Shader strode into the duct room and drew next to the door. The screams and pounding were fading.
There were definitely fewer creatures trying to get in. But were they just waiting quietly outside, standing in the trance-like state he’d observed through the air duct grate earlier that day? Or, were they leaving for other reasons?
“Blue One, this is Blue Two. Do you copy? Over.”
Shader heard Gonzalez faintly over his squad radio.
“Keele. Lazzaro. Coms on, now!” Shader hissed.
He had made the other two Marines turn their radios off to preserve the batteries.
“Blue Two, this is Blue One actual. I read you. Over.”
“Blue One. We’re on our way. Prepare for evac. Do you copy? Over.”
“Blue Two. That’s a hard copy. Prepare for evac. Over.”
“Blue one. Good to hear your voice. Hold on. We’re five mikes out. Blue Two out.”
Shader couldn’t believe it. The Marines were coming. “Lazzaro. How’s the leg?”
“Ready to move the fuck out of here!”
“All right, everyone. The Marines are coming. Leave everything here. And I mean, everything. The only thing walking out that door is your body,” Shader said, pointing into the front room where the Variants continued their assault.
Three of the civilians, along with Lazzaro, needed help ambulating. They would slow the group down, but no one even thought about abandoning them. It was all, or nothing. They would survive as a group or die as a family.
They gathered at the back of the room, waiting for a sign or signal that it was finally safe to open the door.
Explosions erupted right outside. Shader recognized the distinctive sound of flash-bangs detonating. Three loud pops echoed through the steel door, followed by a hail of gunfire. It sounded like the “mad minute” at the end of live-fire exercises at the range, where the entire line would shoot their remaining ammunition as quickly as possible. It wasn’t unusual for Shader to empty four 30-round magazines on semi-automatic in sixty seconds and sometimes all eight on automatic fire.
“Blue One, this is Blue Two. You’re clear. Begin evac. Over.”
“That’s a hard copy, Blue Two. Goddam glad to hear you.”
Shader and Morales went to the door and cautiously opened it. Shader had his M4 up and ready as Morales tried to push the door out. It wouldn’t move more than an inch.
“Blue One. You’ve got bodies blocking the door. Put some muscle behind it.”
Keele joined the other two and they pushed through the bodies, creating enough room for the survivors to pass through.
“Be careful!” Shader yelled. “Don’t touch anything! The blood is infectious. Don’t let it get near any cuts or open wounds and keep your hands away from your eyes and mouth.”
One by one, the haggard survivors were led out of the room.
The Marines had their weapon-mounted lights shining on the scene, their beams nearly blinding the group as they illuminated the hallway.
It was utter destruction. Shader lost count of the bodies. There had to be at close to a hundred.
“Over here,” Gonzalez yelled, pointing at a flatbed electric cart.
They put the three sick survivors on the back, along with Lazzaro, his M4 raised and ready for a fight.
“Let’s move,” Shader heard.
It was SSgt. Russ.
Over a dozen Marines turned back down the hallway and retraced their steps to the underground garage. The team bracketed each tunnel that led to the main floor, protecting the passing survivors from any creatures within.
If need be, flash-bangs were tossed into the stairwell, stunning the light-sensitive creatures. It was proving to be an effective strategy.
Shader was finally feeling good about their chances as the flatbed turned toward the double doors that led into the garage. His euphoria, however, was short-lived.
A cacophony of pain, anger, and hunger exploded from down the hallway. The combined sound of screams and roars hit the group like a sonic wave. The squad assigned to that flank began to fire on full automatic as confused and frightened voices jammed the squad radio.
As best as Shader could tell, there were hundreds, if not thousands of creatures flooding down the hallway. All of them furious at the beating they had already taken and ravenously insane knowing that several dozen fresh and uninfected slabs of meat were just within their reach. Shader knew they’d been found and were to be the next course on the Variants’ planned dinner party.
“MOVE!” Shader yelled as a tsunami of creatures deluged the concourse. Walls, ceiling, and floor were thick with the infected mass, the popping sound of their deformed limbs loudly announcing their arrival.
The flatbed careened around the corner of the hallway and shot into the garage. Headlights popped on and Shader watched as the four injured shot away to safety, closely followed by the remaining survivors who were slogging behind the electric transport.
“Protect the civilians!” Shader barked, pointing at Gonzalez and Keele.
“Fireteam Charlie. Stay with the survivors,” Russ added.
The remaining Marines poured automatic fire up the hallway as two flash-bangs detonated in front of the screaming mob. It stunned the creatures long enough for the Marines to slam the doors close. Shader pushed against the doors while the rest of the Marines and ambulatory survivors retreated.
A high-pitched whine approached from behind Shader. Russ pulled up and slammed an electric vehicle into the doors, just as the frame buckled from the weight of the Variants as they hit the outside. The doors split open slightly, and Russ responded by accelerating the large flatbed, closing the door once again.
“Move it!” Russ yelled. He set the parking brake then jumped out of the open driver’s side. Then both men began sprinting toward the receding lights of the Marines ahead.
Shader didn’t need any encouragement. He was quickly on Russ’s heels and fifty yards away from the door when he heard a crash from behind. It was the Variants. They had breached the barrier. Their screams were all Shader needed to know they had just a few seconds’ lead. It was a race to the ramp, and Shader could only hope that his old legs wouldn’t fail him now.
As if reading Shader’s thoughts, Russ looked over at the old SEAL.
“I’m too old for this shit,” the Marine grunted as they watched flashlights disappear up the incline ahead.
Shader didn’t have the breath to respond and from the sounds coming from behind them, it was going to be close. Really fucking close.
“Roaarrrraaaa,” Shader heard as he started running up the ramp. A hand brushed on his heel, followed by a thud. A Variant had thrown itself at him, landing just short of grabbing his leg.
Shader flew up the ramp, Russ just a step ahead.
Several screeches of frustration sounded from below as a couple Variants stumbled over the downed creature that had tried to grasp Shader.
“Move it!” someone screamed from above.
Shader was halfway up when over a dozen rifles opened up, creating a wall of lead that rained down on the Variants at the bottom.
But the echoes of many hundreds more of the infected blasted back at them.
Shader dashed out of the opening.
“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” came a cry from the lot nearby.
Someone grabbed Shader by the shoulder and flung him down and away from the ramp.
Shader heard the high-pitched zing of a spring being tightly wound. It was a detonator being twisted, sending an electric pulse down into the garage.
Multiple muffled explosions sounded from below. Shader stood up and watched as over half of the parking lot, from the ramp back toward the Forum, collapsed with a giant flop. The Variants that had been chasing them were now properly buried beneath tons of asphalt. Shader glanced over at Russ and gave him an appreciative nod. Russ smiled and nodded back.
It was finally over.
Or so they thought.
— 13 —
> The End Begins
USS Theodore Roosevelt
“Only Burnside could have managed such a coup,
wringing one last spectacular defeat from the jaws of victory.”
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, on the Union defeat
at the Battle of the Crater (1864)
“That went well,” Major Poole said with relief. The naval intelligence officer had been on the chopping block with the admiral when multiple reports of Variant hordes began hinting at their true numbers. The successful rescue of a dozen survivors mitigated the failure in intelligence. At least it did in Poole’s mind.
“Stow it, Poole,” Admiral Abernathy scowled. “We’ve lost good men today, and we sure as hell don’t have the bodies to replace them.”
Abernathy strode back and forth in the Combat Directions Center. The room was normally bustling with activity and muted conversations. Abernathy’s dressing down of the major had put a stop to all that background noise. The room was oppressively quiet as the two men sparred.
“The Joint Chiefs will still want you to proceed,” Major Poole confidently said.
“I know what they want, Major,” he replied with an emphasis on “major.”
“All I can do is relay messages, Admiral. This isn’t personal, sir.”
“Don’t put lipstick on a pig, Major. You don’t just relay messages. I know they rely on your assessment.”
“Sir, I am just one of many. There are over a dozen operations ongoing. We aren’t the only ones.”
“And, how are those going?”
“I’m not privileged with that information, sir,” Poole immediately replied.
Abernathy scowled. He knew they’d been lucky, so far. It was just a matter of time before something went fatally wrong. He could feel it in his bones.
“Sir, we have a situation with Redwood,” one of the operations specialists said loudly.
Abernathy strode over to the man and watched as the OpSpec listened intently into his headphone.
“Copy that, Redwood One,” the man said into his mic. “We’ll send air support immediately.”
“What is it?” the admiral asked.
“Sir, Captain Nancee is reporting contact with a large Variant force. He’s requesting air support.”
“Admiral,” one of the other OpSpecs said, “we’ve got reports from Angel Two and Four that they can see Redwood in the distance. Sir, they’re lighting it up. Looks like a real battle going on out there.”
“Angel Two and Four are over FOB Forum, sir,” CWO Solomon informed the admiral.
“They’re on overwatch?” Abernathy asked.
“Yes, sir,” Solomon replied.
“Can they detach and engage?”
“It’s quiet enough now. At least one could be spared,” Solomon said.
“Do it.”
The OpSpec in charge of air support relayed the order, sending one of the SuperCobras to the east. The men from FOB Compton were in trouble. The helicopter would be there in under a minute.
The CDC sat quietly, waiting for any word from Nancee.
“Redwood One. Repeat again,” the OpSpec said loudly into his headset. “Redwood One. I did not copy your last transmission. Repeat. Over.”
“Redwood One, do you copy? Over,” he repeated.
“Redwood One. Redwood One. Do you copy? Over.”
“Redwood One.”
Nothing.
“Sir,” one of the other OpSpecs said, “I have Angel Four. He’s over Redwood One right now.”
“Is he engaging the enemy?”
The OpSpec seemed to ignore the admiral, listening intently into his headset. Abernathy stood silently behind the man, allowing him to do his job without distraction. Poole slid up behind them both.
“Repeat again, Angel Four.”
The OpSpec began to somberly nod, as he listened to the pilot’s report.
“That was a hard copy, Angel Four. Pause for orders.”
“Well?” Abernathy hesitantly asked, knowing somewhere deep inside, the answer would not be good.
“They’re gone, sir.”
“WHAT?” Poole shouted in disbelief.
“Angel Four reports that Redwood One was overrun. There were no survivors.”
“Did he try the radio?” Poole stupidly asked, begging for a different response.
“Yes, sir. Squad channel went dark, and the Variants were thick in the area. Angel Four could see that the vehicles had been overrun.”
“Did they report on enemy strength?” Abernathy said as he glared back at the cowering major.
“Too many to count, sir. That’s all he said.”
Abernathy did all he could to keep from striking the intelligence officer.
“I just lost over one hundred Marines!” Abernathy barked, pointing at the disgraced major. “Get this piece of shit out of my sight!”
Two sailors flanked the major and escorted him out of the room.
“Sir. It’s Angel Two. They’ve sighted a mass of Variants moving towards Big Pine.”
FOB Santa Monica, also known as Big Pine, was moving on the Forum’s west flank.
“Alert Big Pine. Warn them that they will be getting company,” Abernathy ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are they now?” Abernathy asked.
“What’s your pause?” the OpSpec asked their Big Pine contact.
After a moment, he replied to Abernathy. “They’re one mile east of the 405.”
“Have them return to Santa Monica Airport. We’ll pick them up there.”
Abernathy turned to his TAO. “Get my men back. NOW!”
CWO Solomon jumped into action, unleashing multiple orders to a cluster of operational specialists. The room lit up with dozens of voices while others scurried in and out of the door, taking their assigned duties to the next level.
Admiral Abernathy watched with both pride and apprehension as the Combat Center reacted to his order. The men were working flawlessly, which brought him some satisfaction. But he just didn’t know if it would be in time to avoid more casualties.
“Sir,” one of the OpSpecs said. “I have information from Major Jack. He insists that it’s important.”
“Very well. Let me have it.” He’d lost an entire company of Marines in a matter of moments and he wasn’t about to lose the rest of the Battalion as well.
— 14 —
SCPO Shader
Inglewood Forum
“100 per cent of us die, and the percentage cannot be increased.”
C.S. LEWIS
The Weight of Glory
Morales dropped to his knees and kissed the ground. The night sky shone through the headlights that were illuminating the Forum, at least the brighter stars made it through. The rest of the survivors were in various states of shock. Pairs of Marines guided each of the recovered civilians back to the idling vehicles, where they were checked over by one of several Navy corpsmen who had been inserted with their companies. Most were immediately hydrated with vitamin water or intravenously.
“Shit, that was intense,” Gonzalez said as he drained a full liter of bottled water. “That place is fucking crawling.”
“Well, it won’t be standing much longer,” Russ replied. “Plan is to evacuate the civilians then push north, downtown. The air jockeys are going to level the building after we leave.”
“That’s a hard copy,” Gonzalez said. “I don’t ever want to go back in there again.”
“I need to speak to Gold One,” Shader said. “There’s some fucked up shit going on in there.”
“Good luck with that,” Russ said. “Captain’s knees deep in shit right now. But if you want to try” —Russ pointed to the right— “he’s over there next to the MRAP.”
Shader nodded and made his way to the mobile command center. One of Hawthorne’s armory vehicles had been upgraded to the major’s personal carrier.
Porky stood back and watched the chaos of war unfold. Every officer was there, along with communicatio
ns and a number of grunts who were either guarding them or being used as glorified gofers. After a few minutes, Shader decided there would be no lull for him to use to catch the major’s attention. So, he did what any door-knocker would do, he did a hard breach and muscled his way past two lieutenants and a captain. He found himself at a folding table, standing across from Major Jack.
One of the lieutenants grabbed Shader by the shoulder and tried to spin him around.
“Stand down, Chief!”
Shader glanced back and saw Lieutenant Landry looking up at him, his face beet red and snot bubbling out of one of his nostrils. The man was furious at being pushed away from his seat at the throne, but Shader decided that he really didn’t give a fuck how the lieutenant felt at that moment.
Shader grasped the lieutenant’s fingers and squeezed them. Twisting Landry’s hand away from him, Porky brought a yelp from the lieutenant.
“What’s going on?” Major Jack barked.
Shader spun back to face a very angry and tired battalion commander.
“Sir,” Shader said, releasing Landry’s fingers from his vise-like grip. “Senior Chief Petty Officer Shader reporting.”
Jack looked Shader up and down, measuring the SEAL like a horse broker assessing a stallion for purchase. After just a moment, the major must have deemed Shader an asset worthy of his time.
“As you were, Chief. What’s so important that you’d barge into my planning meeting?”
“Sir. I just got out of the Forum. There’s a lot you need to know before you go forward.”
“Shut it, Shader. Get the hell out of here,” Landry barked from behind. Shader ignored him.
“So, you’re the SEAL that opened this can of worms?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And who is your C.O.?”
“I am, sir. It was against my better judgement, but the man is persistent,” Landy barked.
“The lieutenant was against it, sir. I felt that we had to clear the building.”
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