Chapter Seventy-Five – A Flock of Trouble

Chapter Seventy-Five – A Flock of Trouble

“PTSD, or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, is a mental condition triggered by a terrible event, causing flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety.

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“Take these!” I called out as I swung my arm around. Myalis, who was obviously fond of dramatics, made five turrets appear under my hand in time with the sweeping motion. Each one was bundled up with some ammunition and guns already, though they would still take some time to set up.

Monroe, who by virtue of knowing me had been promoted from Sergeant to… still Sergeant but more in charge, pointed to teams of two and sent them off to different trucks.

The soldiers had painted big numbers on the sides of each vehicle, and had replaced our volunteer drivers with some of their own already.

Five groups left towards five trucks, the last ones to be fitted with gun emplacements. “Think it’ll be enough?” I asked.

“It’s ten minutes from here to the FOB,” Monroe said. “That’s a lot of ground to cover while under attack, so every additional gun will be worth its weight in credits.”

“Yeah, fair,” I said. The soldiers had a pair of ladders which they were using to rush onto the roofs of some of the trailers, while others just climbed from the truck’s bumper into its hood, then jumped onto the top of their trailers from there. Daring, but it worked.

“Sir! Ma’am!” one young soldier said as he ran over. “We have people moving our way. Contacts, about one hundred in all.”

“Where?” I asked.

I was pointed off towards one road, the one I knew Gomorrah wasn’t guarding. “That way, ma’am.”

Monroe and I took off jogging through the drizzle, heading right towards the blockade that was even now coming apart as everything was packed away with military efficiency. That efficiency had paused as every soldier in the area was reaching for their arms and sighting down the road.

I hopped up the low-slung fender of one of the Cleanze cars then glared out ahead at the crowd approaching us. At first glance, they were just a few dozen people in wet, bedraggled clothes. Normal folk of all ages shuffling together as if sticking together would grant them any sort of protection.

It was only on looking carefully at the way most of them were walking with a bit of a stutter that things got really weird. Far too many of them wore bloody clothes or looked like they’d tried to tear off their outfits.

“Shit,” I said. “Dumbass! Get into scanning range.” If my little drone could check them out and confirm my suspicions then… then there was no risking any of the soldiers to do the same.

The drone bobbed up and down, then shot ahead with a faint tapping of its little legs on asphalt.

I pulled Whisper off my shoulder as I watched Dumbass skitter along. The moment the drone had crossed the first hundred or so meters and was within spitting range of the people at the front of the group, a few of them detached themselves from the bunch and started running at the drone.

I’m afraid I don’t have any good news. Dumbass One was unable to make a full scan at that range, at least not one that is stable and clean, but even what was taken is enough to find traces of Antithesis nerve-grafting.

“Model Sevens?” I asked.

Someone heard me, one of the soldiers nearby. “Model Sevens!” he called out.

Any attempt to tell them to give me a minute was nixed when half the soldiers opened fire. Hitting a moving target at a hundred meters was tricky, but with thirty or so people emptying full auto on a group of a hundred… I winced as bodies crumpled left and right. Those that started sprinting towards us were only focused on harder.

Within a few seconds there were only bodies left on the road. But behind us, the civilians still being guided into trucks didn’t take kindly to the gunfire. They screamed until the soldiers guiding them in yelled even louder to get them in.

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“Damn,” I said. “Monroe, we don’t have time for this, can you speed things up?”

“Yes ma’am!” he called.

Dumbass skittered back to my side, looking no worse for wear, if a bit bloody from its little adventure. “Come on, little guy,” I said as I hopped down. I moved towards the people, the Model Sevens, and tried to keep my lunch down as I stared at all the corpses. “Myalis, I need something to burn this off.”