It’s Day 593 into the conflict. Or Day 840. Or 1,383. You may’t preserve observe anymore. And it’s probably not your job to, anyhow. You’re simply the scout. The runner. You merely full the missions till there aren’t any extra to finish. You aren’t paid to ask questions.
You make it all the way down to the hangar simply because the solar is beginning to slip above the horizon. Most individuals aren’t even up but. However on this slanting mild, when the evening is caught between darkish and day, is when their visibility is poorest, the creatures that crawled out of the void and burned every little thing they noticed. These are essentially the most essential hours of the day.
The truck is already arrange and able to go: its mattress stuffed with meals and different provides desperately wanted at Delta Base after their provider was attacked within the evening final week. A runner that left too early. Timed issues badly. That was a blow everybody was apprehensive would harm, unhealthy. No one stated it out aloud, however everybody was considering it.
You hoist your self into the driving force’s seat and switch the important thing. The 5.Three-liter V8 fires up with a roar. You secretly thank the engineers for strapping a Corvette Z06-derived intercooled supercharger to the block, providing you with an extra 100 horsepower. There was simply one thing comforting in regards to the considered further energy. The ability to outrun. Hopefully.
No one has pushed this truck but. It’s a particular idea developed to assist run missions. A lightweight-duty pickup, constructed for extra pace and agility than the larger and heavier fashions. The guinea pig? You.
The thick doorways of the east-facing base creak open and the primary rays of the rising solar slither in. You decrease the sunshade, examine that every little thing is in place—the harpoon gun securely locked into its holder between the seats—and mash the throttle, propelling the truck out into the charred wasteland past.
Every little thing is grey. The mounts of ash, mixing with the burned filth of the earth. The carbonized skeletons of fallen buildings. It made portray the truck straightforward: satin metal grey, with a body-color grille and bumpers. Smoked headlight and tail mild lenses. Darkish tint on the home windows that blended the Silverado all of the extra with its wretched environment.
It’s solely 10 miles between your base and Delta. You’re going as quick as you’ll be able to over the gritty terrain, the 22-inch efficiency tires rumbling over the bottom. The V8 is buzzing alongside when out of the blue you hear them: wingbeats. Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of air being concussed to maintain an enormous, otherworldly physique airborne. The sound that fills you with dread.
Your eyes flash throughout the horizon. The place is the sound coming from? You examine the rearview mirror. There, coming in quick, a speck within the distance that was quickly rising bigger and bigger with every passing breath. Shit.
Inside seconds, the creature is upon you, its horrible, shrieking roar of triumph filling the air. Your foot is already to the ground. The Silverado isn’t going any sooner.
Deftly flipping on the cruise management, you regular the wheel and open the sunroof, yanking the harpoon gun from its holder. The beast soars alongside above, wings beating arduous and monstrous jaws unlocked. You hear a pointy consumption of breath and you recognize you haven’t received lengthy. The truck is shaking and jarring you and also you solely have one shot. You goal and you are taking it, squeezing the set off.
Miraculously, the harpoon finds its mark, sinking deep into the creature’s flying arm. Darkish, blue-black blood rains down. You could have hit an artery. It utters a hideous, roaring scream and drops again right into a limping flight, disappearing from view.
You sink again down into the Silverado’s seat with a sigh of reduction and disengage the cruise management. The air is silent as soon as extra, save for the pounding in your ears. Up forward, you’ll be able to see Delta. A lone determine waits by its doorways. It’s the overall. She’s ready for you.
You slam to a halt in entrance of her, the red-painted six-piston Brembo brakes up entrance biting arduous. She provides you a decent, thin-lipped smile. The doorways open and also you drive slowly into their hangar, the windshield of the truck splattered with the creature’s blood.
Simply one other day within the infinite conflict.