Lurk

Chapter Sixteen

From above, and in the darkness,

The puppet master looms,

Leaving notes scrawled in blood,

While the chaos blooms...

The bright outdoors would have been a replenishing sight, if it hadn’t been for the gallery of walking corpses on display. What had started off as a big problem was now beyond any humane control, with horizon beyond DMB just a painting of greyish flesh and blood.

Smith liked to think he might’ve made it as an artist, if not a sniper, but his brush was rife with blunt bristles, and the canvas of life was not such a beautiful sight anymore. But then again, if he’d chosen art before war, then instead of being cooped up in a contaminated military base, Pvt. Leo Smith would be surrounded by his loving family in Portsmouth.

As his only alliances hit the ground many feet below, he hung wary in the window. Someone needed to stay behind, and put together a viable entrance for the rescue party, just in case erecting the ladder became a problem. He should have been glad that fate was throwing him a bone, by not having to risk it all in one brutal recovery mission.

Yeah, there’s no danger here. I’m in the most secure place a man could be. But as the unit of four headed out into the night, the sniper left behind felt reality dawn on him. Hangar 6 was no safe place to be, not for anyone.

He forced himself to turn away from the window, still slightly amazed that everyone had made the great fall without injury. The exhaustion of this day seemed to override any pain, and impact was a lot easier to take when in a limp state.

The control room was Leo’s home now, with closed in walls, age-old technology, levers of unknown prevail and much more giving it the same sinister image as the inside of the Death Star. And somewhere in this building, he knew, was a man so much more tangible than Darth Vader.

His lungs heaved for air as the oxygen levels appeared to drop. And in its wake, a circle of echoing voices murmured in unison.

“You’re all alone... Don’t try to run...”

Leo clawed at his ears in agony, while his throat rasped for moisture and lungs for air. What was happening to him? The uncontrollable urge to just fall dead became of him too quickly, ushering him to the ground in a trance-like state. There was no way of fighting it. The air became foggy – no, toxic. Images of family back home savaged his conscience, of his mother and father clutching onto the front door as a horde of zombies massacred their way in.

“That’s it, Leo. Look at your poor parents, ripped apart by the attack you failed to prevent.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Leo yelled, knocking into walls as his body seemed to convulse around the room.

He was suffocating under the toxicity now, barely able to stand as his lungs consumed the black vapour.

“I’m talking about your betrayal, Smith. You left Barron and the rest to die, making the base’s defences weak. They didn’t stand a chance.”

“N-no... They were d-dead anyway...”

Kept static by an invisible puppeteer, Leo felt every muscle in his body contract. Death was so close, but why did he still stand? What was keeping him up?

And then, in the blurry black distance, a glowing red body emerged, treading slowly and silently on the ground. The figure, presumably male, had neither features nor presence in reality. But he was definitely there, holding the sniper in an awed and transfixed silence.