Archangels
Title: Clearing the Compound
Word Count: 684
“Got another one, Tess.” Parker’s voice was one of many buzzing in her earpiece as the squads swept the compound, and Tess paused in the shade of the large farmhouse to take a swig from her canteen before scanning the grounds for him. She finally spotted her lanky tech-op waving to her from one of the dilapidated outbuildings, and with a sigh she trudged through the knee-high dead grass, raising a gloved hand to shield her eyes from the glaring afternoon sun. The chatter in her ear continued, joined now by the men and women who darted past her, moving in and out of the buildings. “Specialist,” they said, nodding in her direction, some of them pressing the palm of their left hand to their hearts in a quick salute. She nodded at them, distracted by the uncomfortable heat and the sweat trickling down the small of her back, and was grateful to step into the shade beside Parker.
“I hate this place,” she muttered, swiping her glove across her forehead, the fabric rough and scratching. “Is this the last building?”
“It is,” he confirmed, and led the way into the small, bunker-like structure. The air was suffocating with heat and the stench of rot, and Tess wrinkled her nose in disgust. Parker cleared his throat in a noise that sounded half-cough, half-gag, as he led her around stacks of pallets and over half-decomposed corpses. “Not sure how long he’s been in here,” he told her as they walked, their boots clunking loudly on the metal floor, “but it couldn’t have been too long. He’s in a much better state than…” He sidestepped a body that was more a puddle of brown, jellied flesh wrapped in a long white coat. “Than any of them, actually,” he finished, and as they rounded the corner he gestured to a small side room. “Rick’s on his way, just thought you might want to take a look first.”
Just as Parker said, the man shackled to the back wall of the small room was nothing like the emaciated wretches the squads were pulling out of the other buildings. Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, she crouched about ten feet away and studied him, the patterns of bruises across his chest and the long abrasions visible on his arms beneath the sleeves of his filthy t-shirt. Like the others, he was held with long, cylindrical tubes of metal clamped over his lower arms and legs, secured with heavy chains that were welded to the restraints. He was blindfolded and fitted with a bite bar, but as far as she could tell his teeth were still intact, and there were no sores around his mouth to indicate the rusted metal had been in place for long.
Naturally, she was curious despite herself. She knew damn well that it was none of her business why he - or any of the other dozens of prisoners they’d found - was being kept here. Her objective was simply to find them and bring them back. The punishment for their captors, if any was forthcoming, wasn’t her concern at all. But a small part of her wondered if any of these people had actually done anything to deserve either being penned up and beaten like animals, or the fate that was waiting for them back at Central. Or maybe, she wondered, they were simply victims of the “wrong place, wrong time” mentality that permeated the Royal ranks.
“Is it Stefan’s boy?” she asked Parker, who was hovering behind her and watching the hallway they’d just come through. The captive moved just slightly, tilting his head a fraction of an inch to follow her voice, and a low, rasping growl rose in his throat that made the hairs stand on the back of her neck.
“Don’t see how it could be anybody else,” he replied. “But that doesn’t explain where he’s been all this time.”
“None of our business,” she said with a shrug, but she was thinking the same thing. “Let’s get him tagged, get him out of here."
Word Count: 684
“Got another one, Tess.” Parker’s voice was one of many buzzing in her earpiece as the squads swept the compound, and Tess paused in the shade of the large farmhouse to take a swig from her canteen before scanning the grounds for him. She finally spotted her lanky tech-op waving to her from one of the dilapidated outbuildings, and with a sigh she trudged through the knee-high dead grass, raising a gloved hand to shield her eyes from the glaring afternoon sun. The chatter in her ear continued, joined now by the men and women who darted past her, moving in and out of the buildings. “Specialist,” they said, nodding in her direction, some of them pressing the palm of their left hand to their hearts in a quick salute. She nodded at them, distracted by the uncomfortable heat and the sweat trickling down the small of her back, and was grateful to step into the shade beside Parker.
“I hate this place,” she muttered, swiping her glove across her forehead, the fabric rough and scratching. “Is this the last building?”
“It is,” he confirmed, and led the way into the small, bunker-like structure. The air was suffocating with heat and the stench of rot, and Tess wrinkled her nose in disgust. Parker cleared his throat in a noise that sounded half-cough, half-gag, as he led her around stacks of pallets and over half-decomposed corpses. “Not sure how long he’s been in here,” he told her as they walked, their boots clunking loudly on the metal floor, “but it couldn’t have been too long. He’s in a much better state than…” He sidestepped a body that was more a puddle of brown, jellied flesh wrapped in a long white coat. “Than any of them, actually,” he finished, and as they rounded the corner he gestured to a small side room. “Rick’s on his way, just thought you might want to take a look first.”
Just as Parker said, the man shackled to the back wall of the small room was nothing like the emaciated wretches the squads were pulling out of the other buildings. Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, she crouched about ten feet away and studied him, the patterns of bruises across his chest and the long abrasions visible on his arms beneath the sleeves of his filthy t-shirt. Like the others, he was held with long, cylindrical tubes of metal clamped over his lower arms and legs, secured with heavy chains that were welded to the restraints. He was blindfolded and fitted with a bite bar, but as far as she could tell his teeth were still intact, and there were no sores around his mouth to indicate the rusted metal had been in place for long.
Naturally, she was curious despite herself. She knew damn well that it was none of her business why he - or any of the other dozens of prisoners they’d found - was being kept here. Her objective was simply to find them and bring them back. The punishment for their captors, if any was forthcoming, wasn’t her concern at all. But a small part of her wondered if any of these people had actually done anything to deserve either being penned up and beaten like animals, or the fate that was waiting for them back at Central. Or maybe, she wondered, they were simply victims of the “wrong place, wrong time” mentality that permeated the Royal ranks.
“Is it Stefan’s boy?” she asked Parker, who was hovering behind her and watching the hallway they’d just come through. The captive moved just slightly, tilting his head a fraction of an inch to follow her voice, and a low, rasping growl rose in his throat that made the hairs stand on the back of her neck.
“Don’t see how it could be anybody else,” he replied. “But that doesn’t explain where he’s been all this time.”
“None of our business,” she said with a shrug, but she was thinking the same thing. “Let’s get him tagged, get him out of here."