Necropolis (5 page)

Greg felt the need to try and make an educated guess here. He felt more stupid by the second.

“Because of the minerals?”

“
Yes. Exactly. Memory coming back?” Kyra sounded excited.

“
No,” he admitted, regretting the guess.

“
It's fine, I'm sure it will...but, yes, because of the minerals. This is one of the few mineral rich mining-worlds that hadn't been hit so hard it was out of commission. Lots of small time mining operations were jumped started out here. I got thrown into maintaining the communications relay in Jackson. That's a huge city of ten million people about three hundred miles south of here. Nearest city, by the way. If our radio situation doesn't work out...it's probably where we're going to have to pack up and drive to.”

“
So, that's how you got to Dis...how'd you get assigned to the wastelands? Seems like a really middle of nowhere kinda job.”

Kyra's features darkened, and Greg knew he had stepped on a nerve.

“I...don't want to get into it at the moment. It's a stupid story. Come on, we should get back to work. We're almost done.”

She turned away from him, grabbed the rag she'd discarded, and stepped back up onto the counter. She wiped at a spray of dried blood high up on the wall. Greg returned to his own work, scrubbing at a congealed pool of blood.

Despite Kyra's assessment, they ended up working for another hour and a half before they had the infirmary free of blood, bodies, and clutter. They went through most of their supply of cleaning solution, and tossed the dirtied rags into a sealed bio-hazard container. They dragged the corpses out into the rain, deciding to leave them by the piled up soldier’s bodies for the moment.

Greg had wanted to burn the bodies, and Kyra agreed that would be a good idea, but she wanted to collect all the corpses first. After that, they straightened up the infirmary. The pair worked efficiently and quietly, cleaning and reorganizing the scattered medical supplies back into some semblance of order.

What use did order have? Greg found that it calmed him. Much like the repetition of scrubbing up the blood, this smoothed out his frayed nerves. However, the organization calmed him that much more, because despite all the precautions they took, he was still on edge about becoming infected by the blood. Now that all the blood was out of the way, he found he could relax more.

By the time the infirmary was back in working order, Greg found that little over four hours had passed. He was hungry, and so was Kyra. They broke for lunch, finding more microwaveable meals among a large inventory of food, and ate a quick meal. It was just past noon, and the pair decided to keep going with their simple tasks.

They continued to work through the day, taking breaks, and checking the camp for any signs of zombie activity. They remained alone. The power station, they discovered, was almost completely untouched save for a single, lonely corpse. Similarly, the only mess in the supply shacks was in the last one.

The pair pressed on, mopping up blood, dragging out bodies, and in general straightening the place up. As the two made their way into the mess hall, their self-assigned chores complete, sunlight, gray and diffused as it was, bled into twilight.

“Not too bad.” Kyra inspected the mess hall while Greg scavenged for food.

“
I'd have to agree.”

They'd both showered and dressed in fresh uniforms, tossing their old ones onto the pile of bodies they planned on burning. Greg found another pair of freezer-packaged meals, and after confirming Kyra could tolerate what they called 'chicken', he popped them both into the microwave.

“I hate outpost food,” Kyra muttered while they waited.

“
I do, too. Hopefully they'll have some real food in Jackson.”

“
If there's even a Jackson left.”

Greg felt a cold stone drop into his gut. He hadn't even considered that.

“Do you think...that's a possibility?”

Kyra shrugged. “I don't know. We have
no
way of knowing how far the infection has spread, or if it's even spread beyond the wastelands. Maybe they contained it...or maybe it's already spread across the planet. I don't know. I guess we can just hope.”

The microwave beeped, startling him. He pulled the two trays out and set them on the table. He and Kyra sat across from each other at the table and ate in silence.

“So...what's on the agenda for tomorrow?” Greg grinned when she looked up at him.

Kyra smirked. “Wanting to hear more of my angelic voice?”

Greg let out an easy laugh even though his cheeks burned and he worried they turned red.

“
I guess.” He shrugged and bent over his food, again.

“
Tomorrow, we burn the bodies. I get to work on the communications room. There are still a lot of repairs that have to be made to even get it working, but we
will
need that device. I think you and Cage should check the local map for the nearest outposts, maybe mount up for an investigation. We can take one of the jeeps. It'd probably be best for us to stick together, so I'll put my repairs on hold and come with you. However, before we go, I think you and Cage should make a complete inventory of all relevant supplies.”

“
Alright, sounds good. That should keep us busy and maybe I can figure out a little bit more about our new friend.”

“
Does something seem...off about him, to you?”

“
Yes, it does. I'm not sure if it was just the blood loss or something else. He seemed really...flat. You know? Cold.”

“
I wonder if what happened back at his camp messed with him more than he's letting on...or if he's just like that.”

Greg shrugged. Maybe he'd find out tomorrow. He and Kyra finished up their meal, and then headed for the dormitories. They woke Cage, who was frustrated to find that he'd been asleep for almost twelve hours. He told them he'd take watch all night, as if trying to make up for oversleeping, and neither of them argued with the sniper.

If he wanted to take the watch, then so be it. Greg was exhausted.

He leaned his shotgun against the wall next to the bed, and tucked his pistol under the pillow with the safety on, and fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 07

–
Ceaseless
–

Greg came awake in the darkness, a hand on his shoulder. He was lying on his back and when he snapped his eyes open, stared up into the pale, grim face of Cage.

“
They've come.”

A bolt of terror shot through him. Who? More insane soldiers?

“Zombies,” Cage added.

“
Christ.” The terror seeped from him. Zombies he could handle. They were slow, dumb, and easy to kill.

“
What's going on?” The blankets rustled as Kyra sat up.

“
We've got zombies inbound.”

Cage straightened. He had a pistol in hand. His sniper rifle leaned against the wall next to the window. It still rained outside, Greg realized as he pulled the blankets aside and stood. Lightning split the sky, lighting up everything in a white freeze-frame. Beyond the rain-streaked window, he caught a glimpse of dark, shuffling figures. Greg stood and grabbed for the pistol he'd left loaded on the nightstand.

“How many?”

“
At least a dozen. They wandered into camp a minute ago. There's only one entrance into this building. I suggest we prop it open and force them to funnel into it,” Cage replied.

Kyra stood, and grabbed her own piece. The trio of them, armed with pistols, left the room.

“How can we be sure they'll all come?” Greg shuffled beside Cage.

“
They...” Cage hesitated. “They know. They’ll come.”

He said no more. They made their way down the bleak corridor, toward the front entrance. Greg and Kyra hung back while Cage continued forward. He pressed two buttons on the control panel next to the door. It slid open, letting in the rainfall, the smells of night, and of undead. Greg bristled at the ugly scent, his muscles tensing in grim anticipation. Cage stepped outside, raised his pistol, and fired three times. There were three thumps, muted by the distance and the rain.

He stepped back in and came to stand with Greg and Kyra. The three waited in morbid silence, pistols pointed at the door. A moment later, the first zombie appeared. A former soldier, armor bloodied and dented, empty eyes staring, unblinking. Greg fired and dropped him, still surprised at his own accuracy as he watched the left eye erupt in a plume of black gore. Another shambling corpse appeared, this one an ex-technician, was dropped faster by Cage. The corpse thumped to the ground, freed of whatever ugly energy still moved it.

Time passed in black, pulpy fragments. The zombies, drawn by the sound of their falling comrades, or of the smell of fresh meat, or whatever it was that drew them, lined up for their daily recommended dosage of lead.

When the last one fell, the trio waited with apprehension. Two minutes passed. There were no more groans, no more shambling bodies.

Cage shifted. “I think that might be it.”

“They're blocking the door.” Kyra waved a hand toward the pile of dead, stinking bodies.

“
Should we move them?” Greg yawned as the adrenaline drained from him.

“
Not now. I'll keep watch until dawn. Then we'll handle the corpses.” Cage slid down the wall to sit out the rest of the night. That was that. They went back to the dormitory. Greg and Kyra settled into their respective beds after considering whether or not to lock the door. Cage remained in the corridor outside, so they left it unlocked. Greg made sure to reload the pistol, then flipped the safety on and set it down with a heavy
thunk
on the nightstand.

He rolled over and immediately fell back to sleep.

* * * * *

Dawn came, gray and rainy.

Greg woke and claimed the shower first. Nightmares, bleak and harrowing, had found him once more in the night. He was back in the ruined ship, too big to be any mere troop carrier, and the beating hands were back, banging against the metal hull, sending dead echoes through the ruined, bloodied interior.

Greg shed his uniform, and turned the water as hot as he could stand it. As he showered his mind drifted back to the snap decision he made during the soldiers’ attack.

Fuck who he was in the past, it was time to figure out who he was now.

The notion, examined now in the sane light of morning, seemed ludicrous. How could he just abandon the hunt for his lost memories? As he considered the idea that maybe he would never get them back, that they were not locked away, but wholly deleted, he wondered if maybe that rash decision was the best one.

If the Greg Bishop who used to be was in fact
gone
, then wouldn't it be better to start anew sooner rather than later? Worse still, what if who he was had been a complete asshole? What if Greg Bishop was a jerk, or a drunk, or an idiot? A womanizer? A bitter, soulless, hopeless man? What if he was suicidal? Greg didn't feel any of these things, but he hadn't felt much of anything besides terror since leaving the ruined ship.

All he had were his instincts, built by repetition. He was certain that he didn't have any addictions. He wasn't dying for a cigarette, or a drink. He wasn't having malicious thoughts toward Kyra. At least
he
didn't think they were malicious, so he probably wasn't a rapist. What if he'd been given a blessing?

What if his memories and identity had been erased, leaving him with only the mechanics of a life? He could build a new life for himself...provided he survived long enough to do it. He sighed, frustrated at his inability to properly view the situation, and tried to stop thinking about it. He killed the shower, dried, and brushed his teeth, then considered shaving. His beard was little more than a dusting of stubble, a thin, dark shadow haunting his face. He decided against it, dressed, and relinquished the bathroom.

While Kyra took up residence for her shower, Greg began assembling his inventory for the day. Cage stepped into the room.

Greg glanced up. “You going to take a nap?”

“No, I'll stay up and help with...whatever it is that needs doing.” Cage leaned against the door frame.

“
You aren't tired?”

“
I'll be fine. What’s your overall plan?”

“
Clean up the outpost, and then hunt the surrounding outposts for a specific piece of equipment for our radio. Ours is broken and the spare is...in an inaccessible place.”

“
Inaccessible how?”

Greg relayed the incident with the elevator to Cage. By the time he finished, the sniper was frowning. “You're sure about what you heard?”

Greg nodded. “Positive...do you know what it could be? Are there any creatures native to the planet that could fit the description?”

Cage shook his head, almost sadly. “Nothing that I know of. Dis is bleak in terms of life. But...” Cage hesitated, his eyes unfocused. He remained silent.

“But what?”

“
Nothing. I'll have to think about this.” He wouldn’t say any more. Greg sighed and looked out the window. The camp waited for him, inert and drenched. He realized it had been raining since he'd woken up in the ship.

“
Is rain common around here?” he asked.

“
Not this common.”

Greg continued staring out the window, searching for movement. There was nothing, just a bleak, gray landscape. He finally slipped his pistol into its holster, pocketed the extra clips of ammo and slung the shotgun across his back.

There was work to be done.

* * * * *

They all had breakfast in the mess hall. More sealed packets of freeze-dried food. Greg settled for pre-cooked bacon, reasonably decent eggs, and a can of amazing corned beef hash. He downed it all with milk, then grabbed a can of Vex and drained it, too. If he hadn't had an addiction to Vex before, he sure had one now.

After breakfast, Kyra went to work on the tangled mess in the radio room, delving into her work with determination and a toolkit. Greg and Cage took on the more menial tasks of collecting the new corpses.

They toiled in silence, gearing up in bio-hazard gloves and masks, then stripped the corpses of anything useful: gear, ammo, weapons, medical supplies. Minutes bled into hours. The sun struggled into the gray sky behind a thick cloud cover. When they were finished with that task, they finished cleaning up the thick black blood, almost like oil or tar, and threw the rags onto the pile as well. Greg stared at the bodies.

“
What should we burn it with?” he asked as he threw his gloves and then his mask onto the pile. The outpost was clean. The bodies were collected, the blood was mopped up, there was, viscerally at least, nothing left to show the zombies had ever been there.

“
There should be fuel around the garage we found behind the comms relay.” Cage set off toward the garage. Greg followed. The garage, previously unnoticed, had been discovered on their last search of the colony for all things undead. It was untouched by the battle, but empty of anything save for some barrels of fuel, boxes of supplies, and a couple of tool-scattered tables. They grabbed a pair of smaller fuel containers and carried them out.

“
Hey, Kyra, come out. We're going to light the torch.” Greg spoke into the portable comm.

“
You'd better wait ‘til I'm there. I wouldn't want to miss this.”
Her voice came back tinny, made small by the radio.

The men dragged the barrel of fuel out to the bodies, which had been gathered in a heap a few dozen meters from the camp. Kyra emerged from the main building, hurrying across the camp to join them as they finished pouring the fuel across the bodies.

“What if this attracts more unwanted attention?” Greg questioned as they moved a safe distance away.

Cage pulled out his pistol. “Then I'll deal with it.”

He pointed his pistol at the heap and fired. The spark of the bullet lit the fuel. There was a brief plume of flame, which became a bigger one that whispered across the pile and soon encompassed the entire thing. It burned on, crackling fiercely despite the rain. Greg looked at the others, noticing how intently Kyra was staring into the flames. He wondered if this was liberating somehow, cathartic perhaps.

The zombies had come and torn apart her life, whatever it might have been before this. She handled herself well, but he wondered how much she kept in. His feelings were neutral toward the stumbling husks of men and women, apart from a fear that became less frenzied and more academic. What did Kyra and Cage feel?

“Will this burn, despite the rain?” Greg asked.

“
Yes,” Cage replied simply.

“
Come on, I'm hungry.” Kyra abruptly turned from the pyre.

Greg moved to join her. He hesitated when he realized Cage had yet to move from his position taken after firing the shot. “Coming?”

“In a moment.” Cage remained, still staring into the flames.

“
All right.” Greg shrugged and made for the mess hall. They ate. Conversation was light, becoming even lighter when Cage finally showed up. Everyone gave an update. Kyra stated she was going to take a break from the comms room and investigate the power station.

“
It's our only source of power...I want to make damn sure it isn't going to shit out on us.” She threw the remains of her meal away.

“
I'll take up watch on top of the comms tower, if no one is adverse to the idea,” Cage announced.

Greg looked at him, considering the situation. Next on the list was inventory. He had to hunt through every conceivable hiding place for spare weapons, ammo, medical supplies and anything else that might be useful.

He didn't exactly want to do the task himself, but Cage obviously wanted to be alone, for whatever reason. What if he just needed to decompress and get his shit together? What if he didn't like Greg? What if he thought Greg didn't like him and was trying to save him the trouble of spending the rest of the day with him?

He found that last one more unlikely, as they could each inventory separate areas...but it didn't matter. If Cage wanted to be alone, then so be it. It wasn't like they were under a time-crunch. “I don't mind.”

Kyra shrugged.

“
So be it, call me if you need me.” Cage left the room. They heard the elevator began its ascent.

Kyra glanced at Greg. “Is it me, or is he a little creepy?”

“Yeah, a little, but he's not all that bad. He's just...emotionless, and flat. I wonder if he was like that before this.”

“
Probably. I've run into a few like him in my time. He was probably very at home in the war.”

“
Maybe.”

They left the mess hall and went about their respective tasks. Greg worked in silence for an hour, hunting through the dormitory building for anything hidden by the inhabitants of the outpost. He tore apart the bedrooms, hunting under mattresses, in dressers, closets, and cabinets. He picked up a small, handheld computer he'd found in the security room that Kyra called an infopad and used it for inventory.