Necropolis (21 page)

Both of them jumped. Cage leaned against the door frame, smoking a cigarette. A ghost of a smile haunted his lips. He chuckled.

“Just go.” He turned and left.

“
I guess we'd better take his advice,” Kyra said.

She grabbed Greg's hand, lacing their fingers together, and pulled him through the base. He found it difficult to focus. Kyra's body language brooked no argument, he was going with her. Even so, he couldn't imagine saying no at this point. For one brief but intense moment, he tried to recall even a quantum of data on past loves, even flings, but no faces rose among the darkness. For all intents and purposes, Kyra might as well have been his first.

It wasn't long before they traversed the base and found an unoccupied bedroom. She closed the door behind them, grabbed Greg and kissed him. This time, there was no one to interrupt them. He ran his hands over her, working to get her clothes off, to get at the soft flesh beneath. Her tongue found his, demanding, their saliva mixing as they kissed.

“
Shit.” Greg broke away.

“
What?” She sounded annoyed, breathless, her shirt half off.

“
We don't have any protection.” She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then laughed.

“
I haven't worried about that in...a while. I guess you wouldn't remember. I have the shot, Greg, and you do, too. It's mandatory when you join up with any armed services, so nobody gets knocked up when they're supposed to be on guard duty or fighting a war.”

“
What if you want a kid?” Greg asked.

“
Then you get out of the service, but whatever, don't worry.”

She shoved him back and he landed on one of the beds. Kyra climbed on top of him, pausing to finish shedding her shirt and bra.

“Are you sure about this?” Greg asked.

Kyra paused, frustration passing across her face, and then she laughed again, harder, this time, and longer. “You really are a gentleman ‘til the end, huh? Fucking hell, Greg. Just...go with it. Are
you
sure about this?” She seemed suddenly uncertain.

“
Yes. God yes. I just...you had trust issues before...and-”

“
Oh, shut up.” Kyra kissed him again, and he shut up.

* * * * *

“Are you awake?” Kyra whispered.

Greg jerked at her voice. He assumed she'd fallen asleep some time ago. Despite everything, sleep wouldn’t find him.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

She yawned. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“It's okay. I was just thinking.”

“
Me, too.”

“
What were you thinking about?”

Kyra shifted and lay across his chest. She felt good, soft and warm against him, neither of them wearing anything now, lying beneath the blankets.

“I was thinking about sex...it often makes me angry.”

Greg blinked. That wasn't what he expected to hear. “It does?”

“Yes. Because...” She shifted against him more. “A lot of guys I meet are so...petty, when it comes to sex. Like...it has to be this big fucking deal, only they try to make it out to be like it's nothing at all...I'm not making any fucking sense.”

“
No, you are. Keep going.”

Kyra was silent for a moment before continuing. “Ugh. There are so many weird little things about sex. I mean...for one, if
you
were to have had many sexual partners, you get a pat on the back. If
I
were to, everyone would call me a slut. And yet...guys seem to expect women to sleep with them. If all the men got all the girls they wanted...how would any girl
not
be a slut based on those standards? It's fucked. It makes no sense. Oh, and don't even get me started on the guys who look at sex like a fucking game. 'How many girls can you fuck?' Like we're fucking notches on a scoreboard...”

She trailed off, silent for a couple minutes.

Greg wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what. He could feel that she had a lot of anger, but was at least glad that it wasn't directed at him. She started talking again.

“
Like, why does sex have to be this big fucking deal? I didn't lose my virginity until I was twenty. And it took work. I'm not conceited, but I keep in shape and I know I look good. But fuck's sake, people look down on other people for being virgins. I think everyone would be a lot happier if we just dropped the bullshit and were a lot more sexually liberated. Fuck all this social etiquette, all this bullshitting...if you want to have sex with someone, just fucking ask them. There'd be a lot of rejections, but there'd also be a lot of acceptances, too. I think, ultimately, everyone would be having
more
sex...shit, I'm rambling.”

“
I can tell you've put a lot of thought into this,” Greg replied carefully.

Kyra laughed. “Yeah, I have. It's always bugged me. I don't mind being ogled, you know? Whatever, I work out. I have a nice body. I like to show it off. But that doesn't fucking mean I
owe
my body to anyone. Shit...have I ruined what was a good night? I don't know why I went off like that...you were really good to me, and I was so relaxed...I guess I just feel like I haven't had anyone I could trust enough to talk about this kind of stuff with.” She turned her head so her chin rested on his chest and gazed up at him. “So is it? Your night, ruined, I mean?”

“
No. Hell no. The simple fact that you feel like you can trust me has made my
week
, let alone my night.”

She smiled and nestled back into his grasp.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“
For what?”

“
Everything. But mainly for not being an asshole, I guess. For not making me regret letting you inside me.”

“
You're welcome.”

Kyra hesitated, as if there was something left hanging on the air. “So, I have a confession, although, Cage should really be the one confessing.”

“What do you mean?”

“
That night, back at the outpost, you and Cage had a conversation about me flirting with you and you worrying yourself sick over how it could all go wrong if and when we ever hooked up...Cage left his radio on. I heard the whole thing. That's when I felt like I might start trusting you...are you mad?”

“
Well...I'm frustrated, at least. People conspiring against me...”

“
Oh, whatever. Psh, against you...more like
for
you.”

“
I guess it worked out for the best, if it resulted in this.” He kissed the top of her head.

“
Damn straight. Now go to sleep.” She rolled away from him, pressing against him, and he settled beside her, looping an arm over her stomach.

“
Goodnight, Kyra.”

“
Goodnight, Greg.”

Chapter 23

–
Solitude
–

The next day started slow, but picked up pace as it went on.

Greg awoke enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and peace, wrapped in the blankets with Kyra pressed against him. For a long while, he didn't want to move. How long had it been since he'd been able to simply relax? Too long. It felt like decades. He spent a moment going over his memories and was shocked to discover roughly two weeks had passed since he woke up in that crimson tomb. It felt all wrong. It felt like eras had transpired.

Kyra shifted beside him.

He hated to wake her, to move, but he knew that they should probably get going. He unraveled the blankets and Kyra made unhappy sounds.

“No, it's cold,” she mumbled.

“
Come on. We should really get to a shower, and some breakfast.” Greg pushed himself up, looking down at her.

She opened her eyes slowly. They must have been asleep for quite a while. Greg wasn't sure how long, but still he was bone-deep weary.

“Fine, but I want to do it in the shower,” she said.

Greg laughed. How could he say no to that?

* * * * *

Breakfast was pleasant. Everyone but Cage was there.

“He's already come and gone.” Billings pushed his plate back. It turned out Kauffman was a great cook, and was all too happy to put the base's healthy supply of bacon, eggs, and other assorted breakfast items to good use.

“
What's he doing?” Greg asked.

“
Something with the radio. I think he's tapping into Dark Ops.”

Greg felt a little guilty for sleeping in, especially considering he'd been laid up at that Dark Ops facility for days while Cage, Kyra, and the others busted ass, figuring a way to get him out. In fact, that notion nagged at him.

“I've been wondering...how did you guys get me out of that facility?”

Billings chuckled. “Powell. He's a lot smarter than he looks, and he already looks pretty damn smart.”

Powell didn’t say a word, just continued staring at the infopad that seemed surgically attached to his hand. He paused once in a while to drink from a glass of milk or eat from a plate scattered with bits of bacon and scrambled eggs soaked in hot sauce.

“
He hacked their systems from the surface. We infiltrated and planted some bombs. Powell released the Undead from their cages and threw the local network into disarray. That and well, a lotta luck,” Billings explained.

Greg thought on this as he stared at his breakfast. He requested an over-easy egg, a couple of extra crispy strips of bacon, and a heap of corned beef hash. It was all fantastic. He wondered why this base came equipped with more genuine food while the others hadn't. Kyra sat next to him, digging into her own plate.

“I see you two finally stopped beating around the bush.” Billings lit up a cigar.

“
I guess so.” Greg was unsure of what to say.

“
Yeah, finally. We would have sooner if
someone
didn't keep interrupting us.” Kyra gave Billings a pointed look.

Billings shrugged. “Well, you know, we have important things to do. Saving people, killing zombies, whatnot.”

Greg decided it was a good time to get to work. He finished up, put his plate in the sink, and left the mess hall with Kyra right alongside him. Freshly showered, in a new uniform, with a hot meal inside him, and a long sleep, Greg felt really good. He suspected his recent interactions with Kyra had played a large role in these feelings, as well.

“
So, what do we do?” Kyra asked.

“
I'd like to explore the base some more. Make sure it's clear and locked down, and see what exactly we have to work with. Weapons, vehicles, equipment...whatever we can get our hands on,” Greg replied.

“
You should get your hands on me again.”

“
You are...very distracting,” Greg managed.

“
I'm afraid you've opened Pandora's Box...let's just say it's been too long since my last roll in the hay.” She grasped his hand.

“
Later,” Greg promised.

They spent a few hours moving through the base, locking down rooms they were positive were clear of hostiles and that they wouldn't need. Greg found himself more paranoid than ever, needing to see with his own eyes that the base was truly empty, except for the six of them. Despite this, the refit station appealed to him. There were almost no windows. Practically everything was self-contained within rock and metal.

Outside the light was thin and gray, again, though there was no rain. The air was cool, the sun hid behind a thick cover of gray clouds. Noon came and went while they explored the base and finished up.

Greg enjoyed himself. It reminded him of the original days, back when it was just him, Kyra, and Cage in that isolated outpost. He felt as though he'd been granted another reprieve from the infection and now Dark Ops.

He intended to use it.

He and Kyra paused to eat lunch, then went and checked on the others. Powell and Billings hung out at the doorway that led to the landing pad. Powell was working hard on the keypad next to the door, embedded in the wall.

“Any luck?” Greg asked.

“
Getting there,” Powell murmured.

“
We're hoping there's at least a jump ship on the pad. It'd be nice to have the option,” Billings replied.

“
Since you're here, could the two of you take another crate of power cells to the generator room? We've already gone through one of the cells already,” Powell asked, still focused on the keypad in front of him.

Greg sighed, but agreed.

The day pressed on. They delivered the power cells and explored the garages in more depth. It wasn't long before Greg came across an unfortunate discovery. He suspected something was off when he noticed a seam in the floor, somehow more distinct than the others that represented welds where the large plates of metal met. He followed it, came to a corner and found another.

He headed over to the control room that each garage had. He studied the panel, and then pressed one of the buttons. A section of the floor began lowering into the ground. Startled, Greg pressed a second button, ceasing the motion, then reversed it. The section of floor rose back to its original position.

“Shit,” he muttered.

This was a problem. He went into the next garage and found Kyra staring at a pair of jeeps. Both of them had their hoods propped up, one of them with two wheels missing.

“Found something.”

She turned to face him. “What?”

He showed her.

Kyra stared at the metal plate, then her eyes moved across the floor.

“There are three of them. They must be for loading and unloading vehicles...which means some kind of tunnel must reach over here from a local mine. Christ, that'd be a real nightmare if one of those things lowered and let something in.”

“
We should have Powell lock them down,” Greg replied.

She agreed and they left the garage, moving deeper into the base, back to where Powell still sat, working on a keypad. Billings was gone.

“How's it coming?” Kyra asked.

“
Almost done, then we find out what's beyond this door,” Powell replied quietly.

“
There's a problem in the garage. We need your help with it,” Greg said.

“
Hmm?”

Greg described the situation. Powell was silent for a time, either contemplating or trying to finish up his task. There was a sharp chirp and the door slid open. He stood, stretched, and popped his back.

“I'll go take care of it. Have the others come over here.” He disappeared into the garage.

Greg watched him go, then activated his earpiece radio and sent out a general call to converge on his location. He wondered about Powell. Why was he so quiet? So distant? His isolation seemed different from Cage’s. Powell's solitude spoke of personal preference, Cage's isolation seemed to stem from something powerful and painful.

Before long, the others gathered and Powell had returned from his task of securing the lifts. Greg spent this time inspecting the corridor beyond the doorway.

“
Moment of truth,” Billings said as they all headed down the passageway.

“
Dark Ops is tracking you, Bishop,” Cage said. “I've been listening in on their conversations. The only thing on our side is that they're having a great deal of trouble containing the outbreak. Apparently it's more than they're used to handling and it's raging out of control. I'm honestly interested to see how they handle it.”

“
Well...I guess that's good at least,” Greg murmured, not happy with the thought of a group of armed, shady killers coming after him.

They came to the end of the corridor. The corresponding doorway opened without complaint. What waited beyond was exactly what they'd been looking for…a jump ship. They spent five minutes clearing the landing bay, which was big enough to handle four or five ships at once. The ceiling extended high above, maybe a hundred meters, coming to an end in a large plate of metal. Greg imagined ships rising and lowering like wasps in a well.

The bay was empty and mostly abandoned. The jump ship was closed up tight, and something about that didn't sit well with Greg. He felt a bit of tension rising as Billings found the access panel and hit one of the buttons, lowering the back ramp. It unfolded, blossoming outwards, and admitted a pair of zombies.

They stumbled down the ramp, thin things in a stupor. Greg and Cage each fired once, dropping them. They fell and rolled down the ramp, coming to a stop at the bottom. Cage and Kauffman each dragged the corpses away.

Greg followed Powell up the ramp. He looked around the interior. It was bloody and a third corpse occupied the cockpit. He grabbed the body beneath its shoulders after making sure it was dead and dragged it out to join the other two.

“
God, it smells in there,” Billings muttered.

Powell settled into the cockpit without comment. After a quick inspection of the ship and her systems, he spoke. “It appears these three were trying to repair the ship and either locked themselves in or were locked in. Obviously, one of them was infected at some point. Anyway, we're going to need some components...” Powell trailed off and turned his attention to his infopad.

The others waited, and then realized this was going to take a while.

“
I'm heading back to the comms shack. Call me if you need me.” Cage left.

Greg wondered what to do until Powell had his list worked out, then realized, as he glanced at Kyra, that his decision was about to be made for him.

She took his hand and led him back through the base, toward the dormitories.

* * * * *

Greg and Kyra emerged from their room at dinner time. They found Kauffman and Billings eating dinner and talking in the mess hall.

“
Hey. The lovebirds are back. Finally wear yourselves out?” Billings gave them a big grin.

“
Not even close, but a girl has to eat,” Kyra replied easily.

Greg made a beeline for the kitchen and looked over dinner. Kauffman had fried up some ground beef and seasoned it with taco flavoring. Greg eagerly put together a quartet of tacos stuffed so full of beef, cheese, lettuce and sauce they were ready to crack open. He grabbed a few cans of Vex and made for the table.

“What's been happening?” Kyra sat beside Greg with her own meal.

“
Nothing much. Cage is still haunting the comms shack. Powell finally finished his list and he's been gathering up the proper tools and spare parts. We offered to help, but he said he'd let us know when he needed it,” Billings replied.

“
What's his deal?” Kyra asked.

“
Powell? Not entirely sure. He's always been like this. Thing is, he's a fantastic soldier...off the battlefield. I think he's got a mild compulsion for checklists. He operates very well in a highly structured, regimented environment. Naturally, the Marines appealed to him. On the field...I think he applies literally the most minimum amount of effort required to keep himself alive. Which makes sense, I guess, since the battlefield is all chaos, and he must hate that.”

“
Anything on his record about it?” Greg asked.

Billings shook his head. “No, he passed the psych-eval. His file is clean. Exemplary even. You know they offered him a Sergeant's position? He turned them down.”

Greg thought about it, kept eating. Powell was a bit of an enigma. He suspected that the silent Corporal liked it that way. By the time he finished up his tacos, he was considering going back for more. Then Powell sent the call out.

“
I'm ready for help on the ship.”