Ceaseless Page 9

  I'm waiting

  It had been carved into the metal with something blunt and somewhat broad. After a long moment, Allan was startled to realize what the killer had used to carve the message into the wall: his finger. Prefab metal was weaker than most metals, to be sure, but not that weak. Even with his own strength-enhancing armor, he couldn't do something like this. So the killer was waiting for him. Allan didn't let it bother him.

  He went through the door and continued climbing the steps, eager to face whatever events played out at the top of the forsaken hospital. As he stepped out onto the fifth story, Allan stopped as his radio crackled to life. Had Carpenter found some way to override it? Had he accidentally turned it on somehow?

  “Hello.”

  Allan felt a chill of raw, real fear puncture his desire for confrontation as he instantly recognized the situation for what it was. He'd turned off his long-range radio, but his short-range was still functional. And the killer was talking to him.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Allan asked, slowly moving down the corridor, keeping his voice low.

  “To talk to you.” The killer's voice was incredibly unsettling. It was incredibly deep, held a slight echo and was tinged with a metallic edge.

  “About what? I'm coming for you, you fuck.”

  “Oh, I know. It makes me glad. I was waiting for you.”

  Allan hesitated again, the fear threatening to overwhelm him. “Why?”

  “You're one of the old ones who's come into contact with me and lived. Instead of doing the smart thing and leaving, you're pursuing me. It's stupid. You're going to die. But you'll die either way, so it doesn't really matter.”

  “You've killed a lot of people.”

  The killer laughed, a hauntingly chilling sound. “Dozens? Perhaps a hundred. Well, probably more now.” He paused, and when he spoke again, real venom entered his voice. “It is nothing compared to the storm that is to come.”

  Allan stopped by an open door as he caught sight of a figure standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. A massive one, with what might have been its back to him. Allan raised his rifle and stepped into the room.

  He took aim and squeezed the trigger.

  When the killer moved, it was almost too fast to see. In a spray of glass, he leaped out of the window. Allan cursed as his round went wide, completely missing the hulking figure. He ran forward and came to the broken window just in time to see the killer land. Directly on his jeep. Allan snapped out another curse as he took aim again.

  There likely wasn't another working vehicle around for dozens, if not hundreds, of miles. From the smoke and wreckage, the killer stood, apparently unscathed, and began walking at a brisk pace across the square. Allan fired. Missed. Fired twice more, missed twice more. He fired one last time, but the killer disappeared from sight. Allan lowered the rifle and took a quick look around. The light was gone now, the sun having disappeared beyond the horizon and the clouds, but he could see well enough to know where the killer was going.

  The mining camp beyond the city.

  Fine then. So it had been delayed for a little bit.

  Allan turned and began running, eager for the kill.

  Chapter 10

  –Abandon–

  Allan reached the base of the hospital and readied himself, heading back out into the rainy darkness of the forsaken colony. He took a quick look at his vehicle, marveling briefly at how thorough ruined it was and how apparently unscathed the killer had been. Of course, after that stint with the power plant, well...

  He was beginning to suspect that something was seriously wrong here. His rational mind still clung to the notion that it was a psychotic killer in a suit of grade-A military power armor...or maybe that was his irrational mind. Because as far as he knew, there was no such thing as a suit of armor that could withstand a direct blast from a critically overloaded power plant at ground fucking zero. It was jut wasn't possible.

  So then who, or what, the fuck was this?

  He moved past the destroyed jeep and broke into a jog, heading for the mining camp, following in the footsteps of the killer. Allan kept focused. The plan hadn't changed. Death was still imminent. He kept up his pace, weaving in between derelict buildings, down rain-slicked alleyways, guided by the light-enhancement feature built into his helmet. For a moment, he felt an almost irresistible urge to take off his helmet and enjoy the rain.

  He ignored it, not taking the time to examine the reason he was having the urge. It was all too likely that he would die soon. Before long, Allan emerged from the complex of narrow alleyways and came onto a short, ruined road that led to the mining complex in the distance. It was built into the side of a mountain that loomed very close by. He hunted for the dark, looming figure of the killer, but could see nothing.

  Allan kept up the pace. He reached the end of the road without incident, continually scanning for any sign of attack. As he reached the abandoned mining camp, which was little more than a cluster of one-and-two story buildings that sat in the shadow of the mountain, he hesitated for a moment. What the fuck was he doing?

  For a few seconds, the rational part of his mind, the one that wanted to live, tried to make him see reason. He was alone. He had no back up. He had knowingly defied orders and personally witnessed this guy...or thing...kill dozens of people, his own team included. All he had was a gun and the slim hope of a shaky plan that relied very, very heavily on luck. He had every reason, every opportunity to walk away.

  So just what the hell was he doing, stalking through the pitch-black rain?

  Allan supposed he should face the truth. Even if he could go back, face up to whatever he's done, somehow get out of it without being locked up or blacklisted...what was the point? When his team had died, something had broken in him, something important and fundamental. Could it be fixed? Even if it could, did he want to go through the long, arduous process of fixing it? If he was being honest with himself, no, he didn't want to.

  So he marched on in between the buildings, hunting for the killer. It was obvious that the mining installation had run for a little while, at least enough to get a decent-sized camp built. All the structures he came to were just like those in the colony: empty husks of their former glory. No furniture, broken windows, unlit, dead. As Allan continued hunting, he felt like he was missing something, some key place that the killer would likely go.

  Suddenly, his radio crackle to life. He braced himself for another string of words from that dead, almost-mechanical voice of the killer.

  Instead, someone else came on.

  “Sergeant Gray, can you hear me?”

  He had no idea who the woman was and hesitated for a long moment, standing half-in, half-out of a doorway, hunting the rainy darkness.

  “Sergeant Gray, do you copy?”

  “...yes. Who is this?” he replied.

  “My name is Sergeant Major Montgomery. I understand your interested in tracking down our target and have been after him for a while now.”

  Allan retreated into the door, rifle raised, crouching. The men in dark suits and armor...had they come for him?

  “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “Don't worry, Gray. We're not here to stop you or kidnap you. I apologize for Blackwell. The guy's an asshole. Suffice to say that Blackwell and his black-armored cronies are...intelligence, while I and my boys are Spec Ops. We're the good guys, we're trying to kill this asshole and we'd definitely like your help, as you're presently the one with the most experience.”

  It could be a trap, but something in Allan said it wasn't. He felt himself relax at Montgomery's words. She sounded calm, competent and even friendly. He'd heard of Special Operations and knew that they were the elite. The best of the best.

  “Where are you? What's the situation?” he asked.

  “Glad to see you're joining the team. I've got a couple dozen men in the area. We've tracked you and the killer via satellite to the abandoned mining camp. There's a complex of small caves and tunnels be
neath the mountain. You aren't far from an entrance. It'll be to the right of the main entrance to the mining complex, it's small and out-of-the-way with a few support beams around the entrance. That's where the killer went. I've got my boys going in through all the other known entrances and exits. Head in through that entryway and link up with my men. They're wearing black-and-silver armor. They know you're coming,” Montgomery explained.

  “Do you know about the electrical darts? Regular bullets and armor-piercers don't work on this psycho fuck,” Allan said as he immediately began making in that direction.

  “Yes. We recovered research from Obsidian Station. We are armed with the appropriate arsenal of weaponry.”

  “Affirmative. I've found the entrance. I'm going silent for now. Out.”

  “Affirmative. Out.”

  The link was cut.

  Allan plunged into the darkness.

  * * * * *

  It was ominous in the tunnels.

  Everything had an undeveloped, ancient look to it. Allan felt as though he'd been cast back into a primeval labyrinth of rock and darkness, and he got to share it with one of the deadliest things of all time. Was he hunting it or was it hunting him? Did it matter? Either way, he wasn't leaving until one of them was dead.

  Allan tried to get into tune with his environment. The walls were cast in rock and earth, broken occasionally by a support beam and long-dead illumination strips. It wasn't long before he came to a fork in the path and went right at random. After another few minutes in the darkness, he froze, certain that he had heard something. There was a bend just up ahead, a sharp one, and he couldn't see around it. There could be anything there.

  Cautiously, he edged up to it, getting as close as he could, rifle at ready. Allan took a breath, held it, then looked around the corner. He nearly screamed as he spied a face peering back at him from behind a glass pane. The man seemed just as surprised. Allan nearly shot him, but forced his finger back that crucial centimeter off the trigger. He took another deep, shuddering breath and laughed, regaining his composure.

  “You're with Montgomery?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “You must be Gray. I'm Sergeant Sanders. Come on, we're tracking the target right now.”

  Allan followed the man deeper into the network with two others. They were all indeed wearing black armor trimmed with silver. It was top-of-the-line gear, he could tell just by looking at it. As they moved deeper into the cave system, Allan couldn't hold back his questions. Despite his earlier feelings, it did feel good to be in the presence of others.

  “Do you guys know what's up with this guy?” he asked.

  “No. All the briefing said was that we were apprehend someone in a suit of power armor. They gave us this gear and sent us off. They did, however, tell us he was extremely dangerous. What about you? You're supposed to be some kind of expert?”

  Allan suppressed a hard laugh. “Yeah. Expert. I've been chasing this guy for hours now. So far the only thing I've seen that stops him are these weapons and-”

  He shut up as a loud, wet snap echoed down the tunnels. It was immediately followed by a howling shriek of raw, unfiltered agony that could be heard both in the tunnels and over radio network. Somewhere he heard the distinct zzt! sound of electrical bolts being fired off in rapid succession, followed immediately by a second, third and four scream.

  “Jesus,” Allan whispered.

  Sanders immediately began to call for a report on what was going on, but all he received in response was a confused babble of voices.

  “Find him! Take him out!” Sanders snapped, silencing the others.

  “How many men do you have?” Allan asked as they pressed on.

  “Thirty,” Sanders replied.

  Another scream cut through the radio link and the tunnels. “Not anymore,” Allan murmured.

  They made it down another tunnel and stopped abruptly, finding the aftermath of the killer's attack. Four men lay on the ground, their bodies broken, arms or heads ripped off by brute force. Immense amounts of blood splashed the walls, floor, even the ceiling.

  “Holy fuck,” Sanders whispered.

  Another scream tore across the comms network. Sanders straightened up and headed off in the direction of the scream, now jogging through the tunnels.

  “Where is he?!” he snapped.

  More confused responses. Allan was coming to realize that despite all their training, their gear, they hadn't planned this mission particularly well. And they probably didn't honestly expect to come up against something so utterly indestructible. As they plunged on through the darkness, following a path of destruction, trying to catch up with the killer, they could hear the sounds of death and destruction, screams and electric bolts firing.

  Allan felt his pulse racing as they seemed to get closer and closer to the killer. The amount of bodies they were coming across was ridiculous and before long his boots were coated in a fine layer of blood. Before long, they stepped out into a cavern that suddenly opened up around them. Allan froze as a bolt of fear shot through him.

  Across the day, standing in the middle of the small cavern, was the killer. He was holding a man in armor up by the neck, his feet dangling easily two feet off the floor. Allan was aware of movement one either side of them, he glanced left, then right, seeing small squads of more men. They were getting into positions, weapons raising...

  Allan had just begun to raise his own weapon when they opened fire. He added his own weapon to the gunplay, emptying the magazine into the bastard. Dozens of the blue-white bolts slammed into the killer, covering him in his own brief electrical storm. Almost at once, everyone stopped firing, and all was silent in the cavern.

  The killer was still standing.

  As the men began reloading, preparing for the worst, he finally toppled over, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud.

  Allan let out his breath in a long, slow sigh.

  * * * * *

  Outside again. He was standing in what was a makeshift operations area for the Spec Ops team that had been assembled and sent in. Really, it was little more than a semi-circle of large cargo trucks, a makeshift armory and a mobile workstation. Everything was lit in the powerful, stark glow of arc-lights attached to the top of the trucks, giving the area an otherworldly, bleak feel. Allan felt exhaustion consume him as he watched six of the men carry the killer's immense body towards the back of one of the trucks.

  Around him, everyone was packing up. He'd wanted to tear the man's helmet off, look upon his face, and then empty a magazine into it. But Sanders and his men had been insistent: they had their orders, and they were following them. Allan felt betrayed. He'd been positive that Montgomery and the Spec Ops were there on a kill order.

  He looked around and spied a figure with black armor fringed with gold and red. Montgomery. He felt a bolt of anger shoot through him, temporarily thrown off the lethargy that was threatening to overwhelm him.

  He marched over to Montgomery. “You fucking lied to me.”

  “Whoa, hold on there, Sergeant,” Montgomery replied, turning away from the workstation to look squarely at him.

  “If you think I give a shit about ranks right now, you are sorely mistaken.”

  “Fine. Listen, I know what you're thinking. We're not-”

  Allan cut her off, feeling the fury building up, pouring out of him. “If you would have just let me take off his fucking helmet, we'd be done with this!”

  “Gray...you don't understand. You can't take off his helmet,” Montgomery replied, her voice calm but firm.

  Allan stopped, blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “Trying to take off his armor would be like trying to take off your skin.”

  Allan was silent for a long moment. He turned and watched the men loading the killer into the back of the truck. “What is he?”

  Montgomery shook her head. “I don't know, not fully. We're still going through the files at Obsidian Station. The government found something, something old, and started doing re
search on it. We were sent to run security and keep an eye on the research, make sure it didn't get too crazy...only it never turned out like that. Blackwell was so fucking tight-lipped about it all that I don't even know what this thing is...except that it's not human, not in the way that you and I are. But there's obvious a lot more going on.”

  “So how are you going to kill him?” Allan asked.

  A handful of other Spec Ops troops came over and began breaking down the mobile workstation, bringing it in pieces back to another one of the trucks. Montgomery laughed. “We're going to hurl him into the sun.”

  Allan blinked. “Holy shit.”

  “Yep.”

  “I...I need to come.”

  “You need rest. You sound horrible and I imagine if you showed your face, you'd look like absolute shit,” Montgomery replied as they began making their way back to the trucks.

  “No. I need to come,” Allan replied firmly.

  Montgomery frowned, considering it, then nodded. She pointed to one of the trucks. “Fine, but you get to ride with him.”

  Allan watched her climb into one of the other trucks. He frowned, then shrugged mentally. He'd gotten his wish. As he climbed into the cabin of the truck holding the killer, nodding once to the man behind the wheel, he buckled up and considered the revelations that had been laid at his feet. He'd been right, the killer wasn't human.

  But as the truck started up and began driving, Allan almost immediately fell asleep.

  Chapter 11

  –All According To Plan–

  “Gray...you there? You sleeping?”

  Allan snapped awake, ready to launch into action, hand already going for his rifle, which he'd settled in between legs. He glanced around. Packed-earth, sun-baked wastelands were still rolling by. It was still night, though the rain had settled down to a thin mist. A muted starlight drenched the area, struggling to break through the overcast skies. Allan checked his chronometer and saw that little over an hour had passed.