Page 3 of Beast in the Badlands
Fry buzzes nervously near my shoulder, its little arms flailing in confusion over malfunctioning circuits while other drones would’ve easily managed this task by now.
“Stop being useless and find me something,” I bark at Fry, who tilts slightly and emits another error beep that sends frustration surging through me.
Just then, an explosion rocks the ground beneath us—a tremor that rattles everything in this makeshift med-lab. Dust falls from above; shards of plaster rain down like confetti celebrating chaos.
“Stay put!” I yell at my patient before darting toward a narrow window—the only view into this hellscape outside.
Soot-stained skies churn with smoke as figures scramble among debris littered across what used to be civilian homes. They’re fighting again; scavengers clashing over precious resources—food or weapons or whatever they can lay their hands on.
I close my eyes for just a second and breathe deeply through clenched teeth—reminding myself why I'm here amidst this mess: people still need help despite everything breaking apart around us.
“You okay?” The soldier asks again; his voice barely more than a whisper now.
I pivot back toward him and shake off dread creeping into my thoughts—the panic rising in waves all too familiar in these last remnants of civilization gone wrong.
“Just peachy,” I say dryly as I check his bandage one last time before securing everything away with swift movements that scream urgency instead of carelessness.
More blasts erupt outside; each explosion reverberates through cracked walls that feel less stable with every passing second while fear gnaws at me deeper than hunger ever could.
The world keeps falling apart while I hold together whatever fragile life remains inside these walls—a burden that sits heavier on me than any amount of shattered metal or fading hope could convey.
I step outside, the stale air of the med-lab giving way to the cold bite of the wind. Gray clouds hang heavy above, an endless sea of despair stretching to the horizon. I lean against the crumbling wall, letting my eyes wander over the desolation that surrounds our camp.
Three months since I heard from the Coalition forces. Three months since hope flickered out like a dying star. My fingers drum on my thigh, each beat echoing my frustration.
A sudden, insistent buzz jolts me from the tangled web of my thoughts, drawing my attention away from the oppressive weight of despair that blankets our camp. One of my makeshift drones zips past me in a flurry of motion, its tiny, somewhat clunky frame darting around unpredictably as it flashes a frantic red light. I squint against the dull, dim light filtering through the thick clouds overhead and follow its erratic flight as it circles above, a tiny sentinel in a sky fraught with turmoil.
“What’s gotyou buzzing like a hornet?” I mutter to myself, a hint of irritation lacing my voice as I turn my gaze upward, straining to discern what has captured its attention.
Then,my breath catches in my throat. I spot it—a dark, ominous shape breaking through the heavy blanket of clouds, spinning wildly as it descends. A ship—sleek and black, cutting through the air like a predator—plummeting toward us in a chaotic dance of smoke and fire, trailing a plume of destruction behind it.
I take a step back,my heart racing as I instinctively calculate its trajectory, my mind racing through the implications of this unexpected arrival. Panic grips me tighter as my breath quickens, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut: it’s going down just beyond the canyon's edge, a mere few miles from our camp, a location that has already seen too much violence and chaos.
“Great,”I hiss under my breath, anxiety spiking under my skin. “Another merc faction looking to stake their claim.”
My mind flashesto the last time we had unwelcome visitors, and the memories are like shards of glass—sharp and painful. I can already feel the familiar tension tightening in my chest, the instinctual urge to prepare for whatever storm is about to descend upon us.
But deep down, something else stirs—curiosity mixed with necessity. If they crash hard enough, there could be salvage worth digging through; maybe weapons or supplies we desperately need.
The ship spins faster, leaving a trail of smoke that streaks across the gray sky like an omen before it disappears behind jagged rock formations. The crash is imminent—a black arc erupting in flames as it collides with earth.
CHAPTER 3
RENN
Iblink hard, trying to shake off the disorientation that envelops me like a thick fog after the sudden, violent jump. The cockpit’s alarms scream at me with an urgency that feels almost alive, a cacophony of warning lights flashing erratically across the darkened dashboard, casting eerie shadows that dance across the twisted remnants of my craft. My head throbs painfully, each pulse a reminder of the chaos I’ve just survived, and I struggle to focus my mind, as if trying to sift through the debris of my thoughts in the aftermath of the crash.
“Shit,” I curse, my voice barely rising above the din of the alarms. I press a hand to my forehead, and I can feel something sticky beneath my fingertips—blood or sweat, it’s hard to tell in the haze of confusion that surrounds me, both physical and mental. The taste of metal lingers at the back of my throat, a bitter reminder of how close I’ve come to oblivion.
Peering through the cracked viewport, I’m met with a nightmarish scene: swirling smoke chokes the air, twisting and curling like restless spirits, while shards of twisted metal lie scattered around me. It’s a graveyard of wreckage, and above me, in stark contrast, a fleet battle rages on, the sky alive with movement as ships dart through the chaos like angry hornets,each one a potential harbinger of death. The distant booms of weaponry echo like thunder, a reminder that this war is far from over and that I am still very much a part of it.
Before I can fully process the turmoil outside, a jarring realization hits me: the ship’s systems have tagged me as hostile, and in an instant, the automated defenses spring into action. I barely have time to brace myself before the ship opens fire, its weapons unleashing a barrage of energy that screams through the air, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding me.
“Damn it,” I hiss, my breath hitching in my throat as the memories flood back—just moments before, I had been flying into a black site with purpose and determination. Now, I find myself on a collision course with oblivion, the weight of my failures pressing down on me like an anchor dragging me into the depths of despair.
I fumble desperately for the controls, my fingers slipping slightly as adrenaline spikes through me like a jolt of electricity. The ship’s alarms blare louder than a banshee’s wail, an urgent cacophony that drowns out all other sound; warning lights pulse erratically around me, glowing like angry red eyes in the suffocating darkness of the cockpit. My heart races as one quick glance confirms my worst fear: the side engine is dead, a gaping hole where it should be, a jagged maw that might as well be mocking my efforts to survive.
“Better hell than vapor,”I growl through clenched teeth, my voice gravelly and raw, the words more a mantra than a plan. I hit the emergency landing protocols with a sense of grim determination, yanking the stick hard to the left as if I can wrest control of my fate with sheer force of will.
