The Industrialist

1730 H

Lance was always good at estimations. And his estimate would take them to the Asphodel Cave at around 1800 H.

However, the dark seemed to catch on them earlier, like that of yesterday. The Convoy was now slower as they were loaded with salt.

"Lock and load," Handsome said.

The soldiers were exhausted from the laborious mining and hopefully their yesterday’s skirmish had discouraged the pursuing groundlings.

However, it was the contrary. The snarls came along with the thumps of paws against the ground like drums. Lance’s anxiousness was doubled compared to yesterday.

Something about the darkness, the ominous feeling that one could not explain, that was it.

But a streak of hope as he watched inside his knapsack, five poison bombs. The fifteen poison bombs were with the other rebel operatives. Damian had one and Handsome did too.

The groundlings came crashing again, but it was different this time. They came in the front like they were waiting for a strategic ambush. The forward truck decelerated so significantly that the second cargo almost collided with its rear.

The rebels emerged with their weapons spraying bullets to the pack.

Surprisingly, the snarls were gone. The groundlings retreated and unseen beyond the grasp of their naked eyes. The fog borne with dust came forward, darkness had invaded the lands.

They were all dumbfounded. Then the convoy picked up speed again to the vehicles’ utmost power.

Sadly, at 30 miles per hour only.

And after a few seconds, the second wave came. The groundlings attacked the forward truck, pushing it to the right side, almost tipping it over. The forward truck halted, along with the other trucks behind, and the rebels fired at the pack again.

’This is different than yesterday. They moved tactically,’ Lance thought.

Handsome and Damian also had their voiceless looks. Their faces were perturbed with questions.

The fog was thick, the breeze was relentless, and the snarls came, the snouts of the creatures could only be seen from where their headlights could reach.

The Rebels had their occasional shooting, randomly to where the snarls would be. Kills were not confirmed.

They could not see a thing. The forward truck decided to stop first. They all knew that a moving truck was easier to tip over than a stationary one. The Rebels from the dump box, filled with salt, were perching above the load, training their weapons from random directions.

The second cargo truck to where Lance had ridden, was still unscathed since the start of the attack.

"There is something different about this. They were like waiting for instructions." Lance mused.

"I have a bad feeling," Damian said.

Lane watched through the windows and they were entering the tree line of Asphodel forest. And it was the same village that was seen a mile from where they were, beyond the expanse of a barren land.

At the clearing of that land, camouflaging with the dark fog, was another pack of attacking groundlings at the left side. They were fast, nearing them.

"Handsome!" Lance screamed as he was at the left side window. Handsome immediately squeeze the trigger with no proper aim. There were many and he was sure that wherever his rifle would point, a groundling would die.

However, the creatures were relentless, ramming the second truck where Lance and the other were. Shaking them half-tipped over, however, unsuccessful to push the truck upside down.

Immediate assistance, the bullets came forth from random directions from the forward truck, hitting flesh, and letting the pack squirm of death. He knew the third truck also fired their weapons to their defense.

It was chaotic, too much for a kid like him. Lance only witnessed the gore deaths of the creatures from the inside and the muffled gunshot noise as his palms pressed his ears.

"There were too many of them!" Damian said and took out the poison bomb from his knapsack, triggered it, and threw it out of the window. It exploded and the bluish mist appeared, and there was silence from the right side to where the poison bomb detonated.

The forward truck started to move after two bombs were also detonated from their flank, filling the outside with a bluish cloud. Lance could hear flesh disintegrating as the Aiveez mist ate them to ash.

There was a moment of silence and the convoy continued. The groundlings retreated again, hopefully for good this time.

’They were smart. They were organized. What’s happening?’ Lance thought.

Lance’s drumming heartbeat receded to normal. His breathing rate had lessened too.

"Have you noticed how they behave now?" Lance asked.

"Yeah. They are somethin’ right now. But your poison bombs are cookin’ those creatures for good. You did good, kid," it was Damian who answered.

"Woah. Woah. Woah!" The driver was surprised. He saw something that the passengers did not.

Then, a thunderous blow shocked them.

Their vehicle just did not tip over once, but twice. They were scrambled inside, so suddenly that nobody was able to react. Bodies bounced against the metallic confines of the cabin.

Lights out...

Screams. Muffled screams. Blurred vision. Heavy head, searing pain in every inch of his body. His arms were limped on his side, his feet dragging on the ground. Was he floating?

No.

He was carried by two strong men. Screams again from behind them. Then gunshots. Flames from behind, illuminating against the dark fog. It was their truck. Bluish mist emerged from a few steps behind them.

Pursuing groundlings retreated from the blue cloud.

"I am out of bombs!" The man on the left that carried him said. His voice was muffled, painful ringing looming in his left ear.

Metallic liquid flushing his tongue. His head hurts. Moments after, the muffled screams were clear now.

The growls of the creatures were more discernable. Damian was carrying him on his right side and simultaneously shot his rifle to the pursuing groundlings.

"How many more bombs?" Damian asked.

"Last four!" Handsome responded.

"Throw one," Damian said.

Handsome threw again another poison bomb. They were using Lance’s reserves. Now, the ringing receded as the bluish cloud caught up to them from behind.

They were on foot.

"Lance! Are you awake!" Handsome asked. His voice was loud, close to his ear.

"Yes!" Lance responded.

They were on foot. The other two cargos were nowhere to be seen. Flames of a crashed truck were seen from the road they tread.

"The village!" Lance screamed, and his blood gushed out from his mouth. Then the energy loomed on his knees and towards his lower extremities. He ran now and he, independently from his comrades.

But his knees were still frozen, and pain on his ankles. But the thought of the groundlings pursuing them, the adrenalin masked the pain.

Lance squinted behind; he gained speed. The bluish cloud of his poison bombs shielded them from the creatures. He saw the dead bodies of the creatures on the ground, burning flesh after the bluish mist invaded their skins.

They reached the clearing of the village, stonewalls and whitewashed, as what he had seen last morning.

The place was abandoned, as all villages were outside the surviving cities. Rubbles and stone debris on their feet. Degraded wood all over.

About 50 houses and establishments, as Lance estimated, and they pressed forward hoping for temporary salvation.

They ran along the stonewalled establishments, and there were no doors. All wood was burned down.

Their feet took them to a three-story seemingly commercial building, to the flight of stairs and up to the highest possible floor. There were no roofs over their heads. But it was the best position to stop the creatures from climbing up.

The access was only a flight of stairs, and if they blasted them with their rifles, they could stop the pursuers.

That is if they had unlimited ammo.

"What now?" Lance asked, recovering his exhausted lungs as they settled in the corner.