"Form the turtle!" Decimus roared.
The command rippled down the line.
The refugees didn't panic—they didn't have the energy. They reacted with the dull obedience of the exhausted.
The column collapsed inward. The women and children huddled in the center, next to Narcissus's cart. The men with spears faced outward, forming a hollow square.
A wall of scrap iron and desperation.
Marcus stood at the rear corner, facing the tree line. The yellow fog swirled, thick as soup.
"Hold," Marcus whispered.
Silence returned. Just the heavy breathing of two hundred people behind plastic masks.
Snap.
A twig broke. To the left.
Fifty heads turned. Spears wavered.
"Eyes front!" Marcus snapped. "It's a distraction."
Whoosh.
Something moved to the right. A blur of black motion.
It was fast. Impossible fast.
A soldier on the perimeter—a boy named Titus—screamed.
It wasn't a long scream. It was cut short by a wet crunch.
Titus vanished.
One second he was there. The next, he was dragged into the mist.
"Gods!" Varro shouted, backing away. "What was that?"
"Hold the line!" Marcus yelled.
He stepped into the gap where Titus had been.
The fog parted.
The beast stepped out.
It was beautiful. And it was horrific.
It was the size of a lion, but built like a greyhound. Its body was encased in matte-black stealth plating that shifted color slightly to match the fog.
But under the armor, it was flesh. Fur. Muscle.
Its jaw was carbon-fiber. Its eyes were gone, replaced by a single, glowing red sensor strip.
[UNIT: STALKER - CLASS A BIOWEAPON]
[SPEED: EXTREME]
[THREAT: PACK HUNTER]
It opened its mouth. No roar. Just a hiss of hydraulics and the drip of saliva.
It dropped Titus's severed arm from its jaws.
"It's biological," Galen whispered from the center of the square. "Vane's pets."
The Stalker crouched. Muscles coiled.
Then two more stepped out of the fog. Then three.
A pack.
"Fire!" Decimus screamed.
Three spearmen thrust their weapons.
The Stalkers moved like water. They ducked under the spears. They leaped.
Chaos erupted.
One Stalker landed on a shield bearer. Its weight crushed the man into the mud. Its carbon jaws snapped his neck.
Another lunged for the cart—for the children.
"No!" Narcissus roared.
The giant couldn't use his Plasma Caster. The splash damage would kill half the refugees.
He dropped the harness. He picked up his shield—the limestone slab from the tomb, now reinforced with Sentinel plating.
He swung it like a flyswatter.
CRACK.
He caught the Stalker mid-air.
The impact was sickening. Bones shattered. The beast was thrown twenty feet into a tree trunk. It slumped, twitching.
But the Alpha was on Marcus.
It didn't leap. It sprinted. Low. Zig-zagging.
Marcus slashed with the Vibro-Gladius.
The Stalker ducked. The blade sheared off a piece of its ear, but missed the skull.
The beast slammed into Marcus's chest.
They went down in the mud.
The weight was immense. Four hundred pounds of muscle and metal.
The jaws snapped at Marcus's face.
He got his left arm up. The ceramic gauntlet from the Liquidator armor took the bite.
CRUNCH.
The carbon teeth pierced the ceramic. They dug into his forearm.
Pain exploded. Hot. White.
"Get off!" Marcus grunted.
He couldn't pull his arm free. The beast locked its jaw.
It shook him. Trying to tear the limb off.
Marcus didn't pull away. He pushed in.
He jammed his armored arm deeper into the creature's throat, choking it.
The Stalker gagged. Its single red eye widened.
Marcus brought his right hand up. The Vibro-Gladius hummed.
"Sit," Marcus snarled.
He drove the blade into the sensor eye.
SQUELCH-FIZZ.
The blade went through the brain and out the back of the skull.
The Stalker seized. It thrashed once, then went dead weight on top of him.
Marcus shoved the carcass off. He rolled to his feet, gasping, blood dripping from his armored arm.
"They're breaking the line!" Lucilla screamed.
To the south, the line had collapsed. Two Stalkers were inside the square, tearing through the refugees.
"Narcissus!" Marcus yelled. "The cart!"
Narcissus understood.
He grabbed the heavy iron mine cart. He didn't pull it. He lifted the back end.
He shoved.
The cart, loaded with two tons of ammo and terrified children, became a battering ram.
It rolled downhill, gathering speed.
It smashed into the two Stalkers.
CLANG-CRUNCH.
Steel wheels met biological bone. The Stalkers were pinned under the chassis.
Narcissus drew his own weapon—a heavy iron pry bar. He finished them.
The rest of the pack paused.
They looked at their dead Alpha. They looked at the giant.
They hissed.
Then, as one, they turned and melted back into the fog.
"They're retreating," Decimus panted, leaning on his spear.
"No," Marcus said, clutching his bleeding arm. "They're herding us."
"Herding?"
"They tested the perimeter," Marcus said. "They found the weak spots. Now they're pushing us."
"Pushing us where?"
"Away from the trees," Marcus realized. "Into the open."
Galen ran up to the dead Alpha. He knelt in the bloody mud.
"Look at this," the physician said. He pointed to the creature's neck.
A metal collar was fused to the flesh.
[PROPERTY OF VANE BIOTECH]
[UNIT 09 - PROJECT FENRIS]
Galen pulled a knife and sliced open the neck skin.
"Adrenal pump," Galen muttered, exposing a small device wired to the spine. "It injects stimulants directly into the brain. They don't feel fear. They run on rage."
"Vane is hunting us for sport," Marcus said.
He looked around. Six dead refugees. Three dead Stalkers.
"We move," Marcus ordered. "Double time. If we stay here, the rest of the pack comes back."
They marched.
The fog began to lift as they reached the edge of the Dead Zone.
The trees thinned. The ground turned sandy.
And then, the sound of rushing water.
They broke through the last line of brush.
They stopped.
Ahead of them lay the Tiber River. Wide, swollen with acid rain, and churning brown mud.
Across the water, the coast road beckoned.
But the bridge was gone.
The ancient stone arches had been blown. Rubble choked the river. A gap of fifty yards of raging water separated them from safety.
"The bridge is out," Lucilla whispered.
"That's why they herded us here," Marcus said. "It's a kill box. River in front. Wolves behind."
The refugees began to panic. They looked back at the tree line. Shadows were moving in the mist again. More of them this time. Dozens.
"We're trapped," Varro moaned. "We can't swim that current with the supplies."
Marcus looked at the river. Then he looked at the forest.
He looked at the iron cart. At the crates of empty ammo boxes. At the felled trees rotting in the mud.
He drew his sword.
"We don't need a bridge," Marcus said.
He turned to Narcissus.
"Iron Dog. Start knocking down trees."
He turned to Varro.
"Get the lashings. Empty the crates. Seal them with pitch."
"What are you doing?" Lucilla asked.
"We're building a raft," Marcus said. "And we have twenty minutes before dinner is served."