The Last Mission of the Living (The Last Bastion #2)(20)

“How are you?” Rooney asked, leaning over him her hazel eyes wide. “You still with me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” His head felt heavy and he was fairly convinced his legs and arms had fallen off. A second later, his limbs reconnected to his brain and he rubbed them in an effort to get rid of the disquieting fizzing in his muscles. “Just got a nip of it.”

The doors shut with a boom.

“We’ve got the two remaining Abscrags from your squad heading back here. I don’t know if they’re bringing company. I need you. The others are...” Rooney glanced toward her downed squad. “It’s you and me.”

Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Torran nodded and his brain sloshed around in his skull. It was definitely not the best feeling. He didn’t even realize he was slanting to one side until Rooney put her hand on his arm and pushed him upright.

“MacDonald, I need you,” she said sternly. “Focus.”

“I’m good. I’m good.” Torran cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. The disc must not have fully discharged, since he was still on his feet, but it had him off center. Lifting his weapon, he concentrated on his surroundings.

Rooney grabbed the rail with one hand and pulled herself up the steps. It took Torran a second to realize she was injured. He swiftly tucked an arm about her waist to help her.

“Don’t. Keep alert. I’ll handle myself.” She gently pushed him away, and then pointed up. “They’re coming around. They regrouped. Without them-–” her eyes shifted toward the dead pair at the base of the stairs “—I don’t think they’ll know what to do.”

The screech of Scrags sounded nearby. It was only a few voices though, and there wasn’t a responding cry from others in the area. The special ops team had done their job, and well. The Scrag population was nearly wiped out.

“Not too many left, Vanguard.”

Rooney smiled slightly. “No. Not too many. The special ops did their job...”

“I was just thinking that, too.” Torran found himself matching her labored stride up the stairs. It was hard not to try to help her, but he could see she wouldn’t accept it.

In the distance came the sound of explosions.

“They’re wrapping it up with a big fiery bow,” Rooney decided.

“A big booming bow,” Torran agreed, “on the big nice present of no more Scrags.”

“Let’s finish our part,” Rooney said. “You and me. No more Abscrags.”

They were almost to the top of the stairs. Looking up, Torran forced his leaden feet to move. Maybe it was just the electroshock disc, exhaustion, or the hangover from his earlier adrenaline rush, but he just wanted to sit on the stairs and doze for a few minutes.

“And here they are,” Rooney whispered.

Bullets tore through the night, punching into the cement over their heads. Immediately, Rooney and Torran crouched, weapons raised.

“They weren’t doing that before.” The vanguard almost sounded offended.

“They don’t have someone to give them orders anymore. They may be falling back to old bad habits I taught them. Like shoot at the enemy.”

“Hungry,” a voice he recognized shrieked.

“Fuck,” Torran cursed.

It was Goodwin.

“Why are they saying that?” Rooney demanded.

“They’re cannibals,” Torran replied.

“Scrags bite to infect.”

“These do more than that.”

“Fuck! Could it get any more complicated?”

“Probably, but don’t tempt fate, Vanguard.”

“You know them, MacDonald. Talk to them,” Rooney insisted.

Not sure what she expected to happen, Torran obeyed. “Goodwin, it’s me. Master Seeker MacDonald.”

“Hungry!”

Two voices.

Jonas was with Goodwin.

“Jonas, Goodwin, glad to see you’re okay.” Wincing at his words, he lifted his weapon higher. The spot at the top of the stairs was ominous. They could appear at any second and either he’d kill his former companions or be killed.

“Hungry. So hungry.” Goodwin’s voice again.

“Yeah? Me, too. I’d love a nice plate of potato salad.”

Rooney edged up the stairs, grimacing in pain.

“Hungry!” It wasn’t quite a word. More of a screech.

Torran carefully climbed. Sweeping his gaze over the opening above his head, he feared them coming over the wall. Rooney touched his knee, and then pointed left. Her large, heavily fringed hazel eyes seemed particularly vivid in the gleam from her helmet readout. If she was scared, she wasn’t showing it. The wall that flanked the stairs was a mere three feet tall at the end of the opening. If he stood, his six-foot-two height would allow him to easily spot and fire at the remaining Abscrags. Of course, it would also put him in their sights.

Wincing, Rooney moved past him toward the opening. She’d fire from low and around the base of the wall.

“You know that place where we’d go get that great veggie sausage and potato salad? I hear they’re having a special tomorrow on fried okra.” Did his former squad members even understand what he was saying? They’d been able to take orders from the smarter Abscrags, but was it because they were the same breed?