The Last Mission of the Living (The Last Bastion #2)(15)

“So he ran into some of those Anomalies that Dr. Curran was talking about.”

“The soldier’s calling them Abscrags.”

Lindsey exhaled. Obviously the squad had known about the Inferi Boon that had gone bad and nicknamed them Abscrags. The word fit. “What are the commandant’s orders?”

“Vanguard, this is your call,” Commandant Pierce answered over the comm, surprising Lindsey. “You have a better read on the situation than I do.”

“Let me see his location.”

Vaja had already hacked The Bastion security grid to mask Lindsey and her squads’ whereabouts. It would be easy for him to locate the soldier on the run.

A new map fed onto her faceplate and showed the location of the soldier’s wristlet signal. His name glowed in green lettering over a glowing yellow dot: Master Seeker Torran MacDonald. The Abscrags also showed up on the screen as small red dots. The sight sent a chill down Lindsey’s spine. Red indicated a dead citizen. It was how The Bastion made sure to remove civilian corpses immediately after death for fear of the Inferi Scourge Virus becoming airborne and creating a new outbreak. Yet on her visual the red dots were in clear pursuit of the living person. The risen dead seeking to infect the living.

She shuddered.

Glancing toward the small screen on the console of the maintenance car, Lindsey saw that it was swiftly approaching the subway station. Calculating the distance to the station and the progress of MacDonald, she extrapolated that they could possibly make it out of the station and close the blast doors behind them before he reached the outer steps.

“We’ll help him,” Lindsey decided.

“You can’t bring him inside The Bastion, Vanguard. We can’t risk a possible infiltration by the Scrags,” Commandant Pierce replied.

“But we can kill the Scrags after him and give him a chance to find shelter.”

There was a pause. Then Pierce said, “Agreed.”

“What if he tells the SWD about the rescue?” Petra asked, her tone anxious.

“Master Seeker MacDonald used to be Constabulary,” Commandant Pierce said. “He’ll know to keep the rescue to himself. Good luck, Vanguard.”

“Petra, let the Master Seeker know we’re on our way,” Lindsey ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Petra said, then closed the comm link.

Switching over to talk to her people, Lindsey said, “We’re heading outside the blast doors on a rescue mission.

“Do we get to shoot something?” Franklin asked, excitedly leaning forward from the back seat. Then after a beat added, “Sir.”

“A whole lot of somethings. Hobbes, as soon as we hit the station, I’ll need a ride up to the doors. We need to be fast and outside before our party guests arrive. No flamethrowers. Setting them on fire is only going to jeopardize us. They used to be our people, so expect them to be in full armor. Aim for the spots where you don’t want to get hit.” Lindsey unclipped her flamethrower and handed it to Giacomi, who promptly stored it in the empty tool locker.

“Neck, underarms, and inner thighs,” Franklin muttered. “But it’s SWD armor. They probably have better protection.”

“Then get creative. We can do this,” Lindsey snapped. The sick feeling in her gut was only growing in intensity. Though she didn’t want to put any of her squad or herself at risk, there was no way in hell she was going to abandon one of their own like the damn SWD was clearly willing to do.

Hobbes grinned at her through the facemask of his helmet. For a second, he reminded her of Ryan, her long dead friend. Lindsey instantly regretted the comparison. She didn’t want to lose Hobbes just like she’d lost Ryan. It was hard enough that she was losing, Maria, her closest friend, and Dwayne, who’d been an ally over the last few hard months.

The maintenance cart slowed to a halt before the old platform. Hobbes leaped out as Lindsey edged off the cart. Giacomi and Franklin bounded onto the track, then ran toward the blast doors. Much to Lindsey’s embarrassment, she allowed Hobbes to toss her across his broad shoulders and sprint after the other two soldiers.

A second later, the blast doors started to slide open, the emergency lights embedded in the track flickering on. Just inside the growing opening was a dead Constabulary soldier.

Medic Michael Denman.

Giacomi and Franklin advanced on him warily until they saw the large wounds at the back of his head.

“Don’t move him,” Lindsey ordered. “We need to avoid any possibility of contamination.”

The two soldiers stepped around the dead body and eased onto the stairwell, weapons at the ready. Hobbes set Lindsey down and she rapidly lifted her weapon. It hurt like hell, but she left her cane behind. She’d limp and the pain would be terrible, but she’d be able to hold her own as long as they weren’t forced to run.

If that happened, she was as good as dead.

She wondered if the commandant now regretted sending her.



*



Torran’s muscles protested every step. Running across uneven terrain was far different from running on the treadmills in the SWD workout center. One misstep had driven a shock of pain through his joints and now his back ached. The humid air clogged his throat and made each breath feel like a gasp for air. To make matters worse, his armor had taken damage at some point and the coolers weren’t working, so he was beginning to overheat.