Burden of Sisyphus (32 page)

           
“The maintenance room has a small generator.
 
I can’t imagine there’s much juice left in it, but it might be enough to run a single computer console.
 
It would be slow going to search through all the files without the mainframe running its diagnostic software, but it’s better than nothing.”

           
Vance allowed a brief moment of hope to seep through his steadily depressing world.
 
“Do it.
 
Get whoever you need to help, but start going through these files.
 
I figure we’ve got only a couple hours before sunrise.
 
By then I want an answer for how we’ll get off this rock.”

           
Standing aside, as soldiers carried the heavy generator into the control center, Vance watched Decker and Yen pull thick cables from under the console table and attach electrodes from the generator.
 
Though they worked quickly, Vance grew impatient and was eager to start searching the computer files.

           
Stepping away from the console, Decker and Yen wiped sweat, grease, and dust from their faces before shaking hands.

           
“Does that mean you’re ready?” Vance asked Decker.
 
He and Yen refused to make eye contact.

           
“Let’s fire it up and find out.”
 
Decker motioned to Yen, who pressed a yellow button on the side of the portable generator.

           
The old machine coughed a cloud of black smoke onto the floor, as its gears sought purchase.
 
The old oil and fuel within struggled to ignite, and the generator rattled against the smooth floor.
 
Finally spurting another cloud of noxious, black smoke, it hummed and found a rhythm to its operation.

           
The large view screen glowed, casting the room in pale blue light.
 
The trio squinted against the sudden intrusion of light, as the console ran a diagnostic start-up program.
 
Slowly, the screen changed to a steady, blinking prompt.

           
Yen entered the first line of a search protocol and sat back, as the console slowly spat out data.
 
Vance watched the slow system move through the search query.

           
Tapping Decker’s arm, he gestured the Pilgrim to join him in the hall.
 
Once they were out of earshot, Vance chewed his lower lip.

           
“What’s bothering you, Sir?” Decker asked.

           
“The search is going too slow.”
 
He stared over Decker’s shoulder at the monitor in the control room.
 
“At this rate, by the time it finds anything of value, it’ll be tomorrow night.
 
The Seques don’t seem like the patient type.
 
I don’t know if they’ll wait that long.”
          

           
“I don’t see what other option we have.”

           
Vance nodded knowingly and reached into the dark pouch firmly affixed to his hip.
 
Unlatching the top, he pulled out a smooth, black sphere just larger than his palm.
 
“A covert operations team never goes on a mission without a contingency plan.”

           
“Is that…?”
 
Decker’s eyes widened in surprise.

           
“It’s a thermal nuclear bomb.”
 
Vance’s voice never wavered, as he held the device of mass destruction.
 
“If we can’t find a way out, I intend to set it off and take the threat outside with us.”

           
“Sir,” Decker said, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper, “that thing will level the entire city.”

           
“And irradiate the countryside for hundreds of miles in all directions.
 
I’m fully aware of its capabilities, but I don’t see we have much choice.”

           
“What about survivors?”

           
“What survivors?” Vance replied coarsely.
 
“Take a look around, Decker.
 
We’re the only survivors, at least in any radius the bomb will affect.”

           
Decker narrowed his eyes before gently placing his hand on the orb.
 
Pushing down softly, he lowered Vance’s hand.
 
“Put that thing away.
 
Give me until tomorrow night.
 
If I can’t find an answer by then, I’ll back you when you use the bomb.”

           
Vance stared at the brash, young Pilgrim.
 
He wanted Decker to be right, to find an answer hidden somewhere in the computer files on the console, but in his heart, he feared their search was in vain.
 
In the end, he felt certain he’d have to use the bomb.

           
“You have until tomorrow night—if we survive that long.
 
We’re completely surrounded by Seque.
 
I don’t know how anyone will survive an entire day in this hellhole.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

           
The Seque was caught by surprise by the inky black form launching itself through the air.
 
It lashed out with jagged claws, slashing the Seque’s chest and arms.
 
A clawed hand struck the side of the beast’s face, digging sharp nails through the monster’s tough hide.
 
Latching its fingers under the Seque’s skin, the figure clawed downward.

           
Gray hide tore from the vicious slash, spewing green, frothy blood, as the nails dragged farther down its face.
 
Tearing past the Seque’s left eye, a sharp nail ripped open the enlarged orb, deflating the eye and spilling sickly white fluid down the Seque’s ruined face.

           
Collapsing to the ground, the Seque mewled in pain, as it clutched the flap of dangling flesh and favored its ruined eye.
 
A barbed tail struck from the dark figure, piercing the Seque’s exposed neck.
 
Green blood sprayed from the punctured artery, dousing the assassin’s glossy exoskeleton and pouring in rivulets to the ground.

           
Ixibas stepped away from his most-recent kill and scanned the empty street.
 
Nothing moved.
 
No red eyes glowed at the Lithid from the darkness.
 
Gesturing behind him, he brought Tusque limping from the shadow of a nearby alley, supported on either side by a pair of infantry soldiers.
 
During their run, they encountered only four Seques, roaming freely from the pack as if on patrol.
 
Each had been hastily dispatched with little or no sound, a blessing for the tired, injured group.

           
After being separated from the main group, Ixibas, Tusque, and four infantry soldiers made the difficult decision to leave the main road and enter a series of maze-like alleys that led deeper into the city proper—and deeper into regions dominated by the predatory Seque.
 
At first, their departure from the main thoroughfare was disastrous.
 
Seque leaped from rooftop to rooftop in steady pursuit, while others crashed through the narrow streets behind them or cut across their path.

           
Though Ixibas hated to admit it, the barking, nipping Seque drove them constantly forward.
 
Two of the soldiers were lost in a sea of claws and teeth, their screams fading in the distance, as the others ran on.
 
Pateros and Hollander survived, bearing the weight of the badly injured Oterian.

           
Ixibas scanned the road again, a sense of paranoia filling his mind.
 
With the injured Tusque, Ixibas harbored little hope of escaping with the Oterian still alive.
 
Miraculously, after being pursued through a myriad of side streets, the Seque suddenly faded into the shadows as quickly as they appeared.

           
Exhausted, sweaty, and bleeding, the four collapsed against the nearest building.
 
Air burned in their lungs, as they struggled for breath.
 
Though they wanted rest, Ixibas drove them on, putting more distance between them and the pack that pursued them.

           
After cautiously crossing four more streets, they encountered only the meager guard force of the Seque army.
 
He began to think of them as an organized army after watching their behavior in combat.
 
The group of four was funneled farther and farther from the military outpost, to the point where they were near the edge of the city.
 
The Lithid had no doubt they’d never be allowed to flee the city completely.
 
That path would be heavily guarded and would end in disaster.
 
Instead, he searched for a nondescript building where they could hide, while they tried to find a way past the impregnable Seque defenses.

           
A little way up the street, he saw what he wanted.
 
Motioning the others to follow, he ignored their groans of pain and disappointment, as he forced them on.
 
Moving from shadow to shadow, Ixibas sneaked forward as scout, keeping distance between himself and the loud, labored breathing of the wounded Oterian.
 
Eventually he reached the building and checked both alleys that flanked the small, squat house.
 
Relieved, he noted no windows on either side, with only a single, shuttered window on the front.
 
The seclusion meant the house was the perfect place to lay low while they healed wounds and discussed their next moves.

           
The front door wasn’t locked, and deep claw marks indicated it was opened by force once before.
 
Still, the latch was intact, allowing Ixibas to close and lock the door behind the other three.
 
Their flashlights pushed back the darkness of the slender, one-room house.
 
A sturdy bed sat against one wall, while the opposite wall showed a combination kitchen and dining room.
 
Rotten food sat at the table, the top stained with dark splashes.
 
Ixibas didn’t bother inspecting further, having seen too much splattered blood throughout the city.

           
Pateros and Hollander lowered Tusque on the bed, which creaked dangerously under his weight.
 
With him face down, they inspected the gashes lining his back and the severed muscle of his ruined calf.
 
From the effort of fleeing, none of the wounds had closed, and all oozed viscous blood to coat his thick fur.

           
Wordlessly, Ixibas removed the pack from Hollander’s shoulders and set it on the table to rifle through the contents.
 
The first-aid pouch was buried near the bottom.
 
With a brush of his hand, he gently slid the bowls of ruined food to the edge of the table and unrolled the medical kit.

           
A variety of pads, bottles, and sharp metal instruments stared back at him, as he unfurled the pouch.
 
He sorted through the ointments and sprays until he settled on a larger bottle with a wide-mouthed spray nozzle.
 
He walked to his injured teammate and stopped short.
 
His featureless face turned to the Uligart and Wyndgaart infantry soldiers.

           
“You might want to hold him down.”
 
His gravelly voice broke the silence that held between them for several hours.
 
He knew neither of the men had a chance of holding down an Oterian thrashing in pain, but it made them feel important and part of the team, and he needed a close-knit team willing to follow orders.

           
Ixibas leaned forward until his dark, oval face was inches from Tusque’s ear.
 
He heard pained breath moving through the Oterian’s mouth and sympathized for the additional pain he was about to cause.
 
Infection was already settling in where thick saliva from the Seque’s mouth fell over the wounds.