The Last Mission of the Living (The Last Bastion #2)(5)

Shuffling his boots against the metal floor, he swallowed the hard lump in his throat. The last time he had faced the Inferi Scourge, he’d watched his former squad be dragged down and infected by the undead. He’d barely escaped with his own life. His emotions were a mixed bag of excitement, fear, and the thirst for revenge for his fallen comrades in arms.

“Master Seeker MacDonald, we’re making another pass,” the female pilot’s voice said through the comm link. “Prepare to disembark.”

“Understood,” Torran answered. Flipping his comm to speak to his squad, he said, “Time to kill Scrags and avenge our fallen brothers and sisters.” His Scottish brogue was a bit stronger than usual, but his squad was used to it. Torran’s family was from the Scottish borough of The Bastion and the distinctive accent of Scotland still lingered on the tongues of the small contingency from the fallen country. “Keep to the mission, no deviations. Remember, the abnormal Inferi Scourge may attempt to speak to you, but you are to kill them on sight. Even if they wear the uniforms of the SWD and Constabulary, they are the enemy. There’s no cure other than a bullet to the head.”

The nods of black helmets all around the interior of the tiltrotor was what he expected.

“Fucking Abscrags,” another soldier grunted, and there were murmurs of agreement. It was Ray Jonas, a lanky young man with dark brown skin and deep red hair. “Can’t act like normal Scrags. Have to ruin the flow.”

This brought guffaws from several others, but there were enough tense faces to indicate the squad was well aware of the danger of their mission. The group of twenty – twelve women and eight men – were tightly knit and worked well together, but they were also very green when it came to real world interactions with the Scrags. They’d only been involved in one sweep of the subway system that had unearthed some abnormal Inferi Scourge, mockingly nicknamed Abscrags. It had been an intense fight. The Abscrags had created projectile weapons from the scraps of the abandoned settlements outside The Bastion walls. Though the SWD armor had deflected most of the incoming shrapnel, Senior Seeker Rosario Smyth, his right hand, had ended up severely injured when one of the Abscrags had tossed a handmade grenade at her. Though she appeared to have fully recovered, he could tell by the set of her jaw that she was dealing with her own fears. Noticing he was studying her from across the narrow walkway, she forced a smile.

Torran winked at her and the smile turned genuine. Dark eyes focusing, Rosario shook off whatever thoughts had been sifting through her mind and sat up straighter. “Scrag or Abscrag, they’ll die tonight.”

The squad stomped one foot against the metal floor and grunted in unison. It was something Torran had taught them to do to inspire a sense of unity. When he’d arrived at the SWD, he’d found the squads disorganized and adrift. He’d busted his ass for a year to make them into actual soldiers. Tonight would prove whether he’d succeeded or not.

The tiltrotor banked sharply, then hovered over a clearing. The escorting tiltrotors continued to fire at the remains of the once-large herd of Scrags. The undead numbers were now significantly reduced, much to Torran’s relief. The special ops squad had done an impressive amount of killing to clear the valley of so many of the Scrags, but now came the cleanup. In some ways, it would be harder to search every little nook and cranny to ensure none of the Scrags were still alive.

The tiltrotor lowered and the hatch at the rear yawned open.

“Prepare to disembark,” he ordered.

Torran unhooked his harness and was instantly on his feet. The vibrations underfoot were a little disorienting at first, but he rapidly found his balance and moved to the head of the squad. Simulations never quite captured the reality of disembarking from a tiltrotor.

Torran narrowed his eyes on the information scrolling across the clear faceplate of his helmet. The scans of the area were incomplete due to equipment in the area malfunctioning after years of neglect. Hopefully the projected number of Scrags wasn’t wrong. It was unnerving to see how many were rushing into the spotlights of the tiltrotors. The aircraft hovered fifteen feet above the ground, but that wasn’t keeping the Scrags from attempting to charge and leap toward the extended ramp. The gunner in the rear managed to keep the scattered raving undead at bay.

“We’re clear to set down,” the pilot’s voice said through the feed.

The sensation of Torran’s insides dropping as the tiltrotor descended was an unnerving reminder of the last time he’d faced the Inferi Scourge on a mass scale. Gripping one of the overhead straps and setting his feet apart, Torran fought to keep his balance. A flash of memory from the fateful day he’d rushed across bloody, sodden ground as the Scrags chased down the soldiers attempting to erect a new perimeter outside The Bastion’s walls filled him with unease. Inwardly shuddering, he reminded himself that this was not the same sort of situation. The valley was nearly cleared. The advantage had finally shifted to the humans.

The tiltrotor lowered until it was almost touching the ground, but close enough to allow the squad to exit. Barreling across the slanted ramp and leaping down, Torran aimed into the darkness dwelling beyond the pools of luminosity cast by the lights on the underside of the aircraft. As he moved out of the sanctuary of the spotlights, the helmet night vision flicked on, revealing shapes moving through the murk toward their location.

The mining facility area loomed straight ahead. The mine had been instantly sealed off when the gate had been compromised, so at least they didn’t have to venture down into the endless tunnels to clear them out. The main building sat to one side of the weed-lined road and across from thick woods.