Primal Gambit

Chapter 68: Execution Pt. 2

The great valley led towards a chokepoint on one end. Scarab and the mercenaries moved closer towards it, wondering from which direction the yips and yelps had been coming from. They had grown louder the further into the bottleneck the group travelled. A great mountain to the left of them jutted far into the sky, composed of refuse and misaligned junk. The long ridgeline was just out of view, shadowed by the fog and the dew that caked onto the visors of the mercenaries' gasmasks. Onward they marched through the muck and towards the impending storm clouds.

"Scarab, 'ey, maybe we should just off 'em 'ere and turn 'round. Something's not sitting well with me." A mercenary voiced over the radio before being cut off by the dominant leader.

"We are continuing - can't let anyone know where we are when we execute'm. Gotta find a covert place to ditch the bodies. People see a Marcotte airship leaving The Yard, they'll definitely know something's up. Gotta bury them deep so even if they look they don't find." He remarked.

"I don't think we have enough firepower for whatever's on our tail, boss. Five guys, low on rounds. Things have the potential to fuck up real quick." The same mercenary warned.

"So when you run out of munitions draw your blades and close the circle, we'll be fine. Worst comes to worst, throw the captives at 'em. I'm sure whatever's out there isn't picky. Most things out here aren't." He responded, irritated in how weak his men seemed.

The group came upon a point where they could not progress farther. The refuse interspersed with the liquid mud so much that the land was not steady to traverse without treaded vehicles. Firearms poised against shoulders aimed towards the tallest ridge where most of the howls came from. When the cackling laughter broke the silence behind them, their eyes and fluted barrels dashed around wildly.

Deep breaths became frightened panting as the men struggled to control the sweat that perspired beneath the masks. Had too many beads fallen from their foreheads, they risked having their masks slide with the dampness, moving the visors from their eyes.

"Watch your breathing, boys. Nothing out here to be scared of besides each other." Scarab ordered with hopes of finally being able to leave the confines of The Yard after the impending firefight had ceased.

"Sounds like a pack of roving madmen out there, Scarab. Have you ever heard anything like that?" A panicked voice asked over the radio.

"It's not men. Stay frosty, guns up." The leader checked his magazine to make sure he could inflict as much damage as possible toward the invisible threat that closed in on them.

They were being stalked, Scarab knew so. Whether they were unknowingly led into the chokepoint by the subconscious urge to move away from the ghastly laughs was beyond the mercenary captain. He had stalked men in the past, but only a beast could influence the instincts of prey. In his mind, he berated himself. He may very well have just jeopardized them all, being pushed farther into the valley, farther into the dark zone.

What the hell. He thought to himself, hoping that whatever lurked beyond the ridge would remain under the cover of night until their work there was finished. The captain was confident in his ability to perform a fighting retreat without the luggage of the prisoners under his wing. He had done it multiple times in the past, simply hoping he could get to where the opportunity presented itself.

The tears pouring from Valerie's eyes stung her face. Their outlook of survival appeared evermore grim with each passing moment. She knew they were not going to be leaving the once-desolate land, at least not together. Knowing such foreboding details hurt worse than the bullets that would end their lives.

Renault said nothing – he had been transported from the moment. Instead of listening to the howling laughter of an entire pack of things or the sound of sliding metal as the men chambered rounds into their death-dealing rifles, he imagined himself lying in bed in Utah again, Ellie breathing calmly by his side – Grace nestled deep between them. On late nights he found himself staring at the old wooden ceiling, sagging from years of defending the family from rain and ash. In those moments he had been ever-thankful to spend his days with such a loving wife and healthy daughter – hopeful of the bright future he'd be able to spend alone with them.

In mere moments, however, it would all be robbed of him.

He couldn't help feeling, in part, deserving of such a heartless death. Unlike dying in the war, no letter would be sent to Ellie, letting her know of his demise. Instead she would forever remain hanging by a thread, assuming he had died but hoping with each passing day that he would enter the front door, duffel bag in hand, a broad smile adorning his face. As weeks turned to months, however, he was sure that her faith would begin to falter and diminish.

It would never be.

Scarab sidestepped slowly until he was next to the kneeling three, never moving his weapon away from the long ridgeline. His eyes began to play tricks on him, dark shadows forming and taunting them from above. He was keen to the ability the senses had of playing tricks on men. When one sense was flooded, the others played along, urging the imaginations of unimaginative men to run rampant, so that they believed the imaginary to be tangible. The captain was sharp, however, and knew better than to allow the sounds that infiltrated his mind to become something physical before the beasts ever emerged from the darkness.

It would take more than the intimidating laughter to rile him. He needed to see something to believe its place or role in his reality. The darkness encroached on their small patch of flooded land as the storm drew closer. Threatening bouts of lightning forked down to the ground in the nearby distance, spewing sparks and embers from unseen metallic contact.

"Fuck it, this is as good a place as any. Keep them guns up, gents – I'll do the wet-work." Scarab swallowed, letting the rifle dangle by his waist as he drew the silenced pistol from its holster.