Furnace (Hunter-Killer #1)

Chapter 37 - Not-So-Calculated Risk

Pain.

That was the only word Ryke could assign to the muffled roaring that came from within the holding cell. The huge Scraegan was in a fury. Ringing impacts like a claps of thunder echoed from inside and he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet with each blow. Not for the first time did he find himself wondering if entering that room was a good idea.

Someone has to try, he reminded himself. You have to do something.

"You sure you want to go in there?" Ivy asked quietly, standing beside him and staring wide-eyed at the holding cell. "That thing sounds pretty mad."

Ryke shrugged. "Wouldn't you be?"

"I guess."

"I'll be okay."

"You better be." With a sharp tug on one arm she turned him to face her and he saw the fear etched on her normally mischievous features. She managed a smile, but he could feel its hollowness. "I don't wanna spend the rest of this war on my own, Ryke Vannigan."

"Let the Riverlords drown me if I'm lying." Ryke stepped close, a hand cupping the back of her neck as he touched his forehead to hers. They stood there for a moment before Ivy tilted her head up quickly, forcing their lips together one more time.

They parted, her grip on his arm lingering for a few pleading seconds before she finally stepped aside, turning her eyes to the ground. He exhaled a deep, shuddering breath and shook himself from head to toe, as though exercising some invisible demon from his skin.

"You ready, Sergeant?" Colonel Hackley asked, inclining her head to the formidable armoured bulkhead that provided entry to the chamber.

"Yes, ma'am." He stepped forward, gave her a quick salute. "You know, it's already angry. If it..."

"We'll be ready." The grizzled scout placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're a brave bastard, Sergeant. We need more like you." Then she handed him a data slate and stood aside. "Everything you asked for is loaded into that slate, as well as every piece of the language with think we've translated. Good luck."

Then it was time. The last person standing between him and the Scraegan was gone. He stepped up to the airlock, memories of his last encounter with the beast thundering through his head like the torrents of a raging river.

"Open it," he said hoarsely.

Mechanisms hissed and bolts grinded as they withdrew. The blast door swung open beckoning him to his doom.

Shoving that thought out of his mind, he stepped forward through the narrow aperture before he could second guess himself. The raw, earthy, animal smell of the Scraegan passed over him as he crossed the threshold, mixed with the scorched tang of shorted wires and burnt fur. He entered the holding cell and the blast door boomed shut right on his heels, the security personal taking absolutely no chances with their berserk captive.

For the second time Ryke stepped into a room alone with a Scraegan.

The interior of the cell made his skin tingle with shock as he took in the enormous dents in the outer plating, flickering lights and smashed, sparking control panels. An impact from the far end of the room echoed like a thunderclap in the confined space, stinging his eardrums with the sheer volume.

He grimaced and paused, just a couple of steps over the threshold. A judder of fear shot up his spine. Invisible fingers clawed him desperately backwards, voices screaming in the back of his mind to get back to the bulkhead; out into the safety of the base and hang the consequences.