"Holy shit!" Eve cried as a brilliant plume of yellow-red flames exploded far ahead of them. What had once been the Cimmerian was now so much free-floating debris. The explosions, which started at the engines and continued along the side of the huge vessel, culminating in one giant eruption, quickly died as the lack of atmosphere snuffed them out. Greg stared at the fractured vessel, which had been very thoroughly destroyed, so that there wasn't very much left, then shifted his attention to the pair of jump ships departing in a haste from it. They were making a beeline for the nearby lunar colony, planted firmly on a large, gray orb.
"I guess they were done with it," Drake muttered.
"Yeah. What do the scans say?" Greg replied, glancing over at Eve.
They were all stuffed together into the bridge of the small vessel that Hawkins had provided them with. It was like a speedship, except better, newer. Cutting edge. What that also meant was that the controls had been simplified and streamlined. At the moment, Eve was the most qualified among them to pilot it, but Drake or Greg could get by if they really had to. Greg had been learning a lot over the past six months.
It seemed paramount to his survival.
"Scans say that there's about three hundred people down on that colony and about a dozen on those ships heading towards it, and...two of them are unconscious," Eve replied, studying her readout screen.
"Injured?" Drake asked.
"No, doesn't look like it."
"Prisoner?" Greg suggested.
"Could be. I imagine there were enough people on that ship."
"Any Undead in the colony?" Greg replied.
"Lots and lots," she said.
His features fell. Among the data recovered from the lunar-based research facility after they'd escaped Dis and the Rogue Ops fleet was a method of tracking the Undead: the men and women turned into living killing machines by the Nerco Virus.
"How many is lots?" Drake asked.
"Over three hundred, scans can't be sure though. They're largely grouped together," Eve replied.
Greg groaned. He thought he was done with the Undead, the zombies and the Stalkers and the Berserkers. But apparently not. Apparently the universe figured he had to go through that particular horror once more.
"How far out are we?" Drake asked.
"We'll be there in a quarter hour," Eve replied.
Greg sighed and stood up. "I'm going to go make sure everything's in working order," he said.
"I'll join you," Drake replied.
"I'll be back as soon as we land," Eve said.
Greg led Drake out of the bridge, back into the armory that took up about a quarter of the ship. They'd already put their suits of armor on. Greg liked them. They were no longer black-and-silver, like Spec Ops, but now an odd sort of blue-gray color that was, for some reason, pleasing to his eye. Now it was time to pick out his arsenal.
As he and Drake did this, moving silently among the large room, Greg let his mind wander. A tremendous amount had happened over the past six months. To him, it felt like they'd finished taking down Rogue Operations, once and for all, over six years ago instead of just half a year. After he and the others had officially signed up with Anomalous Operations, it had been slow going for a bit. The first two months or so had been spent carefully cultivating a new crew, almost all of which had been culled from Special Operations, though he and the other Survivors, (that's what everyone had taken to calling them), were really the ones who were in charge...below Hawkins, of course. They'd also filled the time by running down what remained of Rogue Ops, a task which Greg had assumed they'd finished up already, but apparently not.
YOU ARE READING
Necropolis 4: TerminalHorror
The eleventh novel in The Shadow Wars. Two people have just awoken aboard a deep space research vessel. The Cimmerian. Mark Collins and Jennifer North, a technician and security guard respectively, have absolutely no idea why they were apparently ca...