Reanimated_Terminal Misery Page 11

  The man spit a glob of tobacco, which splattered on a rock and dribbled to the dusty floor. His steely gaze settled on the doctor’s blinking expression. “I hope those lizards want some Texas meat, ‘cause I’m in the mood for some lizard meat,” Efrem said, breaking eye contact only when the doctor dropped his gaze.

  “You, do know we can’t consume the local meat?” Dr. Spencer said.

  “Wishful thinking, Doc.”

  “We’ll try to stay within COM range, but if we do lose contact, we should be back before nightfall,” Lt. Pierce said.

  "That is of prime importance, sir. The night activity is substantially more aggressive than the day one. Even with the advantage of the illumination given off by the vegetation. We’ve also spotted packs of predators moving closer to our location during the evening hours. They look like felines who can shift their pelt to match the terrain’s texture and color,” Dr. Spencer said as he glanced at Efrem.

  “We have this under control, Doctor,” Sergeant Gonzales said, stepping toward the exit ramp and the others following.

  The doctor noticed a hint of fear across Private Johnson’s face. I bet he wished he wasn’t the only military medic among the colonists, Dr. Spencer thought. He watched them leave with a heavy heart. He followed them as they moved away from the rocky terrain and into danger.

  Efrem looked over his shoulder until the doctor disappeared behind a wall of tortured rocks. Efrem rated people by their eyes, and he could tell the doctor was a kind man, good at his job, but found him lacking in the bravery department.

  Dr. Spencer sidled the mountain's border to get a closer look at the indigenous flora, and that's when he heard a sharp whoosh behind him. He gazed upon a distant blood-red flower. Another whoosh came, and this time he saw it—the plant had shot a thorn at him. He quickly scooped up the projectile and, after testing it, found it contained a potent neurotoxin. It baffled him immensely. What would the plant do to him once he became paralyzed—eat him? He shuddered at the thought. These men were about to face plants and animals whose behavior escaped human comprehension.

  ***********************************

  “Efrem, you got your body armor under your clothes, right?” Lt. Pierce said.

  "Doctor wouldn't have it any other way," Efrem said. His voice had grown thick and guttural.

  Lt. Pierce turned to see the man’s eyes shrink to slits. “Something up, Efrem?”

  "Sure is," he said, as he lifted the heavy multipurpose rifle. He turned a nob near the rear sight and pulled the trigger. A crisp blue flame ignited under the barrel's tip.

  They stopped and took a knee in a back-to-back formation. Their kneepads guarded them against ground eels or any other ground menace.

  “What did you see, Efrem?” Gonzales said, aiming his weapon at the ambling vegetation.

  “Nine o’clock, more than one hostile, trying to flank us,” Efrem said, peering over his sight, a tobacco wad pushed at his left cheek, muffling his words.

  Lt. Pierce barely perceived the distortions. They were small, as big as a bobcat. The still soil gave them away, despite how their pelts blended in with the ground. Lt. Pierce looked over his shoulder to where they’d come from. Shit, we just started, he thought dismayed.

  "Sir, intruders, are coming into firing range," Sergeant Gonzales warned.

  “Private Johnson, you see any on my six?” Lt. Pierce said.

  “Clear for fuzzy creepers here, sir,” Johnson said.

  “Let’s give’em a warning barrage. Mark…fire.”

  Four firebombs shot fifty meter's in each direction. They hit, exploding into smaller irradiated, blue fireballs.

  The creatures lost their camouflage for a moment, but instead of fleeing they ran at the flames and bypassed them with blinding speed. More than a dozen in number, the agile cats burst towards the four men.

  "Shit! Fire at will," Lt. Pierce said quickly, already squeezing his trigger. Firebombs erupted in rapid sequence from each weapon. Private Johnson turned to join the frontal defense. The agile creatures seemed to anticipate the projectiles, but three went down covered in flames, shrieking and gnashing at the fire.

  Efrem's .357 exploded three times, dropping two more long-snouted cats.

  “Sidearms are better—fire’s too slow,” Lt. Pierce hissed. His .45 barked and two more went down.

  Efrem shot up from his kneeling position, holstering his weapon. He retrieved two foot long tactical knives. “They’re too fast and too close!”

  Two fell victim to the barrage of bullets, just as they were about to spring on Johnson and Lt. Pierce.

  One leaped at Gonzales. He aimed off balance and missed the shot. The fierce animal slammed into him and began tearing at his protected arm.

  Lt. Pierce pummeled it with the .45’s handle.

  Johnson glanced a blur coming at him. His rifle came up instinctively, and he caught the grinning animal in midair, slapping it aside.

  Efrem under-slashed one that shot toward his throat. The razor caught in the creature’s neck bone wrenching the blade from his hand.

  The last one bypassed Efrem and latched around Lt. Pierce’s turned head. The lieutenant went down.

  Johnson retrieved his .45 and shot the injured one he’d batted aside.

  Efrem hacked at the feral cat attached to Lt. Pierce’s headgear with his remaining blade, nearly slicing off the creature’s head. The aggressiveness of the felines leaving him astounded. Finally, only the four panting men stirred. They clumsily returned to their formation, pumping adrenalin making them feel woozy.

  Lt. Pierce felt warm blood coursing down his neck where the creature's claws had torn through his neck brace. He let his heart beats ease back within reason, taking in deep breaths. Then he noticed it, they were surrounded by colorful shrubs. "weapons ready!" he said, feeling a bit queasy. The eerie piece that settled over the land made Lt. Pierce's stomach burn in anticipation.

  “Sir, do we shoot?”

  “No. Hold your fire.”

  One bobcat started shivering. Before long they were all quaking. Then they saw it, the eels tearing at the creatures from below. The shrubs slithered ahead, but not at them. Rasping, gnawing, and sawing came from each carcass. The bushes wrapped their roots around the fallen beasts. The carnage moved fast-forward.

  Private Johnson felt the urge to shut his eyes at the grisly site. The sound was something he’d heard while visiting a hog farm. Hogs were ferocious, sloppy eaters, and these things were just as savage.

  The shrubs slid away paying them no heed.

  Sergeant Gonzales felt his inside's shudder but tried to keep his hands steady on his Z-9.

  “That was intense!” Efrem said, startling the others.

  “Everyone out...” Lt. Pierce started forward, then stumbled, falling to his hands and knees.

  “Johnson!" Gonzales said, coming to the lieutenant's aid.

  Johnson knelt beside the commander. "Got him around the neck," Johnson said when his hand came away crimson from Pierce's neck. Johnson removed the damaged neck brace and felt fresh blood gush into his face. "Sarge, in the med pack, give me the clamp gun," Johnson snapped as he applied pressure to a deep gash that had sliced into the lieutenant's superficial cervical artery.

  “Efrem, any obstacles?” Sergeant Gonzales said.

  “Clear for six hundred feet or more.”

  “We have to scrub the mission. LT won’t make it long on this clamp,” Johnson said, locking the device to the lieutenant’s neck. “Wound's too deep. His AID’s reading internal bleeding,” he added, trying to work with the lieutenant’s blood smeared over his fingers.

  "Do we need a stretcher, or can we use a two-man carry," Gonzales said.

  “He’s stable; two men will be faster,” Johnson replied.

  “Agreed, let’s move,” Gonzales said, taking up the rear with his flamer aimed at multiple targets that seemed oblivious to their retreat.

  Chapter 27

  Drive

  Manta, Ecuad
or, Rosa Mountains

  May 11, 4067

  "Dr. Spencer, how long will the lieutenant be kept under quarantine?" Sergeant Gonzales inquired, holding his headgear to his chest, and coughing into his hand.

  “What you really want to know is, will he make it, right?”

  Doctor, I'm a Ranger, so I know the price of our service, but the LT's tougher than nails… For a USC officer, I mean. We've become good friends, and I know him—he hates confinement, he's allergic to nuts, orphaned at twelve, and now I know he's scared of two-inch clawed hell-cats."

  “We haven’t found any reason to quarantine him. We had a few compatible donors, and his body has assimilated the blood well, along with the blood expander. He should be up and around in a few days. However, judging by his track record, I think he should sit the next venture out,” Dr. Spencer said, raising an eyebrow.

  Sergeant Gonzales gave a snort-like laugh and was all teeth, “Good luck keeping him away from a mission. I can hear him now, ‘First one didn’t count, it was just a scratch,’ he'll say. I can put some money on it," he said, his eyes becoming distant as if recalling his friendship with the lieutenant. "Conyo, you know, he’s the closest thing I have to family. We worked on the project together from the start. He married a Latin girl, and I was teaching him some words to tell his woman…" Gonzales drifted off once more. "My mom and wife went to Puerto Rico to visit family and were due to come to Manta in a week. They thought they were coming down to vacation. I had to pull some strings to get them approved, but seeing as my wife's a nurse and my mom's a therapist, they made the cut. I kept the secret from them, though. I knew they wouldn't take it well, but at least they would live." Gonzales’ss eyes clouded. “I mean, they were a nurse and a therapist." His voice lowered to a whisper, and he turned away not knowing why he'd told the doctor these things in the first place.

  "I am truly sorry for your loss, and I do understand friendship. I wouldn't worry about the lieutenant—he'll be just fine. As for another mission, it will be up to him, but he lost too much blood, and despite restoring his hemoglobin levels, his body will need to heal for some time. Until he does, I can ground him from missions. I'm recommending a week's rest and my orders will prevail over any mission." Dr. Spencer said, laying his hand on the sergeant's broad shoulder. "Your right about him, though. He won't stay down without a fight, but as his physician, I can't in good conscience let him put himself and others in danger." The doctor saw the sergeant's red eyes. Despite his hard demeanor, the sergeant was a softy at heart.

  Efrem entered the tent, cradling an ominous rifle. “Doctor, Gonzales.” He nodded. “I still want to try to get out there,” he said, steading his glistening eyes on Dr. Spencer.

  The doctor sighed. “I don’t know if you have a death wish, Efrem, but we’re still trying to come up with sensible body armor for the next expedition.”

  "Look, I know you're looking out for us, Doc, but we're big boys here. I have two volunteers, and they have steel mesh suits, covers a hunter from head to toe. We can come up with something similar for me,” Efrem said.

  “Wait. How did these volunteers get something so specific and, how did you find out about it?” Gonzales said.

  “The dream—or prophesy, if you prefer. In it, these two guys hunted a boar-like creature, so I got to thinking—how would these guys have succeeded when we barely made it six hundred feet from the cavern’s entrance? I asked, and they told. When I told them the stakes, they said they wanted in, with one condition—they want dibs on any animal we trap after they've past customs," Efrem said, his steely gaze steady.

  “So, Stan and Miller are still craving pork. You do realize that these guys are not part of our military team, plus do you think they’re mission ready?”

  “I know they look rough and they drink too much, but they can handle themselves and have experience—look, we need to move. I’ve heard the rumors. Two weeks living in damp-moldy caverns is bringing the morale down again. Depressed people get sick or do stupid things,” Efrem said with one hand holding his weapon up and the other on his hip, resolute.

  Dr. Spencer snorted. “Let me run it by Ben and Malica, but no promises. They may not want to involve either civilians or security personnel in this, as has been the case in the past.”

  “These guys have military experience and their hunters, not just mere civilians or just security personnel. They have talents. All you have to do is ask them, and they’ll tell you their story,” Efrem said, waving a hand for emphasis.

  ************************************

  “Doesn’t look like ours though,” Miller said, frowning at the ring-mesh armor.

  “That’s because the rings are slightly larger, but their stronger and lighter than the steel mesh your wearing,” said a bald man in a less than pristine lab coat. “We had the gloves for butchers, and plenty of the mesh as backup, I simply cut each piece per Efrem’s dimensions and, for lack of a better word, sewed them together.” The man smiled with satisfaction.

  “Sound good, now what are we waiting for?” Stan said, his little close nit eyes, like those of a small primate, glittering.

  Efrem smiled. “Get everything to the entrance. Let me suit up.”

  Moments later, the three men started down the hill. Ben and Mathew saw them off. Mathew watched their progress through the pad in his hand. “I have them on visual, but not audio. I’ll have to see if there’s a glitch,” Mathew said as he began questioning the AI.

  “No need,” Ben said, “Efrem told me he didn’t want ears on them.”

  Dr. Spencer and Malica walked up as Ben was speaking. “Where are they going, and why isn’t Sergeant Gonzales or Johnson with them?”

  “Efrem didn’t say. Either way, I made the exception. They’re doing us a favor—let’s not forget that,” Ben said turning away.

  “What I don’t understand is how we are supposed to help them if they get in trouble,” Malica said.

  “I told them to wait for Sergeant Gonzales and the medic, but they insisted on doing this on their own. They said they could handle anything, arrogant bastards. The facts stand—we need a place to relocate as quickly as possible and...here comes the question which will label me a monster for all time," He retreated a step while combing his hair back with an open palm. "What are we willing to sacrifice to save the human race? Because that's what we need to address."

  “We're already doing that. We still have options, but let's not become what we were—a barbaric race which would do anything to survive, especially to live in comfort," Dr. Spencer said as if insinuating that Ben craved his old, comfortable life.

  “If these men volunteered, that’s alright, but to send security personnel on a military mission is insane. You say they are ready and that they gave you a verbal resume, fine, but you will be responsible for them. I say we send experienced soldiers,” Malica said, her anger rising with each word.

  “I agree,” Dr. Spencer said. “I explained Efrem’s suggestion, but I didn’t intend for you to run with it so soon.

  “I’m not surprised you would agree with Malica. Give me a minute,” Ben said under his breath. Ben called out after the men and clumsily maneuvering the path the three men had taken.

  Dr. Spencer saw Ben and Efrem gesticulating, their words a high pitch garble. The men glared back at the doctor and Malica. Then they started after Ben, shaking their heads in irritation.

  “What seems to be the problem?”

  "Quite a few problems, Efrem," Dr. Spencer responded, holding the man's gaze. "First, Ben didn't disclose this mission to us. I knew we would consider your proposition yesterday, but not so soon. Second, we don't know these men's credentials. Third, were you provided the correct med gear?" Dr. Spencer steadied his gaze, despite those intimidating, cold eyes. He'd stared down quite a few people during his years as a surgeon, but never a super soldier. He saw Efrem's eyes lose their hard edge.

  “My bad—I told Ben not to get anyone involved, save him, Mathew and myself. I held the rank of
major in the USC’s Ranger core. Miller here served the Marin Core during the Communist war, two tours. Stan over there, despite his appearance, was Delta Force for ten years.”

  "Busted a kneecap on a tank round." Stan chuckled. "Damn mechanical knee won't stop itching." He noticed Malica's blank expression. “Bullet took half my knee off. Thank goodness for bionics,” he said, flexing the alleged leg.

  The doctor and Malica stared at his leg.

  Stan unstrapped the mesh around his boot and hefted up the heavy mail and pant leg to reveal a stainless steel knee. “Courtesy of Ol’ Uncle Sam,”

  “If you guys are what you say, why not enlist as soldiers during the CEEP program?”

  "I got a mechanical elbow. Stan even has a bionic ear, eye, and knee. Plus look at us—Y'all don't even believe we were soldiers, but I guarantee we can hold up in a fight," Miller explained.

  "As for the medkits—we got a red pack and a blue pack, and I think that will do," Efrem said.

  “If you were going on a camping trip, yes, but your venturing into hell. Therefore you will need antibiotics, antivenoms, and a surgical kit. The blue pack is basically full of aspirins and bandages. The red pack is for severe-life threatening wounds as a temporary measure, which entailed calling a chopper for immediate evac if you were isolated. Here, there is no dialing 911, no air support, and no SAT phones—no nothing, because even the little spy box your carrying has a short range,” the doctor said, addressing Ben instead of Efrem.

  “Roger that. So once we have the proper med supplies, are we clear to carry on with the mission?” Efrem said, trying to hide his irritation.

  He knows I can scrub their mission, so he’s demeaning my authority as a leader by bypassing proof. "Stan and Miller's credentials are in the database, if they're legitimate, then providing you the proper medical equipment is the easy part.” Dr. Spencer said, getting a nod from Malica.