Page 21 of Beast in the Badlands
EMRY
T he Coalition med zone looms ahead, its presence unmistakable, a tattered canvas tent that flaps in the wind like a dying flag signaling distress. Each gust sends ripples through the fabric, creating an unsettling rhythm that echoes the tension crackling in the air.
I clutch my pack tight against my back, feeling the weight of the scavenged supplies pressing down on me like a heavy burden that I can’t shake off. The lie rolls off my tongue in the privacy of my thoughts, sweet and deceptive like honey: it’s just a supply run.
Inside the pack, I can feel the reassuring texture of the bandages, their sterile surfaces brushing against the vials of antibiotics, remnants from the old med bay that now feels like a ghostly memory.
The supplies are more than just items to barter; they are the tools of survival, enough to make them believe me when I say I’m only here for a simple errand.
I can almost picture the Kira inside, her weary face lighting up at the sight of fresh supplies, blissfully unaware of the truth that lurks behind my eyes and the real reason for my visit.
Step by step, I push away thoughts of Renn.
As I near the tent’s entrance, the atmosphere shifts. Tension coils tight in the air; it feels wrong—too quiet for a camp that usually buzzes with voices and laughter, however strained. Shadows flicker along the edges of my vision as I approach, and an uneasy knot settles in my stomach.
I step inside the perimeter, scanning faces—pale and drawn, eyes wide with unspoken fear. Something isn’t right.
Before I can take another breath, an old comm tech rushes toward me, nearly tripping over his own feet. His expression is frantic, wild with urgency.
“There’s movement. Not ours.” His voice trembles as he speaks.
I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Another faction or…?”
He nods sharply, wiping sweat from his brow with trembling hands. “The Red Maw Syndicate. They’re closing in.”
My heart drops into my stomach. Our defenses are weak—fractured by dwindling supplies and morale—and we all know it.
“Are we ready?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“Ready? No! We’ve barely got enough people to defend ourselves against raiders!” He swallows hard. “We should have evacuated weeks ago.”
My pulse quickens as reality sets in: if they find us here… If they discover Renn…
“We can’t panic,” I say quickly, forcing myself to think beyond fear. “Get everyone organized at least.”
The words barely settle when gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by frantic shouts. I turn, adrenaline kicking in as eyes widen in unison.
A drop ship slices through the gray sky, its dark silhouette stark against the chaos of swirling clouds. The hum of its engines thunders in my ears like an approaching storm.
“Move!” I shout, my voice rising above the din. People scramble for cover, fear sparking panic as they dash for the safety of the tent.
I rush into the hospital tent, heart racing. My hands fumble as I grab my kit, shoving supplies into my pack with practiced speed. Kira stands frozen near the entrance, her eyes wide.
“What’s going on?” she demands.
“Fall back! Stay with the wounded!” I don’t pause to explain; there’s no time. Every second counts now.
Outside, gunfire erupts—a rapid staccato that sends a chill down my spine. The sharp cracks pierce through the camp like a knife through flesh. My stomach knots as I sprint toward the makeshift triage area.
I shift gears immediately—field mode activated. The med zone transforms in my mind from a place of healing to a battlefield. I scan for patients behind overturned tables and broken supply crates, ready to stabilize whoever needs me.
Shouts echo around me—some calling for help, others simply crying out in terror. The scent of smoke mixes with sweat and fear as chaos reigns.
“Stay down!” I shout to a soldier crouched behind a crate, clutching his arm where blood seeps through his fingers.
He looks up at me, desperation etched across his face. “I can’t?—”
“Just breathe!” I snap back, tearing open my med kit and reaching for gauze and sealant.
My hands shake despite my resolve; exhaustion clings to me like a weight around my ankles. Each movement feels heavy and labored as adrenaline fights against fatigue.
The building across the camp collapses suddenly—wood splinters flying like shrapnel into the air as it crashes down with a deafening roar. Dust billows around us, choking cries muffled beneath the sound of destruction.
I grit my teeth against despair but keep moving, pushing through layers of fear and fatigue that threaten to drag me under. A small group huddles near an old supply crate; one man groans softly as he clutches his side.
“Help him!” another voice yells over gunfire.
I rush over, dropping to my knees beside him while another soldier holds pressure on his wound. “What happened?”
“Shrapnel,” he gasps between clenched teeth.
Fingers flying over fabric and blood-stained skin, I tear away layers to assess damage beneath; metal glints menacingly against flesh—jagged pieces embedded deep into muscle.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn him before applying pressure on either side of the shard with trembling hands while using forceps to extract it quickly—blood oozes out in thick rivulets once it frees itself from tissue.
He cries out; I bite back a wince of sympathy and keep working despite it all—the screams outside escalating along with chaos; footsteps pound heavily overhead from above—our defenders scrambling to hold their ground against relentless waves of attackers descending upon us like vultures swooping in for carrion meat.
“You’re doing great,” I say firmly even though I feel anything but confident myself—each heartbeat loud against my eardrums while sweat trickles down my neck into dirt-streaked skin reminding me just how real this moment is—a desperate fight for survival amidst shadows creeping ever closer into our space…
A flicker catches my eye—a figure emerges from dust clouds nearby; an enemy soldier charges forward with wild abandon through shattered remnants littering our camp.
Gunfire explodes again—a cacophony that threatens to drown out everything else—but it’s too late now… we’re being overrun.