• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

An infected person, a human, came into view, carrying a body. No, an infected Marine. Cranker. Carrying someone alive. Someone badly wounded, dripping blood, but alive and struggling, wailing, sobbing, thrashing and kicking as they neared the mucus glob.

“Don’t let them take me!”

Benti’s heart thumped. She put her other hand over her mouth, recoiled, sagged back against Henry’s leg. A sour smell and trickle. Rimmer had pissed himself.

Burgundy.

>Lopez 1613 hours

What are we fighting for? The question rang loud in Lopez’s mind. She couldn’t think around it. What are we fighting for? She took a data crystal from the console, tucking it firmly in her vest pocket. She had only skimmed some of the files Smith’s pass had granted her access to, but there would be time to read the rest later. She’d read enough for now. Too much. There was no mystery left in this ship, their mission for even being here. What are we fighting for? It took conscious effort to keep everything she’d learned from rasping in her voice.

“I think . . . yeah, I got a signal, Sarge! Booyah!” MacCraw pumped his fists in the air.

“You raised the Red Horse?”

Neither of them paid any attention to the dull booming any more. The infected Rakesh was a lot more aggressive and annoying than the real Rakesh.

MacCraw couldn’t and didn’t try to dampen the goofy grin on his face. “She’s talking, oh yeah, she’s talking!”

“What about Benti and Burgundy?” she said, crossing over to him.

MacCraw jittered in his seat, too excited by the sound of home. “I couldn’t raise either of them, but the intercom is online in most of the ship.”

“Patch this through, then.” Hooked her chair over, but didn’t sit. Couldn’t sit. “Maybe someone will hear.”

“—is the UNSC Red Horse to the Mona Lisa, come in Mona Lisa. Anyone hear me?”

A deeper echo as every speaker in the ship broadcast Rebecca’s hail. Lopez never thought she’d be happy to hear that voice.

“Never a sweeter sound, AI Rebecca. Is the commander there?”

Foucault’s voice entered. “I am. The situation here—”

Didn’t want to cut him off, but also wanted to deliver her information fast, and in as calm and professional a manner as possible.

“Sir, I got all the recon you’ll ever need. This ship is ONI, with a certain Major John Smith most recently in charge. Section 3 sent it here, to experiment with the Flood Spartan-117 encountered on Halo, although ONI might not have known about all of Major Smith’s project “enhancements.” But at the very least they came to secure a sample, so they could ‘study’ it, and they brought guinea pigs with them too. Under the orders of Major Smith, they’ve been deliberately infecting human prisoners and”—she paused for a second, unable to believe she was saying this—“Covenant prisoners too. Covies and civilians. Our own. Infecting them and turning them into these damn monsters, these zombies! And no one told us!” You never told us, Commander. MacCraw was staring at her, his grin gone. “I found a passenger manifest here and some of the people, they were ours, sir, Navy, they were soldiers who’d served during the insurrection—”

“I know, Sergeant.”

That brought Lopez up short. Something in his tone had turned her stomach to ice. She put a hand on MacCraw’s arm, not sure who she was reassuring.

“Sir?”

“The Major Smith you refer to is en route to the Red Horse, in your Pelican. He has informed us of the situation.”

Damn. Her stomach roiled, and something in her plummeted. How had the evil little spook even made it to the hangar?

“Sir,” Lopez said, gritting her teeth. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Sir.”

“Major Smith did fail to mention that any of you had survived.”

“Bastard,” MacCraw said, but without emotion, gaze uncharacteristically distant.

Lopez swallowed. “He’s a liar and a traitor and a war criminal.” Reduced almost to incoherence. “Everyone who died on this ship, my kids, the crew. If not for him, they might be alive.” Couldn’t even begin to articulate her rage at Smith. Her disappointment in