Los Muertos

The armored transport shudders down the corridor, red lights strobbing across dented steel. In the cramped cargo bay, Yma blooms into view as a flickering hologram, blue code raining around her face. Ocram keeps one hand on the wheel and another on the patched-secure link.

Kay braces against the swaying bulkhead, Mac 10 low and empty, while Taled crowds the rear hatch like a living wall. Static snaps through the hologram as Yma’s fingers race unseen across code.

The cargo bay speaker crackles, then a stranger’s voice cuts in, smooth and cold, riding the same channel.

Yma’s hologram snaps brighter, jaw tightening as the code storm turns jagged. Ocram glances back once, eyes wide, and floors it.

Her hologram snaps into a tighter knot of light. Code whips faster, then stutters as she shoves the virus through the line.

The hunter packet does not die. It flexes, catches the push, and mirrors the strain back through the patched link.

A hard chirp cuts through the cargo bay speakers. Somewhere in the transport, a buried beacon wakes with a sour electronic whine.

Yma jerks back in the projection, hands flying, while Taled turns from the hatch to stare at Kay. The corridor outside keeps rushing red past the slit windows, and the hidden signal starts screaming for help.

Kay yanks the side hatch release and fires through the opening. The silenced Mac 10 chatters in short, brutal bursts into the red-lit corridor.

Rounds chew sparks from a dark pursuit vehicle skimming behind them, and its headlights jerk sideways as the driver swerves hard.

Taled braces by the hatch, ready to lunge if the hunter closes again, while the transport tears on through the corridor.

Inside the bay, Yma snaps a new veil of code over the active trace, fingers flying through blue static as the hidden signal shrieks and then dulls.

Kay lunges from the hatch and hits the hunter’s hood hard enough to dent the metal. His shoulder slams the windshield frame, and his free hand searches for purchase as the vehicle bucks beneath him.

He gets both boots planted, half-crouched over the windshield, the silenced Mac 10 knocked low against the glass. Below him, the driver flinches as the transport surges ahead.

Kay swings the weapon butt down into the windshield. The first crack blooms spiderweb-wide across the dark glass.

The hunter swerves, the impact jarring through Kay’s arms. A sharp pain bites his ribs, but he stays on top of the hood.

Inside the transport, Yma’s code veil snaps tight around the beacon’s pulse. The shriek of the trace drops into a thin, ugly hiss.

The cracked windshield and the forced swerve buy the crew a sliver of darkness, but the beacon still flickers somewhere in the transport. Ocram’s voice cuts in over the engine noise, urgent and clipped.

Kay fires point-blank. The driver snaps back, hands jerking off the wheel as the hunter’s front end slews into the barrier lights.

Taled catches Kay’s wrist and hauls hard. Kay’s boots skim the hood, then the transport’s open side hatch swallows him in a single violent pull.

The hunter drops behind them, crippled and drifting. Its cracked windshield flashes once in the corridor glow, then falls away into the dark.

Inside the cargo bay, Ocram jerks the transport through the next bend while Yma snaps up a fresh readout. Her veil is holding, but only just.

Ocram yanks the truck sideways. Metal shrieks. The hunter’s nose slams the wall, but it skates free instead of pinning clean. Sparks rake the corridor, and the transport shudders hard enough to rattle the open hatch.

Kay’s shove and Ocram’s turn still punish the chase. The hunter loses more speed, but its last good angle breaks the veil for a heartbeat, and Yma’s readout flashes from thin trace to a hard, ugly ping.

He throws the transport into the next bend. The open hatch bangs once, then the locking strut jams halfway down and stays there.

Behind them, the hunter drops back, but its beacon is no longer faint. It burns steady on Yma’s display, a clean line into the city.

Taled snatches the shotgun off the wall rack in one smooth pull, plants his feet at the gap, and swings the barrel out into the corridor. The first burst tears into the hunter’s tire, and the vehicle jerks hard as rubber spits apart.

The Hunter slews sideways. Its chasing line breaks for a second, sparks fanning off the wall where the ruined wheel grinds metal against concrete.

Yma’s display stutters, then the beacon ping thins to a hiss. Her shoulders drop a fraction as she keeps both hands over the readout.

Behind the hunter, the corridor lights smear across its armored side as it loses speed, but the transport’s half-jammed hatch still rattles in the wind.