The touches served as their only guides in the blackness of the tunnel, each step sending a near-silent pulse vibrating through the concrete. Ian suppressed a shiver, half pondering, half worrying that someone or something on the other end would sense them creeping up. The path began to twist and turn, hiding more of the route out of their sight. Occasionally, an odd tap sounded through the pipe. Guess there is a bit of water in here after all.

  “Do you hear that?” Jack asked.

  “It’s just water.” Carlson replied.

  Ian stopped, trying to focus on whatever sounds were ahead. There was the tip-tapping of water, and their breathing, their footsteps too. But he didn’t notice anything else.

  He was opening his mouth when something else echoed through. Faint. Something that intermingled with the other sounds. He focused again, trying to make out the noise. At first, it seemed like something irregular, another leaky water pipe?

  No… that’s…

  It was inconsistent… like a voice.

  “I hear it too.” Ian whispered, “Slowly now.”

  With a hiss from Carlson, the three crept forwards. Only a few minutes in and we’ve got someone else in here already?

  He kept the Sten aimed directly ahead, trying to peer further into the darkness. He was almost tempted to flick the touch off, when the noise began to clear. “…getting some shady locals to fix the one here?”

  As they rounded the next bend a ladder came into view, leading upwards out of the tunnel.

  “Doc’s orders.” Sounded a thick American accent from above.

  Ian slowed down, gaze sliding up the ladder.

  “Wrong ladder.” Carlson stated.

  He shook his head, stabbing a finger up. “Some intel can’t hurt.”

  In truth, there was still that uncertainty gnawing away at him. Those risks. The armed guards. The choppers… he had tried to bury it. But it only dug its way back out more ravenous than before. He needed to know more. Any additional clue as to what was going on here might give them some kind of advantage.

  “Just when did that guy start giving us orders?” asked another voice, another American judging by the slightly milder accent.

  “Hey, do you even know who that guy is?” snapped the first. “He’s the top egghead! You should see the captain. He’s scared shitless of that bastard.”

  “Top egghead?” the second whistled, “He had a hand in all that crazy stuff?”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to know?! I don’t look into that stuff! What do you want me to say? He created that wolfish bastard who came with him?”

  Ian’s grip tightened around the SMG. Created? He glanced at Jack and Carlson, the two sharing a surprised look. Together, the three stepped closer towards the ladder, ears pricked to try and hear more.

  “You want to say that to his face?” A third guard, also American, questioned.

  “What’s it gonna do? Lick me?” the first spat.

  “You’ve seen that sword he’s got?” the third hissed, “You piss him off and he’ll take your head off.”

  “Seriously?” asked the second.

  “Yeah. My last CO lost his to that guy.”

  “We’ll see how he likes lead then!”. A sharp click rang down the vertical pipe, the tell-tale sound of a rifle bolt.

  “Your funeral. Now come on, before the boss sees us slacking.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  The voices began to fade away, and the trio turned towards each other. Ian’s mind raced, processing the information as best as he could. It can’t be. Ian shuddered, No one in their right mind would bring one of them.

  “They…” Jack uttered, “They couldn’t have been talking about a Nyúlfur right?”

  Nyúlfur.

  That word bounced around in his head. A lump of iron settled in his gut and his body tingled as if ants were crawling all over it. Why? Why would they have a Nyúlfur with them?

  At first glance, it was easy to mistake them for another Feral. Everyone thought they were at first. But then came the footage and the reports during the Outbreak. Nyúlfur beating fleeing humans into the ground. Gunning down refugees in the camps. Cutting down the survivors with swords and axes. All of that was done with often military precision.

  It soon became apparent that they were not Ferals. Sure, they had resembled that cross between human and Feral but the similarities between them had faded away entirely. A Feral would screech and scream in broken words. They would wildly lunge at survivors and perhaps, just maybe use pack tactics. The majority of them anyway, some did have more of a grasp of strategy.

  Not the Nyúlfur though. They were co-ordinated, speaking in clear English. Each Nyúlfur worked as a part of a larger force, striking out a key position that most Ferals would dismiss. Laying down suppressing fire, they would advance and crush the human defenders in hand-to-hand combat.

  He had seen what even a small group was willing to commit to. First hand.

  There was more speculation on the Nyúlfur than actual answers to questions. All that Ian, or anyone for that matter knew for certain was that on the few occasions a Nyúlfur openly spoke out about humanity… it was typically filled to the brim with hatred and disgust.

  With those atrocities they committed, that hatred quickly emerged out of humanity too. They lashed back out in rage, gunning Nyúlfur down just as quickly. The Nyúlfur had been very much willing to indulge in that rage since then, even when humanity, pushed to the breaking point between Feral and Nyúlfur alike, finally took the gloves off and unleashed their full arsenal, right down to nuclear attack.

  And even that wasn’t enough.

  He peeled a hand away from the gun, automatically clenching it as his blood boiled at an old memory rising to the surface. But his mind immediately responded. Mentally, he began to douse out the flames of that rising rage. Can’t get distracted now. He growled to himself, Nyúlfur be damned. Just what’s going on here?

  “Nyúlfur or not, I don’t care.” Carlson declared, eyes narrowing. “The plan hasn’t changed.”

  “Hasn’t changed?!” Jack snarled, “It damn well has!”

  The fist slackened, “Jack…” Ian whispered, already sensing what was coming.

  “There’s a damn Nyúlfur here!” he snapped, voice quivering as he struggled to keep his voice low.

  A sigh escaped Ian’s lips; Jack was having a harder time with this. But who could blame him after what he went through? He turned his sights on Carlson, “He’s got a point. And those guards didn’t sound like your typical mercs.”

  “And I say the plan hasn’t changed.” Carlson countered gruffly, shoving past the two. “That generator isn’t going to be out forever. Now move it!”.

  He stormed down the tunnel. Ian winced, half worried that he would stomp down hard and send a massive echo pulsing up into some guard’s ears.

  “That prat is going to get us all killed.” Jack spat, as the two set off after Carlson.

  Ian glanced over at him, “Agreed.”.

  “And a goddamn Nyúlfur with them.” he snarled; teeth clenched. “Are they mad?”

  Glancing down, Ian noticed Jack’s entire arm shuddering. “Jack, you going to be alright with this?”. he asked, keeping his tone low and quiet.

  Jack glanced over, his eyes seeming to flash. “Don’t expect me to sit back if we see it.”

  “Jack…”

  “I know you’ve seen them once.” Jack interrupted him, “But not at Camp 12.”

  A deeper chill settled into his throat as his friend tightened the grip on his rifle. “We thought we were out of danger when those bastards kicked down the door.” His eyes were locked on the path ahead, but Ian could already imagine them burning. “Dragging out those families… gunning them down, only to spare a few of us after they killed the rest. Just to make a point…”

  He glared at Ian, “Losing friends and family to Ferals is one thing.”. Jack puffed out a breath of foggy air, “But Nyúlfur… they knew full well what they’re doing. And they don’t give a damn about us, unless we’re rotting in a ditch.”

  Ian had heard about Camp 12, it was a refugee camp set up during the Outbreak for people fleeing London. But the Nyúlfur ended up finding it. Ian knew little of what happened in there apart from one thing. Almost every last human was massacred. Jack was one of only a handful of survivors.

  Jack had spoken little of it, but what little he did know made his skin crawl.

  One arm shot out across Ian’s path, and he brought himself to a halt as Jack spun towards him, his face twisted into an outright animalistic snarl. “If you get the chance to off that son of a bitch. Take it.”

  Ian felt his foot slide back, if only in surprise at the sudden force in Jack’s tone. He could feel his throat tighten out of his control, but he knew what Jack was feeling. He may have not been at Camp 12, but he did see the Nyúlfur’s work first hand. He couldn’t blame Jack for wanting to see them cold and dead in the ground.

  So he dipped his head in understanding. Chances are if they did end up face to face with that Nyúlfur, everything would have already gone wrong. Part of him screamed that something was already far too wrong, a Nyúlfur being on the site with humans was just the biggest indicator of that.

  But no one was going to back out now…

  “Then let’s get this done.” Jack said.