Hostseeker: Survive Demonic Apocalypse Read online

  If it turns out that some new type of demon now can possess part-humans, it would mean full lockdown for DPF deep-field operations until a better solution could be found.

  In all fairness, demons acted very passively in the last few months to a year, not attempting serious assaults on fortified settlements and perimeters, minding their own demonic business deep within uninhabited wilds - whatever it was. We as humans never really found out what those creatures actually wanted. A piece of land to call home? Actual eradication of human race? Resources? Questions were piling up and DPF tactical field units like Tom were one of the very few methods to answer some of them.

  Tom read the archived reports about Central Command first attempting automated means of reconnaissance. Aerial drones, and other types of remotely controlled mechanic bots, carrying surveillance equipment on board.

  That didn't work very well for a bunch of complex reasons, including radio-control signal dampening, and holos were part of the problem too. They appeared out of nowhere, sensing movement in the air a lot better than they tracked anything along the ground, like sharks sense movement of fish in the water for miles around them.

  The amount of somewhat useful intel collected by our automatic fliers was tiny compared to the numbers of drones military lost in the first months of demonic invasions.

  Same limitations applied to our glorious Air Force. Jets were fast, but there were flying demons to meet them where the altitude got too high for holos. Information on what demons exactly were up there in the clouds was classified--possibly to prevent further panic--but statistics around our pilot losses was self-explanatory.

  Most of our jets got shot down by the rain of alien fire from the sky, making it very clear that we'll lose every single one of our pilots if we keep trying to knock on the door that was closed in front of us, by the unknown force much stronger than our own.

  Very limited and short airstrikes were still performed by DPF now and then, but only in highly contained situations, at low altitudes, with a lot of ground support. Tom couldn't remember last time something of that scale happened, since the times of the Avalon Battle near northern water-facing borders of Sydney. That's when demons poured out of the sea, and it took half of Australian Navy and two Air Force squadrons to stop their advancement while static fortifications were frantically erected in the background...

  And there he was, walking in the ditch next to the ruined M4 with a backpack and a rifle behind his back, towards the unknown hungry darkness of Blue Mountains region.

  In the old days when Tom and his dad used to drive out into Blue Mountains for the weekend, this area was beautiful. Green hills and deep gorges, weaving highway cut straight through the red rock, with lots of little towns along the way. Leura wasn't close. Tom thought that it would take him a couple of hours on foot, if he continued going along the highway.

  The issue with jogging along the remains of the main traffic artery leading into Blue Mountains was worthy of Snipers 101 handbook - excessive target exposition. In other words, he could be seen by anyone and anything that might have been lurking in the shadows of the frozen bush, just a few meters left and right off the narrow clearing of the road.

  Demons weren't the most subtle enemies, and not really known for sniping tactics, but a different pack of patrolling holos, or some raptors scavenging on foot, or any other low-level demonic scum that used coordinated movement to hunt for food could see him like a steak already served on a plate, ready to eat... He was too exposed on the road, and it made him feel uneasy, even now, with Betty in his ear, looking out for him.

  Tired Tom fell back on the environmental awareness support of his ETA, to look around and tell him if he was missing anything. He seriously couldn't believe the efficiency of sensors on that thing built into his own aug head. Electronic Tactical Assistants used multiple data sources in the background to collate the most accurate and efficient picture of what threats the agent could be facing in a minute, their magnitude, numbers, sometimes even advising engagement strategy.

  Betty was the only reason he was still following the road, slightly picking up the pace. The sun was getting low. He was hoping to get past Glenbrook and reach Blaxland area before nightfall. The towns were really close, but distance naturally felt longer on foot, and there was no telling what obstacles he would encounter on the way.

  Half an hour later, snoozing Betty woke up again.

  "There is a large car parking lot to your left, 300 meters through the trees. Recommendation to take shelter in one of the cars overnight," she said.

  "Smart girl," Tom thought, "no idea how I survived those couple of hours without her."

  The thought of him sniping out Mulgoa today, without any assistance other than his rifle's scope suddenly made him feel uneasy, increasing heart rate. Almost like he just gambled with something very precious, but luckily won the roll of the dice.

  He turned off the highway, jumped over the frozen and dirty skid row, and cut through the snowy bush and a few trees to what now looked like a car graveyard. It was located behind Australia's once large supermarket chain, now dead and abandoned, with plenty of damaged and immovable abandoned cars to choose from as his accommodation for the night.

  Tom found a pretty solid looking minivan with no tires after a quick look around. Window glass was still intact. He was looking forward to hiding inside and shutting down for a few hours, protected from the cold wind and snow by the thin layer of car metal.

  "No detection of any explosive material. Fuel tanks are empty. Safe to enter." Betty checked the car for him.

  "What? No valet to give me the keys?" Tom knew he wasn't really funny.

  Talking back to Betty became a habit though, something that kept him sane out here, when nobody else was listening to what he had to say. Tom used retractable bayonet of his rifle to force open back doors of the van. As expected, it was stripped of anything useful and was only a shell of a former probably rather comfortable self.

  Tom slid inside, shook the snow and dirt of his boots, and shut the doors closed. Protective darkness of the derelict van, and suddenly dampened howling of the mountain wind behind him made Tom suddenly feel how really tired and sleepy he was.

  He took off his backpack and jacket, put the rifle down, making himself at home and ready for the night. Few minutes later his was laying there on the floor of the van, backpack under his head, wrapped in his jacket like it was a blanket, listening to the wind howling outside. He knew Betty was not sleeping, and would wake him up if she sensed any movement outside.

  "Good night baby," he said.

  "Night, Thomas." Betty learned his habits and played along as much as she could.

  The darkness took him.

  Chapter 4

  It felt like Tom just closed his eyes, dozing off for a second, when the painfully familiar BZZT-BZZT alarm pulled him out of his sleep. The ground was shaking - he could feel it without trying to understand what Betty was firmly reporting into his ear.

  "Demonic bombardment to the South of our area, hitting within 1 kilometer radius, we should retreat north right now!"

  If Betty was an actual human being next to him, Tom could imagine she would shake his shoulder screaming at him at the top of her lungs.

  He flipped to his front, like a landing cat, already pushing one arm through his jacket's sleeve. Everything was right there for him to pick up and run. Tom kicked the back doors of the van open, letting the cold smoky air in. Demons were hitting the ground pretty close. This could be actual bombardment--aiming at what exactly though? The area was lost and abandoned ages ago--or deployment of more demonic forces.

  The latter was unlikely, and seen only a few times in the history of Plague One, as demons preferred using their fortified spawn points for advancement, outside of possession-based expansions.

  But sometimes they did deliver their deadly strike teams in what could only be best described as steel barrels, shot from far away like mortar shells, cracking open as they hit the ground
, releasing however many assault type demons they could fit in. Those creatures didn't seem to care much about the impact of their carrier shell with the solid ground - they just climbed out of the craters ready to fight and consume whatever they could reach.

  Demons surely couldn't rely on possession as the main method of spread here, as this area had no living souls left - at least none that DPF would know of. Those who were not lost during the initial attacks on this area have fled to hide behind heavily protected and quarantined area of the Old Sydney.

  Now however--in the light of the fresh discovery of demons possessing non-organics--anything could be possible. But Tom didn't have a moment to properly think about any of it right now. He had to run or be crushed by toxic fire and slugs of burning metal raining from the low dark clouds.

  He ran in zigzag pattern through the parking lot--even though nobody appeared to be targeting him directly--heading north, to the edge of the woods beyond the highway he was marching along yesterday. Tom could feel the explosions hitting the ground somewhere very close behind him, but not close enough to feel their blast waves yet.

  He jumped over the ditch next to M4, climbed on all fours up the little hill the road used to be elevated on, and rolled over what was left of the steel railing that used to be there to keep skidding cars on the slippery mountain road. He dashed across the semi-destroyed highway, not losing pace and sliding straight down into the similar ditch on the opposite side.

  Another leap, and he slammed himself into the thick roadside bush straight in front of him, head first. Thanks to the helmet and protective goggles, Tom couldn't feel how sharp the frozen tree branches and twigs were. Untouched for months and possibly years, they've formed sort of an interwoven barbed wire fence - natural wall that he had to break through. There was softer layer of untouched snow surrounding him now, and Tom felt more protected by the high roof of joined tree tops above him.

  "No damage to your visor or face, keep going." Betty was like a sports coach, or an unusually caring army drill Sergeant.

  Sound of bombardment was getting quieter in the background. Tom could tell that demons were pelting particular area with their long range shells--for no reason that would be evident to him--but didn't seem to be very interested in his location or movement. He was trained well enough to not overburden himself with questions of "Why" too much, when the main goal was to save himself from being accidentally crushed by the force that he simply got in the way of. So that's what he was concentrating on.

  It appeared like he was safe again, for now. He stopped for a second to catch his breath, wiping his face with the inside of his jacket sleeve. It felt wet, and refreshing.

  "Multiple targets, to your left."

  If Betty was programmed to detect when she let her agent down, she should have started apologizing right now. Tom suddenly felt chilling movement only a few meters away from him, in the middle of thick snow-covered bush.

  At least 4 pairs of red eyes were piercing the misty veil, looking straight at him, silently.

  "Raptors." He thought. Right hand already pulling flash grenade off the belt. Demons felt his intention and moved forward to attack, making those gurgling noises they've always produced, like hungry pack of wolves about to pounce on the target.

  BANG!

  Tom threw the grenade right in front of him, turning away and shielding his face with his elbow and thick jacket. He knew the explosion wouldn't be strong enough to kill anybody including himself - he just needed to win a few seconds. Surge of heat and strong hit from the blast wave threw him back into the snowy twigs, away from the center of the explosion. He had no choice, it was too late for anything else.

  Betty wasn't talking to him in the middle of any firefights they've been in - she was programmed to know that field agent wouldn't be listening to instructions then. She used to always find a good moment to deliver vital information piece by piece, when there was a pause. Right now the situation was crystal clear without her assistance: a group of demonic woodland scavengers DPF called "raptors" - found Tom among all his loud puffing, running, and crashing through the forest.

  Raptors we bipedal demons, size of a big dog and really resembling their predecessors from millions of years ago - hence the nickname. Demonic version had much more prominent front legs that they've used sometimes in pursuit, running on all fours with a speed of a race car. Heavily armored spiky heads and strong jaws allowed them to ram through the targets that they've reached, knocking those down and crippling their victims movement, at which point the whole pack jumped on.

  Like holos, raptors were not developed highly enough to try and possess their victims. At least those cases were never seen on official DPF records. Raptors were usually seen left behind to finish the dirty work of the main demonic forces, roaming the woods indefinitely, cleaning up after the long-range bombardment of an area. They were smarter than holos though, known to be working together, coordinating movement and how they chased their prey in across the land - which made them even more raptor-like.

  Right now Tom could see five of them, thrown back and flash-shocked for a few moments by his grenade. Tom knew he didn't have much time at all, but couldn't get back up to his feet - he was stuck in snow and the thick bush the explosion knocked him back into.

  His rifle already was in auto mode. TA-TA-TA! TA-TA-TA!

  Tom fired a couple of sweeping motion bursts in front of him, in the direction where pack was a second ago. It was impossible to see anything among the frozen misty air of the woods, and the raised cloud of smoke and dirt.

  "Owww!" He felt sharp pain in his right thigh, being pushed and rolled further into the frozen bush, as one of the raptors emerged from the side, slamming Tom with all its weight, sinking its toxic teeth into his leg. It's front claws were slicing and scratching Tom's chest, trying to rip through that solid DPF field jacket, getting through to his vital organs.

  Tom pulled the handgun out of the left holster in one smooth but desperate movement. BAM-BAM!

  He fired two shots straight into raptor's skull, feeling the burn from his own shot mixed with the sharp pain from the bite. He could feel demons grip suddenly loosening on his leg - raptor was dying. The rest of the pack recovered from the flash though, and was rapidly approaching from now settling cloud of smoke.

  One of raptors leaped towards Tom in another attack, jaws wide open, showing razor sharp teeth that appeared too big to fit in its mouth.

  Tom flicked the switch on the handle of his sidearm, and 15 inches of spring-loaded steel bayonet went straight into raptor's open mouth, along with his extended arm. Ignoring sharp pain and understanding that the arm will be no longer working within a few seconds, Tom pushed his left shoulder forward with all the might he had, tearing a hole right through now dead raptor's skull with the barrel of his handgun now poking out through the back of it's quickly disintegrating head.

  BAM! BAM-BAM!

  He fired three more shots at the rest of raptor pack from this awkward position, seeing one more of the attackers thrown back to it's side, now viciously twirling on the ground like a wounded animal that lost a leg. They were circling around him, like team players understanding that he can't track all of them at once if they scatter.

  Proper firepower of his automatic pulse rifle is what was really needed to end this, and Tom tried to raise his right arm still holding it, aiming another burst.

  TA-TA-TA!

  Hissing plasma hit the frozen ground in front of him, melting the snow and burning deep into the mash of the solid layer of damp leaves and fallen tree branches that formed the floor of the forest under the snow. His right arm was already in the jaws of another raptor, that was slashing at it with its claws, trying to separate it from Tom's body. The pain was so sharp now that he could barely follow what was going on around him anymore. He felt being dragged on the ground, not in control of his actions and not knowing if all his limbs were still in place.

  "Left arm servos damaged, multiple punctures right side, heavy
bleeding, hostiles still active... Fatal damage imminent." Betty didn't sound helpful at all. Tom was pissed off she didn't warn him about enemies sooner.

  "More targets approaching from South-East." Betty added.

  Tom didn't want to think this was the end. Not like this.

  "At what point she is going to self-destruct us?" The thought flashed in his head.

  One of the protocols any Electronic Tactical Assistant had build-in was to contain the field situation, if it was considered irrecoverable. That's when Betty would explode his head, hitting everything around him, leaving nothing to scavenge, and taking the whole lot of attacking demons with them.

  Tom knew this was the protocol, and he very well realised that the situation was dire, but he didn't want to die. Not just yet, not right now.

  WHOOSH--BAM! WHOOSH--BAM!

  Something heavy hit the raptor dragging Tom deeper into the bush, tearing the creature apart, killing it instantly. Tom could hear the hissing sound of dead demonic body starting to decay immediately. He made one last effort to raise his head, trying to see what was going on.

  "Betty... Who is it?" He could not hear his own voice, but was pretty sure he asked Betty aloud. He didn't hear her answer.

  Lying on his side, he could see the big smudge of black residue from the dead raptor about a meter away from him. Then two more raptors briefly came into view, clearly trying to figure out where the new threat came from and what just killed one of theirs.

  Someone else was out there, behind the pile of snow and effectively using the cover of the low hanging tree branches. Tom couldn't see the shooter.

  WHOOSH--BAM!

  Projectile of another shot was well lined up, splitting the bodies of both raptors in half, as it tore through them. Tom could hear the last demon from the pack quickly circling around the little area now covered with blood and splashes of black, howling loudly in its own way, then dashing back into the frozen bush it came from, saving it's meaningless life from the invisible sniper.