The Full moon crept its way from the shadows of gray, illuminating the barren wasteland below. The smooth sand laid itself in perfect waves, an ocean of golden brown, vast in nature, its expanse beautiful to the eye yet terrifying to any man or beast that walk its depths in the dawn or dusk. Piles of human remains fill the earth, fools that dared to walk its length alone. Those that dreamed to walk the desert were met with the same fate as any other. For the dangers of the desert are none to be made light of, its silence would drive men to the brink of tears, maddening them. The frigid winds that came from all directions hardened the flesh. But this said of the nights the desert, for the furious day would burn skin of the unprotected. Rotting the skin and breaking the soul, drying the lips of the daring.
Tonight was no different, the quiet winds settled across the land, pushing the sand into intricate waves, leaving an ocean of brown in its wake, the moon shined brightly on each grain, illuminating them. The coyotes howled in their dins in the distance, but the roar of a thousand horses, speeding across the desert drowned their woes. A bulky truck with large black tires drifted through the sand with apt skill, weaving through the cacti and bushes. Its dark green metallic plating reflected the light coming from the ground in a way that hid it from plain view.
Inside the truck’s back area, four men sat across from each other in pairs, chairs and equipment mounted to the sides, behind their seats. Their voices jovial and without care. Brown bottles littered across the metallic floor, rattling along with the jarring ride. A white box filled with ice and beer tied against the floor kept it from moving. The young soldiers intoxicated laughs bellowed, their foul breaths kept free to roam the cabin. Their captain, the one closest to the door on the left side, felt buzzed. He hadn't drank any of alcohol afford to him, but the energy kept his puns flowing like water. But something to him felt off, a feeling that something was wrong. His men would joke about his ‘sixth sense’, but more times than not, he his gut was right. This sixth sense caused him to go oddly quiet, the laughs and bad jokes coming from him ceased. something was wrong, and his companions knew. The man to the right turned to face him. “Ey yo captain.” The soldier across from him spoke, resting his arm on his knee. “What’s up with you man?”
“Quiet.” The room silenced. The captain focused his ears, listening eagerly for something. “Stop the Truck!” He ordered. And with a grinding halt, the truck came to a standstill. Its engine no longer active.
“Must be his ‘sixth sense’ again.” The others laughed, but the captain remained dead silent.
“Shut up and listen.” Silence broke in once again, none of the men spoke a word. The silence was all that was heard. But the men focused, listening with attentive ears. A faint succession of buzzes in the comms, one long buzz than a halt. repeated over and over again. A pattern that anyone who passed basic training would know in heartbeat. One of their own was out there in desert, and they needed help. The men all stood, each acknowledging what was happening now. “Kidman, start the truck and pinpoint the SOS signal.” The engine revved quickly. “Everyone else, sober up and gear up.”
“Sir!” With a shout of compliance, the men stood and reached for a small packet of pills labeled Formaderm in small cabinets above their seats, as soon as they took it out, it was headed down their throats and into their bloodstream. In an instant they were clear minded and ready, the formaderm sobering them quickly. Necks rolled and shoulder bones popped, each of them reaching for the long cupboard behind their seats containing their equipment. A cache of advanced military tech and armor they had siphoned from the government, some of it made at their base, most of it stolen. Visors, shoulder and knee pads along with various other types of armor and weaponry filled the long caches. All the weapons ran on electric energy for an in increase in accuracy, speed, and deadliness.
A tiny ping came from wrist pads on their arms, the coordinates of the SOS signal and its unit ID, Patrol Unit Seven. The captain held his fingers to his neck, a faint click and communications were fully established. “This Is Patrol Unit Three, Patrol Unit Seven, what is your condition?” Silence. Another click. “Patrol Unit Seven, what is your condition?” Nothing. Static filled in for silence of the other side. The captain tried several times before ordering that they head towards the signal. Geared up and ready, the men returned to their seats, anxiously awaiting their arrival.
As the ride droned on, the captain continued with his inquiries, continually asking about the seventh patrol unit. Hoping the signal would strengthen as they got closer. Time and time again he was met with static noise, not even a breath of a person answered. After the eighth time, they could only assume the worst had happened, but how? The captain began to think of where the signal came from aloud.
“Ten miles west from our original location. Twenty miles from their patrol area, why would they be out there?” He asked.
“Especially in that area, rotten with infected air and soil.”
“It would be a death trap for anyone stupid enough to go in it without the right equipment” Said another
“Which is most of everyone that's tried.”
“There would be no reason to go in that area, unless they found something. Or someone.” The captain's thoughts swirled in a bout of worry, there was someone important at the signal site, that much he knew.
The infected zone wasn’t all that worried the captain. There was still six to seven hours till sunrise, and their chances of finding anyone was slim, or at least, anyone still alive. But thoughts like those made the captains skin crawl, he’d seen death before, on a much grander scale, but it was the thought of his brother being mutilated that horrified him the most. The reason why he was going against protocol, and the reason why he couldn’t turn back. Protocol dictated that if an SOS signal appears in that area, all units are to wait until a search party has been formed, to lower the risks of more death. Any other Unit and the captain would have turned his back in heartbeat, but this was his brother, his friend, he couldn’t turn back now.
six more minutes until they reached the signal, the captain’s men grew more anxious by the minute. “Who do you think did this? Nomads?” Said one.
“You mean what did this? I don’t want to think about it.” Said another.
“Had to be something big right? What the hell’s big enough to take down an entire patrol unit?” Their banter continued, each questioning the last. Until the captain finally interjected.
“Whatever it is, its powerful. And whatever or whoever did them in, is probably still there. So instead thinking about it and worrying ourselves over it. Let’s get it in there, find any survivors and get the hell back!” His words a knife on butter, not a single man in there didn’t feel fear. They relished it, it was apart of who they were.
Inaudible words muttered under the breath. Their nerves calmed, whatever was in store for them was now nothing but a figment of worry. They had only one mission now. Discovering what happened to the seventh patrol unit.
A sudden stop signaled their arrival, the room feel dead silent. Not a breath of air or motion, the engine still going. A blare of noise drove the door upwards, red light beamed to the outside into the darkness. The sand dunes just ahead of the truck, the men ran into position behind their leader, ready for action. Their captain raised his hand, halting them before moving on. With a quick gesture they were off, the men paired into twos on either side of the truck. The captain veered left, one followed, the other two went right. Kidman stayed inside and ran surveillance, watching over them in their visor cams.
They crept slowly towards the front, their rifles pointed ahead of them, lights attached to the top, illuminating the path ahead, the sand shining. They reached the head of the truck, the dunes running downward into a deep pit. The black sand cascading into a bowl shape, the center perfectly rounded. Burnt metal and rusted iron protruded from the sand, arching in haphazard directions. Burnt cloth bellowed atop the metal, charred bone cracked under the wind. Large panels of metal scattered across the sand, blue paint plastered onto each in a neat, uniform fashion. A single panel jutted out of the sand in its center, an obelisk of despair. Dust and heat blackened the metal, but a single line of blue paint survived.
The men stopped just ahead of it, their guns lowered. A rifle fell dead to the ground, a dull thud echoed across the sand. Their captain, Isaac, crept towards the obelisk. His fists bawled, slowly he began to wipe away the decay on panel. tattered streaks of blue stretched paper thin, a single curve at a single point. The fate that befell the patrol team was no longer any mystery. Something had attacked, something powerful. Search and rescue was no longer an option, the only possible action that could be taken was to report this to the Survey Executives.
The men held their guns tight, what abolished the Seventh Patrol Unit had a high chance of still being at the scene. No chances were to be taken anymore, no chances could be taken. Isaac turned towards his men as he removed his visor, the blackened air rushing into the cracks into his helmet. 197Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg4SBzzSqJn
