A woman burst from the door and made for the dirt road.
The man leaped.
Regen.
Knight mentally anticipated the man’s arch through the air and fired. The 25mm armor-piercing round struck the regen’s neck and severed his head. The body struck the ground behind the woman, startling her. She turned and jumped back as the head rolled by her feet. Then she stopped, put her hands to her mouth and screamed. Then she fell to her knees and hugged the headless body.
She knew the man.
For a moment Knight wished to be somewhere else, but a second regen emerged from the darkness and kept his mind from escaping the horrors below. He fired twice. The first shot took off the regen’s arm. The second, its head. The body fell to the side revealing the woman, torn apart. Dead.
Knight grimaced. He knew a losing battle when he saw one.
“Rook, what’s your status?” he said into his throat mike.
“Almost...in town,” Rook’s out-of-breath voice came back. He’d run straight down the mountainside to duke it out in the thick of it, where he preferred to be. But Knight could see even that would do no good. They had to leave the island, and fast.
“I’m on my way down,” Knight said. “We need to evac. Will cover as possible on the way.”
“Copy that, little man.”
Knight took aim, fired a head shot, and then picked himself off the ground. Holding his rifle in both hands, he ran for town, hoping to find the Mercury prepped for a quick exit.
Rook leaped a small white picket fence, a remnant of the visions of grandeur the settlers here had for the island, and entered a stretch of road that ran parallel to the ocean. He could hear screams farther in town, but the growing volume of voices told him the action was heading in his direction...which was the plan. He intended on becoming a one-man wall, keeping the regens at bay while the locals took to the ocean at the dock.
Rook continued running down the side street, heading for the main drag that lead up from the dock, through town, and all the way to the Manifold facility. As he entered the main street two woman nearly bowled him over. Nearly as mindless as the once-men-now-monsters chasing them, they ran past squealing like injured hyenas. Rook shook his head. It always amazed him how, when faced with a violent death, people reverted back to an almost animal-like state. He wondered if that’s what drove the regens mad, being pushed to that near-death state over and over until the mind could no longer function outside of it.
He had little time to ponder the idea as the screams rolled downhill. With the main drag lit by a row of bright, Manifold-installed streetlights, he had no need for his night vision goggles, which was just as well because he could more easily pick out the bad guys—they were the ones covered in blood, but still running.
Kneeling to one knee, Rook raised his assault rifle to his shoulder, peered through the scope, and began firing quick, three-round bursts. The locals ducked their heads, as he knew they would, but continued forward, toward the gunfire, somehow intuiting that the bullets were not intended for them. Either that or a death by bullet was preferable to being eaten alive.
“Shake a leg, people,” Rook shouted between shots. With his aim so obscured by civilians, Rook could only slow the advancing regens. He was lucky to get a good body shot, never mind a head shot. Despite his efforts, civilians continued to fall. As the main group of locals passed by, thirty people out of the original two hundred seventy-one, he lost sight of the regens.
The group spread around him and passed in seconds. The road ahead lay empty save for a few injured stragglers, which the regens quickly turned on as they healed from the bullet wounds inflicted by Rook. He quickly counted their numbers.
Twenty-seven.
Damn.
Twenty-seven charging normal people would be hard enough to defend against, even unarmed. But these things...they could heal like the X-Men’s Wolverine on speed.
Rook unleashed with a blaze of gunfire until the magazine was exhausted. Several of the regens lay on the ground, injured, but healing. Remembering the capybara, he took aim at three of the injured regens and pulled the second trigger on this weapon, launching a 40mm grenade. The blast shredded the three injured regens and pocked two more with shrapnel. Rook fired three more grenades as quick as possible, only stopping to reload each round, turning the street one hundred feet away into a crater-filled inferno.
As the road smoldered and smoke rose into the night air, Rook could see movement within, but was unable to tell how many had been dispatched. He replaced the assault rifle’s magazine and squeezed the trigger. Bullets flew into the haze, but there was no way of knowing if he was making a difference. As the bullets blazed, a splash of sticky wet liquid struck his face. Blood.
He flinched back, turned, and fired, riddling a headless body with bullets. The body fell back under the force of the bullets. Rook wiped the man’s blood from his face. “I owe you one, Knight.”
“Almost in town,” Knight responded.
A shuffle of stones brought Rook’s attention back to the smoldering road. Nineteen regens emerged from the smoke. Open wounds stretched together, linked, and sealed. Within seconds, each and every one of them was hale again. They ran for Rook.
“Better hurry!”
He unloaded the last few rounds from the assault rifle, dropping one of the regens, but there was no time to reload. He dropped the rifle on the ground and drew his two specially made, brushed chrome .50 Action Express Desert Eagles from holsters under each arm. If not for the wrist guards he wore, which locked the guns and his wrists into place, he would never have been able to fire the weapons, which packed enough recoil to snap a wrist. They could punch a basketball-sized hole in anything made of flesh and blood, but each weapon only carried seven rounds. Fourteen rounds total...eighteen regens. And he doubted he’d get a chance to reload.
The group charged as the fleeing townspeople reached the dock and began launching boats. They headed straight for Rook.
Aiming carefully, Rook began firing. Three regens dropped, two headless, one missing the better part of its chest. More fell, but not from lethal wounds...not for regens anyway.
Another lost its head from the side as Knight came up beside him.
“I never liked the Alamo story,” Knight said, squeezing off another perfectly aimed shot.
“Me neither.” Click, click. “I’m out.” He holstered both weapons, not willing to part with either, and drew his long KA-BAR blade. Thirteen regens continued forward, frothing, growling, savage. Some were still healing from gaping wounds opened by Rook’s Desert Eagle. They closed within fifty feet, picking up speed.
Then a grenade clunked to the ground at the center of the group. They paused to look at it.
“The stupid bastards are dumb as shit!” a voice shouted from behind. They turned and saw Jon Karn, loaded with guns and ammo. “Haul your asses back to the yacht. I’ll cover you.”
Rook opened his mouth to argue, then saw the weapon in the man’s hands and thought better of it. Karn held a M134 Minigun mounted on a heavy-duty tripod. The weapon was impossible to wield as a handheld weapon, despite its popular use in movies, but Karn seemed to know that. He kicked open the tripod, knelt down, and fired three bolts into the town’s only paved road, locking the tripod down. He stood, pulled the trigger, and as the barrel of the gun began spinning, shouted, “I said move! This is my town. I’ll defend it!”
The minigun spat bullets at a rate of four thousand rounds per minute. The first regen struck was split in two from crotch to head.
Listening to the man, Rook and Knight bolted for the Mercury, intent on rearming and returning to the fight. As they approached the dock they could clearly see the surviving townspeople powering out to sea on an array of small ships. The Mercury and a fishing boat named Susie-Q were the only ships remaining. The wood of the dock echoed under their boots, both men stopped short of the Mercury. The mini-gun had stopped firing.
They turned to find Karn falling beneath
the weight of two regens who had tackled him from the side. Knight took aim as Karn’s screams came to an abrupt stop and a pool of blood slid out over pavement. Knight dropped both regens with a single well-placed round. He lowered the rifle and shook his head.
Rook nudged his shoulder and nodded toward the top of the hill. A horde of regens plunged toward town like an army. “Let’s move.”
Knight hopped into the boat, while Rook tossed the tie lines in. The dual engines roared to life as Rook climbed in. He reloaded his twin Desert Eagles and began looking for more weapons on the heavily armed yacht. They couldn’t stay in town, but they wouldn’t be leaving. Not with three members of the team M.I.A.
Better we all die together, Rook thought.
36
Tristan da Cunha
Ignoring the potential threat from rampaging regens, King heaved the green, scaly George Pierce over his shoulder and made for the stairs, leading with his handgun. He couldn’t believe the state of his friend. And though he tried not to think about what Pierce had become, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault. But at his core he knew it wasn’t. It was Richard Ridley and Manifold that ultimately had to answer for what had happened to his friend. Without their actions none of this would be happening, and Pierce would still be...human.
King kicked the staircase door open. Shadows shifted on the flight above. He could hear flesh rending from bones and more than one voice moaning in pleasure from the feast. He backed out of the stairway, not wanting to tempt fate by engaging undying enemies with Pierce on his shoulder. His aim, balance, and speed would be off.
A sign at the end of the hallway pointed to the elevators. If they still worked, they might be the only way back up. After a quick run, he rounded the corner to the elevators and slid to a stop, the barrel of an UMP pressed against his forehead.
“Shit, King, I nearly took your head off,” Queen said, lowering her aim.
King immediately noticed Bishop standing next to Queen, leaning against the wall. “Bishop?”
“Captured. End of story.” Bishop said, then pointed to Pierce. “Who’s this?”
King turned to the side, revealing Pierce’s scaled face. “George. They did...something to him.”
Bishop frowned and shook his head in disbelief.
An explosion shook the floors above. King pushed the elevator’s call button.
“Elevator crapped out,” Queen said. “We need to take the stairs.”
“They’re occupied.”
“Not for long,” she said, moving around the corner, weapon raised.
“Let me take him,” Bishop said. “I’m stronger.”
King noticed Bishop’s forehead covered in perspiration. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Bishop sweat, even in hot and humid weather. The man’s body seemed built to handle high temperatures, but now... “You don’t look so well.”
“Damnit, King.” Bishop pulled Pierce from his shoulder and hoisted him up and over his own, handling Pierce’s weight as though he were nothing more than a small child. “I’m fine.”
A staccato of gunfire ripped down the hallway, followed by Queen’s voice. “Clear!”
King didn’t like that Bishop had so brazenly taken Pierce, not because he was wrong to do so—he was stronger...a lot stronger—but first, the forceful approach was out of character, and second, Pierce was his burden to bear. But he couldn’t argue with the fact that Bishop carrying Pierce made sense. “Let’s go.”
The group ran up the stairwell, avoiding slippery pools of blood along the way. As King took in deep breaths he couldn’t tell which was better, breathing through his nose and smelling the thick coppery odor of blood, or breathing through his mouth and tasting it. As they reached the top floor, a series of explosions shook from below.
The place was coming apart.
“Go, go, go!” King shouted as he ran for the open exit. He hopped over the two headless regens he’d shot when he entered and stepped into the courtyard. A series of booms grew louder. Closer.
“Get down!” Bishop shouted, realizing the main building was next in line to be blown apart. He opened his arms and scooped King and Queen into a great bear hug, falling to the ground on top of them and Pierce.
A massive explosion shook the ground and burst the windows on the remaining floors of the main building. Then, with its foundation liquefied, it imploded, shooting out glass and metal shrapnel. Bishop grunted as the debris struck his back.
Muffled explosions continued to sound out in the distance, but the courtyard grew still. Bishop pushed himself up off the others, jaw clenched in pain. He fell to the side, unable to walk.
Queen rolled up and knelt beside him. “You dumb son of a bitch. Why’d you do that?”
“I’ll live.” He pushed himself up, tore off his shredded shirt and then his flak jacket. Glass and debris clung to it, some pierced all the way through. Bishop inspected it. So did Queen.
She looked at Bishop’s back. “You been saying your prayers, Bish? You didn’t get a scratch.”
Bishop had his eyes clenched shut tight. His eyelids twitched like he was reliving a bad dream. Then he stopped, opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “If God is looking out for me it’s not because of anything I’ve done.”
A boom that put the destruction of the main building to shame rocked the entire island. It was followed by a bright orange glow from above. King looked toward the noise and found an unreal sight. Gouts of bright orange lava spewed from the cone of Tristan da Cunha’s volcano. A plume of ash rose up and mushroomed in the sky above the island. Rivers of magma poured from fresh blast holes on the side of the volcano, flowing hot and fast. Pyriphlegethon, the mythological river of lava had been unleashed on earth.
That is their exit strategy, King thought. The total destruction of the island.
King could tell by the speed and direction of the flowing lava that the Manifold facility and the whole of Edinburgh would soon be wiped out. Erased from existence. And long before they had time to run through town to the docks. He turned to Queen and Bishop, who had already thrown Pierce back over his shoulder, and said, “Stay close.”
After leading them across the courtyard, ever wary of lurking regens, King opened the metal door leading to the submarine bay. He motioned them through, shouting, “Haul ass to the end. We’ll figure out the next step when we get there.”
Queen led the way, followed by Bishop.
King looked back and found a wall of lava eating through the back side of the facility’s wall. It would slow the advance, but not for long. He slammed the metal door closed and locked it tight, praying it would take some time for the lava to melt through. He sprinted down the long cement hallway, its lights flickering as the facility’s power died. He caught up with the others as they reached the end of the hallway and the second metal door. Bishop kicked the door open as the ground began to shake more violently. The volcano was hemorrhaging lava. With everyone through the door, King turned to close and seal it. He paused, looking down the hallway where the other end glowed bright orange.
He slammed the door shut and locked it. He turned, facing the others and the submarine docking cave. A cement L-shaped platform held several lockers, tool chests, and storage bins, but there was no clear mode of egress from the interior of the cave. “It’s too far to swim out. Look for oxygen tanks, rebreathers, anything.”
The lights blinked.
King dove for the nearest lockers, tearing them open and pouring through the contents. Queen joined him. After the first three, the lights went out. With no source of illumination, the bay plunged into total darkness.
Then the darkness ebbed, pushed away by a subtle glow as the metal door began heating from the other side. In the dim orange light, Queen found a flashlight and turned it on, handing a second to King.
“Time is running out,” Bishop said, pointing to the metal door. A trickle of molten liquid leaked through a hole at the door’s base. Then another.
King flung
open a long metal chest. “Here!” He pulled out a sleek, black X-Scooter CSI diver propulsion vehicle and handed it to Bishop. The small handheld machine could pull the two men through the water faster than either could swim. They would make it out alive...in fact, he wasn’t sure Pierce could even drown and knew Bishop could hold his breath for minutes. “Get him out of here.”
Bishop nodded and headed for the black pool of seawater. He jumped into the water, sank beneath the surface, and disappeared with Pierce.
King moved to the next chest and flung it open. Empty.
“Strip and swim, boss,” Queen said as she shed her fatigues, weapons, and cartridge belt.
Lava burst through the door, moving like warm honey across the cement floor. A wave of heat filled the space. King tore his clothes from his body as Queen popped the thumb drive into her mouth and dove into the water dressed in her jet black boy-shorts and sports bra. As King discarded his pants and stood in his boxer briefs, he saw a pair of swim fins in an open locker. The far end of the locker was already melting into the lava. He acted without thinking, racing against the flow of lava, he grabbed the fins, raced back to the edge, and dove high just as the lava ate the cement at his feet and spilled into the pool. King struck the water and slid away fast and deep. As his momentum slowed, he put on the swim fins and kicked hard into the water, keenly aware that the cave glowed bright around him where it had been pitch-black before. He was even more aware of the water’s rising temperature. If he didn’t drown, he’d soon be boiled like a lobster.
King gained on Queen thanks to the swim fins. They were fifty feet from the exit, which stood out as a dim, moonlit circle. King pointed to his feet and reached a hand out to Queen. She saw the fins, nodded, and took his hand. They kicked together, increasing their speed. Twenty feet from the tunnel exit, King saw a thick drip of something sinking through the water. A flurry of bubbles flew away from the object as it descended. Then a second, larger blob sunk past. The lava had reached the island’s edge ahead of them.
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