Boots slap dully against the harsh concrete. Shoulders heave and her throat aches. Val staggers another few steps before stopping. The rifle slumps, barrel skimming just above the ground as she braces her free hand on wobbly knees. Each too-short breath is agony. Every sound is muffled by her pulse thundering in her ears.

  Valentyna looks up, trying to find some detail to latch onto. Something to tell her that her fear is boldly misplaced…

  The rickety old rocking chair sits gravely still on the railway’s platform.

  She swallows, trying hard to quell the awful dryness in her throat from running. “Maybe… Maybe Father needed…” her voice runs cold. There’s no smell of bread. Or campfire. No whistle or guitar. No voices… But plenty of movement.

  Val grits her teeth and pushes forward. Raising her boots to climb the barricade isn’t worth the guttural growls of effort, so she kicks them off. When her jacket snags on the barbed wire because she doesn’t duck low enough, she shrugs out of its grip. Warmth and protection. The things she clung to most, now an after thought. She climbs to her bare feet and readies the AK. Something… slick, sets her nerves on edge. The concrete isn’t just wet or cold. It’s not the moss or grime. It’s something far worse. She doesn’t look down… She’s already too familiar with that tang of iron in the air. But her heart still knows.

  Step by painstaking step, she fights every inch to be as quiet as possible. Despite her fear. Despite the freight train in her chest- the shallow breaths- the rattle of the stock in her trembling hands. She tries.

  Val leans her back against the storage container they had used as part of the defense. The frigid chill of the steel against her back sinks deep. One deep breath- hold- She turns the corner to get a glimps of the center of the town. Where everyone once gathered around the fire- Where they sang songs- had meals- listened to Father-

  A mass of green tar and pitch stands on all fours just meters away. Its skin shines in the lantern light with a swirl of greens, blues, and purples- Like an oil spill in the rain. The shoulders of the beast twitch. Muscles writhe. A hound from hell if she had ever seen one. Its eyes, stacked one atop the other, glow blankly. But the three sections of jaws work and snarl with clear intent.

  The poor woman snaps back out of sight. Eyes screw shut in agony… and start to burn. She fights the tears while her stomach starts a war on two fronts. Knuckles bleach, clutching the rifle with all her might.

  Sounds of claws scratching at the earth seems to crawl through the space, lazily bumping into crates before languishing. It feels like time is dripping down her forehead, not sweat. Her back starts to slide down. Feet spread to make way. She hits the ground with little more than a whisper.

  The scratching starts to spread. Enveloping her imagination- trapping her in a moment no nightmares had ever prepared her for.

  Val refuses to open her eyes… it does nothing to stop the images that assail her mind. Memories. Dreams. So many of them faceless. So many of them faded and crumbling. [Where did everyone go?] More a wish to be with them than it is a question. [Krys. Eli. Geoffry. Natalia. Yelena…] her breath crashes to a stop. [Father?!]

  Her eyes snap open. [Where is he? He just came back-] her palate runs vile as acid hits the back of her teeth. That stupid line. Repeated over and over. The simplicity that brought everyone together. [Did God speak fondly of us? Yes children. He did.]

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  Valentyna wretched. Adding new stains to the soles of her feet. What was once a freight train, with its steam squealing and wheels looked on a single path, is replaced by a wildfire. A fury to finally call her own. She forces down a deep breath- Steels her spine- and rolls out of cover.

  The Model three, already searching for the new acrid scent in the air, turns towards the entrance. Lying on the ground, Rifle wedged against the corner of the shipping container, Is a tiny, frail, woman covered in muck- and blood- and tears- glaring through broken glasses.

  The shanty town echoes with bark, after bark, after bark of defiance in rapid succession- before the creature could even make a sound.

  —

  Hazard stands in the doorway… still. In every possible sense of the word. Still.

  The patients, mostly restless, are unaware. She has to wonder just how many of them were lost to their senses. Living in a world in-between pain and rest. It sickens her, seeing it like this. On the battlefield, it’s a given. As normal as brass falling to the ground, seeing another body drop barely slowed her down. But these people? This place? It’s not a battlefield. It’s never even seen the Antithesis threat. It’s just a struggle for survival.

  “Gybbs?” she murmurs.

  Yes madam?

  “How much time do they have?”

  Impossible to calculate accurately. But, suffice to say. Not long.

  “Did you ever get in contact with command? Can they rush an ambulatory drone out here?”

  Negative. We are still radio dark.

  The woman sucks a sharp breath through her teeth “tsk. Then how do we fix that? I can blow a hole in the roof big enough to land a carrier. Think that will get us enough signal?”

  Getting to the surface would improve our chances considerably. I’m sure HQ is waiting on your report. Their haste might be guaranteed.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Hazard huffs. She looks out at the tunnel system- back where she came from and on to where Valentyna had run. “I’ll have to start back behind us. I can’t risk bringing any more of this place down.” She scratches at the short buzzed scruff on the back of her neck.

  Once again you astound me with this concern for your surroundings. We are making progress today.

  Eyes roll… She lets her hand drop to her side and looks back at the patients. The sound of scratching… lingers…

  “What matters is not making the ambulance trip a waste.” Hazard gestures weakly. “If I sneeze too hard this shack could fall down. I feel like it still might if I turn my back on it.”

  Inevitably. Gybralton remarks coldly, but doesn’t feel the need to go on.

  However, something annoying does go on. That damn scratching. Hazard looks around for the source. “Gybbs, do I need to protect these people from rats?” she snarls, searching the dim corners for movement.

  I would not be surpri- Warning!

  Hazard jolts. She puts distance between her and the shack. Practiced reflexes has her pistol in her hand and sweeping for threats.

  Antithesis signature confirmed nearby. 3 meters. Look alive.

  “Fucker, I am looking! I don’t see shit!” she turns methodically. “There’s no model 3 anywhere. It sure as hell can’t hide behind anything here-“

  Model 7 at nine o’clock. Floor boards.

  Hazard’s eyes grow wide. Her augmented vision zooms in on the target location. A red recticle immediately flashes over a segmented centipede like creature wriggling through the floorboard beneath a patient’s cot. Her finger squeezes- the gun snaps- barely a sound as the model 7 splatters. Half of its body flies one way as the rest falls back through the gap in the floorboards. But the scratching doesn’t stop.

  “Gybbs!? How many?”

  Calculating.

  “Faster!”

  Judging by the sources of the sounds, at least 3 more. But if there are this many-

  Hazard rushes, dropping to her knees, and starts ripping up the cobbled together flooring. Each worm she finds meets the barrel of her pistol, until the scratching finally stops.

  Panting, she stares at the wreckage. Half the floor is turned to a pile of splinters and alien goo. “So, what did you say about there being this many?” her tone crossing the boarder into cocky.

  If there are this many Model 7s out for just these few people. It cannot bode well for the settlement.

  Ice flows through her veins for the first time since she became a Vanguard. “What?”

  Model 7s would indicate that a hive is near enough that it is searching for biomass. We tracked a Model 3 that was running from the previous incursion. That assumption may have been flawed. It was not running from us. It was returning home.

  A rapid burst of distant gunfire rattles off the tunnel walls.

  "Son of'a Bitch!"