21
He crushed the remainder of the cigarette using his heel. A few quick strides made him level with John. “Sir, the scouts have reported in. Everything is clear.” John never shifted his gaze to the talking man. Without replying, he kept walking, pinching his short beard, his mind deep in thought. What if Mike got away? The thought kept nagging the back of his mind, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Ahead were the ruins of the once mighty Boston.
Once, skyscrapers had covered the horizon, the city full of life. People rushing to get to work, others rushing to get home. Traffic on the roads was a common sight. Now everything was reduced to nothing more than rubble, the once mighty skyscrapers reduced to either nothing or to half their size, depending on architectural strength. The road ahead was broken, large cracks throughout.
He briefly glanced behind him, examining his traveling party. Eight mercenaries and a man in a dark silver suit. The latter wore a pair of black aviator sunglasses which gleamed in the sun and a gold-handled pistol at his right hip. Turning his gaze straight ahead once more, he kept trying to push the nagging thought out of his head.
The ruins of the Boston Public Library appeared on his right hand side. Most of the broken building had been reclaimed by nature, various plants growing over the rubble. A wild dog was digging furiously near the broken main entrance. A lone traveler had set up shop close by. Merchants roaming the land were seen less frequently now with the increase in raids, which usually resulted in looted merchandise and a dead merchant. John glanced briefly at the man's stand and decided that if he uttered a word, a bullet would be the last thing he'd see. He clearly was in no mood for distractions.
“A boat is waiting for us at Long Wharf”, came a voice from behind him. “It will take us straight to Snake Island, bypassing the airport.” Whilst he didn't show it, John was relieved. He had heard stories of the horrors within the airport. Rumor had it that vicious creatures lay within the abandoned terminals and that screams could be heard at night from within. He knew better than to believe such rumors. Well aware of what was going on, he had no intentions of fighting through the airport to get to Snake Island.
“Movement ahead,” said one of the mercenaries. John snapped back into the real world. Up ahead were two men clad in metal plated leather armor. On their left shoulders, the unmistakable symbol of a shield with a lightning passing through the middle. A mercenary quickly moved in front of John, assault rifle in hand. A moment to aim, and shots were fired. As this was happening, another mercenary pulled the man in the dark silver suit out of harms way, behind a boulder.
The two armored men wasted no time drawing their own weapons, a rifle and a form for laser pistol, and returned fire. A bullet shot by one of the armored men hit one of the mercenaries in the head, resulting in the man falling over, lifeless. The same armored man quickly fell to a series of bullets penetrating his chest. It was John who took the fatal shot, killing the other man instantly after pushing the mercenary in front of him out of the way.
“They are far from home,” remarked John. “Be on the lookout. There might be more of them near by.” Joining together again as a group, they traveled East towards Long Wharf. “We are very close to success. I do not want any fuck ups now,” said the man in the dark silver suit, annoyed. John pictured the small island, a long ladder leading deep below ground. Success was near, and he couldn't agree more with the man in the dark silver suit. No mistakes. Everything had gone almost according to plan, but the last part was the most important. If the smallest mistake was made, all the effort put into the project would have been for nothing.