Necropolis (7 page)

Greg shifted with unease. “Because they don't want anyone making calls.”

Cage stared at the debris. “But who are 'they'?”

Chapter 09

–
Nightfall
–

They spent another hour and a half combing over the base for spare supplies. Greg and Cage gathered what they could while Kyra salvaged spare parts from the shot-up communications booth. They all worked in silence. By the time they finished loading the jeeps and drove back, the rain returned. It was light, but sunlight diminished even more.

The wastelands looked as cold and desolate as ever.

They parked the jeeps in the garage, which was just big enough to hold all three of them, and unloaded the supplies. As Greg delivered what food they managed to gather and stow in a small cold-storage unit, he was suddenly stricken by the notion that they weren’t alone in camp.

He set the cold-storage container down on the mess hall floor and settled the shotgun into his grasp.

“Guys, I think someone's in the camp with us.” He spoke quietly into his comms unit.

“
I feel it, too.”
Cage’s cool, calm voice came back to him.

Kyra whispered,
“What do we do?”

“
Split up. I'll take the main building. Cage, take the infirmary. Kyra, the dorms. Sixty second interval check-ins. Stay sharp.” Greg ordered.

There were two affirmative responses.

He searched the mess hall, leading with his shotgun barrel. There was nothing in the kitchen area or the little storage room adjacent to it. He slipped over to the comms room. Nothing. The security center was empty. He scanned the few cameras that still worked and found nothing. Kyra and Cage gave regular reports.

Greg swallowed. His nerves sent his stomach up into his throat. He headed out of the security center, left the building, and stepped back out into the rain, looking around. There was light, but not much. If it had just been him with the weird notion, he probably would have dismissed it as paranoia, but Cage sounded so certain...

Kyra suddenly let out a startled sound over the comms, followed by an undead groan and a gunshot, then the
thud
of a corpse slumping to the floor.

“
Found a zombie.”
Her breathless voice came across the comm. Greg made for the dormitory. He noticed Cage coming out of the infirmary. They entered the building and found Kyra standing over a corpse in one of the bedrooms.

“
How...how the
hell
did it get in here?” Greg whispered. He stared at the pale body in silent horror.

“
The door was closed when I got here,” Kyra said.

They looked at the single window in the room. It was intact. Cage crossed the room. He tried to open it and discovered it was firmly locked into place. They stood and stared at each other for a few moments.

“It must have opened the front door, then come in here, lying in wait,” Cage murmured.

“
This is the room where we slept last night.” Greg glanced at Kyra.

She shook her head. “Come on, will you guys listen to yourselves? It's impossible.”

“Only a fool dismisses legitimate evidence out of hand simply because it doesn’t match up with their own perceptions.” Cage made for the door. “I'm going to go and check the rest of the camp.”

Kyra stared daggers at him as he left, but held her tongue. Greg got the feeling that she knew Cage was right.

“Come on.” She brushed past him. “We should help.”

* * * * *

They spent another hour hunting through the lonely, chrome corridors of the outpost. They found no more surprises lying in wait for them, and finished unloading the supplies. Greg found it difficult to shake the pervasive feeling of being watched. By the time they sat down to dinner, the sun was slipping below the horizon.

“
So...here's something we've never really talked about.” Kyra spoke up, once they had popped their meals into the microwaves, heated them and sat to eat. “Where do they come from?”

A silence descended like invisible gas and Greg felt woefully inadequate. He had no memories. His speculations would be useless.

“I haven't collected enough relevant evidence,” Cage replied.

Greg stared at him. “So speculate.” More silence.

Greg shrugged. “Maybe a meteorite crashed and it had some kind of space disease?” Kyra made a strange face as if she was unsure whether she should laugh or sigh.

Cage shook his head. “Unlikely. Most bacteria cannot survive in space.”

“So maybe it was...inside the meteorite? What if it wasn't a meteorite, but some kind of container? Holding an alien bio-hazard containment cell?” Greg supplied.

“
Excuse me while I retrieve my science fiction novels.” Cage almost cracked a smile.

There was a brief silence. Greg was surprised. That was the first instance of humor that the silent sniper had delivered since arriving at the camp. Greg laughed, if only because he felt the need to encourage more jovial behavior from Cage.

Kyra smiled. “It's an idea.”

“
Perhaps one of our mining installations dug up something they shouldn't have.” Cage threw out another scenario.

Greg nodded. “That's what I was thinking.”

He enjoyed the conversation as they delved into other potential scenarios and possibilities that began to sound more and more like conspiracy theories, but he knew they were just putting off what they really needed to talk about. They finished their dinner and sat back, unwilling to get back to work just yet.

“
They must be getting smarter.” Cage spoke after a long moment of impending silence.

“
You don't know that,” Kyra snapped, but Greg could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

Cage shook his head “I do. This was no accident. That thing opened and closed two doors, found
our
room, and hid out in it, waiting for us.”

Greg frowned. “So what does that mean?”

“It means we need to start being more vigilant.” Cage’s cold as ice reply made Greg shiver.

* * * * *

After they cleaned up their meals, Kyra decided to return to her repairs on the comms array. She reported that she'd be able to finish up before they went to sleep. Greg and Cage decided to check over the outpost once more. It turned out that Cage was also somewhat adept at technical things. He managed to re-code the lockdown mechanism to take only their three thumbprints.

They locked down the power station, infirmary, garage, and the three sheds, as well as all the bedrooms that they weren't using. They dragged the new body to what Cage began calling the Burn Pit, cleaned up the mess they'd made and lit a fresh fire. After they were sure the outpost was secure, Cage opted to take up watch on the comms tower, again. Greg left him to it and wondered for a moment what to do.

They finished cleaning up and organizing pretty much everything. Greg supposed that the garage might need more straightening up, but at this point he was exhausted. It had been a long day.

Finally, he settled
on striking up a conversation with Kyra. He found her on her back, working beneath the exposed guts of the communications equipment. Just her legs showed. She reminded Greg of an old-school car mechanic and it took him a minute to realize how weird that was.

“
Hey.” He leaned against the doorjamb.

“
Hey, Greg.” She replied as if she knew he'd been standing there all along.

He tried to think of something to say. “So how about another history lesson?”

“What do you mean?”

“
Well...I don't remember shit about our history. I mean...what year is it?”

“
Twenty three forty seven...shit, I have to say, Greg, it really blows my mind that you're so functional and yet you can't remember a damn thing.”

“
You think it blows
your
mind...”

“
Well, how about you ask questions and I'll try to answer?”

“
Okay...um...” He struggled for a few moments. There were so many questions. Abruptly, he struck on one. “Have we found aliens, yet? I have vague memories of reading books and watching vids...”

“
No. I'm sorry to report that we haven't found any alien cultures. However...there have often been...hints.”

“
Hints?”

“
Ruins, mostly. Ancient civilizations. I'm sorry, I've never really been too interested in xeno-archeology. There are all these theories...I don't know. I guess I've always been more down to earth. I like to work on gear, I like to read books, I like to take walks...sometimes I like to toke up.”

“
Toke up?”

“
Weed. Smoke weed. Recreational drug that's probably about as common as cigarettes. You remember what a cigarette is?”

“
Yeah...for some reason I do. I wonder if I smoked...”

The conversation continued in a stilted way for another few moments and that made Greg uncomfortable. He was positive there was another layer to their dialogue. That somehow, she was trying to say one thing and mask it in another, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Finally, after a lengthy silence, he wished her luck on the repairs and made his way over to the elevator. He rode it up and found Cage.

He moved over to the other man. “Hey.”

“
Hello.” Cage gave him a quick glance.

Greg looked out over the vast desolation that surrounded them. There were still gray skies above them. Had there even been a single instance of a clear sky since he'd awoken? There should be stars overhead. He could recall that much, but what if they were gone?

The thought struck him as insane. Of course they weren't gone...but he hadn't seen them once, had he? Was he just supposed to trust they were there?

“
Want a smoke?” Cage leaned his sniper rifle against the support strut of the communications dish that towered over them. His legs dangled over the side of the building as he took a drag on his cigarette, the tip of which burned a hole in the gloom.

Greg reacted automatically. “Sure.”

Cage reached into his front pocket and fished out a crumpled pack of cigs that had the words
Galactic Lites
stenciled in neon orange words that caught the light. He pulled one out and lit it with the tip of his own cigarette, handed it to Greg, and replaced the pack. Greg took it and found that handling the cig was familiar.

“
I used to smoke.” Greg took a long drag from it. He felt a heady rush and blew out a cloud of formless smoke.

“
You say that like you weren't sure.” Cage flicked ash over the edge.

Greg hesitated. He still hadn't relayed to Cage his memory loss. Well, now seemed as good a time as ever. He sat down and spent the next several minutes relaying his brief history to Cage, who merely sat and listened. By the time he was finished, their cigs were dead. Cage flicked his off the side of the building.

“I suspected something was wrong,” he admitted.

“
Really?”

“
Yes...there was something about you, something that spoke of competence...but hesitation. Now it makes sense.”

“
You're very perceptive.”

“
Yes, I am.” He lit a new cigarette, then reached up and adjusted his earpiece comms unit. “Adjust your earpiece so that you don't send, only receive.”

Greg hesitated, briefly, and did as he was told.

“Kyra is flirting with you,” Cage told him bluntly. Greg was stunned into further silence. “Yes, I'm sure, before you ask. I may seem cold and distant, but just because I may lack an excess of emotion does not mean that I don't understand emotion. Why aren't you responding as such? Is it your memory? Is she unattractive to you?”

“
Christ, Cage...give me a minute to think.”

Cage pulled two more cigarettes out and lit them both up. He passed Greg one.

“I'm just...well, for one I was operating under the assumption that she had no interest in me. I did think there was something strange about our most recent conversation. Something I couldn't quite place my finger on, but...I mean, even if she does, and even if I did like her, too...I mean...” he hesitated, unsure of how to continue.

“
You sound like a middle-schooler,” Cage observed.

“
Thanks. My point is smartass-”

Cage snorted and a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

“
-I have no memories. What if I start something with her and my memories come back? What if I've got a girlfriend somewhere? Or worse, what if I'm an asshole? What if I'm a huge misogynist? What if I'm abusive? That would be unfair to her and she doesn't deserve that.”

“
All valid points, I suppose. Let me ask you this. Do you have any reason to believe that your previous personality might suddenly reassert itself? Or, even better, what if how you are acting now is your previous personality, minus the memories? While there is some truth to the notion that a man is his memories, there is a lot more to what makes a man. His decisions, for one. And besides, we’re in a dangerous situation. We may not get out of this alive. If you were to die tomorrow, and you turned Kyra down tonight, let's say, would you feel better?”