Primal Gambit

Chapter 66: Execution Pt. 1

When the Mud Wasp set down in the decrepit field, hidden beneath a blanket of smog that enveloped the skies above, the grated metal door slid open. Greeted by harsh pollutant wind that nearly blinded unprotected scavengers, the three prisoners were hurled from the innards of the fuselage and plummeted into the mix of mud and rust. Following from the belly of the great beast were two mercenaries, Scarab between them. Their weapons were already gripped tight in their palms, foreheads dripping with beads of sweat underneath protective masks.

The Yard seemed alive, devouring the group in darkness as soon as the border outpost to the city disappeared behind the layer of thick brown fog. Electronics were hindered by the massive dark zone – their whereabouts unknown to the outside world. Every one of them, whether captive or captor, were instilled with the same sense of dread once all to be seen from the barred windows of the airship were mountains of decay and valleys of despair. It was as though they were on a lifeboat and what lurked in the shadows beneath were limited only by what their minds were able to conjure up.

Anything could have eked out an existence down there.

And now they were in it – enclosed by it. Nothing was left to chance as the mercenaries scanned the hills of wreckage meticulously. Their nightmares closed in under the shadow of night.

"Stay sharp - things out here don't allow second chances." Scarab whispered.

"Guess it's about time we stop allowing them too, then." A second voice rippled from the white noise of the radio attached to Scarab's collarbone.

Whispers from the dead carried on the dull wind that shifted within the valley. The stench was inescapable, seeping through the cracks in their masks, causing them to nearly vomit. Across the open expanse, riddled with fluorescent green pools from the offshoot of the city, Doerrman looked up to see the remains of a goliath construction vehicle – a pale yellow crane sick with jaundice, the towering metal obelisk reaching up into the clouds. As the captives were pushed forward, the mercenary group forming a circle around them, the night shifted the objects protruding from the debris in their minds.

"The dark's playing tricks on my eyes. If I look away from something it starts to move." One of the mercenaries whispered to no one.

No one paid any mind to the observation that rang true with each one of them. None of the hired gunmen would ever admit their fear before the next – though it surged through them all, an unfaltering force that would petrify them for weeks after they had left. The Yard was a parasite, clinging to a host for months had they escaped. The seed of terror from experiencing the wastes would slowly drain the humanity from the unlucky infected – because The Yard was not just a place, but rather an idea, a scratched lens into what the future held for mankind if they remained on the path they were headed down.

A ghastly howl rang out over the hills. Rifles were lifted in the general direction but no one knew exactly where it came from. For a moment, Scarab could have sworn it resembled the cackling laughter of a madman – he quickly dismissed it. No one could survive out there, let alone someone gone insane.

"What was that?" His radio crackled through the nipping wind. He was quick to lower the volume to not disturb the ecosystem within The Yard that surely watched their every move.

"Probably nothing – an exiled beast looking for its clan most likely." One of the mercenaries gagged on the idea of being hunted.

"Or a beast whose found prey and is calling for the clan to converge." Scarab responded, rattling their cages.

"I've heard stories of mutated out here, things that make no sound until they're just close enough to pounce. And then they laugh. Nobody knows what they used to be – like what they came from." Another gunner warned.

"Pay no mind to the little guys – it's Fossil you ought to be afraid of. There's no way of knowing where she is." Scarab growled, looking to the self-stitched wound that slowly drew itself apart.

The area seemed to grow darker. Valerie thought that each pace forward would be her last. Doerrman tried to take hold of her hand but both his zip-ties and the distance held her just out of reach. He needed to feel her during their last moments – hold her as close to his chest as possible. He had watched in horror as Vikhr had executed their prisoners in the past, however, and knew how it always went: pushed down on their knees, shooter on the forehead, pull the trigger. The one thing the ex-soldier refused to watch was when Vikhr performed it on children. Only on tour had Doerrman seen the real beast that nestled within the Siberian – an animal that used the war as an excuse to exact revenge on anyone of conflicting beliefs or religion. It was dehumanizing to bear witness to.

Actions committed by Vikhr traumatized Doerrman, haunting him forever on.

For a moment he could not help thinking about Vikhr's fate – if the brute had already been sewn up and tube fed and thrown into the pit of wolves. He thought about Darwin, where he had absconded to after dropping the Siberian at Marcotte and receiving payment. The serpent had proven impossible to catch, only allowing people within arm's reach when he chose. The puppeteer could have already been halfway around the world.

Finally, Doerrman thought about Shuke – the unluckiest man in the world. A lucky man would have been killed by now but the professor simply changed ownership from one nightmarish man to the next. He'd had less than two weeks to feel the care that he deserved with the break at the couple's apartment. From there he had been uprooted and stolen, then stolen again. His captors cared not for his wellbeing but rather for the sum of money on his head – he was a bargaining chip, nothing more.

Part of the ex-soldier hoped the mercenaries at Marcotte would simply end Shuke's misery. The man had gone through enough torment for ten hardy men. Now that Darwin had the strongest warrior in his possession there was little reason to keep the professor alive. He had served his purpose in the nefarious contest that turned lovers and brothers against one another. Doerrman wondered what he would do if he and Valerie had been sprung from the grim scenario. Marcotte was the first stop on his mind but the reality of that happening was slim. He clung to what he could, watching Valerie step carefully over mounds of refuse.

Renault looked to the sky – lost in what could have been, had the offer been real and the reward his. Ever since they rose to the skies within the goliath Reaper his mind had been plagued with images of his wife and daughter – of what they were doing at that very moment. He wondered if they would feel a sense of nausea wash over them when the bullet finally jarred through his skull, like how his ears would burn upon Ellie speaking of the things he had achieved for their family. He tried not to cry, though in his final moments he was sure it would all expel from him naturally.

Hearts risen into their throats, the three stepped forward with the synergetic sense of impending dread.

"Here's as good a place as any – get them on their knees." Scarab radioed to the rest as he turned his back to them, surveying the hills and mesas for any movement.

The cackling laughter rang out across the valley again. Doerrman was sure something slowly closed in. He could feel the eyes on them, watching silently from beyond the valley – waiting. What he was not sure of was whether it would work out in his favor or against it. Any interruption would offer the opportunity to escape, had the captors been deterred enough. They were proven marksmen, however, so the window would surely be miniscule if apparent at all.

Doerrman clung to what little hope he had left – until one of the mercenaries threw Valerie to the ground ferociously.