Free Necropolis 2 by S. A. Lusher

stashed in the control room and then headed back into the detention center once more.
    “So, what was it like?” Kyra asked.
    “ Hmm? Oh, Basic. Well, about like all the vids make it out to be, I guess. Not like that one, though, the famous one? Shit, what did they call it...Back To Basics, I think. No, the Drill Instructor never touched us, and while there was a lot of bullshitting between the Recruits, no one ever got killed or went over the edge or anything like that. It was routine. I hated it, of course. Argued all the time with my Drill. I must've scrubbed a skyscrapers' worth of floors with a sonic toothbrush during my six months there.
    “ It worked. I made it through, somehow. I remember thinking that I'd never even get to Basic, that they'd reject me outright. I think they almost did, too. When I passed, I got a lot of crap assignments. They rotated me out about every two months. Not normal, but I ended up causing problems wherever I went. Always getting into fights. I'd gone from a loser to a 'tough guy', I thought I was the shit...I'm getting off track. The point of all this was that I don't like people suffering because of me.”
    “ Not that I don't like hearing about you, but...you haven't really said much about yourself since we met. What brought this on?” Greg asked.
    Billings laughed, his hands automatically going for his pocket, coming up with nothing.
    “Shit, gonna have to find some more cigars. I guess a genuine brush with death will get a man feeling confessional and reflective.”
    “ Fair enough. Next chance we get, I want to hear more.”
    Billings shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
    They came to the first prisoner's cell. Greg worked the control panel, turning the central portion of the door transparent. He stared into the cell and confirmed that, yes, the man had been laying on his cot. He appeared to be asleep. Greg flipped on the intercom.
    “ Hello, in there,” he said.
    The man's eyes opened. He looked around, confused, and then zeroed in on Greg. His eyes widened and Greg saw something there: recognition. He studied the man, wondering if he should know him. Tall, bulky with muscle, short black-heading-for-gr ay hair, his eyes and mouth caught in a net of wrinkles. He wore a gray miner's outfit.
    “ You.” He crossed the room to stand before the door. “How in the hell did you get here?”
    “ Do you know me?” Greg asked.
    “ Well...yeah, duh. I should fucking hope so, we worked together for six months.”
    Greg blinked several times, staring hard at this man, trying to jump-start his memory. It felt like ages since he'd last put serious thought into his lost memories. Was it just that he was too busy...or that he no longer wanted to ponder it, unable to face the all-to-potential truth that he might never recover them?
    “You don't remember me, do you? You really don't.”
    “ I...here, I'm getting you out of there. The Undead are all over this ship.” Greg roused himself, and hit the open button.
    The miner stepped out, taking in all three of them: armored, bloody, and armed. He seemed immensely relieved.
    “Thank God you came along...I was pretty sure I was never getting out of there.” He offered his hand to Greg, who shook it. “We've done this before, but...William Holt is my name. We were friends back on Dis.”
    “ I...I'm sorry. I lost my memories not long after the outbreak. It's kind of a long story, but I have total amnesia.”
    “ Oh...my God, that's terrible. I'm so sorry.” Distantly, perhaps from one of the nearby vents, a loud roar echoed down to them. “Might I trouble you for a sidearm? I used to be a Marine a decade or so ago, five years in the service.”
    “ Yes, here.”
    They passed him a rifle, a pistol and ammo for both. Holt handled himself well, taking a proffered holster, fitting it to his belt and slipping the pistol in. He pocketed the ammo, checked to make sure both weapons were full of ammo and functional.
    “So, what's happening? Catch