The DOOM Chronicles

Chapter 11: The Focus

The trio of landing pads they had to cross were, thankfully, not crawling with demons. Although some Cacodemons drifted lazily overhead, they were too far off to notice the trio of lone survivors picking their way across the metal pads. Which was fine for Jack, because he was too busy trying not to lose his footing.

There were corpses.

A lot of corpses.

Judging by the smoldering parts and scorched panels, and the sheer amount of corpses, the more intact of which had on almost exclusively civilian clothing, he had the notion that a ship had been trying to take off when it had been destroyed mid-flight just overhead. He tried not to think about it. A billion tragedies had already occurred, a billion more were right this very moment, and billions more were yet to pass. He couldn't let it get to him or he'd lose his mind, and he fully intended to stay alive long enough to kill demons for decades, if that's what it took. Neither Nelson nor Cortez spoke as they crossed the pads.

Finally, after what seemed like ages of moving beneath that ruddy light that beamed down from high overhead thanks to the Firewall, they made it to the opposite side. There a door awaited them, and as soon as they got the door open, Jack heard the refreshing sound of gunfire. Purposeful gunfire, not the random potshots of zombies. Although he'd have to amend that. Zombies were apparently smart enough to have chainguns welded onto their fucking arms, and he could also run into more Z-Sec type bastards.

Jack opened up his radio as he came into a long corridor. "This is Sergeant Ward of the United Marine Corps to any friendly forces, do you copy?!"

Through a haze of static, a vaguely familiar voice called back. "This is Sergeant Nichols! We are in Security Node Seventeen and need assistance on the fucking double!"

"On the way! Coming in from the south entrance!" Jack snapped as he took off running.

"Calvary's on the way, Nichols!" Cortez called.

"Cortez! Shit, it's good to hear you!" Nichols replied. Jack recognized the voice as belonging to one of the men he'd fought in the city with, which made him another part of the squad. Thank fucking God, he was getting some real backup, and from the sound of a few other voices on that end of the radio, and the multiple guns firing, it sounded like Nichols wasn't alone. Of course, that could change very quickly.

Jack ran as hard as he could and almost ran smack into the door at the other end. It was partially open, the kind that slid into the ceiling, and just a few inches off the floor. Jack hit the button but the door refused to budge.

"Fuck!" he snarled. "Help me!"

Letting his shotgun hang by its shoulder strap, he dropped into a crouch with Cortez beside him. Both men grabbed the base of the door and began forcing it upwards. It was nearly impossible the first few inches, but something inside of it gave and it suddenly jerked up the rest of the way, letting them in. Jack immediately snatched his shotgun and brought it back into play as he took in the area beyond. It was a large, hexagonal room. Taking up the center of the room was a massive hexagonal desk, where Nichols and three other men, one of which was a Marine, the other two wearing the yellow of local security forces, were hunched down.

There were doors in each of the eight walls of the room. Besides the one they'd just come in through, three were open.

"Cortez, Nelson, left side! I've got right!" Jack snapped as he shouldered his shotgun and blew the head off an Imp coming in through the open door there.

Both men shouted off responses and hustled up to the left side of the huge desk, while Jack got over to the right, blasting off another shell and punching a huge hole in the chest of a second Imp. He put them down as fast as they came in, mostly Imps surging in through the open door but twice a zombie stumbled in. It was almost like they were lining up for their daily recommended dosages of lead. And Jack was more than happy to deliver it unto them. He emptied his shotgun and switched to his pistol, then burned through a magazine putting down the rest.