Necropolis 2 (8 page)

“Told you.”

“
Shut up. Bishop, if you want your friends to survive this, I suggest you surrender,” the familiar voice called.

“
We're beyond that, Starck,” Greg called back.

“
Rez, you fucking bastard! I'm coming for you! Bet your fucking ass that I'm coming for you, bitch,” Campbell screamed.

To that, there was no response. A black-armored trooper fell as Cage delivered an expertly placed shot. Another one went down under combined fire from Billings and Holt.

“You're running out of bad guys, Starck,” Greg shouted.

“
Fucking get it together you bastards-” Starck let out a startled grunt as someone landed a shot on her.

Her troops thought they had the drop on them, but all they'd really done was get caught in a crossfire. Greg saw her go down onto her knees, but recover, the bullet either having glanced off her armor or caused only superficial damage. Cage took down another trooper, his bullet punching through the softer armor in the man's neck. Greg lined up another nice shot and punched a solid hole through a man's faceplate.

“Hey Rez! This one's for you, buddy,” Campbell cried, his declaration followed by a string of gunshots.

There was a grunt, and Campbell cursed as a bullet grazed his neck and he was forced to retreat. Greg took stock of the chaotic situation. He, Kyra, Campbell, Billings, and Holt were all bunkered down on either side of the corridor, taking potshots into the data vault. Opposite them, Cage and Powell were firing on everyone they could see. Caught in the middle were Starck, Rez, and a quickly diminishing supply of troops.

Greg did a quick headcount. Besides the two in charge, he spied only three left. They weren't easy to take down, but Cage seemed to have learned all their weak points already. Greg just focused on the thing he knew worked: faceplates. He aimed for another Dark Ops soldier, trying to get the right timing for when the man would expose himself...

“
Bishop!”

Greg turned, saw a man, Rez, he realized, rushing straight at him with a startling speed and, before either of them knew what was going on, he squeezed the trigger. Rez's entire head disappeared in a flash of glass, blood and brains.

“Hey, that bastard was mine!” Campbell cried.

“
Shit,” Starck yelled. “Fall back!”

Only there was nowhere to fall back to. The remaining two troops tried to turn and flee, but were quickly gunned down. Starck looked for somewhere to go when Cage rushed up behind her and played baseball with her head, using his rifle as the bat. There was a hard metal
clang
and Greg thought he heard her head actually bounce around inside her helmet. Starck sprawled across the floor, her gun thrown from her hand.

“
Hold that bitch down,” Campbell snarled, going over to Rez's corpse.

“
I agree, let's see if we can't get some information out of her,” Kyra said.

They gathered around her. Cage knelt, disengaged her helmet and tossed it away. He took away her pistol and combat knife. Greg stared into the pale face of the woman who had shot him in the neck back on Dis. Her eyes weren't tracking properly and there was a gash across her forehead, which bled profusely.

“Wake up,” Greg snapped.

“
Fuck off,” Starck replied sharply. She blinked, closed her eyes, and opened them again. “I'd sooner die than tell you assholes anything.”

Campbell returned, shouldering his way through the others.

“Move aside, move aside,” he said. Campbell knelt, held up a long, wicked, custom-made serrated knife. “Feed me to the fucking wolves, huh? Fuck
me
over, bitch?” He held the knife over her right eye and gave her a nasty grin. “Maybe, I should fucking do you with Rez's knife, huh? Maybe I should just-”

Starck snapped her head forward sharply. The blade of the knife pierced her eye and brain, killing her instantly.

“Oh
fuck
.” Greg jumped back.

“
Shit!” Kyra cried.

“
Holy shit, she wasn't bluffing,” Holt muttered.

“
You fucking idiot,” Billings said, grabbing Campbell by the back of his uniform and hauling him up. Campbell looked as though he might use the knife to defend himself, but Billings snatched it out of his hand and threw it aside.

“
We could have gotten information out of her.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Campbell looked like he wanted to defend himself, but he was pale and clearly shaken by the turn of events.

“She likely wouldn't have talked.” Cage's calm, quiet voice was a change from the shock that had infected the squad. “It would have been a waste of time. A resource we don't exactly have an abundance of.”

Billings grunted and stepped away from Campbell.

“Gather up guns, ammo, and then bunker down in the data center. It's time to plan our next move,” Greg said.

Chapter 08

–
Detour
–

“
Damn.” Cage tossed aside his rifle after inspecting it.

“
You really broke it, huh?” Greg glanced over from his crouched position. The Dark Ops troops had been loaded down with guns and ammo.

“
Yes. I was beginning to like it.” Cage crossed the data vault, knelt by a corpse he'd helped produce and retrieved its rifle and a small stack of ammo.

“
Can we hurry it up?” Billings asked.

“
Hell yes,” Campbell whispered, retrieving a rifle.

“
Be lucky I don't take that from you.” Greg walked up beside him.

“
Be lucky you don't
try
,” Campbell replied.

A gunshot snapped through the air, the bullet avoiding Campbell's left ear by mere centimeters. Cage lowered his rifle.

“I don't miss twice.”

Campbell's mouth worked as though he were trying to speak, but the words couldn't find his throat.

“Let's wrap it up.” Greg tried to play the diplomat once more.

The survivors finished collecting weapons, ammo, and gear from the handful of corpses they'd made. Greg found it difficult to get the image of Starck killing herself from his mind. The knife had cleaved into her eye as if it had been jelly...he shuddered and shook his head. Herding everyone into the network room, where Powell had retreated already, Greg took one more look around the vault to satisfy himself that they were still alone and secured the door behind him. He turned and looked around the brightly lit network room.

It appeared to be an advanced security center, much larger than a regular one. Screens of varying sizes dominated two of the walls. Powell sat before the largest one, typing away at a keyboard, lost in his work.

Greg glanced around at the others. “So, a few things to talk about I guess. We've got guns and I think we've found all the survivors were going to that won't shoot us in the head at the first opportunity.”

“Yes. All the other prisoners are dead,” Powell confirmed.

“
Wonderful. So, that shortens our list of shit to do at least. One outstanding issue I think we need to discuss is armor. Specifically, that body armor Dark Ops is so fond of. Having those would do a hell of a lot to protect us.”

“
Hell yeah, they would. They're powered, make you stronger, faster, have their own data suite and a head's up display...” Campbell sounded wistful.

“
There's a catch, isn't there? There always is,” Cage murmured.

“
Yeah. There is. They're all DNA encoded. I mean, not like, one suit to one guy, but if you aren't in the DNA databank, well, then, you aren't using that armor. I mean, I suppose you could put it on, but it wouldn't power up, and then you'd just be seventy pounds heavier.” He shrugged.

“
So then we get in the databanks,” Greg said. “Would that be easy? Where would we even go to do that?”

“
I think we have more pressing concerns.” Powell interrupted their conversation. They all turned to look at him. He still stared at the screen. They gathered around him.

“
Which are?” Kyra asked.

“
Dark Ops are losing to the Undead. Whatever you did...you
really
fucked this ship over, Greg. The only thing keeping them from blowing it all to hell is the fact that you're onboard. They still need you, for whatever reason. I think our end goal here needs to be escaping the system. There's no other alternative. That means we need a ship, preferably a small, maneuverable one, with an FTL drive. Or we're dead.”

“
Won't Dark Ops give chase?” Holt asked.

“
Who's this? Never mind. That is obviously the next issue. We need a way to make it so that Dark Ops won't follow us. We need to cripple them. I've been working on a plan for that. The best I've come up with is to build and detonate an EMP bomb as we're leaving. Obviously we'll need to secure a ship first, and time it right, but it should work.”

“
EMP?” Greg asked.

“
Electromagnetic pulse. It'll shut down every since piece of electronic equipment within range of the bomb. Dark Ops would die. They'd have no power, no gravity, no oxygen. However, an immediate solution to our problem might be in order. There are a dozen other ships nearby, and they have hundreds, if not thousands, of Dark Ops personnel. Now, I'm not entirely sure why they haven't sent reinforcements over yet, possibly because of the outbreak, but I imagine they aren't going to wait for long.”

“
So what's the more immediate plan?” Greg asked.

“
Missiles.” Here, Powell offered a very rare smile. “This ship has a happy armament of missiles. We're going to go to the bridge and launch them directly into all the other ships. With a little luck, that'll buy us some more time to build our bomb.”

Greg blinked. “Holy shit...that's pretty brutal, but it's a good idea. Can you do it?”

“If someone can get me to the bridge, yes.”

“
What about the DNA center?” Campbell asked.

“
Okay, okay...we'll split up, again. Let's get to an infirmary, gather up samples of everyone's blood. That'll be enough to get us into the databanks, right?” Greg looked at Campbell, who shrugged. Greg sighed.

“
It should be,” Powell stated in a matter of fact tone. “I can likely walk you through it if it comes down to it.”

“
I guess that'll have to do. Anything else we need to do here?”

“
No, and there's an infirmary nearby.”

They gathered by the door. Greg hit the open button and Cage and Billings went out first, guns at ready, playing their flashlights across the darkened interior of the data vault. When they gave the all clear, Greg and the others followed them out. Thoughts shifted uneasily through Greg's mind as they headed back out into the main corridor. He glanced at Holt and decided right away that Holt was going to be coming with him to the DNA center. There were so many questions he had for the miner. Too many, maybe.

The main corridor was as vacant as ever. Greg stared down at the rifle he'd selected from one of the corpses. His shotgun now hung across his back. He knew he couldn't take on another weapon without seriously bogging himself down, but felt that this would be good enough. Playing with the settings, he finally settled on the single-shot feature. It seemed like the most logical choice. Greg glanced at Holt, who seemed intently focused on his surroundings. He tried to recall this man, struggled to remember him, but there was nothing.

“
Here.” Powell held up his hand to stop them.

They came to the closest infirmary. Greg opened the door and looked inside. A pair of zombies occupied the room, going to town on med-tech corpses. Sighting one, he let the awful beast have it, spraying its black blood and brains across the white-tiled floor. The second undead horror spun to face them and roared, red flecks of flesh flying from its torn lips. Its head snapped backwards as Cage capped it.

“Alright, grab some hypos,” Powell said.

Kyra crossed the room and pulled open a medical cabinet. Powell crossed to a nearby terminal. Cage watched the door. Greg pulled Holt aside.

“So, can you tell me anymore about myself? Did I have a girlfriend?” Greg, tossed a nervous glance at Kyra.

Holt caught his glance and huffed a little laugh. “As far as I could tell, no. Though you would occasionally mention spending the night in a girl's quarters. There was this redhead you had a thing with for a while, I thought she was your girlfriend, but you were pretty adamant that she was just a friend, with benefits.”

“Oh, great. Did I smoke?”

“
Yeah, occasionally. Drank, too, occasionally. You always had a can of soda in your hand though. I think they were called...Hex? Was it Hex?”

“
Vex,” Greg murmured.

“
Yeah, that. You had a few buddies from security you liked to hang out with. Head for the shooting range, hit up the gym, there was a company-sponsored cinema. You'd always go to see zombie movies...kinda funny, now, don't you think?”

“
Maybe in a fucked up kinda way.”

“
Got them,” Kyra called. “Gather round.”

“
Just a moment, I'm planning our routes,” Powell replied.

Kyra gathered small blood samples from each of the survivors, having to walk over to Powell, since he wouldn't get up and come to her. She made sure to label them all, in case any of them were broken and they had to get new samples. She secured all the hypos in a pair of shockproof containers, offering one to Greg and taking the other for herself.

“So, what's the plan?” Cage asked.

Greg opened his mouth to respond, then, almost seemingly against his will, he looked directly at Cage and asked, “Why don't you ever take charge? You're obviously more qualified than I am to do this.”

“I told you before, I don't like giving orders,” Cage replied evenly.

“
Yeah, but
why
?”

“
Does it matter? We need to get this job done, and we really don't have time for this.”

Greg sighed. “Okay, fine, whatever. Cage, Billings, Campbell, you're going to escort Powell to the bridge. Do whatever it takes to get him there, make this missile thing work. Holt, Kyra, you're coming with me. We're going to hit the DNA databanks, then we'll link back up with Powell and the others on the bridge or maybe somewhere in between if they get their job done quickly. Does anyone have any questions?”

No one did.

Powell had everyone memorize their routes through the vessel. Once he was positive they all had, he killed his connection to the terminal and stood. The squad left the infirmary, coming back out into the corridor. They split, each portion of the survivors heading in opposite directions. Greg watched Cage, Powell, Campbell, and Billings go, and tried to put the thought that he might never see them alive again out of his mind.

Though that might not be so bad for Campbell.

“
Come on, let's get going,” he murmured.

They moved in silence. DNA Central Processing, as it was labeled on the holographic map, was three stories up and a little ways over. The route Powell had laid out was simple, provided nothing nasty and lethal got in their way. They came to the end of the corridor they were in, pausing a T-junction.

Greg peered cautiously around the corner, first one way, and then the other. Nothing. He led them left, toward a small maintenance lift that would bring them up three levels. He decided now was as good a time as ever to continue speaking with Holt.

“
So, Holt, I've got some more questions, if you don't mind.”

“
Shoot.”

“
Okay, and, feel free to be totally honest, but...what kind of guy was I? Was I a jerk? Or anything like that?”

“
No...not particularly. I mean, you could be short with me, sometimes, but that was just plain old stress. No, you were usually quiet. You'd go through long periods of solitude, punctuated by sudden bursts of being social, like you couldn't take being alone anymore.”

“
I see,” Greg murmured.

“
And, like I said, you didn't talk too much about yourself. I'm sorry, I'd love to be of more help, but I, myself, am a bit of an introvert. Sure, I liked the occasional beer at the bar, but I usually sat by myself or with you. I'd had my fill of people at that point, course, now I can't get enough of people, what with all the death. Well...people that aren't wearing black armor and pointing guns at my head, I guess.”

They came to another T-junction and Greg peered around the corner. He cried out as a bullet whizzed by his head.

“Shit.”

“
Who is it?” Kyra whispered.

“
Dark Ops. Half a dozen.”

Greg put his gun around the corner and blind-fired. Several shouts of shock sounded. In a surprising action, Holt raced across the opening, taking up the corner opposite Greg. Together, they began firing on the Dark Ops troops, who had nowhere to go, as the hallway provided no real form of cover. Greg shot one through his faceplate and immediately targeted another, feeling his muscles reacting faster than his brain.

Before they returned fire, he managed to put two quick shots into the neck of one of the other troops. He fell back and Holt popped out while the surviving Dark Ops soldiers still focused on Greg's position. He fired, scored what might have been a lucky or a well-placed shot, and shattered the faceplate of another one of the men. They continued like this until the last of the dark-armored nightmares fell.

“
Man, you are
good
at this,” Greg said.

Holt chuckled, shrugging. “Well, I had a bit of practice.”