying uselessly out of his reach. He looked up at John, pointed up the hill. The third hunter whooped triumphantly. The flechettes quivered more violently.
"No!"
The flechettes burst, sending chunks of Osei flying everywhere. John shielded his eyes and ducked behind the closest tree, swearing. The back of tree burst open, sending bark flying everywhere.
"Ramirez, aim for the eyes and don't stay out in the open! Don't let them get close! Bring them down!" Her crossbow was the best weapon they had without Osei. He and Jane would just have to make due.
The hunters called out back and forth. John could not see them now, but he could hear their legs making noises like pistons. He circled around the tree, weapon at the ready, trying to keep his distance from Adrian. If he was hit, no reason to take the poor man with him.
"One, coming down the slope!"
John whipped around in time to see Ana's bolt fly wide. The hunter shifted to its hind leg and fired, a stream of flechettes leaving a trail of blue in his vision. John squeezed the trigger, pocking the hunter's face with holes. It screamed angrily and repositioned itself. Then it lowered its head.
John dove for the side. The hunter screeched past, cackling like some cybernetic chimpanzee. It stopped about ten feet in front of John. He lit it up, the antennae twisting this way and that as John filled it with pulse.
"One behind!" Jane's shotgun repeated three times, and he could hear her heavy breathing. "Ramirez, calm the fuck down and sight the target properly, we've still got this!"
"Watch out!"
More reports from behind. John dove to the ground and resumed firing. The hunter wheeled around and briefly scanned for John before spotting him on the ground. John expected it to start firing, he even began to roll. Instead it lowered its head again. Oh no. Oh no!
The hunter cackled once more, clear fluid leaking from its wounds. The underbrush became a frenzy of plants trampled underfoot as the creature closed the distance. John rose to his feet just in time for it to reach him.
The hunter's head struck him full force, sending him flying backwards. His padded armor absorbed some of the blow, but all that meant was that maybe one less rib just broke. John slammed against a tree and slid to the ground, lungs heaving as his windpipe shut. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He felt for his sidearm and drew it, part of his mind crystallizing into something pure and calm. Is this it?
The hunter chortled again and sidled up to the tree. It could easily have finished him with flechettes. Its under arms, sharp and strong like a mantis, flicked out. And they say the Combine don't feel anything.
The hunter stumbled, something quivering against its side. A red hot piece of rebar, fletched, jammed into it. The hunter groaned and tried to get its balance. John sighted his pistol and fired once, twice, three times, directly into its eyes. The hunter let out a massive screech and fell to the floor, twitching. That left only one.
"Ana, behind you!"
John's head lolled in place. Ana, still fitting a bolt into the crossbow, wheeled around. The hunter's underarms shot forward so fast they blurred, piercing her abdomen on either side. The hunter lifted her arm as she wriggled like a bug caught on the end of a stick, screaming all the while. The hunter's blades emerged from the other side, through her back. Then, with a cackle, the hunter flung Ramirez aside, blood flying in her wake.
"Fuck you!" Sparks erupted from the hunter's side, once, twice, three times, the buckshot clearly having trouble piercing the armor. The hunter screamed again, in fury and in triumph. Jane Kelly, emerging from the trees, face bloody, squeezed the trigger again. The gun clicked once. No… John lifted his pistol and fired. The shot went hopelessly wild. The hunter did not even turn.
Jane threw her shotgun aside and ripped her machete clear of the scabbard on her back. She lifted it in what was likely an imitation of something she had seen in a samurai movie. John grimaced. I think we're doomed. The hunter seemed to agree, as it chortled once more and lowered its head. The creature charged at full speed.
Jane waited until the last second. Then, in a flurry of motion, stepped aside, but kept the tip of the blade level with the hunter's face. Both the hunter and Jane screamed as the two made contact, Jane's arm wrenched backwards with a crack as she fell to the ground. The hunter gave an ear-piercing scream that made John's heart flutter. It fell in a flurry of twisted limbs and metal, thrashing, the machete lodged about a foot deep into its eye. With a final heave, it gave a low electronic whine and fell silent and still.
John coughed once, his insides feeling pulverized. Need a medkit. Internal damage. His arm fell by his side, but he still tried to point to Ana. Her … first. His lips formed the words, but nothing came out. Jane, one arm grabbing the other, staggered towards John, eyes lighting up with relief when she saw he was still alive. John mouthed Ramirez's name.
"Gone," grunted Jane. "Almost cut in half." With her good arm, she reached for something at her belt. The syringe pressed into John's arm, sending liquid fire through his veins. "Won't be enough. Have to carry you…"
But she couldn't carry him. Even without a broken arm. John opened his mouth to protest, but strong arms lifted him up. A loud buzzing filled his ears, and he could not help but feel a small surge of relief. It's not my responsibility anymore. The darkness crowded in, and John Bradford welcomed it more than he would ever admit.
Later, impossible to tell how much later, his eyes opened. The ground beneath them, green and brown, crunching underneath heavy boots. Strong shoulders held him up. Strong hands kept him balanced. John's head lolled, but he could not see clearly.
"Who's … got me?" John asked, the words coming out in a croak.
Whoever it was hoisted him once, bringing him more securely on their back. Someone cleared their throat.
"Well, they call me Shephard," he said, his voice young but confident. "Don't know what's going on, but that's been the case for a while now. This isn't Black Mesa, is it?"
"No," said John, the dark reaching the corners of his vision again. "No, it is not."
"Good." This man, Adrian Shephard, chuckled with genuine mirth. "Things are looking up, then."