"Do you know what sucks about this?" Campbell asked, his voice shattering the silence that had settled around them. His voice was tinny over the radio. It was their only form of communication, given the lack of atmosphere.
"No, Campbell. What, from my lengthy list of complains, sucks about this situation that we find ourselves in at present?" Greg replied.
They made their way down a long corridor, bathed in the darkness, absent of oxygen, though still mercifully supported by artificial gravity. Their flashlights cut lonely, pale arcs through the bleak desolation.
"You. You're always asking people about their pasts, but we can't ask you anything about yours, because you can't remember it," Campbell replied.
Greg was so taken aback by the statement that he stopped. Campbell made it a few more steps, then realized he'd stopped and did so as well.
Greg laughed. Campbell stared back at him, his face encased in glass, hidden behind the visor. His eyes spoke volumes, seemingly trying to decide whether or not Greg had finally cracked under all the pressure.
"Out of everything that is wrong with this situation, out of all the fucked things in this fucked solar system, that is what you choose to complain about?" he cried in between snatches of breath and laughter.
"Well, I...yeah," Campbell replied, then laughed as well.
A moment passed. Their radios crackled to life. "Will you two shut the hell up and get on with the mission? It wasn't that funny," Burne grumbled.
"On it," Greg replied, getting himself under control.
"Maybe it was a stupid thing to complain about," Campbell observed.
As they turned a corner, coming to the corridor that held the armory, Greg's mood darkened, and he stopped. There was something sinister about the corridor, something ominous.
The walls were dented and covered with freeze-dried blood. It was obvious a lot of fighting had gone on here. Greg could easily envision merciless, soulless Drones overrunning either Dark Ops troops or an Undead horde.
"There it is," Campbell said quietly, pointing his flashlight down the way, shining it on a deeply dented door along the left-hand side of the corridor.
The pair hurried silently down the hallway, coming to the door and studying it. The door wasn't opening, that much was obvious. However, it was dented enough that it had nearly been popped out of its frame. With a few heaves, Greg and Campbell managed to get it the rest of the way out. It made a curiously dull sound as it hit the floor.
The interior of the armory was mostly barren. Greg hoped against hope as he and Campbell cleared the room, playing their flashlights across it in one-hundred-eighty degree arcs, seeing nothing but dented metal and blood. They split up and began hunting through the various lockers and crates, their search became more and more desperate as time went on. Finally, with a quiet sigh of relief, Greg found a small cache of explosives.
"Got them," he called, staring down at the collection of yellow charges.
Campbell hurried over. "Excellent."
They distributed the meager supply among themselves, four each. There was only one detonator, which Greg took and secured in a separate pocket.
"Well, let's get to it," Greg said as they finished up.
Campbell spent a moment searching the map, figuring out how to get to the comms array. Several moments passed in an uncomfortable, bloody silence. Greg kept watch on the doors, the shadows, the vents...the pair of them shifted occasionally, making their lights bob and sway and the shadows grow and recede.
YOU ARE READING
Necropolis 3: AnnihilationHorror
The third novel in The Shadow Wars. First, he awoke on a rainy little wasteland of a planet called Dis. His memories were gone and there were zombies everywhere... Then, he was kidnapped and experimented on by Dark Ops, the shady government branch s...