Maxton Thane's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

The year is 880GD, six months after the bombs fell. The sun hung high over Bloom, casting waves of shimmering heat across the cracked asphalt streets. The town, once a quiet stop along the southern trade routes, had been transformed into a war zone. Military transports lined the main road, engines idling as desperate civilians rushed to board. The smell of sweat and scorched metal hung thick in the air. A child cried somewhere in the crowd. A mother clutched her toddler close as a soldier guided her up the ramp of a waiting dropship. Others weren’t as fortunate—old men and women, sickly and slow, struggled to keep up as they were herded toward the evacuation zone. Some carried bags stuffed with whatever belongings they could grab before the order to flee had come. Most had left everything behind. On the outskirts of town, Bloom’s once-bustling market stood in eerie silence. Stalls had been abandoned mid-sale, fruits left to rot in the sun. A toppled cart lay near the entrance of a general store, its contents scattered across the ground. The town had already been gutted—only its people remained. Beyond the perimeter, the land stretched into endless forest, dotted with patches of dry grass and low hills. Somewhere past the horizon, beyond sight but not beyond knowing, they were coming. Thane moved through the crowd, sweat dripping down his back beneath his body armor. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a square jaw and a tired face that looked like it hadn’t seen sleep—or a mirror—in days. His dark hair was buzzed close to the scalp, already damp with sweat. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, untouched. He had barely fired a shot in weeks, and he preferred to keep it that way. “Move up! Stay together!” His voice strained over the noise. A group of civilians hesitated near a stopped transport, fear in their eyes. “Come on, now! Keep moving!” A woman grabbed his arm, fingers digging into the fabric of his uniform. “My husband—he ran back to our house! He said he needed his medicine. Please, you have to make sure he gets back in time.” Thane’s gut twisted. He turned to Flynn, who stood a few steps away, barking orders at a squad of soldiers. She was tall and wiry, all edges and intensity, with a sun-scorched face and pale blond hair pulled back into a tight knot. Her armor looked almost too pristine, a testament to her dedication. “We stick to the plan, or we risk everything,” she snapped. A shrill scream tore through the air. Thane whipped around. A little girl, maybe six, had tripped near the edge of the street. Her mother was already climbing into a dropship, unaware. The girl pushed herself up, her hands scraped and bleeding, but she wasn’t crying. Just frozen. Staring at him. Sarah? The heat around him vanished. The street blurred. For a moment, he wasn’t in Bloom anymore—he was somewhere else, somewhere dark, the echoes of gunfire and a child’s last breath ringing in his ears— “Thane!” He blinked. Flynn’s voice. The girl was still there. Not Sarah. Not her. Thane exhaled sharply and sprinted forward. He reached the girl in seconds, skidding to a stop beside her. “Hey, you okay?” His voice was softer now, not the commanding bark he used with the others. The girl nodded hesitantly. Her scraped hands trembled. “Come on,” Thane said, lifting her carefully. She was light—too light. He carried her back toward the dropship as her mother spotted them, relief washing over her face. The woman nearly collapsed as she took her daughter into her arms. “Thank you, thank you—” Thane nodded but said nothing. He turned, only to meet Flynn’s sharp gaze. “Something wrong, Captain?” she asked, her voice level. Thane hesitated. His pulse was still racing. He forced himself to shake his head. “No, ma’am.” Flynn’s expression didn’t change. She had seen him freeze before and he knew it. The woman from before—the one who had grabbed him—was still standing there, her face tight with desperation. “Please, Captain. Just a few minutes. He needs help.” Thane clenched his jaw. He glanced toward Flynn. The unspoken answer was already in her eyes. “We’re on a schedule,” Flynn said. “You’ve got two minutes. Then we leave.” Thane looked back at the woman. Two minutes. Not enough time. But still, he hoped. Flynn watched as Thane jogged off toward the woman’s house. A waste of time. Two minutes wouldn’t change a thing, but if it kept him from freezing up when the real fight started, she’d allow it. She tapped her Circl, checking the evacuation status. The last civilian transport was at 85% capacity. They needed it airborne before the bombers arrived. A nearby corporal approached, his face tight with concern. “Ma’am, some civilians are refusing to leave their homes. They think they’ll be safer here.” Flynn barely suppressed a sigh. “Put out another announcement—mandatory evacuation. If they won’t listen, escort them.” The corporal hesitated. “And if they still won’t listen?” Flynn’s voice was flat. “Leave them.” The corporal swallowed hard but nodded. He knew better than to argue. Flynn moved through the street, scanning the thinning crowd. Most had already boarded the dropships, but a few stragglers remained. An old woman arguing with a soldier about leaving her cat. A man trying to carry too many bags. A child clinging to a broken toy, crying for a mother who wasn’t there. Flynn exhaled sharply. She’d seen this too many times before. People always thought they had more time than they did. She checked her Circl. Seven minutes had passed. Her gaze snapped to the rooftops. A flock of birds scattered from the treetops beyond the town’s edge, disturbed by something unseen. She turned back toward the house. “Thane, your time’s up.” — Sergeant Hallow crouched low behind a fallen tree, Circl strapped tight to his arm as he tracked the movement ahead. The rean were coming in slow, following the usual patterns—staggering, shuffling, drawn forward by distant noise or movement. Through the haze, Hallow could see that many of the creatures still wore tattered Kalv uniforms, the dark green and gray shredded but unmistakable in the daylight. Some even clutched rusted rifles, dragging them uselessly through the dirt. Corporal Vance swore under his breath beside him. “Dead jerks are still marching,” he muttered. Another soldier, Reed, crossed himself. “They don’t even know the war’s over,” he said, voice low and shaken. Hallow didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just tightened his grip on his rifle and kept his eyes forward. His team had been keeping the horde at a manageable distance, using small distractions—flare rounds, distant gunfire, anything to keep them from surging too quickly toward Bloom. But the sight of enemy soldiers, dead and rotting, still advancing like they had never fallen… it rattled something deep in him. But something had changed. Hallow’s second-in-command, a scout named Oren, slid in beside him. His voice was hushed but tense. “We’ve got a problem.” Hallow already knew. The forest had gone quiet, save for the distant groans and shuffling footsteps that were growing heavier. He adjusted his binoculars, sweeping over the treeline. Then he saw it. The Rean weren’t just advancing anymore. They were growing in numbers—fast. A second horde had emerged from the northern valley, silent until now, blending into the first group seamlessly. Hallow clenched his jaw. “Shoot.” “How the heck did we miss an entire group?” Oren muttered. “They must’ve been dormant,” Hallow said. “Something woke them up.” Dormant Rean were unpredictable. Sometimes they stood in place for days, unmoving until triggered by sound, scent, or some unknown instinct. If another horde moved close enough, the reaction could be immediate. And now, that reaction was happening right in front of them. “We need to move,” Hallow said, activating his Circl. “Colonel, this is Outpost Echo. We have a situation. The horde just doubled in size.” A brief pause, then Flynn’s voice came through, sharp and controlled. “Confirm that.” Hallow kept his eyes on the growing mass. More bodies shifting in the trees. More heads snapping toward the direction of Bloom. The pace was changing. “Confirmed.” A beat of silence. Then Flynn’s voice again—colder this time. “Try and slow them down as best you can. The last of the evacuees are boarding now.” — Thane pushed through the door, his pulse hammering. The house smelled of dust and stale air, as if it had already been abandoned for weeks. Sunlight cut through the half-closed blinds, casting long slashes of gold across the floor. “Hello?” he called, stepping forward carefully. The silence inside felt wrong. Outside, the world was chaos—shouting, engines roaring, the distant thump of gunfire. But here, it was still. Too still. He moved through the main room, past a couch with cushions askew, a coffee table littered with empty ration packets. The kitchen drawers hung open, their contents spilled across the counter. Thane’s hand hovered near the rifle on his back, fingers twitching. He hated the weight of it, but something about this felt off. Then—a sound. A slow, dragging shuffle. His breath hitched. He turned toward the hallway, muscles tensing. A door at the end stood ajar, shadows pooling beyond it. Something shifted inside. Thane took a step closer, fingers grazing the rifle’s grip. “Hello?” he called again, voice low. A figure lurched into view, and for a split second, Thane’s stomach clenched. Pale skin. Shaky movements. Bloodshot eyes. But then the man gasped, clutching something tight to his chest. A small medical pouch. “I found it,” He wheezed, bracing himself against the doorway. Sweat slicked his forehead, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “Let’s go.” Thane exhaled, nodding. “Come on.” They moved quickly. Thane led the way, his boots scraping over tile as they neared the front door. He was reaching for the handle when his Circl buzzed. “Thane, get back now,” Flynn’s voice snapped through the speaker. Something about the way she said it made Thane’s hand freeze. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t annoyance. It was fear. The air felt heavy. There was controlled chaos outside but inside the silence pressed against the walls like a held breath. Somewhere, far off, there was a sound—a wet shuffle, a distant metallic clatter—but it was hard to tell what was real anymore. He backed away from the door without thinking, a knot tightening in his gut. — Hallow watched from his position, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles turned white. The others in his squad were shifting uneasily, fingers hovering near triggers. “Steady,” he murmured over the Circl. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them up close, but it never got easier. What was left of them. Torn Kalv uniforms, civilian clothes in tatters, faces warped by infectious tumors. Their eyes—if they still had them—were empty. But this wasn’t what worried him. The horde wasn’t shambling like the usual packs they’d encountered. They moved with eerie coordination, not like individuals but a singular entity, rolling forward without hesitation. And there were so many. “This isn’t just the one group we were tracking now,” Oren whispered. “There’s more. A lot more. We can’t hold them.” Hallow clenched his jaw. The reports said the Rean had some instincts left. That was how they followed sound, how they hunted. But this? This looked like they had direction. His Circl buzzed—Flynn requesting a status update. He hesitated a half-second before responding. “Horde has reached Bloom’s perimeter. We’re pulling back.” A response came through almost immediately. “Negative. Maintain suppression.” Hallow stared at the Circl. “Sir?” Oren’s voice was tight. More Rean spilled from the trees. Their bodies twisted unnaturally, movements erratic but deliberate. Hallow didn’t have time to argue with Flynn. “Light them up,” he ordered. The first shots rang out. Flames erupted along the tree line. The underbrush caught, fire crackling hungrily up the branches. And the Rean did not stop. They surged forward, moving faster now, driven by some unseen force. Oren swore. “They don’t even feel it.” Hallow’s head snapped toward town—toward the evacuation site. The Rean weren’t stopping. They were heading straight for the civilians. Hallow didn’t waste another second. “Fall back. Get to Bloom, now.” — Thane barely made it back before the engines roared to life. The drop ship trembled beneath his boots as he ran up the ramp, dragging the man behind him. The moment they were inside, Flynn barked the order. “Go! Now!” The engines flared. Soldiers pulled the ramp shut, sealing them in. Outside, the dust and heat churned as the ship lifted, the town of Bloom shrinking beneath them. Thane exhaled hard, pressing a hand to his chest. The inside of the drop ship was packed—civilians huddled together, wide-eyed and silent, the tension thick as smoke. Children clung to their parents. A woman whispered prayers under her breath. Flynn stood near the cockpit, speaking into her Circl. “Last ship airborne. ETA to Stonewall, twenty minutes.” Thane slumped against the bulkhead. His muscles ached, sweat dripping down his temple. The husband joined his wife, clutching the small bottle of pills like it was the most valuable thing in the world. He hadn’t said a word since they’d boarded. Thane wanted to say something—to tell him it was going to be okay. But before he could, the Circl on Flynn’s wrist crackled. A voice came through, sharp and panicked. “The Rean have broken through. They’re headed your way!” The transmission cut out. The gunfire grew louder, closer. Thane turned, staring out the small viewport. Dark shapes flooded the streets of Bloom. Moving fast. Too fast. Then—impact. The whole ship shuddered as something slammed into the hull. Then another. The Rean were jumping. Hundreds, maybe thousands, hurling themselves at the ship. Clawing at the metal, piling onto each other, forming a writhing mass of dead flesh desperately trying to pull them down. The ship bucked. The engines strained. “Hold on!” Flynn shouted Then—the left engine blew. The explosion rocked the entire dropship. Thane barely had time to brace before the left engine detonated in a blinding burst of fire and shrapnel. The force ripped through the cabin, sending civilians screaming as the ship lurched sideways. Flynn’s voice cut through the chaos. “We’re going down! Brace! Brace!” The dropship spun. The world outside the viewport tilted violently—sky, ground, sky, ground—before the second engine sputtered out. Gravity seized them. A deafening howl of wind and screeching metal filled the cabin as the dropship plummeted. Thane grabbed onto the nearest seat, holding tight as bodies slammed against the walls. A woman’s scream was cut short as she was yanked from her seat and thrown against the bulkhead. Sparks erupted from the ceiling. A child wailed. Thane saw the ground rushing up to meet them. The ship slammed into the ground like a fist hitting stone. The sound of crushing metal, shattering glass, and rupturing fuel lines erupted as the entire hull crumpled. The force whipped Thane forward. His head cracked against something hard. For a moment, there was only silence. Then came the groaning of metal. Thane’s vision blurred as he forced his eyes open. His whole body ached. Blood trickled down his forehead. Smoke choked the air. The ship had landed on its side, half-buried in the dirt. Fires flickered along the ruptured hull, the smell of burning fuel was thick. Someone was moaning. A child was crying. Flynn’s voice—sharp and urgent—cut through the haze. “Status check! Who’s alive? Speak up!” Thane tried to move. Pain lanced through his ribs, but he pushed himself up anyway. Smoke. Heat. The stink of burning fuel. Thane’s breath came in short gasps as he pushed himself onto his elbows. His ribs screamed in protest, a sharp, deep ache that made it hard to breathe. Around him, the wreckage of the dropship groaned, settling into its grave of twisted metal and broken bodies. Someone coughed. Scattered voices responded, weak, disoriented. A child’s wail cut through the smoke. Thane turned his head, his vision swimming. The interior was barely lit—emergency strips flickering along the walls, casting erratic shadows over the crumpled bodies of soldiers and civilians. The ship had come down hard, but it had held together. That meant they were lucky. Luckier than they should’ve been. Thane twisted, fighting the pain in his ribs, and saw the cockpit. Or what was left of it. The nose of the dropship had caved in, metal curled like melted wax. The pilot slumped forward, helmet cracked, blood trailing down his visor. Thane crawled forward, hands shaking. He reached out—checked for a pulse. Nothing. “Darn it,” he muttered. The Circl on his wrist flickered, struggling to connect. He could hear voices crackling in the static, but nothing clear. He turned back toward the survivors. Flynn had already forced herself to her feet. Blood ran down the side of her face, but she was moving. She grabbed the nearest soldier—a corporal named Dorn—and shook him. “We need to get out of here, now.” Dorn swayed, groggy but breathing. Around them, civilians were stirring. A mother clutched her son, rocking him as she whispered assurances he probably didn’t believe. Flynn pressed her Circl, flipping through channels until she found the one she wanted. The static cleared. “Stonewall, this is Colonel Flynn. Dropship is down. Survivors on board. Requesting immediate extraction.” The response came a second later, harsh and urgent. “Colonel, the bombers are seconds away. You need to find cover, now.” Thane’s stomach dropped, “Oh, heck.” The realization hit all at once. The Rean were right outside, closing in. The dropship had crashed in the worst possible place—a shallow depression just outside the evacuation zone. No high ground, no clear escape routes. And now, fire was coming. The pilot’s voice cut in over the Circl. “Colonel, I need orders. Do I proceed with the drop?” There was hesitation there, uncertainty. Even though scorchers weren’t explosive, they would consume everything in an instant. Flynn didn’t hesitate. “Stay the course.” A pause. Then—“Copy that.” Thane’s chest tightened. They were going to be incinerated. Flynn turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Find cover.” “Where?” Thane gestured around them. “We’re in a wrecked ship surrounded by Rean, Flynn. There’s no cover.” “This is the best we got.” She was already moving, grabbing a stunned civilian by the arm and hauling them toward the intact section of the dropship. “It’s thick enough to give us a chance.” The civilians were moving now, some on their feet, some being dragged by the stronger soldiers. A man limped forward, clutching a bloody leg, his wife supporting him. The child still wailed. Thane grabbed an older man—his arm was bent at an unnatural angle, but he was alive—and helped him toward the others. Above them, the sky roared. The bombers were here. Thane looked up, past the torn hull of the dropship. They were flying low and fast. The sun glinted off their metal underbellies as the payload doors slid open. “Move!” Flynn shouted. Thane shoved the old man forward and threw himself deeper in the fuselage just as the first scorcher pod hit the ground. For half a second, nothing happened. Then hell erupted. Flames raced across the landscape, swallowing everything. The heat slammed into the dropship’s shell, turning metal red-hot. The force of the firestorm rattled through the wreckage, filling the cabin with a deafening roar. Thane hit the ground and covered his head as heat washed over them. People screamed. A soldier’s armor melted against his skin, and he collapsed, writhing. A woman near the open part of the hull burst into flames, her clothes igniting before she could move. She stumbled backward, fell, and never got up. Outside, the world was nothing but fire. The Rean kept shuffling as the flames engulfed them, their bodies burned, blackening. But they didn’t die like normal things. They burned, but they kept coming. They didn’t stop. Didn’t scream like people. They just kept moving, dragging themselves through the inferno, flesh melting from their bones. Some collapsed, their bodies turning to ash. Others—the stronger ones—pushed forward. Thane’s heart pounded. This wasn’t enough. The fire wasn’t enough. The Circl on Flynn’s arm crackled. “Colonel, we’re sending another dropship. ETA five minutes.” Thane looked at Flynn. She met his gaze, understanding the unspoken question. Could they survive five minutes? Five minutes had come and gone and the storm of fire had passed, leaving nothing but scorched ground and smoldering corpses. Smoke curled from the blackened wreckage of the dropship, its metal shell glowing dull red in the dying heat. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burned flesh—Rean flesh. Thane forced himself to move. Every muscle in his body screamed as he uncurled from where he had taken cover, his uniform damp with sweat, his skin hot to the touch. The world outside was painted in ash and ruin. He coughed, blinking against the haze. A groan came from his right. He turned and saw a soldier, Dorn, struggling to push himself up, his hands trembling against the scorched floor. His armor was warped from the heat, his face streaked with soot and blood. Flynn was already on her feet. She was checking bodies. The ones that had made it to the thicker part of the ship and the ones that hadn’t. A pile of charred remains lay near the openings—civilians and soldiers alike who hadn’t made it in time. Their bodies were little more than twisted skeletons fused to the metal. Thane swallowed hard and turned away. The mother and child were alive. They were huddled together, shaking, but breathing. The old man he had helped earlier sat with his back against the wall, dazed but conscious. A handful of others stirred, coughing, groaning. Flynn activated her Circl. “Stonewall, this is Colonel Flynn. Where’s that dropship?” Static. She tried again. “Stonewall, do you read?” Nothing. Flynn’s jaw tightened. She adjusted the signal, flipped through different channels. The Circl gave her nothing but dead air. She exhaled slowly, then turned to the survivors. “Get up.” Her voice was firm, but not unkind. “We can’t stay in this wreck.” The civilians hesitated, looking at each other, then at the wreckage. The crash. The fire. The dead. They weren’t ready. But there was no time to not be ready. Flynn stepped closer, eyes sharp. “Get. Up.” This time, they listened. Thane helped the old man to his feet. Dorn pulled a wounded soldier up by the arm. Flynn gathered the rest, moving quickly through the cabin. As they stepped outside, the full devastation of the scorcher strike hit them. Where once there had been streets and homes, shops and alleyways, there was only ruin. The flames had wiped the town from existence. All that remained was charcoal and melted debris, broken bones and lingering smoke. And the Rean. Hundreds of burned corpses littered the ground, their bodies curled in unnatural ways, their flesh cracked and blackened. Some were still smoldering, faint wisps of smoke rising from their husks. The scorcher pods had done what bullets couldn’t. The Rean were dead. Truly dead. He exhaled, slow and shaky. They had a chance. Flynn surveyed the destruction, her face unreadable. She lifted her Circl, trying again. “Stonewall, this is Colonel Flynn. We need immediate extraction. Do you copy?” Nothing. She clenched her jaw. “We stay put,” she said finally. “Rescue will come.” Thane looked up at her, then at the others. They were exhausted, battered, barely standing. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken doubt. Rescue wasn’t coming. But no one challenged her. With one last look at the graveyard that had once been Bloom, they settled in to wait.