FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Lopez sat behind his desk, scowling at Jesse, his arms folded loosely across his broad chest as the coyote grumbled and muttered about bad omens and the brood.

'And why isn't it?' Lopez demanded.

'It just isn't.' Jesse replied just as annoyed.

Hawthorne's light knock on the office door gave them pause. Lopez tilted his head slightly, a silent Don't... aimed at the moth-eaten coyote. Jesse glowered, leaning heavily on his bulky staff, his index and middle fingers playing with a loose strip of greasy cloth that was wrapped around it's tip.

'Come!' Lopez snapped loudly, trying not to wilt under the blind man's glower.

Hawthorne stepped into the room, dressed in her BDUs and vest, and saluted smartly. 'Just here to clarify something, Sir.'

'And what would that be?'

'My squad's been talking about today's job, Sir. We really heading back to the Farm?'

Jesse growled softly under his breath, garnering an angry look off the bear. Lopez then sighed in exasperation and leaned on his desk, bracing himself on his elbows.

'Let me guess. Gossip from the workshops and vehicle pen?'

Hawthorne grinned, 'Naturally, Sir.'

'Figures... I wanted to give you the day off to properly cool your heels, but things have changed. Your off-schedule trip to the Farm came with both a pro and a con. Con: your vehicle was suffering unknown damage and you took an unnecessary detour, thus making things worse. I should've left you locked up for a while longer for that alone. You know we're woefully short on fighting machines.' He rubbed the back of his hand across his chin, 'Pro: We now know that Ma and Pa have been breeding again and we've got enough eyewitness accounts to warrant another cull.' He held up a finger when she went to speak again, 'Bonus con: I've had to siphon off some security detail from the convoy to Apple Farm to bolster the forces being sent to deal with Ma and Pa.'

'Which one am I on, Sir? Apple Farm or the Cull?' Hawthorne asked.

'Since I put Kushner on the milk run to Apple to remind him what we're about, I've decided to put you on culling duty. Lieutenant Dove's your C.O today. Ma's brood is your priority. We can't let them spread again and they seem be breeding faster. I want them stopped if possible. That truck I've heard so much about is currently superfluous as a result.' He craned his neck to peer out the cracked window by his desk. He had an excellent view of the armoury and he grinned, 'Looks like Delta's already got their gear together.'

Hawthorne also looked. Down in the crumbling car park her squad was milling about outside the chainlink fence that penned the armoury in. Armoured vehicles of all shapes and sizes were rumbling out of the Pen across the street and heading into the MechYard proper for one last check. She looked back at Jesse who was stood at the corner of Lopez's desk, quietly fuming.

'Jesse going with us or them?' She asked.

'He's not on duty today. He's earned a break after finding all that gear and getting us some trade with Apple Farm.'

The expression on the old coyote's face said he felt differently. He looked her dead in the eye and said, 'Cull the brood, but leave the truck. It ain't worth it-'

'So you keep saying but you never explain why.' Lopez grunted.

'If its too contaminated we'll leave it be.' She promised, 'But if we can get it back to the yard, then it'll go through the usual process of decontamination just like the rest.'

'Contamination's a mild way of putting it.' He replied softly, 'But I don't think it's in the way you're familiar with...' He shook his head, trailing off. He couldn't quite put his finger on what felt off about the stranded vehicle, which severely weakened his argument.

'Anything else? Either of you?' Lopez asked. He looked exhausted already.

'No Sir. Nothing else.'

Jesse paused, his lips a thin line. He swallowed whatever he was going to say and left the room, the foot of his staff thudding rythmically off the floor as walked away.

Corby was hunched over a sheaf of papers, frantically ticking boxes and scribbling her signature, the tip of her tongue pinched between her lips in concentration. Hawthorne gave her an odd look. The leopard behind the walled-in counter chuckled.

'Can't let her have her new toy back without signing for it first.' Miguel said, spreading his hands in a 'what can ya do?' gesture.

'Want to take it home...' The vixen muttered distractedly as she scribbled.

Miguel shrugged helplessly, 'And here was me thinking I'd gained a third P90 to spice up my collection.'

'I worked for that gun, I'm keeping it.' Corby looked up, smiling sweetly, 'You want another for you collection, you gotta go find it.'

He shook his head and directed his attention back to Hawthorne, 'I see you still got your BDUs and tac-gear.'

'Slept in 'em.'

'So I heard...' He pulled a set of keys out of a pocket. They were tied to his belt loop via a snake-link chain, 'Usual?'

'Like I have much choice? All we have is M16s, ARs and M9s.' Her ear twitched, 'You got my personals?'

'Sure do. Lemme go grab your gear and some extras. Be right back.' He turned and vanished through the armoured door to his right.

A few minutes later, he returned with an M16 hanging from his shoulder, a Beretta M9 with holster, three combat knives, a butterfly knife and a bandolier of four homemade grenades; two flashbangs and two incendiary. She stared at the M9 and smiled crookedly.

'Aw, bless ya, you tried cleaning it up.' She crooned as she signed the paperwork and passed the sheets across the counter to him.

He put the weapons down, passing her the pistol first. 'Considering who you took it off, it's in excellent condition. Couldn't clean up the paint on it though. Those bloodstains are a real bitch to get rid of and I currently don't have the chemicals to achieve that.'

She inspected it, turning it over in her hand. The black finish was matte and didn't gleam the way the other's did under the overheads. Their was a brown splotch across the slide and inner grip and she frowned, 'Blood or paint?'

'Both, I reckon. You know what those guys are like. They use blood as paint. The previous owner probably thought it looked cool or somethin'.' He shrugged dismissively.

'Done!' Corby announced triumphantly, slapping her pen down on the counter top. 'Gun please!'

'All right, all right...' Miguel muttered. He swiped the paperwork into a folder and filed it away before vanishing into the back room. He was back a minute later with the P90 and all the magazines she had scavenged. They were all loaded and ready to go. 'Don't loose it. These're rare as hen's teeth 'round these parts.'

'I know,' She said, 'Thank you.' She then blew him a kiss.

The two women gathered their gear and affixed their weapons to themselves before leaving, Miguel calling a 'Good luck!' after them.

'Feels good to have the weight of a gun on me.' Corby said, grinning, 'Maybe not as good as Jake's, but a close second.'

'I'm genuinely surprised you two have lasted this long.' Hawthorne said.

Corby shrugged, her grin still in place, 'What can I say? I'm a sucker for British accents.'

They joined the rest of the squad and together they made their way into the yard where two lines of vehicles were waiting, surrounded by people. Hawthorne eyeballed the two vehicles that were sat at the heads of the two small convoys. At the head of the convoy destined for Apple Farm was an old Oshkosh M1070 clad in jury rigged stand-off armour. A wide bulldozer shovel was hooked onto its nose and it was hauling a large armoured box trailer lined with ob-slits. A turret sat at the fore of the trailer, a coyote manning the co-axial belt-fed. He saluted to Hawthorne when he caught her looking and she returned it with a grin. Trust Archie to get the easiest job of the day. The rear vehicle was the bastard offspring of a Humvee and a tow truck. It bristled with weapons and the four-man crew were quite at home in the cramped space, manning their guns and grenade launchers.

In the middle, book-ended by the two vehicles, was an armoured van being loaded up with goods produced by the small craftholds of Taggart. Raul sat on the roof, watching the Loaders tick off boxes on their paperwork, his legs dangling through the hatch as he cradled his Barrett M95. An ear twitched and rotated. He turned around, grinned, waved to her and called a greeting.

'So much for tonight huh?' He shouted.

'Maybe some other time?'

'I'll hold you to that.'

She watched as the group of Movers hustled the cargo between them: A barrel of oil, a bolt of hard-wearing cloth, a couple of crates of medical supplies from their small hospital, some shotgun cartridges and an old MIG welder that had been refurbished. There was several other crates and boxes, and it was all precious stuff destined for the small farm up the road. Hawthorne hoped the goods would secure trading between the two small settlements. Goddess knew they both needed all the help they could get.

She turned to her own convoy, the repaired Caiman sitting up front with a bridge-laying vehicle sitting behind. It was a miniature AVLB, built on the frame of a light tank they had pulled out of a ditch some time ago. The bridge was short enough that it didn't need to be folded when pulled into its stowed position and it was just enough to get them across the dyke at the rear of Ma and Pa's property. She watched as armed Furs piled into the eighteen-wheeler that had been retro-fitted as a troop carrier behind it and sighed. Most of them were young, too young to have seen anything more serious than a small herd of the local fauna drifting by. Their seniors climbed up the ramp after them, their expressions dark. They were going to the Farm and no one expected many of the rookies to live to see the next day.

Hell, even Hawthorne wasn't expecting to see the following day.

There was a shout in the affirmative, a roar of engines and the small convoy heading for Apple Farm rolled out of the yard with a honk of horns. Raul gave one last wave before dropping out of sight, pulling the hatch closed behind him. Once they had left, she wandered down the line, inspecting the vehicles and chatting briefly with those that had the chance to exchange a few words. She finally came across Dove at the rear-most truck. It was the 'yala. She suppressed a grin. Kushner had been sent on a milk run without his pride and joy.

'Lieutenant.' She said.

'Sergeant. Good of you to join us.' The leopard said in a gruff voice.

'Wouldn't miss it for the world, Sir. Where did you want me?'

'Up front in the Caiman. You and Cozy'll be watching the Farm for any signs of life whilst the bridge gets laid. Don't let anything get near Little Pat. She's the only one we got and the only vehicle like her in a hundred miles that's still operational.' He paused for a second, his lips pursed and added, 'Once the bridge is down, well... You know.'

She nodded. Little Pat, their AVLB would effectively be blocking the rear exit, guarding the bridge. Ma and Pa were monsters, bold too, but not bold enough to brave crossing the dyke with the things that were living in it, nor were they dumb enough to try and face down the vehicle's M61 Vulcan and grenade launcher.

'We'll split into two groups. Caiman, Little Pat and Cozy'll go in through the back.' He said after getting everyone's attention, 'Pickle, 'yala and Trash'll cover the main gate.' He nodded to the armoured technical and the old dustcart respectively. ' He turned an eye on the armoured lorry, 'Corporal, you'll dismount on Hawthorne's command.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Dove looked back to Hawthorne, 'You ready to raid Hell, Sergeant?'

'Sir.' She replied simply. She couldn't help but think they were about to present a family of mutants a feast. Those kids're going to be eaten alive...

'Excellent. Now. Mount up and let's get this shitshow on the road! I'm curious as to who makes it out alive.'

The convoy left Taggart half an hour later, Hawthorne behind the wheel of the Caiman as she led them down the winding road and towards the turn-off for the old highway. Beside her, Eva looked at the map strapped to her thigh, double-checking their route.

'Timpany and his gang ran through those back roads mid-week, so they should still be clear to navigate.' She said. She glanced out of the window, pausing. 'There's a bet on how many of the rookies are gonna get out safe.'

'What're the odds?'

'Not great.'

The radio hissed and crackled, and Hawthorne pressed her earpiece deeper and keyed the radio, 'Go for Caiman.'

'How's the road up ahead looking?' Dove asked.

He had a shit view from back there. The 'yala was a short-stack in comparison to their make-shift armoured troop carrier and Trash. As for Pickle, he was sandwiched between the two larger vehicles, blind front and back. Pickle was fine with it, however. He liked being the nasty surprise for anyone trying something stupid when they were on the move.

'S'good El Tee. Road's clear and no signs of ambush. We'll be at the turn-off for the Farm in twenty minutes.'

'Copy that Caiman. Keep your eyes peeled. Who knows how brave those Crosshairs fucks got overnight.'

'Not brave enough, I hope.' She replied.

'We'll see.' He grumbled.

The line went quiet and they settled into a tense silence that was regularly punctuated by the whirr of the CROWS slaved M240 on the roof behind their heads as Jake searched for threats. No ambushes presented themselves and Dove wished the crew of the Caiman, Little Pat and Cozy luck as the vehicles split off down the packed dirt back road that skirted the outer edges of the Farm. They could see clear across the gently undulating fields to the farmhouse itself, sagging against the landscape, sun-bleached timbers making the place look like a pile of broken bones. The barns behind it weren't any better.

'Place gives me the creeps.' Eva murmured.

Hawthorne nodded and keyed her radio, 'Check in Little Pat and Cozy.'

'Little Pat checking in. All systems ready and crew is raring to go.' A male voice said softly.

'Cozy reportin'. All hands ready for the nightmare.' Again, the voice was hushed, as if everyone was afraid of Ma and Pa hearing them. The driver of Cozy sounded very much like she would rather be anywhere else but there. Hawthorne couldn't fault her.

The Farm was the stuff of nightmares.

As they drew closer to the rear gate, they got a better look at the truck on the hill. Eva leaned over in her seat, her face against the window. She pulled a pair of small binocs out of a pocket in the center console and studied the stranded vehicle as best she could.

'Recognize it?' Hawthorne asked, her eyes swivelling as she scanned the road and verges ahead.

'Mmhm. Looks like a Tatrapan six-by-six with its rear armour cut down into a flatbed set-up. The tarp's come loose and there's definitely a hundred-thirty mill in the back. Looks like she's seen better days though, the trailer's a little wonky...'

'That's quite specific...'

'I know my trucks. And I have a thing for slav armour. No idea why.' She put the binoculars down and settled back in her seat, looking around. 'First things first, though...'

'Yup. Gotta give Ma and her brats the boot.'

They pulled up alongside a wide stub of wood staked into the ground, a band of iron sat crooked at its top. Another sat off to the right and two more were positioned dead opposite on the otherside of the wide dyke. Little Pat trundled up beside the Caiman and shuffled into position, waiting patiently for Cozy to take up flanking cover.

They studied the landscape, looking for any signs of life. The only things they could see was the truck, sitting crooked on the hill and the sagging farmstead. A cluster of smaller barns was positioned against the eastern perimeter of the property, one with its roof open to the elements, the other half collapsed. A silo lay on its side, rusting into nothing whilst its kin sagged into its base frame. The farmland was an odd patchwork of barren, dried dirt, curling as it cracked and shallow, boggy land, tangled with sickly vegetation and withered trees. The air was rancid, reeking of decay and neglect.

'I got no movement. Anyone got eyes on the residents?' Hawthorne asked.

'Negative on signs of life.' Cozy replied.

'Ditto on the negative, Sarge.'

'Right. Let's get started and hope Dove's in position. Pat, lower your bridge and then back up. I'll take point. Cozy watch my six. I don't like this silence...'

There was a solid clunk from Little Pat as the locks released on the hydraulics and the bridge slowly dropped into place with a roaring of the engine. The slab of thick wood and steel settled into place with a satisfying, dull thump and within minutes the dyke had been bridged once again. Hawthorne swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat. It landed heavily in her gut and tightened her knot of anxiety further as she watched the light AVLB reverse back across the dirt road and settle against the overgrown verge. Everyone knew the AVLB's actions had been heard for miles around.

A brown furred wolf popped the hatch on the squat turret, slammed a helmet on his head and checked over the Vulcan and grenade launcher. His face split into a huge grin and he gave a thumbs up, speaking into his mic.

'Gun and 'nades're good t'go. Happy hunting my dudes.' He said.

'At least someone's in a good mood...' Eva sighed.

As Hawthorne guided the Caiman across the bridge, trying not to look down at the things flopping about in the greasy water below them, she added, 'Y'know, I kinda wish that little bastard hadn't said anything about that truck.'

'If he hadn't, we wouldn't have found out about Ma and Pa's new batch of brats.' Eva pointed out. She checked her AR-15 and then patted herself down, making sure everything was in place. Everyone had been given a quartet of grenades and extra ammo for their guns. No extras had been added to their first aid kits, though.

If someone got injured on the Farm, they were pretty much dead.

She took the lead driving down the narrow track between fields, a barren waste on one side, an overgrown mess on the other. Bloated insects hummed sickly from grotesque flower to grotesque flower, collecting the mutated pollen to take back to their hives. Hawthorne scowled when one burst in a lumpy, pale yellow smear against the windscreen.

'Gross.' Eva muttered beside her.

'Alright, time to fence them in, Cozy.' Hawthorne said over the radio.

They'd pulled into the rear of the yard, the Caiman swinging left and Cozy going right, parking up either side of the track's end. The farm house was dead ahead and there was a flicker of movement inside. A dark, hunched figure darted across the living room window, followed by two more. The heavy metal doors set in the ground below the kitchen window shuddered as something hammered against it from below. Hawthorne glanced nervously up the main drive to their right. It was a straight run to the main road and she could just about make out the 'yala sitting at the gate. Hawthorne's grip tightened on the wheel. The 'yala started creeping up the drive, Pickle falling in behind. All vehicles opened their gun ports and the crews held their breath.

A scream went up from the house, shrill and angry. The outer basement door vibrated and then burst open, a tidal wave of black, twisted bodies piling out into the sunlight, limbs flailing, teeth gnashing.

'Fire at will!' Hawthorne shouted.

Jake and Cozy's gunners opened up on the brood as they started splitting themselves away from the mob, untangling their limbs and darting off in all directions. The gunners aimed at the basement door, tearing apart the spillage of bodies in a hail gunfire, blood and splintered bone. Twisted black bodies fell to the dirt, twitching and wheezing, red eyes rolling madly in their sockets as they died, chunks blasted from their bodies. One of them threw itself at the side of the Caiman with a solid thump and long claws started scratching at the armour plating, raking shallow lines in the metal. Another threw itself against them, its disease bloated face pressed against Eva's side window. She recoiled as it gnashed its teeth at her, its long, boil-coated tongue twirling against the thick glass, its swollen, crusty neck wobbling grotesquely as it wheezed and growled.

Its head popped and Eva shrieked, startled as it fell away, limp. The 'yala's gunner was spraying the brood with bullets as it raced up the final stretch of the drive. Pickle slewed deeper into the yard, kicking up a cloud of dust. Trash roared in behind, crushing the brood under its weight as its heavy guns tore the place up, keeping the swarm from their armoured semi. A group of Ma's brats leapt into the air and landed hard in the technical's buck. The gunner kicked at them, pulling his knife free with one hand, using his other to pull the trigger of his belt-fed. One of the brood's throats was sliced deep, another was kicked from the old pick-up and another exploded under the full force of the Caiman's M240. Pickle's gunner managed to pop two more of the brood before one of them climbed up behind him, sinking its teeth into the back of his shoulder. With a sharp twist of its head, the gunner came apart under tooth and claw with an agonized howl.

Pickle's driver and second gunner bailed as the technical was quickly overrun. The moment they had caught the scent of fresh spilled blood, the brood pulled away from the other vehicles and swarmed the technical. The two survivors ran, shooting from the hip as a few stragglers gave chase. The driver went down hard, teeth sinking into the back of his right thigh and lower back. He screamed in terror and then the pain caught up with him. He howled as they started to tear into him, chewing into his body and hollowing him out with terrifying speed. A grenade slammed into the mob that was clawing at the struggling ferret and put them all out of their misery. Another grenade slammed into the overrun technical. The fuel tank erupted and the clamouring creatures were destroyed in a ball of fire and high-velocity shrapnel. Pickle's only survivor ran like Hell, head down, legs pumping. A side door on the armoured semi swung open and the fox was hauled in to safety.

'We gotta get inside, clear the place out. Get the big rig into position and dismount on my command.' Hawthorne said. She checked her M16, her sidearm, blades and grenades. Then she keyed the mic again, 'Someone knock on the door, see if Ma's home.'

A grenade was spat out of the 'yala's turret. The front of the house caved in in a gout of fire, smoke and wood splinters. More twisted bodies piled out of the building; they clawed their way out of both upper and lower windows and a dozen more leapt vertically out of where the stove's chimney used to be and scampered across the broken roof, teeth chattering and hissing angrily. Flames guttered around the remains of the porch, snuffing out in puffs of acrid smoke as the damp in the house choked them.

More gunfire and grenades chewed up the fresh wave of horror. Only when things had died down, did the rear of the armoured trailer drop and thirty troops dismounted, forming a protective circle around their ride. Hawthorne slid out of the Caiman's cab, giving control of the vehicle over to Eva and Jake.

'What a mess.' Lucy whispered, disgusted.

'This is twice as many as there was last time.' Lillith said darkly. She wrinkled her nose in distaste, 'They stink worse, too.'

Lieutenant Dove and his crew dismounted. His turret gunner along with Trash and Cozy's crews would stay put, keeping an eye on the vehicles. They'd already lost one along with three of its four man crew. They didn't need to lose another. They all stood a moment, weapons in hand, surveying the grim scene. The yard was littered with mangled, mutated corpses, already bloating and decaying in the sun. With black, greasy fur, long claws, double-jointed limbs and rows of sharp teeth in their gaping mouths, the family resemblence was unmistakable: These monsters were definitely products of Ma and Pa. Dove stared down at one and kicked its head. It seperated from the hunched body with a wet sucking noise and a crack of bone, and bounced into the front garden, coming to rest in a withered rose bush. Sunken red eyes glared at him.

'Sweep the house. Ground floor first, then split off into squads for upstairs and the basement. This house is much bigger'n it looks.' The leopard said. 'Move!' He snapped when some of the rookies hesitated.

They converged quickly and quietly on the house, dodging loops of purple intestines, rotting corpses and offal filled grenade craters. The front of the house had been collapsed, but one corner was shattered completely thanks to Trash's furious onslaught, offering a precarious in. They stepped through the gap in pairs, spreading out across the downstairs, checking the seven ground-floor rooms. There were signs of a hastily abandoned life within the rotting house; the frayed sofa was still warm and wrinkled from where someone had been laying on it and the old range in the kitchen had a guttering fire in its belly. Stretched across the heavy kitchen table was a rat in shredded fatigues. A gas mask was tossed onto the tiled floor, discarded in the corner along with a pile of other shredded, blood-stained clothes. Weapons, clogged with bodily fluids sat in the opposite corner by the back door, which had been sealed up long ago with thick metal sheets.

'Looks like Ma's at least retained some meal-prep faculties over the years...' Corby whispered. She looked ill as her gaze swept over the mutilated, hollowed-out corpse.

His chest and stomach had been pried open and his insides torn out. There wasn't much left of his face, either; something, or rather someone, had chewed the softness away. Lipless, cheekless and eyeless, the Crosshairs member grinned madly at the flaking ceiling. Their attention snapped upwards as heavy feet tramped across the floorboards above them. There was a muffled call of 'Clear!' and they heaved a collective sigh. There was a chorus of the same call, bouncing from room to room, both upstairs and down. The ground and top floor was empty. Then their attention was inexorably drawn to the door in the corner of the stained kitchen that lead down into the basement.

'You think we got them all?' Jess asked slowly.

'No.' The lioness replied bleakly. 'You noticed how most of them came out of the exterior basement doors? They'll be down there. Nice, quiet, dark, away from prying eyes...' She shuddered.

The group's mood soured further as their grips tightened on their rifles. Dove re-joined them, his expression hardening when he looked at the dead rat on the table. Someone in the group that followed him wretched and another vomited. A few more splashes of stomach contents hitting the floorboards and Dove growled at them. There were over thirty people piled into the half-collapsed house. The last thing anyone needed was for someone to trigger a sympathetic vomiting marathon.

'Basement next,' He said, checking his gun, 'Me and Lance-Corporal Fitzroy'll take point. Sergeant Hawthorn and Corporal Danvers will cover our six.' He looked into the crowd of rookies, picked a dozen of them plus a dozen more seniors to help keep them from bugging out on him. 'The rest of you, spread out around the ground floor and keep an eye on things. Make a fuss if things turn sour.'

'Have fun down there.' Lillith purred with a small smile.

'Fun's the last thing I'll be having.' Hawthorne muttered before falling in at the rear of the new group.

With everyone now spread about evenly across the ground floor of the house, it was easier to move. Dove checked the basement door and seeing that it swung inwards and was locked, he put his boot to it. It slammed into the wall behind with a gunshot crack and everyone winced. Something at the bottom of the stone steps stirred in response to the intrusion. Dove pulled a grenade free, pulled the pin and tossed it down the stairs with a warning shout. Everyone braced against the explosion that made the foundations moan in distress. There was some pained shrieking and blood spattered the stone wall of the stairwell below.

Dove and Fitzroy swiftly stalked down the stairs, torches clipped to their rifles lancing into the darkness with bright beams of light. There was a curse, a flashbang went off and at Hawthorne's angry command, she forced the terrified troopers into the basement to light the place up. The sound of their guns echoed around the basement, the yowls and hisses of the brood punctuating the snaps and pops of both rifle and small arms fire. Teeth and claws slashed the air and flesh, and someone beside Hawthorne screamed and started gargling. She glanced down, drew her M9 and punched two 9mm bullets into the slavering creature's cranium. Fragments of skull and chunks of meat spattered her and she put the trooper on the floor out of his misery; his vest had been shredded by long claws and his chest muscles glistened in the torchlight.

She swiftly pulled her attention back to the whirlwind around her, ducking, diving, shooting from the hip, stabbing and kicking as she moved, praying that she wouldn't hit a teammate or become a victim of friendly fire herself. Someone in the far corner pulled a pin on a grenade and the house shuddered, sinking further on its stone foundations. Someone had let themselves get cornered and mobbed. It felt like hours before the frenzy subsided. What was left of Dove's group was standing, surrounded by the twitching, rotting corpses of Ma and Pa's offspring, their expressions ranging from grim to horrified. Hawthorne did a head count and groaned. Herself, Beka, Dove, a Corporal who had spent too long at such rank and a trio of rookies were the only ones left standing. They were swaying on their feet, eyes wide, looking as if they were about to collapse.

'How's things down there?' A voice called from the top of the steps. It was Jess. The slim doberman was standing on the top step flanked by the large forms of Lillith and one of the rookies, a giant wolf with a permanent snaggle-tooth. She was tiny in comparison to the two Ferals who looked on in curiosity over her shoulders.

'Seven of us left down here. But we got 'em all. Now we need to find the nest.' Dove replied.

'You need more guns?' Jess asked.

Dove looked over his shoulder at his blood-soaked teammates then nodded, 'Send your friends there down.'

Jess stepped aside so that Lillith and the wolf could get down the stairs. 'Keep us informed, Sir. Happy hunting!' She called after their retreating backs.

'What's your name, son?' Dove asked the wolf.

'Josh Winters, Sir.' He rumbled, 'People just call me Winter, though.'

''kay then Winter,' He said, turning so that he could see the others, 'The nest is around here somewhere. This is where they keep their food,' He said with a gesture to the back wall. It was lined with carcasses, each one stripped naked and mutilated in the same way the rat upstairs had been. Except these ones had been preserved in a fine coating of saliva and chained up from the rafters, 'so the nest is no doubt near-by. These're hungry fuckers and the infants are probably hungrier judging by the rate of reproduction and growth these things pull off.'

'And when we find the nest, Sir?' Hawthorne asked. She knew exactly what he was going to say, but felt she had to ask the question anyway, for the rookies' sake. They didn't look like they were going to be saying much for a while. The shock was plain on their faces.

'Destroy it.' He grinned, a feral gleam in his eyes. 'How many grenades you got left?'

They showed him and he counted, 'Enough to level the place. Good. 'Cos we're burning this Goddess-forsaken place to the ground on the way out this time.'

'We're not capturing the land?' Winter asked, his brow furrowed.

'Nah. Everytime we clear the place out, Ma and Pa start over. I want 'em all dead this time. They run, we hunt. This territory ain't worth the bother. It's got some bad juju attached to it, that's fer sure, so I say we salt the land on our way out.' Dove straightened, throwing his shoulders back and wiped a strip of torn monster flesh from his lapel, 'Let's find that nest. We'll stick together and sweep the basement properly. Move out.'

The basement was large, much larger than they had expected. During the fight, they hadn't really had a chance to take stock of their surroundings, but ensconced in the far corner, in a section of the basement that had been excavated by claw far beyond the house's original footprint, was a circular hole in the wall. It was wide enough for even Winter and Lillith to squeeze into and was short, only ten feet long. One of the rookies swore under his breath. Their torchlight had lit up a pile of dark, fleshy spheres at the other end, slick with mucus and lined with black veins. Lillith volunteered to go in to investigate and Dove gave the go-ahead.

The large cougar ducked into the earthen tunnel and padded cautiously towards the chamber at the end, rifle raised. She paused at the lip of the tunnel with a soft gasp. Eggs were piled high, crammed together in the chamber. She reached out, breath held and gingerly prodded the nearest egg. It quivered at her touch, as if it was ticklish. Something moved inside and she backed off, a soft snarl on her lips. She backed off down the tunnel to rejoin the others and quickly explained what she had seen in as a much detail as she could without wasting time.

'It's the nest all right. And it's big. I'd say at least fifteen feet deep and ten feet to a wall. The eggs're crammed in tight. Looks like something's been bricked up at the back too, but you can't get near it without trampling a lot of eggs.'

'We'll need a lot of explosives.' Dove said after a moment. 'More than what we have on us.'

Lillith nodded, 'Judging by the size of the eggs and the size of the room, I'd say there's at least a hundred of them in there. Maybe more.'

'I can go back and ask around, grab all the grenades I can off the others.' Hawthorne suggested. She made to move away, but Winter held up a large hand to stop her.

'I have something that'd save you all those explosives.' He said.

'Oh?'

Winter looked a little sheepish as he produced a small metal can from a pouch. It was about the size of an old camera film canister and had a little '!' painted on the side in red. A small 'HI-EX' was carefully stencilled on the opposite side. The others looked at it and frowned.

'Explain.' Dove grunted.

'C-4, Sir.'

Everyone but Dove took a step back. Dove simply looked bemused.

'You carry that stuff around in your pocket?'

'Not all the time Sir. Just the times I think I'll need it.'

'They're packed in real tight. That much flesh might stifle the explosion even from that.' Lillith said. She was looking at the small canister with a mixture of fear and awe.

'The way I set it up, it'll be more than enough.' He then pulled a small timer device out of another pocket, 'I can rig up a grenade's fuse to delay a bit longer. It'll be enough time to clear the house and the immediate area.'

'You sound very sure of yourself.' Hawthorne said slowly.

Winter flashed a smile of long teeth, 'My old teammates used to call me the Bulletmancer. Let's just say that I have a way with weapons that few people do. It's easier than going into detail.'

'I think what matters the most right now, is destroying the nest. If this can trash one-hundred something monster eggs with that much C-4, I'm all for it.' Corporal Moore said. He was eager to be done with the Farm, as were they all.

'Agreed. If it fails, we can burn the place to the ground and stamp out any cooked eggs we find in the wreckage.' Hawthorne said.

Dove nodded thoughtfully, 'Okay Private Winters. How're you going to do this?'

Winter popped the cap on the canister with his thumb and they took another step backwards. He carefully pulled the wad of C-4 out and un-wrapped the wax paper that covered it. He crouched, laying it on the ground and worked by torchlight, using the tips of his sharp nails to carefully etch small, odd symbols into the malleable substance, muttering softly as he did so. He pressed the prongs of the timer device into the explosive and pulled a grenade from his belt, wrapping a thin wire around the pin and tying it off. He then tied the grenade to the C-4 with a cable tie, gently pressing the two together.

'When the timer goes off, this little spool will wind back sharply, pulling the pin.' He explained, standing up with his creation in hand. 'I'll wind the timer to its fullest: sixty seconds. Like Lance-Corporal Spencer said, the eggs being clumped together so tightly may stifle the blast, so I have no idea how big it'll be when it goes off.' He paused, looking at the C-4 grenade, 'It could be a damp squib or the house'll be a smouldering crater.'

'And those symbols you drew?' Hawthorne asked curiously.

They became aware of Little Pat firing her gun, a muffled brrrt in the distance. Another burst of gunfire, this time closer. A grenade detonated and then there was silence. A few seconds passed before someone called the all clear to them.

'Part of the 'mancy, Ma'am.' He replied with a smile, 'I suggest you all start clearing the house.'

'And running like Hell.' Moore added, his eyes wide.

'Yup.' Dove said. He shook his head, turned to the others and ordered them to clear out. Turning back to Winter, he added, 'No fucking around, Private. I want you to ditch that bomb and be back in the semi in thirty seconds or less.'

'Yessir.' Winter saluted awkwardly and ducked into the tunnel.

Overhead, he could hear the clatter of heavy boots as the troops ran from the house. He could hear Hawthorne shouting orders and by the time he was at the end of the tunnel, the house had gone quiet. It wasn't pleasant. This was a house of death and the sudden silence just added an extra, heavy layer of misery and fear to it. He peered into the nest and scowled. Lillith was right. The eggs were packed wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling. What he could see of the back wall was rough-hewn, as if someone had re-built it at a later date. He pushed his ruminations aside and wound the timer to its limit. He gently placed the modified grenade in the crook between a cluster of eggs nearest him and turned and ran