Burden of Sisyphus (18 page)

           
“Where’s Dallis?” Vance asked.

           
“He’s still strapped in his seat.”
 
Decker nodded toward the rear of the ship.
 
“He gets a little motion sick when we hit turbulence.
 
Want me to get him for you?”

           
Vance thought about it, then shook his head.
 
“No.
 
Let him stay where he is.
 
Somehow, I think you’ll appreciate this more than he will.”

           
The
Cair
transport slowed, as it began its flight over the city.
 
The initial areas, though empty and without signs of life, seemed mostly unharmed.
 
Vance noticed the destroyed vehicles, a trend that continued the deeper they flew into the city.
 
Vance confirmed they wouldn’t find any chemical or biological weapons being used, since the vehicles seemed systematically destroyed, as if someone tried to keep the residents from fleeing the city.
 
That meant whatever caused the Alliance to lose contact with the city was probably still inside.
 
Vance felt unseen eyes on their ships, waiting for them to land.

           
The heart of the city, where the tall towers of wealth and privilege stood, showed the most damage.
 
The glass windows Vance saw sparkling from a distance proved to be only partially intact.
 
Up and down each façade, windows were smashed haphazardly, without any apparent pattern.
 
The gaping holes on the still-windowed exteriors looked like a broken code, dotting and dashing its way from building to building in an undecipherable message.

           
Or,
Vance thought darkly,
not like a code at all.
       

           
Instead, it looked like eyes watching the intruders, as they passed into a forbidden zone.

           
“Tip the nose,” Vance said quietly, breaking the silence in the cockpit.
 
“I want a better view of the street.”

           
As the wings tipped, the transport hovered over a vacant street.
 
Trash swirled under the powerful exhaust, dancing and slipping across the street, piling up in already-cluttered gutters.
 
Rows of smashed cars, their roofs collapsed and sparkles of shattered glass lying on the streets around them, sat like silent ghosts of the prosperous city.
 

           
The first-floor windows on both sides of the street were shattered outward, panes of glass jutting like daggers from the sidewalks.
 
Though piles of debris shifted along the street, prodded forward by the exhaust from the transports, nothing moved.
 
No animals roamed the street.
 
No people peered hesitantly from behind cover or within the buildings.

           
The only signs of life where what Decker and Vance saw on the satellite images.
 
Smeared across a number of cars and peppered throughout the shattered glass on the street, large droplets of bright blood painted the street scene in a macabre undertone, telling a tale of death and suffering for which the victims had yet to be found.

           
“Take us out of here,” Vance said soberly.
 
“Get us back to the landing zone.”

           
Vance and Decker slipped from the cockpit and back into the stifling heat of the crew cabin.
 
Two dozen faces turned to the pair of Pilgrims, as they finally stood upright, their expressions serious.

           
“Everything good to go, Sir?” Ainj asked, pulling his sniper rifle against his body.

           
“As good as we’ve ever had it.”
 
He didn’t look at the Avalon.
 
Still look forward, he called loudly, “Lock and load, Everyone!
 
We’ll hit the landing zone in two minutes.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

           
The soldiers dismounted from the
Cair
transports and spread out across the landscape, a sea of black-garbed figures moving forward toward the distant city.
 
At the center of the line, Vance and his team directed search parties to inspect and clear every farmhouse along the route.
 
As Vance feared, no people were found, though signs of a struggle were everywhere.
 
They found signs of slaughter—bloodstains on chairs, walls, and floors throughout the many houses.

           
Since the Alliance was first notified of losing contact with their outpost, enough time passed that the crops were allowed to grow wild in the fields.
 
Vegetable stalks were crowned with heavy blooms that normally would’ve been trimmed to avoid nutrients being drained from the edible parts of the plants.
 
Holes perforated the landscape, a result of an underground rodent population left unchecked.
 
Whatever happened to that part of the planet, it was awhile ago and left no possibility of taming the wild landscape.

           
As soldiers trudged through muddy creeks and climbed fences in various stages of disrepair, the city’s outskirts neared.
 
Vance keyed the transmit button on his headset.

           
“Platoon One, this is Command,” he said softly, not wanting to betray the heavy silence in the air.
 
That silence startled him, as they moved through the countryside.
 
No birds chirped in the trees, and, even in deep grasses, the scurry of small wildlife was missing.
 
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath for fear of retribution.

           
“This is Platoon One,” Warrant Harkund replied.

           
“Platoon One, I want you to cover the main highway leading into the city.
 
You’ve got our six once we’re inside.”

           
“Roger that, Sir.”
 
He cut transmission.
 
A moment later, one quarter of the black-armored soldiers left the main group, falling in behind them, preparing to hold the entrance to the city.

           
“Platoons Two and Three,” Vance said.

           
“Yes, Sir,” Warrants Blythe and Onclav answered.

           
“I want you to spread out.
 
Two, you take the west.
 
Three, move east.
 
Move over approximately six blocks, then move north into the city paralleling the main thoroughfare.
 
You copy?”

           
“That’s a good copy, Sir,” Blythe said.

           
“Wilco,” Onclav replied.

           
Vance kept his radio on a channel that covered all internal platoon chatter.
 
He listened to the commands that moved half the strike force in different directions, fanning out to cover as many southern entrances to the city as possible.
 
With only one-quarter of the soldiers remaining, plus his own team, Vance gave hand and arm signals for Dallis and Decker to join him in the center of the column.

           
When they arrived, Vance held an impromptu huddle to ensure they were fully aware of the plan.

           
“We don’t have the personnel to do a house-by-house sweep,” he explained.
 
“We have to stay vigilant while entering the heart of the city.
 
Our objective remains the military outpost on the far side.
 
Any records of what happened will be kept at that facility.
 
If we run into trouble, that will also be our fallback position, since it’s the most defensible with its external defense system.”

           
He turned to Decker, who lifted his helmet’s dark visor to confirm eye contact.
 
Vance was quickly learning to like the knowledgeable, charismatic Pilgrim.
 
“Decker, I need two or your personnel on point a minimum of three blocks ahead at all times.
 
The business district was the most heavily damaged.
 
Once we reach it, I need your point men scanning every alley and building.
 
I don’t want any surprises, like snipers ambushing us, when we’re trapped between skyscrapers.

           
“No problem, Sir.”
 
He activated his microphone.
 
“Roberts and Gythrun, rally on my position.”

           
Since all the soldiers’ helmets had a forward display built into the visor that showed the leaders’ position at all times, a command like Decker’s was easy to follow.
 
The Wyndgaart infantry soldier and an armored Avalon soon joined them.

           
Decker quickly explained their responsibilities.
 
Both nodded wordlessly before unslinging their weapons and moving to the front line of troops.

           
“They’re two of my finest,” Decker explained.
 
“They’ll be safe on their own up front.”

           
“Let’s hope so,” Vance said, unconvinced.
 
“I’d prefer not to bring anyone home in a body bag.”

           
With the point men in position, the group closed the rest of the distance to the edge of the city.
 
The point men clambered over an improvised barricade at the edge of town.
 
The barrier, built from destroyed street carts and piled furniture, had been burned in the distant past.
 
Only the charred remains of the furniture’s framework remained, marking one piece of debris as a sofa as opposed to the round frame of what had once been a dining room table.

           
Fire damage extended to several squat residential buildings, too.
 
Entire walls had collapsed in flames, leaving exposed, blackened stonework and allowing glimpses into the abandoned, simple lives of those who once occupied the homes.
 
Roberts and Gythrun checked doors on different sides of the street, remarking that most were still locked despite the severe damage the buildings sustained.

           
Though the fires had long since cooled, the thick smell of ash hung in the air, as Vance and the rest of the team cleared the barricade.
 
Tusque moved up to Vance while they walked, his large snout sniffing thoughtfully in the air.

           
“I got a bad feeling, Boss,” the Oterian rumbled.

           
“Why’s that?”
 
Vance knew better than to second-guess the gut feelings of one of his team.
 
“Because of the ash in the air?”

           
“It’s not the ash.”
 
A distant look of concentration came to his eyes.
 
“It’s what’s below the ash, more subtle but still there.”

           
Vance didn’t want to ask, but he had to.
 
“What do you smell that I can’t?”

           
“Death,” he said matter-of-factly.
 
“Burned and cooked flesh.
 
Something a little more animalistic hanging in the air, like wet fur.
 
An evil smell has settled over the city, Boss.”

           
“I didn’t peg you as the superstitious type, Tusque.”
 
Vance tried to ease a rising sense of precognitive dread.

           
“It’s not superstition.
 
It’s a statement of fact.”
 
He turned to the much-shorter Pilgrim.
 
“I know I can’t talk you out of going into the heart of the city, Boss, but I don’t think this is a simple reconnaissance mission.”

           
“Neither do I.”