The Evergreen Files: Banshee; Book One
Chapter Eighteen

The Gryph pilot had somehow, by some miracle managed to touch down without further damage. Only roughing up the paintwork slightly. The crew shakily disembarked the vessel, the field they had landed in was thick with the smog, the relatively flat surrounding area that could be made out soon disappeared into the deep grey mist, first to shadows, and then to nothing. The Pilot jumped from his cockpit, slapping the hull of the hovercopter, saying words in his language that sounded harsh.

Chittering and branches snapping could be heard in all directions. “Probably just wild life...” muttered Lyra, all the confidence from her statement drained away. A distant roar silenced the chittering, but the snapping and creaking of timber came louder and more violent. “Yeah. Wild life.” retorted a surviving crewman who had his arm in a sling. His free hand shot to the hand of another crewman who gripped it tightly in return, their matching golden plain band rings seemed dulled by the fog, but the primitive act visibly settled the two’s nerve.

After a painfully long few minutes as everyone held their breath and refused to make a sound, the roar didn’t return. But the silence never lasted long on this planet, the chittering began again, all around, as if the planet simply needed to fill the silence. The noise seemed to have a certain urgency about it, Solomon instantly felt rushed with a stress wave creeping up his spine, as if a hunter was close on his trail with a loaded gun and was just a flick of an eye away from locating him as prey.

With the smog darkening from something above unseen, Solomon loaded his weapon, his last clip. Thirty five bullets was all he had left for his automatic rifle. Swearing at the dire situation of the day once more, he checked his pistol side arm belt; five clips left. The darkness subsides for a few seconds before returning, the shadows became lost with the light and the group’s vision lessened in distance. Sykra rubbed the back of his neck as he gave out a small sigh of desperation that mixed in to the symphony of the chittering and breaking of branches.

“We have to move. Sykra, The Fortress of Forgod is roughly north north east from us, about five or six miles, by my guess, would you agree?” the Gryph looked around manically trying to see any landmarks through the darkened fog only to return to Solomon with a heavy resigned shrug. Solomon turned to the Gryph pilot who nodded his head to the other Gryph that had climbed out of the cockpit area, who was the navigator and he nodded in approval. Solomon pulled out his compass and found the direction of his estimate, pointed the way and encouraged everyone to follow him. The sixteen humans and three gryph made their way slowly and cautiously through the smog. The tufty grassy field soon turned into rough ground with shrubbery scratching at their calf’s and then turned into a woodland. The trees started thin and few in number, but soon grew thicker bodied and became a horde of wood. The group seeing no more than ten meters in any direction, now could only make out as far as the next few trees.

Breathing came heavier, more unsteady as the chittering rose and fell in volume, the creaking and cracking of the lumber became more and more violent, only to suddenly stop for some time and to start as suddenly and as violently as before. After a while, the group could predict the rhythm of the breaking wood, one of the crew mentioned the exact time keeping it had, voicing the possibility that it was mechanical. Sykra looked over his shoulder, “Possible. We auto mine. No one needed to work. I think no-one here in wood sea though. I wrong, maybe.” a long strained animalistic shriek echoed through the misted tree sea, so loud, the group looked up, raising their weapons, pointing it at an invisible enemy that long vanished into the smog.

The uneven ground rose and fell, dusted with fallen leaves, all colour taken away by the dull grey mist. Here and there, Solomon could catch a glimpse of a small animal rushing up and away from their movements, this gave him little hope. Small hope that life still hadn’t fallen to the Banshee infection wholly. Small hope, was still hope. He’d take what little he could. “Come on, not far now.” he said more for his own benefit and comfort than the groups.

Forgod City flashed and cracked sporadically with muzzle flashes from the conflict on the streets. Gryph forces had long become overrun, destroyed or beaten back to the outer city by the Pirate invasion force. When The Evergreen came down, the pursuing explosion had created such a force, that it toppled many of the towers, destroyed most armour or attack vehicles either side had, and scattered every single combat unit, if not killing some outright. The Gryph had learnt to protect their vast settlements with signature blocking technology, so any scanning ship without the correct codes would see no activity in the whole of the city. This is what Eve saw, and allowed Kyril to destroy most of the remaining life. The smoke and weather soon turned the once beautiful and proud city into a mire of bogged out ruins, blinded with dull grey. Banshee’s swamped the streets like a river bursting a dam’s restrictive embrace. Tens of thousands now hunted, stalking any living thing. Little pockets of resistance still fought. When making contact with the Banshee’s or Mutated Mares, the fight had been short, brutal and excessively bloody. Something changed in the Mare’s method’s. They no longer desired to increase numbers. They just simply killed now.

Distant gunfire is what a lone figure heard. Covered in the dust of stone, awoke a wounded man, pushing past fallen rubble, finding himself in a small room, in the company of three corpses, getting to his feet, he winced as he remembered his pain, looking down, his leg was matted with blood and dust. It had slightly healed, enough to let him walk freely with only a trickle of crimson liquid falling to the floor, instead of gushing as it once did. Corridors he had not seen before were broken. Cracked central beams ran across the ceiling every meter, the concrete missing large chunks, rubble littered the floor and smoke stole the air from his lungs. Limping down the semi collapsed concrete walkway and up the stairs, that still had blood stains from the Gryph killed when the pirates took over. Now, no pirates or gryph fought for control, no screams could be heard, just the distant thuds, and rumbles as some buildings gave in and collapsed, drowning out the sound of gunfire here and there.

Through the now splintered massive ancient wooden doors, in the courtyard, a smoking tank sat with a large hole bent outward through its side hull. Its smooth and slender aerodynamic shape caught the sun perfectly and almost blinded the survivor as he staggered over the rubble and bodies. A mixture of them lay amongst the cracked stone slab floor, gryph and pirate alike remained motionless. Their bodies covered in blood and dust.

Peering inside the burnt out hull of the tank, he could make out the forms of the still smouldering crew, remaining where they took their last breath. Unable to make out any features other than burnt flesh, he moved on, knowing anything inside the hull was done for. After spending some time searching the many bodies that littered the rubble, he managed to find a fair amount of weaponry off the pirate corpses and easy pack rations from the Gryph.

Familiarising himself with the home-brew weapon he pulled off a dismembered pirate; the only functional weapon he could find, he slung the stubbed off machine pistol over his shoulder, and held it in place with its seemingly leather strap. Taking a hat he found dancing in the wind amongst the rubble to protect his scalp and to keep his mind wary, he took in his surroundings.

Broken walls roughly two stories high, their shapes mangled from war. Large bites had been taken from their skins from large munitions pelting their forms. The building he climbed out of, he recognised only just as the core fortress, where the Gryph had their primary military headquarters on Merrriden IV. Now, it was a miracle to still be partially standing. As as if on cue, as the survivor thought, a loud crunch came from inside the massive building, followed by another, and another, and then, the building shook and fell. Throwing mortar, dust and stone in all directions as it crumbled into nothing but another ruined pile of rubble.

Making for the higher ground, he climbed the nearest wall, the sun baked stone crumbled a little against his rough hands, but the bulk stayed solid. His view, once reaching the walkway of the stone wall lowered his spirits. Although a fog covered most of the lower valley, he could see the smouldering city of Forgod, or simply it’s skeletal remains, he could make out the tales of war in the fields before him, bodies scattered amongst the browned and burned grass, a blackened vehicle sat with melted tyres or tracks here and there, only the wind stirred. The symphony of battle had since left this area, claimed its victims and moved on to its next theatre of war.

Listening to the echoes of gunfire, that theatre was small in size, and taking place in the forest. Tree tops only just poked out above the thick fog, unmoved by the breeze that softly kissed the flanks of the wood.

Turning his attention to his other surroundings, knowing the battle in the forest wasn’t his concern, he saw something that saddened him more than the surrounding scenes, but also gave him a little hope. The long steel body lay in the dirt and rock. It’s once beautiful blue frame blotched and bent from the impact with the surface. The ship, still seemed beautiful to his eye, especially when he read the nose plate name.

The Evergreen.

No more than half a mile away from the fortress, the wreckage lay, inviting him to something he could call home. The fire’s had long extinguished in the surrounding area. The smell of burned flesh and charred hair still filled his nostrils as the fields of dead remained. Odd that no victor took the field. Perhaps the crash of the Evergreen saw the end of the conflict. Remembering his time at Red Sector Zero-One, he suddenly began approaching bodies with caution, pointing the end of his rife at their heads until he could make out that they had no mutated features showing likeness to the Banshee.

About half way through the fields, an idea suddenly surfaced in the man’s muddled mind, casting his eyes to the sky, he saw no aircraft. Nothing to indicate superiority over a field of battle, he could not hear any signs of engines. Only the occasional echo’s of gunfire carried by the wind gave the man the indication of an active combat zone. Once satisfied there was no air support in the area, friendly or otherwise, he trained his eyes upon the hull of the Evergreen, his heavy legs still carried him forward. “That’s good.” he said, noting the vacant escape pod bays displayed down the flank of the ship. “at least some got off alive.”

Venturing closer, he could make out the deep gouges in the skin, craters from bullet impacts and finally, the long exit veins of the main reactor explosion, metal had been sliced open and bent out with the force. Holding little expectations that she would fly again, he did withhold the hope of shelter and supplies.

The silent vessel lay lifeless. The trickle and drip of liquid echoed throughout the empty corridors. Rarely, a flash would erupt from something still containing some form of electrical life as it sparked, trying to regain its former magnificence.

The darkness temporarily defeated for a split second as the arcs jumped from console to deck plate, the brilliant light glistening over the skin of the skulking soldier as he advanced warily through the corridor that spoke to him with the echo of his steps. A distant dripping of what he hoped was not anything flammable made its way to his ears, his mind wondered to the vast wreckage of The Evergreen, crumpled and bent from her previous splendour, still holding a small regard for beauty and she still tried with all her remaining strength to hold herself proud.

The dripping and creaking soon drifted into the background as a new noise slid into his brain, a grumble and sniffing followed by the soft thud, thud of hairy paws came from behind, he turned as quietly as he could to try and see from where the beast was coming from. Unable to get that information from the darkened corridors, he backed away from the direction of the sound. Feeling his way to a corridor joint, he turned and put as much distance as he could between himself and the creature. The length of the metal atriums varied from crippled and bent to seemingly undamaged. At a four way junction, two had completely collapsed, the other had a orange flickering glow emanating further down its length. The closer he got, the more he could hear the crackle and roar of flames eating away at their food.

“Sykra, keep up!” shouted Solomon over his shoulder as they moved closer to their so far unseen goal. Solomon only had his memory and bearing from before the hovercopter came down. He hoped that The Evergreen was this way. He stood to the side, to allow the others pass, counting the heads and faces of his followers, he smiled as they were all still there. Sixteen humans and three gryph. Three had been wounded but did not allow that to slow their movements. Solomon asked them individually how they were doing, “I’m fine, just a head ache” replied the female engineer as she passed, with a smile. A soldier replied with a smile as she tapped her leg as a reassurance of strength, the bridge officer who had a nasty gouge across his chest that blood had begun to seep through the bandages just looked away from Solomon as he stepped passed, Solomon did wonder, but decided against questioning Officer Rant, he had been through enough today, they all had. Yawning, he suddenly felt the strain on his back from his equipment and the day behind him, exhaustion felt much like a good way to explain his feeling.

Once the group had passed him, he looked further into the woods before following the survivors again, no time to rest. They had to keep moving, the infection may not have reached this area yet, but it would, sooner or later, and Solomon wanted to be far away from here when it did, off the planet if possible. The fog made it difficult to monitor the surroundings sufficiently, death could be lurking no more than ten meters away and Solomon wouldn’t see it. And death was lurking closer than he thought. He quickly retook his position at the front of the survivors.

The group walked for another mile when the fog thinned a little, enough to give them a meter or so extra vision, but nothing major. The ground gave a slight rumble and the group looked to Solomon, who in turn looked at Sykra. “Perhaps, an auto mine started?” he suggested the group, shrugging his shoulders. Moving further forward in the direction of choice, the rumble slowly increased. “I don’t think that’s a mine...” mumbled the woman with the head wound, looking over her shoulder and focused into the greyish white void behind the group, and it started getting darker. “Erika, look at that...” said the woman to her friend who was helping her, before Erika could turn her head, the shadows burst from the fog, revealing at least a dozen dark brown haired beasts with horns charging straight towards them. Erika let out a scream of pain as the beasts collided with her and her wounded friend, throwing them into the tufty grass and under the hooves. Solomon and everyone else spun at the sound scream having a second or two to react. Not many had the reflexes to make that split second decision and fell beneath the creatures to be trodden and trampled under their weight.

Solomon dived to the side, but Lyra was too slow as one of the beasts hit her head on with a lowered head and flipped her into the fog, Solomon didn’t hear a cry of pain or a thud of a body over the monstrous thundering of the beasts hooves. A sound that was completely alien to Solomon’s ears took his eyes away from where Lyra had last been seen before vanishing into the fog, sounding like multiple out of tune wind instruments been blown at once, he saw the Gryph navigator getting flipped over and landing next to Solomon, who had dived into a thick leafed thicket. He was dead, blood wept from an open wound in his chest that revealed his strangely coloured insides, he had clearly been impaled by one of the horns of the creatures head.

The stampede quickly passed. So much carnage happened within a few seconds as the beasts fled from something, close or far, Solomon had no idea. Only seeing roughly ten meters into the fog. He could make out the motionless bodies of humans in the long grass, nobody moved. Sykra jumped out of a bush, coughing as he pulled the Gryph pilot behind him, his leg bent in such an awkward angle and blood trickling from the broken skin. Yelping from pain the pilot began to cry for his mangled leg, this noise stirred some of the bodies laying in the grass, Lyra was amongst them, her auburn hair easily found once the commotion ceased and the dust fell. Solomon swore as loud as he could, with the worst word he could bring his tongue to work when he counted the surviving members. Six. Including him.

Bridge Officer Rant hadn’t made it, only finding his body, his head torn off and taken away somewhere in the commotion. Solomon didn’t know all the names, but he knew their faces, from the canteen and mission briefings. Smiling when he saw the two married crewmen embrace each other, clearly glad of their survival. Pausing long enough to only take supplies and bury the dead in makeshift graves, before they took their first steps back to the road to The Evergreen.

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