The DOOM Chronicles

Chapter 21: Dead Core

This was it.

This was what they had been fighting, suffering, bleeding for.

Jack led the small party of survivors down a lengthy corridor of bland gray metal, sprayed liberally with blood, the deckplates littered with parts of people. Sometimes severed limbs, sometimes just scraps of flesh, sometimes decapitated heads.

The only thing that gave him solace as he drilled deeper into the dead heart of the hellish wasteland Haydenfield had become were the others at his back and the fact that they'd actually managed to find a small bastion before having to do this. After making the report and getting their marching orders from Anderson, the quartet had managed to locate a security zone that remained mostly untouched by the inhuman changes of the demonic presence that warped reality itself. They'd found a few critical things.

Guns. Ammo. Medicine. Food. Water.

Survivors.

They'd picked up three more allies to help deliver a fatal blow to any demons they encountered, two of them sporting the yellow armor of local security forces, PFC Kaufman and Corporal Wallace. Both had seen a lot of fighting and both seemed eager to get some real payback. They kind of struck Jack as some rowdy college-age kids, but the fact that they were still alive and the combat they'd seen together since leaving the security center so far gave him the impression that they were competent. The other survivor was a battle-hardened Marine from another squad, a silent, grim-faced woman named Corporal Folta.

She hadn't said much since they'd hooked up, just offered a chilling grin when Jack had told her what they planned to do.

Besides hitting the bathroom, downing a quick meal and a few canteens of water, and taking a much-needed break while they still could, Jack had taken the opportunity to patch up his armor as much as he could. It was in bad shape. It had taken a lot of hits, and he knew it couldn't stand up to much more punishment, even after the patch-job they'd done. He'd have given a lot to swap out suits, but there weren't any left, any armor they found on the dead was even more trashed than his, so he was stuck with it.

After that, they had marched, burning a path through whatever demons and undead humans they came across, heading for their rally point.

There hadn't been much on the radio. He'd tried to report in to Anderson five minutes ago but there had only been a garbled reply, and then nothing.

Jack stopped as they came to a door, where the lengthy corridor terminated.

"Try the radio again," he said as he looked back the way they had come. Listening to Jennifer's communications litany as she tried to raise anyone at this point, he studied the others. They looked haggard and miserable in varying levels, but they also looked ready for this. Either grimly determined or almost like a dog straining to break off its leash and tear into something that had earned its ire. He was somewhere in the middle.

He was tired. So tired.

But there were miles to go and he honestly didn't know if he could ever look forward to a full night's rest again for the rest of his life.

That was in the future, though, and something to worry about later.

"No good," Jennifer said.

Jack sighed. "All right. We keep pushing. The rally point isn't too far ahead. Let's find it and then see what we can see."

They all responded affirmatively, checking their weapons and then signifying that they were ready for whatever lay beyond that door. Jack turned back to face it. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could do this.