G
Guest
Guest
As the gates of Alberton slammed shut with a resounding boom, the six men on the outside gathered together as Jacob explained their course of events.
"We need to spread out." He declared, "Ramirez and I will take the lead, Leon to our right, Randal to the left, and the rest of you fall in behind us. Keep your eyes open for anything."
Each nodded in agreement before falling into their designated positions and the group began their steady march Eastwards.
Half an hour of solid walking yielded no clue to the fate of the missing scouts. The harsh desert sun glared furiously at their backs as they continued to tread the baked earth, most of them undeterred by the lack of success thus far.
Jacob, however, looked doubtful. His pistol clacked loudly at his hip as he sighed, staring at a half-buried tyre surrounded by dry weeds as he trudged past. Thoughts bounced about his head… Maybe the scouts had simply left? Deserting Alberton completely and ending up in some other Dhrima-forsaken hellhole?… He let the idea settle in his mind as he looked down, watching the ground drift past his feet. No… he refused believe that. Something had happened to those men and he was going to find out what. His thoughts began to wander again, he thought of the group which headed East when they left the Vault and never returned... maybe whatever happened to them happened to the scouts... Jacob snapped back to reality at the very same moment he heard Ramirez’s gravelly voice calling out.
"Jacob! Come quick… I think you might wanna see this!"
Looking up, Jacob saw Ramirez crouched down a short distance away, so he joined the others in running over to see what he had discovered.
When they got there, they crowded around as Ramirez handed a bloodied green radio to Jacob, who examined it carefully, but said nothing. Ramirez then proceeded to hold up an empty bullet casing, and it was then that the others noticed similar shells scattered all over the dusty ground beneath their feet. Jacob took the casing from his hand looked hard at it.
"It’s a nine millimetre bullet shell." He said quietly. "Ramirez, what do you make of this?"
"It looks like our boys had a shootout here… one of ‘em musta dropped that radio… and these footprints lead …" Ramirez paused, studying the sand beneath him…
"That way…" He extended his arm and pointed towards a rise in the terrain about fifty yards ahead of them.
Jacob stood silent for a moment before clipping the radio to his belt.
"Let’s move. Stay low and head for that rise."
With that he started jogging towards the bump in the landscape, the others following his lead. As he neared his destination, he drew his pistol with a silent click and slowed to a low skulk until he dropped flat on his belly and crawled slowly to the crest of the hill. Several seconds later the other members of his team appeared beside him.
The downward slope of the hill led to a hard, flat area with high sides to it. In that area lay several large dirty tents and other simple makeshift structures, a camp, surrounded by a barrier of wooden stakes and barbed wire entanglements. As Jacob peered through the cracked lenses of his binoculars, he saw at least three dozen dirty figures scattered about the campsite, some asleep beside the smouldering remains of campfires. As he panned slowly across the breadth of the camp, he saw the missing scouts… at least, what was left of them. Four men were bound tightly to stakes in the ground, three struggling weakly to free themselves while one hung limply with his head down. A few mere metres away was a large but shallow hole which contained the mutilated corpses of the other scouts. A mass grave.
Even from such a great distance the sickening aroma of carrion rotting in the hot sun washed over the men with the warm breeze. Aaron turned and proceeded to vomit violently, unable to stand the stench, coupled with the knowledge of the men’s cruel death. Jacob’s hands trembled as he lowered the binoculars away from the hideous sight.
"Dhrima have mercy…"
"Who are these bastards?" Randal’s voice wavered as he spoke,
"Marauders. Roving gangs of mutated bandits who prey on travellers and caravans.."
Jacob stopped to observe the camp through the binoculars. Several of the raider’s were fighting viciously in a violent brawl, meanwhile another began to stagger towards the helpless prisoners. Jacob’s eyes followed him like a hawk as he tossed an empty bottle of booze to the ground and began to savagely beat the closest captive with an iron bar, bludgeoning him mercilessly until dark crimson blood flowed freely from his ruptured skull. Laughing senselessly in his drunken stupor, the murderous brigand kicked away the dripping bar and pulled a large pistol from his bandolier, firing blindly and blowing away two of the captured scouts who’s bloodcurdling screams sent cold shivers through each of the terrified onlookers. The raider then proceeded to collapse on the ground, passed out. As the maimed corpses hung limply from their posts, the surviving captives hung their heads in despair.. when they had given up hope of being rescued they had long prayed for a quick death, being bound to a stake and left in the burning sun without food never failed to break anyone’s spirit.
Shaken and deeply saddened, Jacob’s team turned away from the awful scene. Smith’s voice wavered as he spoke.
"Dhrima… what do we do?" There was a silence before Jacob responded.
"There’s nothing we can do. We must return to Alberton and reveal the truth."
"What? We can’t just leave them here!" Anger flared in Randal’s frantic cry.
"There’s nothing we can DO!" snapped Jacob.
"We have to try!"
"We’d get ourselves killed and gain nothing if we tried to free them."
"How can we just leave them here to rot?"
"Because they’d do the same to us if we were down there."
Randal turned silent and lowered his head. The others said nothing.
"We have to get back to Alberton."
To be continued..
--------------------------
It's short I know, but I find it difficult to sit through stories that are TOO long, so I'm posting this in small parts. The next chapter should be ready soon.
--------------------------
"I am become death. The destroyer of worlds."
"We need to spread out." He declared, "Ramirez and I will take the lead, Leon to our right, Randal to the left, and the rest of you fall in behind us. Keep your eyes open for anything."
Each nodded in agreement before falling into their designated positions and the group began their steady march Eastwards.
Half an hour of solid walking yielded no clue to the fate of the missing scouts. The harsh desert sun glared furiously at their backs as they continued to tread the baked earth, most of them undeterred by the lack of success thus far.
Jacob, however, looked doubtful. His pistol clacked loudly at his hip as he sighed, staring at a half-buried tyre surrounded by dry weeds as he trudged past. Thoughts bounced about his head… Maybe the scouts had simply left? Deserting Alberton completely and ending up in some other Dhrima-forsaken hellhole?… He let the idea settle in his mind as he looked down, watching the ground drift past his feet. No… he refused believe that. Something had happened to those men and he was going to find out what. His thoughts began to wander again, he thought of the group which headed East when they left the Vault and never returned... maybe whatever happened to them happened to the scouts... Jacob snapped back to reality at the very same moment he heard Ramirez’s gravelly voice calling out.
"Jacob! Come quick… I think you might wanna see this!"
Looking up, Jacob saw Ramirez crouched down a short distance away, so he joined the others in running over to see what he had discovered.
When they got there, they crowded around as Ramirez handed a bloodied green radio to Jacob, who examined it carefully, but said nothing. Ramirez then proceeded to hold up an empty bullet casing, and it was then that the others noticed similar shells scattered all over the dusty ground beneath their feet. Jacob took the casing from his hand looked hard at it.
"It’s a nine millimetre bullet shell." He said quietly. "Ramirez, what do you make of this?"
"It looks like our boys had a shootout here… one of ‘em musta dropped that radio… and these footprints lead …" Ramirez paused, studying the sand beneath him…
"That way…" He extended his arm and pointed towards a rise in the terrain about fifty yards ahead of them.
Jacob stood silent for a moment before clipping the radio to his belt.
"Let’s move. Stay low and head for that rise."
With that he started jogging towards the bump in the landscape, the others following his lead. As he neared his destination, he drew his pistol with a silent click and slowed to a low skulk until he dropped flat on his belly and crawled slowly to the crest of the hill. Several seconds later the other members of his team appeared beside him.
The downward slope of the hill led to a hard, flat area with high sides to it. In that area lay several large dirty tents and other simple makeshift structures, a camp, surrounded by a barrier of wooden stakes and barbed wire entanglements. As Jacob peered through the cracked lenses of his binoculars, he saw at least three dozen dirty figures scattered about the campsite, some asleep beside the smouldering remains of campfires. As he panned slowly across the breadth of the camp, he saw the missing scouts… at least, what was left of them. Four men were bound tightly to stakes in the ground, three struggling weakly to free themselves while one hung limply with his head down. A few mere metres away was a large but shallow hole which contained the mutilated corpses of the other scouts. A mass grave.
Even from such a great distance the sickening aroma of carrion rotting in the hot sun washed over the men with the warm breeze. Aaron turned and proceeded to vomit violently, unable to stand the stench, coupled with the knowledge of the men’s cruel death. Jacob’s hands trembled as he lowered the binoculars away from the hideous sight.
"Dhrima have mercy…"
"Who are these bastards?" Randal’s voice wavered as he spoke,
"Marauders. Roving gangs of mutated bandits who prey on travellers and caravans.."
Jacob stopped to observe the camp through the binoculars. Several of the raider’s were fighting viciously in a violent brawl, meanwhile another began to stagger towards the helpless prisoners. Jacob’s eyes followed him like a hawk as he tossed an empty bottle of booze to the ground and began to savagely beat the closest captive with an iron bar, bludgeoning him mercilessly until dark crimson blood flowed freely from his ruptured skull. Laughing senselessly in his drunken stupor, the murderous brigand kicked away the dripping bar and pulled a large pistol from his bandolier, firing blindly and blowing away two of the captured scouts who’s bloodcurdling screams sent cold shivers through each of the terrified onlookers. The raider then proceeded to collapse on the ground, passed out. As the maimed corpses hung limply from their posts, the surviving captives hung their heads in despair.. when they had given up hope of being rescued they had long prayed for a quick death, being bound to a stake and left in the burning sun without food never failed to break anyone’s spirit.
Shaken and deeply saddened, Jacob’s team turned away from the awful scene. Smith’s voice wavered as he spoke.
"Dhrima… what do we do?" There was a silence before Jacob responded.
"There’s nothing we can do. We must return to Alberton and reveal the truth."
"What? We can’t just leave them here!" Anger flared in Randal’s frantic cry.
"There’s nothing we can DO!" snapped Jacob.
"We have to try!"
"We’d get ourselves killed and gain nothing if we tried to free them."
"How can we just leave them here to rot?"
"Because they’d do the same to us if we were down there."
Randal turned silent and lowered his head. The others said nothing.
"We have to get back to Alberton."
To be continued..
--------------------------
It's short I know, but I find it difficult to sit through stories that are TOO long, so I'm posting this in small parts. The next chapter should be ready soon.
--------------------------
"I am become death. The destroyer of worlds."
