Ceaseless (7 page)

Johnson was silent for a long moment, staring out of the miles of desert. When he began speaking, he continued looking out the window.

“The bastard came out of nowhere. I'd been living out there for five months already. We'd pretty much gotten the routine down. It was a normal day. Then, out of nowhere, our generator goes dead. So we go to investigate. He was waiting for us. I managed to run and hit the distress call while he was fucking
murdering
the others. We fought, but had just a pistol, nothing else. Didn't do anything. I...panicked. I hid.” Johnson fell silent for a moment and despite everything in his record, Allan could tell he was disgusted with that action, even if it saved him.

He began speaking again. “I hid in the vents in the dorms building. I'm pretty sure he knew I was there but...he never came for me. Then you guys showed up.”

“Why didn't you come out when we arrived?” Allan asked.

“I didn't even
know
at first. I started hearing voices but I thought I was just imagining things, and even so, I was fucking
pissing my pants in terror
. When I heard the gunfire, I knew people were there. And I decided, well, maybe it was my chance to take the jeep and get out.”

“Why was there even a jeep there? I didn't see a garage and it didn't seem like your base was rated for any vehicles,” Allan asked.

“Heh, me and Mills put in for that one. We wanted to be able to drive around, do stupid shit out in the desert...” He looked back into the jeep, a smile on his face, but it slowly faded. “And now Mills is dead. They're all dead,” he murmured.

Allan was silent. They drove on for another few moments.

Johnson seemed to come out of his thoughts. “What about you? You don't exactly seem like the most stable of men. I've gathered that you're SI, but...something's a little screwy about you, if I'm being totally honest.”

Allan sighed. “I lost my team yesterday and they slotted me in with this one to check your base out this morning.”

“Wait, your whole team died and they
immediately
put you on another one? Like, literally within twenty four hours?” Johnson asked, incredulous.

“Yep.”

“Jesus,
why
?”

“I'm not sure. My commander told me something was up and everyone was out on call...hell, she's not even supposed to be here,” he said, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder at Lucy. “Maybe it was this black-armored bastard. I've been kind of out of the loop lately.”

“So...is that all?” Johnson asked after a long moment. “You just lost your team?”

“Yeah,” Allan managed.

“That's not what I hear,” Lucy said, speaking up.

Allan sighed.

“What do you mean?” Johnson asked.

“He's a bit of a spook story around the base. He basically hasn't taken off his armor for a few months now. I heard he kind of lost it after his girlfriend broke it off with him.”

“That's not true!” Allan snapped.

“Which part?” Johnson asked.

“I take off my armor...I just like to have it on. It makes me feel...safer. And yeah, my girlfriend...left me a little while ago. It was ugly and I didn't handle to well, so fucking sue me for not handling a bad break up perfectly,” Allan muttered.

Silence fell once again. “I'm sorry,” Lucy murmured.

“Don't be,” Allan growled.

They kept driving.

* * * * *

“I think there's a chance that he might not even have hit the base,” Allan said. He could see it clearly on the horizon now: a low line of structures that were more than likely the warehouses that housed whatever equipment or resources that might be stored there.

“Why?” Johnson replied.

“I don't know why he was at your base, but he had to steal a vehicle from that repair facility. I imagine the base personnel tried to stop him. But now he's got a vehicle, maybe he'll just drive right on by without stopping.”

“He's a fucking psychopath!” Lucy cried.

“Yes, that's true. But something changed. I don't know what or why, but when he was attacking us, he was very slow, very deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Then, after you hit him with the car he just...left. He could have easily killed us all,” Allan replied.

“I think you're reading too much into it,” Johnson said.

They fell silent as they came upon the final approach to the storage facility. There were no immediate signs of death and destruction. There were nine warehouses lined up with perfect symmetry, each on their own metal platform in the dirt. They were wide enough to drive in between and Allan did, guiding the jeep towards the open space beyond. As he brought the nose of the vehicle out, coming up onto one of a long line of seperate landing pads set in between two long rows of warehouses, Allan knew that he was wrong.

“Jesus fucking Christ, man,” he whispered, stopping. “How...
why
is he doing this!?”

There were around a dozen bodies spread out along the length of the landing pads. Allan could see no vehicles, jump ships or cargo ships, but that didn't meant there wasn't one there earlier that had been stolen by the killer.

“Oh,
fuck
is that him?” Johnson whispered, staring past Allan, out of the driver's side window.

Allan snapped his gaze over but relaxed. Whoever it was was much smaller in frame than the killer and their gait was less purposeful and more shocked. They seemed to be stumbling among the bodies, stopping occasionally. Allan turned the vehicle and began driving slowly among the row of landing pads, avoiding the bodies out of respect, and pulled up next to the survivor, who was a man who looked to be in his late twenties and wore what might have been a security uniform. He was undamaged and had a dazed look on his face.

He didn't seem to notice the jeep until it was practically next to him. When he saw Allan get out of the vehicle, a look of rage came over his face.

He reached up and grabbed Allan's shoulders. “Did you fucking do this?!” he demanded.

“No, listen, my name is Sergeant Allan Gray. I'm with Security-Investigation.” Allan tried to be calming, but his mind was spinning. He wasn't sure what the hell he was doing, what he was
supposed
to be doing, or what he could even do. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, which seemed adverse to being gathered.

“Someone in power armor has been attacking outposts in the area. He's killed almost everyone he's come in contact with at the previous two outposts. We're going after him,” he said, clinging to the notion that they had to hunt this bastard down.

“I'm coming with you,” the man said, already heading for the jeep.

Allan got back in and as the newcomer slammed the door shut behind him, he activated the nav-database again and began hunting. Almost immediately he saw another structure ahead of them, less than two miles away: a starport.

“Fuck,” Allan snapped, taking off again.

“Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on? I go out for a little drive to clear my head and I come back and fucking
everyone
is dead,” the survivor said.

Johnson and Lucy spent the next few moments catching up to speed on everything that had occurred so far. The more he listened, the angrier he seemed to go.

“What's your name?” Allan asked.

“Redford. Mark Redford. I'm...I
was
head of security for that storage facility,” he replied through gritted teeth, his face red with fury.

Up ahead, the domed shape of the control tower for the local starport was visible. Allan pressed the pedal down harder.

Chapter 06

–Unyielding–

“So no one has any idea what the fuck is up with this guy?” Redford's question was swallowed by the silence that seemed to fill the jeep. “Oh come on,
nothing
?” He reached forward and tapped Allan on his armored shoulder. “Aren't
you
supposed to be the guy in charge?”

“I am,” Allan replied evenly. “Look, I was saddled with a brand new team, all of which are
dead
by the way, and shoved onto a transport to go investigate some middle-of-nowhere distress call. I show up and this psycho in grade-A suit of power armor rips my team apart...literally, in one case, and then he just up and leaves. So no, I've got no fucking clue about what this guy's problem is. This kind of just came out of nowhere.”

“Don't look at me,” Johnson said, raising his hands defensively, then immediately grabbing the back of the front seat as the jeep bounced violently.

“This is un-fucking-believeable,” Redford growled.

“We're going to get him,” Allan said, staring hard through the windshield at the slowly growing shape of the starport ahead of them.

“How?!” Johnson cried. “That thing is fucking bulletproof. Hell, he survived a crash like it was nothing...where did he even
get
a suit like that?”

Allan was uncertain, though he didn't let it show. That kind of gear was top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art, they didn't just hand it out to the common grunt. In reality, there should be nowhere on Lindholm that that level of gear should be available. It was entirely possible that this psycho killer had come from off-planet...but why?

That was the ultimate question.

“I don't know,” he said finally. “Listen, will you shut and relax?”

“I would if you'd either A, tell me we were turning around and leaving or B, explain to me,
exactly
, how we are going to stop or...fuck, even slow him down!” Johnson snapped back.

“Okay, look, they usually have more security at starports. There's a good chance that they'll be packing armor-piercers. We grab some of those and then we put this guy down. Does that make you feel any better?”

“...
maybe
,” Johnson admitted reluctantly. He hesitated. “But...wait, if security is heavier and they're probably using armor-piercers, then why do we even have to go at all? Won't security take care of it?” he asked hopefully.

“What the fuck kind of soldier are you?” Redford asked.

“
I'm not a fucking soldier
!”

“Whatever,” Redford muttered.

“Listen, we're going there to get the job done. End of story. I outrank everyone here and this is still technically a mission under SI jurisdiction. So just...shut up and enjoy the ride. We'll be there in another few minutes,” Allan said.

No one said anything further as they drove on.

* * * * *

There had been a small part of Allan that had been very gently growing on the ride over. He hoped that the security personnel at the starport had taken care of the situation and subdued the killer. Somehow, someway. That hope immediately died as Allan braked just short of the concrete patio that sat at the base of the main structure. The front entrance had been bashed in. One door had been torn out and tossed onto the concrete, the other had been forced in and hung at an awkward angle. Allan killed the engine and threw open the door.

“Come on!” he shouted, pulling out his pistol.

The others joined him with varying states of enthusiasm. Up ahead, Allan could hear the rattle of machine gun fire and someone shouting. He went gun-first through the ruined entryway and cast a quick glance around. The starport wasn't commercial, meant more for cargo shipments being sent offworld than anything else.

The lobby was a no-frills deal, little more than thin peach carpeting and metal walls. A trio of dead bodies, their necks crushed with a quick, brutal efficiency, were all they had for company. Allan barely spared them a glance as he rushed on, towards the sound of the gunplay. He glanced back briefly over his shoulder to confirm that he still at least had the others he'd brought with him as backup and nodded as he spied all three of them.

Allan kept going, stopping only briefly to snag one of the short-barreled, compact sub-machine guns the security personnel had been packing. He pulled it from the dead man's grip, eyes still forward, hunting for the killer. So far, he couldn't see any hint of the black-armored behemoth, but he could hear more gunfire coming from deeper within, beyond the initial corridor and lobby. Suddenly, there was resistance from the weapon.

Looking down, Allan realized that the man who'd been holding it was still clinging to life by a thread. His neck hadn't been crushed, instead, he'd received a punch through the stomach. A massive hole had been opened in the man's midsection, through which the sticky purple tendrils of intestines and blood slowly oozed.

“Have to-stop him-” he managed, gasping.

“Do you have armor-piercers here?” Allan asked.

The man hesitated, then shook his head. Then he died. Allan ripped the rifle from his death grip anyway and hurried on.

“Let's fucking move it!” he called, racing down the corridor, jumping lightly over any corpses he encountered.