They returned upstairs to the laboratory, but Clara’s mind was elsewhere. Andy had done it. He’d unlocked a new ability for his Augmentation, and it was the most spectacular one yet: some sort of vortex blast. She knew that Augmented soldiers were capable of magnificent feats, bordering on the magical, but she’d never before seen it up close. Clara grinned to herself, climbing the stairs with a hop to her step. She had been right to steer them into more dangerous territory and push Andy to his limits. But then again, had he gotten stronger out of a sense of ambition or personal betterment, or had it more to do with that revolver he was so fixated on which he kept calling a woman’s name? Julie. Either way, she’d take it.

With the power on, Clara was able to open the security door using the keycard. It slid open smoothly, on two corridors signposted ‘Offices’ and ‘Laboratory’. Before moving on, Clara dragged a chair from the lobby area and jammed it in the security door’s path, preventing it from closing behind them. Last thing they needed was for the power to go out and trap them inside. They headed towards the lab, submachine gun close to her chest, passing by several rooms stocked with computers and scientific apparatus. What few light bulbs flickered cast a fluorescent light on the white furniture. There were no windows beyond the security door, so Clara turned on her flashlight. There were no corpses here either, nothing smashed or left in a hurry. The air smelt of sterile chemicals. It was like they’d stepped into a pre-cataclysmic alternative reality.

“It smells horrible,” Andy said.

“It smells better than you.”

Andy lingered in a doorway. Clara followed his gaze to a gurney, flanked by medical devices, stacked on wheeled shelves. Intravenous bags and tubes, wires and electrical nodes. A tray of surgical tools lay neat on a counter beside the gurney. Thick restraints were tied to the gurney’s frame. A claw-like brace loomed over the headrest like a tarantula, braced to strike.

“What do you think they used that for?” Clara said.

Andy shrugged. “Massage chair?”

Clara snorted at the medieval-like contraption. “Not even that could work out the knots in my back.” At the end of the corridor was a locker room. Hazmat suits hung from pegs, others were discarded in a wash bin, overflowing onto the floor. Clara stepped around them and through two swinging doors at the rear. Before her, spread the main laboratory. Compact computer stations stood like the pews of a church before a row of cylindrical chambers. The chambers reminded Clara of giant lightbulbs–similar to the Augmentation Master Console in the Harmonies’ headquarters. Soft blue light shone from their bases, illuminating the liquid inside. Black cables snaked over the white tiled floor, climbing up a walkway which ringed the room, leading to more consoles along the upper walls. Many of the machines were built directly into the walls–uniform in nature with minute blinking lights, whereas other consoles were stacked on tables beside them, plugged into the complex patchwork like an afterthought. Above them all, mounted onto the white walls were three huge monitors, each the size of a storage container.

Clara inspected a terminal, booting it up. A string of code flashed by, then the Bulwark Project logo rotated against a grey background. Clara’s heart fluttered. Inside this machine might be the secrets to the apocalypses, or an instruction manual on the Augmentation Serum. Perhaps she could discover a better way to advance Andy’s abilities, or discover how the most powerful alliance in human history failed. Her fingers brushed the keyboard. All she had to do was ask the right question.

“You see, that’s it,” Andy said.

Clara looked over her shoulder. Andy was talking to himself again, or rather, to the AI implant in his head.

Pacing about the room, eyes glazed over, Andy shook his head. “Quit lying robot, you can’t get anything past me.” He paused, presumably to let the AI respond. “Yeah right, you’re in there too. You know I’m not thick.”

“What is it?” Clara dared to ask.

“Huh?” Andy snapped out of his daze.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, the robot’s trying to tell me that this wasn’t all aliens.” Andy waved his arms about the room. “She- I mean… It is never real with me. I ask it who built the pyramids, and it’s like, I dunno, slaves? I ask it who shot JFK and it reads off a pre-approved CIA script.” Andy tapped his skull. “This thing was built by the government, right? So it knows all the government’s secrets and it’s just choosing not to share them with me. Withholding bitch.”

Clara blinked. That was a lot to take in. “So… you asked your AI implant who built this lab?”

“No, I know who built the lab. The bollocks project or whatever they’re called. I asked it who gave them the tech in the first place? The Augmentation stuff. It had to come from somewhere.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in that sort of stuff.”

“Yeah, a bit. Not anymore though.” Andy looked towards the ceiling as though he was addressing the AI. “Sorry I even brought it up.”

A cracking sound came from outside. They both froze and looked at one another, then dashed out of the laboratory, weapons drawn. Clara could hear footsteps from the end of the corridor, near the security door, then a huge body shifted in the dim light.

Stopping at a distance, Clara grabbed Andy’s shoulder to restrain him, but kept her submachine gun at the ready. “Friendly?”

The figure jumped, then froze. “Friendly.”

“Good,” Clara said. “It’s us.”

Abigail took a step around the corner into full view, almost knocking her head into a fluorescent bulb on the ceiling.

Slinging her gun over her shoulder, Clara approached the Augmented warrior. “How’s your team, any injured?”

“One,” Abigail grunted. “The scientists here?”

“No, it’s empty.”

Two more of the Hogs mercenaries came around the corner. Sax–the short fox-like fellow–was struggling to help carry a wounded man. A crossbow dangled by its strap on his shoulder and it looked like he was ready to collapse. Clara squeezed past Abigail to help, grabbing the bow and taking his other arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sax snapped.

Clara faltered, she hadn’t expected that. “Helping you carry him.”

“You can return our weapons.”

“Sax,” Abigail admonished. “Little man. Let her help.”

Together, they carried the injured mercenary into the corridor, where the light was better, and set him down. Sax was sweating from the strain, but his comrade looked worse. A sheen of white plastered his dark skin like a layer of plaster. Frizzy hair poked out beneath a beanie cap, and he wore a shortsword at his waist.

“I have a first aid kit,” Clara said. “How was he injured?”

“That won’t work,” Abigail walked past her with a slight waddle heading towards the laboratory, her spear balanced in her hand. The weapon glinted, it looked to Clara like carbon steel, with a cruel razor wedge at its tip.

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“Ignore her,” Sax squeaked. “Do you have any antibiotics, painkillers? Strong stuff?”

Clara bit her tongue. That sort of equipment was a lot more expensive than bandages. “I’ll have a look.”

“You best do,” Sax said. “It’s your fault. We had quite a melee thanks to the racket you two made. Woke the whole building up.” Sax took a deep breath and bent to pick his comrade up again.

“Is it just you three left?” Clara asked.

“And one more outside.” Sax snarled. “Bloody unprofessionals.”

Clara picked up the crossbow for the injured man, but left him and Sax to walk alone, falling back a few paces behind them to chat with Andy.

“Nice guy.”

“I recognise him,” Andy said, once they were out of earshot.

“Where from?”

“Not a clue.”

Clara groaned. “I hope he doesn’t have a vendetta on you.”

Andy shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

Ahead, the Hogs passed through the locker room and into the laboratory. Clara heard Sax whistle as he entered the chamber. He had set his injured comrade down in an office chair and was purveying the room, a twinkle in his eye. “That’s something.”

“There was a horde in the basement,” Clara said. “That’s what all the noise was about. I’m sorry it caused you trouble, we didn’t expect to get in a fight.”

The Hogs didn’t respond. Clara felt like they were judging her.

“We were trying to get the power back on,” she added.

“Miss,” the injured man wheezed, seeming to fight the weight of his own head. “You got any painkillers?”

“Yeah.” Placing the crossbow at his feet, Clara dug inside her pouches and unzipped the first aid kit. “Antibiotics too?”

The man paused as his eyes wandered, then he shook his head and sighed. “Won’t need them.”

Clara handed him two strong pills and a bottle of water. He took them in shaky hands, tossing his head back to swallow.

“Thank you,” he said, returning the bottle. “My name’s Daniel, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Clara,” she said. His hand was cold and sweaty when Clara shook it.

“Look at this place,” Sax said from the walkway. He was exploring the laboratory like a dog sniffing up a park. “It hasn’t been touched since the cataclysm. We’d could shift them computers to the Dreamlord in Sabbath. And just look at those AMCs. They’re in perfect condition. That’s a fortune.”

“These are old,” Abigail said, planting her spear’s haft on the tiled floor. “They are prototype. Experimental. It is not what I use.”

“So what? Someone would buy them.” Sax skittered down the stairs to appraise the lightbulb-like vats. He ran his hand over the glass, leaving smudges. “We didn’t find the scientists, but their payload might be here. And even if it’s not, there’s enough salvage to get rich. We gut this place and put it on the market.” He grinned, then quickly closed his mouth and looked at Andy.

Andy sat on a swivel chair, staring back. Clara bit her lip, she knew that look, like a cat watching his prey.

“There’s enough here to share, of course,” Sax said, lowering his chin so that his eyes shaded over in the fluorescent light.

“That’s not the mission,” Abigail said. “Where is the payload?”

“First we get comms back on,” Clara said, standing above the terminal she’d investigated before. It was stuck on the same screen with a loading bar stuck at zero percent. A warning message read: ‘Data transmission error. Satellite upload interrupted.’

“Looks like they were trying to send something,” Clara said. “Research data, maybe information about where they went?”

“Is there an error code?” Daniel asked, struggling to his feet. He held his arm against his chest–the only visible injury on his body. Perhaps he had suffered blood loss, which was making him weak. But, if he’d been bitten by a zombie…

Daniel clicked through a diagnostic’s screen. “Their satellites were damaged. Maybe physically. We should take a look on the roof.”

“I saw an access panel at the top of the stairwell,” Clara said.

“Good, we’ll go together,” Abigail said.

Clara paused, Would it be safe to leave Andy here alone? What if he got into a fight? What if the others attack him? Two verses one. In fact, she still favoured Andy’s odds in that scenario. She kicked his boot to get his attention. “Radio me if something happens. Play nice.”

She and Abigail travelled back through the facility, past the wedged-open security door and into the stairwell. Abigail reached up and tugged on the access latch in the ceiling. It was locked. She heaved, her muscles bulged, and the door came crashing down. Plaster crumbled where the frame had cracked. Leaping up with one hand, she passed her spear through the gap, then heaved herself through onto the roof, extending a hand back down for Clara.

“Thanks,” Clara said, as she was pulled off her feet. She could help but feel a little diminutive compared to Abigail’s strength.

Outside, the air was crisp, and the light of day was dimming. Abigail pointed with her spear towards a satellite tower at the opposite end of the roof, nearby where a final story had been added to house the large laboratory. A gunshot echoed over the city from the carpark below. Clara peeked over the edge at the Trojan, still parked in the centre of the industrial estate. A sizable horde of zombies were pressed against the chain link fence all around the facility, in some places twenty or thirty deep. But they were placid, unlike those she had encountered in the basement. They moved lazily, attracted by the sound of gunfire, but only occasionally did one stumble in through the open fence for the Trojan to gun them down. Clara wondered why they behaved so differently. Perhaps they needed to see or smell a human before becoming enraged, and the sight of the battlewagon just wasn’t doing it for them.

Calra took her gaze off the shooting gallery. They might have some difficulty driving out of here once the job was done, but that was a problem for later. Abigail led the way towards the satellite towner, which bore about a dozen dishes. One of the larger dishes had come loose, dangling from its wires which remained pinned to the top of the tower.

“I’ve got it,” Calra said, taking the dilapidated dish in one hand and climbing the tower’s rungs. At the top, she wrapped her forearm and shin around a pole and dug into her pouches for zip ties, reattaching the satellite to face west, towards Quadra.

“Is the power off?” Clara shouted down to Abigail. The big warrior had forced her way into a nearby control room.

“I will turn it on.”

“Leave it off for a second,” Clara said, fiddling with the torn cables. Clara took the gamble and touched the wire. It was inactive. She frayed both ends and twisted it together, then wrapped it in electrical tape. By the time she was done, her fingers were numb. She took a moment to warm them and appreciate the view. The late winter air was fresh and salty from the sea. From her vantage, Clara could see the industrial district sprawl all the way to the sea. In the distance, large cranes framed a derelict shipyard. Rows of containers stood in attendance to a massive cargo ship’s open casket funeral as it lay lopsided on the dock’s wharf. Behind her, the sun was low dipping beneath the jungle hills where they’d come from.

Clara checked her terminal. It was almost 16:00. It would get dark soon.

Gunshots continued to ring out like dinner bells to the city’s infected populace. Clara sighed. What were they even trying to accomplish out there, and how were they helping? She’d have to have a word with the mercenaries running the Trojan before they made their way back to Quadra. She needed to get them on the same radio channel as her, get them communicating and working together.

“Are you ready?” Abigail asked.

“Yep, turn her on.” Clara climbed back down the tower. Although the big warrior intimidated Clara a little bit, she trusted Abigail more than her partner Sax, who wore his appetite for betrayal on his sleeve. She hoped that Abigail could keep him in check, while Clara did the same with Andy. This was always the problem working with other mercs–there were a lot of egos flying around, and a lot of greed.

They returned to the laboratory without a hitch. Andy was sitting in his chair, staring at the other two Hogs mercenaries. Daniel looked in a bad state. His skin was ashen and flaky. He slumped against the wall, breathing raggedly.

“What meds did you give him?” Sax said as they entered. He knelt beside Daniel, all of his enthusiasm for salvaging technology had gone. “He’s getting worse. You were holding out on us.”

“No I’m not,” Clara said. “I don’t have antibiotics for this sort of thing.”

“Well then what do you have?” He raised his voice. “Why are you even here? All you’ve done is create a racket. You’re responsible for this.” He jabbed a finger and approached her, his teeth bared.

“Mistakes are made,” Abigail said, standing above Daniel. “How are you, boss?”

“Bad,” he said. His voice was dry and hollow, like spoken through a broken flute. “But… I can fight it.”

Abigail knelt and tilted his head back with one finger, carefully pouring water into his mouth. Beside her massive frame, Daniel seemed like a child.

“This is going to come out of your end,” Sax said, getting close to Clara. “And you better hope he doesn’t die or…”

Andy rolled into view on his desk chair, the backrest pressed against his chest. A thin smile cut his lips, revealing his yellowing canines. “Oh, do go on.” He leaned forward, hand dangling nonchalantly at his waist, where his revolver waited inside its holster. Clara knew that smile–she only had a couple seconds to intervene before things got out of hand.

“Or nothing,” Clara blurted.

“Or you’ll pay,” Sax said, sealing their fates.