“Are you okay?” Sawyer touched his ringing ears at Wil’s abnormally loud question, bringing his fingers away bloody.
“Hellfire, that was close!” Wil breathed as he checked the door was secure.
Sawyer only paid him half attention, the kind of consideration one gives to keep tabs when their mind is filled with other purpose. With the first decent dredge of artificial air he drew, Sawyer sensed something odd in its odor. The crisp smells of disinfectant normally present in the facility were replaced by an unpleasant, metallic aroma. The smell held an aged undertone, the beginnings of discomposure already present. He stood carefully, gathering balance before moving to the far wall of the lobby they entered.
The short hallway was dark, the aroma growing stronger as he stumbled its length and entered the training room beyond. The lights disoriented him, causing a delayed comprehension of the room’s contents.
“What is it?” Wil asked, his consequent gasp an audible version of Sawyer’s mental reaction.
Blood pooled around the fallen bodies of their comrades. Sawyer recognized Ensigns Pope and Bishop, two of the men from his squad laying prone a few feet from where he stood. Their weapons were sheathed and their uniforms pristine. The only blood dripped from their breathless lips, thick and clotted to the floor.
“What in hellfire happened?” Wil breathed the question as he stepped forward, performing a circle as he took in the carnage.
“Ambush?” Sawyer suggested, but this didn’t feel like an ambush; it felt wrong – out of place – hovering beyond his understanding. “There aren’t any bullets; no bullet holes or casings. They didn’t even draw their weapons.”
Coughing from the other end of the building startled both men into action. Sawyer ignored Wil’s shout and curse as he bolted toward the sound, focusing only on finding survivors. Wil caught up to him before he could round the last barrier, shoving him against a wall with a desperate fear in his eyes.
“Are you crazy? What is wrong with you? What if it’s whoever did this? Where’s your gun?” Wil’s voice was barely a whisper as he held up his pistol.
“I didn’t think,” Sawyer stuttered on his explanation, shocked at Wil’s lecture. He hadn’t thought about endangering himself; he only thought of helping those he could save. The memory of the attack on their homestead so many years ago flashed in his mind: Maverick’s ignorance to their father’s demand to run, the desperation in his small body as he bolted haphazardly toward their home where their mother and sister remained, and his continued assurances of no regrets for his actions. Sawyer never understood Maverick’s need to go back until then. The only difference between their actions was Sawyer’s movements placed Wil in danger, while Maverick never brought harm to anyone.
“That’s just it, you didn’t think. You can’t do that; you can’t just act without thinking. What if something happened to you?” Wil released his grip and backed away, the shaking of his hand as he thrust it through his blond hair speaking of his terror at Sawyer’s actions. “You can’t leave me alone with the turd and Crazy Carl.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just stay back and let me check.,” Wil held out a hand to keep Sawyer back and pointed his pistol toward the continued coughing. A string of curses followed a renewed round of coughing and Sawyer saw Wil’s shoulders relax at the familiar voice. “Lieutenant?”
“Lieutenant Pierce,” Sawyer rushed to the man’s side, kneeling beside him and checking him visually for bleeding like the dozen dead men through the building. “Sir, what happened here? Are you alright?”
“Hale, what are you doing here?” the Lieutenant’s words were slurred and thick, the sickly-sweet smell of old Bourbon on his breath.
“The asshole’s drunk!” Wil exclaimed in disgusted shock. “Your men are laying dead around you and you’re drunk?”
“They’re the lucky ones,” the Lieutenant pulled a bottle up from the opposite side of where he sat on the floor and placed it to his lips. He finished speaking before taking a long, hard gulp. “It was quick.”
“What are you talking about, Sir?” Sawyer leaned away from the man’s sickly-sweet smell; the combination of physical exhaustion, emotional drain, and mental confusion making his stomach sensitive to its pungent odor.
“Took them out quick and clean.”
Sawyer looked in the direction Lieutenant Pierce indicated with his short, shaking nod, noting the odd gun resting a few feet away from the drunken man. “What is that?”
“Ah, I’m glad you asked, my boy!” Lieutenant Pierce smiled widely at the chance to show off. “That is our newest design; the most powerful gun ever created. It doesn’t take bullets, bags, or beads. It is entirely self-sustaining.”
“It’s a pulse weapon,” Wil spat the words, his lip curled in a sneer.
“Yes, boy, it is!”
“How? How did you get the materials to make it? There’s nothing on Flamouria that could create that type of tech.” Sawyer’s confusion furrowed his brow.
“Well, that’s what the TSS is for. I mean, think about it. How else do you wipe out a violent world? Cut supplies, give them weapons, and let human nature take its course.” Lieutenant Pierce chuckled for a moment before he went silent and his face grew serious. “Too bad we won’t have another chance to use it.”
“Another chance?” Sawyer’s blood chilled as he realized what happened in the storage room. “Lieutenant Pierce, what happened here? The civilians from the dwellings, they’re all…”
“Dead, yeah, I know. As soon as they started firebombing us, I knew
