Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

Then a stink hit him, so foul it almost made him puke inside his helmet. He choked down the bile while quickly adjusting the filters on his sense array. No, definitely don’t want to smell this. The stench made him think there must be a group nearby, but instead his unit stumbled into a huge room full of grisly artifacts. There was human skin stretched across a tanning rack and a pile of polished bones on a crafting table. Through his faceplate, it looked as if someone once used this place to create armor and weapons out of the dead.

“This . . . this is seriously fragged up,” Casto said. “No wonder the Conglomerate wants these monsters dead.”

“They should’ve just been executed in the first place,” someone else muttered.

“If we execute people who kill, we become murderers, too.” Casto seemed to be imitating the political commentary of some talking head. By the tone, Vost guessed Casto thought they should bring back the death penalty.

“We must’ve taken a wrong turn,” he said. “This doesn’t look like the way.”

“I think we’re close to the silent watchers,” Redmond put in.

Duran muttered, “Those bastards are creepy. They cut out their tongues.”

This place sent a chill down his spine. In his time as a merc, he’d seen some awful shit, but superstitious as it sounded, this place felt saturated in evil. He gestured for the men to move out by whirling his finger in the air.

“There’s no battle here. They’re watching, but they won’t engage in a stand-up fight.”

Casto shook his head. “Man, I hate this place. We can’t leave soon enough.”

“I understand. But we finish the job done first.”

I hope.

31

The Storydance

“Between 100 and 120 of Mungo’s left. You can’t be sure on Silence?” Dred paced, rubbing her temples. The headache had receded, but she didn’t like hearing that Silence had gone to ground.

Tam shook his head. “Her entire zone was deserted. I’ve spied on them before, but they’re definitely in hiding now.”

“Probably to stay away from the mercs,” Jael guessed.

Dred nodded at him. “But it’s bad for us not to know how many of them have survived the chaos.”

Jael said, “If I know anything about Silence, I’d say most of them. Her people are like cockroaches. They scuttle into the walls and skitter out when it’s dark and you least want to see them.”

“Good analogy.” She turned to Tam. “Did you stay for the fight between the mongrels and the mercs?”

He shook his head. “The mercs were still a ways out after we completed our survey of Munya. I thought you needed the intel as soon as possible.”

“I hate the fact that they were right upstairs, and we didn’t know it.” Dred balled her hand into a fist, but there was no outlet for the frustration. “They have drone cams, armor, rifles, kinetic grenades—”

“I could liberate some of their equipment while I know they’re busy in Munya.”

Dred stopped pacing. “If you can do it without being caught, then move. Take as much as you can carry.”

“I’ll see if Calypso and Martine feel up to some light burglary.”

“Thanks, Tam.”

The spymaster paused. “You might wish to consider letting the men cut loose as you did last night. Open up the still and let them celebrate.”

“Is that a good idea?” Jael asked.

“We have a little breathing room. Mungo should keep Vost busy for a bit.”

Tam’s opinion was enough for Dred. With a nod in parting, she beelined for Cook, who had taken over from Ike in terms of provisions. “Do you feel like throwing a party?”

The chef cocked his head in silent inquiry.

“The mercs have turned their attention to Munya, so we’re safe for now.”

Cook nodded at that. Some Queenslanders lived for moments of drunken forgetfulness, and as long as Dred doled them out regularly, she could keep them in check. If the liquor dried up permanently, however, she might have a riot on her hands.

At Dred’s signal, Jael vaulted up onto a table as Cook sent his assistant to retrieve bottles of rotgut. “Thank the Dread Queen, gentlemen, for tonight she’s hosting a party.”

“What’s the occasion?” someone shouted.

“In honor of dangerous bloody bastards who have the interlopers running scared.”

Not surprisingly, a cheer rang out as Jael jumped down, both at his words and the booze being wheeled into the common room. Queenslanders grabbed bottle after bottle. Dred hoped that the sentries realized they weren’t allowed to get shit-faced and that patrols needed to continue as usual, but what the hell, she’d deal with the fallout later. Since she disciplined offenders consistently, chances were good that Queensland could survive one more revel.

Personally, she’d love to withdraw, but part of the job required being a badass alongside the men, so she joined a table and knocked back several glasses. My liver may never forgive me for doing this two nights in a row. Then Dred remembered that she had Jael’s enhanced healing ability. Does that go for self-inflicted damage to organs, too?

For his part, Jael was quiet though he put away his share of alcohol. She noticed that he shook off the effects much faster than other men. That might be why her hangover had dissipated in a few hours instead of leaving her with a full day of misery. There were so many unanswered questions regarding his nature, but he was touchy on the subject. With anyone else, you wouldn’t care. You’d demand answers. The softness that existed in relation to him felt like a wound, one she had no hope of healing.

“I’d give a lot to know what put that expression on your face,” Jael said softly.

She slid him a layered glance. “Make me an offer.”

“But you already have everything.”

The words hit her like an armored fist in the sternum. Dred was actually grateful when the men started chanting, “Dread Queen, Dread Queen!” and made it impossible for her to reply.

With a smothered sigh, she pushed to her feet and strode to the center of the hall. “Music!” she demanded.

The Queenslanders responded with makeshift instruments: pipes of synth tubing, drums from cloth stretched over a metal frame, and their stomping boots made up the rest of the rhythm. This had been Tam’s idea, a ritual that belonged only to the Queenslanders, unique to her territory. Give a stupid man the pretext of power, Tam had said, and he will never question whether it’s the real thing. So in such moments of revelry, the citizens had the right to demand a storydance, which might be a real thing somewhere but sounded like bullshit to Dred. Jael was watching, brow furrowed in puzzlement, when she began to move.