by J. F. Halpin
“I think there’s more to it than that,” Nowak countered. “If those things could just talk like you’re saying, then they wouldn’t need to watch us. It’s inside you.”
“Right,” Summers agreed.
“Whatever we decide to do, the horses aren’t gonna hold out at this pace,” Cortez suggested. “Fridge is nearly dead, and I think Tank 3 is a special kind of fucked up, maybe got an infection.”
“Did you name the horses? You named it Fridge?”
“Fridge’s the one carrying the food.” Cortez sat in the dirt. “And I’m not kidding. I grew up around ranches, and these things are gonna die if we keep this up.”
“Not sure what our options are here. I got some ideas, but we can’t fight that . . . dragon thing,” Nowak replied. “Not without explosives. And not in the open like this.”
“Then what about a city?” Summers suggested. “If these things are roaming around unchecked, I doubt they’ve got anyone left alive, but it would give us a better place to hide. Streets make for better cover than trees, especially when dealing with something that can shoot us in the back.”
“Are we close to anything like that?” Nowak looked to Synel.
She shook her head.
“Nothing close, and I don’t believe our beasts will last that long. Your base would be closer.”
“There’s no chance they let us get that far without trying to rush us,” Cortez responded.
Summers leaned against the hard rock wall, trying to think. After a few seconds, he saw Nowak stand, heading to his pack to check the handheld radio. He’d done that a few times now, making sure the transmission was still broadcasting, trying to get a response on the open channel. Which was a long shot, at least with the range their tiny handheld could put out. Turning it on confirmed that, yes, the message was still coming through. It sounded just as crisp as it had when they’d first got there.
That struck Summers as a bit odd, actually. Radios could get some serious distance, even with home-made transmission towers, but the quality from California to what would be Nevada was still consistent. That wasn’t normal. Hell, it was only possible in their world because of bases like his.
Relay stations.
“Maybe we don’t need a city.” Summers immediately stood, looking to the mountains around them. “Sarge, how close to the base are we?”
“Two, maybe three days off.”
“The army’s been here for a while. Follows that they have infrastructure, right? Like we were saying, they were setting up for the long haul.”
Summers pulled a high-powered scope from his pack and started looking.
“What are you doing?” Nowak looked at him in confusion.
“Hoping we’re real lucky.”
After a few moments, he found what he’d been searching for.
“On that mountain, there’s an observation post.” Summers indicated the spot. “Looks solid. If we’re going to make a stand anywhere, I think it might be our best shot.”
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“That’s definitely not normal, right?” Summers looked at a perfect sphere carved into the ground. It was one of many. The entire area was pockmarked with the strange formations.
“If I’m going to be honest, I don’t know what normal is anymore,” Nowak responded.
Pat stood beside him, nodding in agreement. Both the twins and Orvar were on high alert, reacting to the slightest noise. It wasn’t a habit Summers was looking to correct right now. They should be paranoid.
They scaled the mountain road slowly. Almost as soon as they’d started, more of the beast-like men had shown up. They heard the snapping of trees in the distance—something massive breaking through the forest. He had a guess as to what that was, and he was not looking forward to that fight.
“We’re getting close,” Nowak announced. “Pat, you and yours good over there?”
Pat nodded in response.
“We are ready.”
Orvar and the twins nodded, as well.
“That’s what I want to hear.” Nowak turned back.
Summers eyed the round, concrete bunker as they approached it. There was a small perimeter made from sandbags and netting. It wasn’t overly large, but it was better than nothing.
“Looks empty,” Cortez announced, hopping down from a sandbag. “Could toss a grenade in there if you wanna be safe, though.”
“Wait.” Summers held up a hand.
Cortez turned to where Summers was looking.
On top of the bunker was a squat, but clearly noticeable antenna.
Summers moved to the front, peering through the small opening in the bunker. The inside was mostly barren, except for one thing.
“Holy shit.” Summers stepped back, allowing the others to see the large, powered radio sitting on the desk inside.
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Summers waited as the others began to pile up sandbags behind the bunker’s entrance.
Cortez tossed their duffel bag full of grenades into his lap.
“All yours.”
“You sure this is safe?” Summers watched the bag warily.
“I’ve been up for about thirty hours now, so no. Just go outside before you start to fuck with it.”
Summers gripped the bag. Cortez had been working on a “surprise” for their new friends since they’d set camp. Seeing her sleep-addled movements as she tried to sit was not in the least bit reassuring. Neither was the shifting weight in his lap.
“The horses secure?”
“Orvar’s got them tied behind the bunker. Assuming this problem gets solved, we might not need them anymore, anyway.”
Summers nodded at her reasoning. She turned toward the radio where Nowak worked.
“How’s it going over there, Sarge?”
“Shit. I have no idea if this is transmitting.” Nowak tapped on the face of the radio. It was working, but they’d been waiting for nearly an hour with no response. “No one’s picking up, either way.”
“Or they’re dead,” Cortez countered.
“Or that . . .”
“Hello?”
Summers turned as the radio buzzed to life.
“This is Oscar Zulu Three. Whoever in god’s name is operating on this channel, respond immediately.” A woman’s voice spoke. “How in the fuck are you still alive?”
Nowak paused a moment before moving for the receiver.
“That is a long story, ma’am, and I’d be happy to tell you, but we have some serious problems of our own here . . .”
“Contact!” Pat called from the other side of the room.
“And I think they’ve just caught up to us,” Nowak finished.
Chapter 40: A Downhill Battle
“Bunker Three, before I can promise anything, I need some ID on your team.”
Summers listened to the voice on the radio intently as Nowak responded.
“Oscar Zulu Three, I need a second to get that to you.” Nowak motioned to Pat. “Get me the green box in the corner, now.” He must have noticed Summers’ questioning look, because he continued. “They’re Rhodess’ papers. Had a list of challenges. We were a part of his platoon. That’s our story until the army tells us otherwise.”
“You sure you want to be lying to Command?” Summers wasn’t looking forward to adding what was probably a felony to the long list of whatever else the army was going to hit them with.
“We can explain later. For now, lying’s easier, safer, and probably our only chance here. I don’t know how many of those things out there were soldiers, and I don’t know how paranoid they are, but whoever’s in command is not going to waste resources on a bunch of nobodies like us.”
“Solving today’s problems with tomorrow’s court marshals. Loving the idea, Sarge,” Cortez remarked.
“If they think we’re trying to pull one over on them, who’s to say they won’t just hit us with a missile or something?”
Cortez scoffed. “There’s no way they have
a fucking missile.”
“We saw a tank,” Nowak replied flatly. “If I know the army, and I do, they’ll be bringing in as many big-boy toys as they can. I do not want to give anyone an excuse.”
“Well, whatever we’re going to do, we should hurry it up.” Cortez poked her head out the slitted window in the concrete. “Those things are still just standing around. Don’t expect that’s going to last.”
“I get it.”
Pat returned with the green box a moment later. Summers turned to the others as Nowak started to read off a list of challenges.
Asle was huddled in a small, dug-out room below the bunker, along with Synel. Probably, it had been one used for storage. They weren’t comfortable, but Summers hoped they’d have some degree of protection from the fighting.
He moved to the large metal hatch that would close the hole off from the rest of the bunker. They’d briefly considered closing the two inside for their safety, but decided against it. The thing was two inches of solid steel, and Summers was fairly sure he was the only one who could lift it alone.
“You two doing okay?”
Asle nodded as Synel gave him a small smile back. They both looked tired. Asle was trying to keep a brave face, but they’d been riding hard for the last few days, and a child’s body was not meant to be put through the kind of abuse they’d experienced.
“Everything’s going to be all right. We’ll get this handled and get you to somewhere safe.”
“Oh, worry about yourself. We can handle our own business,” Synel responded. “Besides, this is hardly the worst place I’ve been in.”
“Seriously?”
“Gods no. When we get out, remind me to tell you about the Great Winter.”
Asle smiled up at him, gripping the small pistol in her hand a little tighter.
Summers could only smile back.
“Sure . . .”
Looking around, he saw Cortez along and Orvar watching the growing crowd. Nobody had made a move yet, but they were definitely working their way there.
Nowak was arguing with the radio now, Pat thumbing through the files he’d brought. That just left the twins. Bard sat beside Viggo, muttering something.
“To the embrace of our mothers, our fathers, our sisters, and our brothers. Back, to the beginning . . .” Bard spoke in a low, reverent tone.
“And into the memories of the ones we leave behind . . .” Viggo finished.
The two suddenly realized Summers was watching and bowed their heads in response.
“Apologies, Commander.”
Summers raised a hand, waving away the remark.
“No, sorry. It’s fine.” Summers noticed the white-knuckled grip they had on their weapons. Once again, they were wearing their typical looks of indifference, even if their anxiety was obvious. “Was that a prayer? Didn’t peg you two as the religious type.”
“We are not,” Bard replied. “Not normally.”
“Well, we’re not exactly doing normal shit out here.”
“No, we aren’t.” Bard looked to his brother. “We will not disappoint you. This, we vow.”
That caught Summers off guard.
“Guys, you don’t have anything to worry about. Just following us this far is more than I could ask.”
“Commander, we were farmers before this.” Bard gestured to the hundreds of men and women below. “Poor farmers.”
“I had animals,” Viggo volunteered.
“He had one,” Bard corrected. “A small one.”
“Would have gotten bigger.”
“Okay . . .” Summers started. “Look, from here on out, I’m not your ‘commander.’ That was something Rhodes set up, and if I’m gonna be honest, I’m not really ‘officer’ material. We fight together. That’s the way this works—the way it’s supposed to work, anyway. You get my back, I’ll get yours. Nothing that happens outside of that matters. Understand?”
The two hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to respond.
“That’s an order?” Summers ventured.
“Yes, Commander,” the twins responded in unison.
“Uh, good. And don’t worry. You’re not just farmers.” Summers patted the weapon at his side. “You’re farmers with guns, and just enough brains to use them. That’s a scary fucking thing where I’m from.”
Summers heard something from the side of the bunker and saw Cortez readying her gun.
“There’s a couple hundred out there now, Sarge,” Cortez called over. “And from the sounds of it, that big bastard’s headed this way, too.”
The twins made way for Summers as he moved to the front of the bunker.
Through the window slit, Summers caught sight of the thin man, his tar-black skin standing out against the light scattering of brush at the bottom of the hill.
Summers felt something bump into his back and immediately went on alert, until he realized it was Bard quite literally pressing his back into Summers’ own.
“Bard, I didn’t mean—” Summers stopped as something occurred to him.
Both times he’d been attacked by the thin man, he’d created a portal behind them. And that portal went both ways. Meaning that as long as he had someone watching the inside of the bunker, they could fire outside reasonably safely.
Considering the twins were their worst shots by a wide margin, that would be an excellent use of their talents.
“Scratch that. You’re a goddamn genius. Keep doing what you’re doing. You see something odd in here, you shoot it, understand?”
Bard nodded as his brother took up a post beside him.
Then, Summers saw some of the men outside walking forward.
“Shit. Sarge, if we’re going to do something, it should be sooner than later. I’m starting to see movement.”
“I get it!” Nowak shouted, keying the mic. “Oscar Zulu Three, can you assist or not?”
“Negative Bunker Three,” the woman responded. “We’re en route, but our ETA is three hours, at least. Can you hold?”
“Guys?” Nowak looked at them questioningly.
“Maybe if they were people. But these things don’t seem to mind dying too much.”
“Sarge!” Cortez shouted.
“Shit. Negative!” Nowak replied into the radio, sounding a little more frantic than before. “Is there anything else—”
Before Nowak could finish, the fire of Cortez’s rifle cut him off.
“Get down!”
Summers hit the ground, along with everyone else, just as the bunker exploded.
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“Everyone good?” Nowak called out.
Summers coughed as the smoke began to clear and his ears stopped ringing.
“What the fuck was that?” Summers looked to Cortez.
“Grenade. They have guns. Didn’t see them until they were on us.” Cortez poked her head over the window, ducking down a moment later. A stream of gunfire slammed into the concrete in the next instant.
“Fucking great.” Summers looked around.
Nobody looked to be hurt. But that wasn’t going to last if the enemy managed to get a shot inside the bunker.
“Pat, Orvar, do what you can to suppress that group on the left!” Nowak shouted as he sprayed down the area in front of the window.
Summers got his head up long enough to see nearly two dozen men charging up the mountain. He fired into the closest. The man dropped, only to get right back up a moment later. In the back, he saw a soldier with his rifle leveled on him. Summers managed to duck behind cover just before a shot slammed into the concrete beside him.
There were six men with guns at the bottom of the hill, weapons trained right on his position. He winced as flecks of concrete rained down from the constant barrage.
“Oscar Zulu Three, can you hear me?” Nowak was keying the radio, but there wasn’t any response. Summers could only assume the explosion had knocked off the antenna.
“Where’s the handheld?” Summers yelled over the gunfire.
“That might be in range!”
“Outside!” Pat answered.
“Fucking great.”
Summers took a deep breath before noticing the duffel bag shoved into a corner beside Asle. The gunfire hadn’t stopped since he’d taken cover, and he was fairly sure it wouldn’t until the bulk of the group had overrun them.
“Asle, throw that bag over here!”
Asle covered her ears, crawling to the bag and sliding it his way. Summers winced as the grenades inside rattled.
He’d had sincere nightmares about this bag, but it was about to save their lives.
He unzipped the top to find the long string of grenades Cortez had altered. She’d removed their pins, replacing it with a thin layer of tape over the levers. All of that could be severed with a single length of wire that ran through them. It was a big, makeshift bomb. But that was for the big guy, and right now, they had to worry about the others.
Summers pulled out a grenade at the end, tore the tape, and launched it out of the window with surprising force. He’d aimed for the bottom of the hill, somewhere that was decidedly out of grenade range, but he’d been banking on the fact that logic no longer applied to his strengthened body.
Boom.
The distant, satisfying explosion preceded a break in the gunfire. Summers didn’t hesitate. He popped up to find one of the shooters on the ground, the other two stunned. He fired once, twice, then emptied his weapon into the approaching horde running up the hill.
“We got—”
Cortez was cut off as a man rushed into the bunker’s entrance from the opposite side. Just as he cleared the doorway, Orvar swung his weapon like a club, taking the man off his feet. Cortez made sure he stayed down with a quick burst from her rifle.
Summers readied another grenade as a cluster of men emerged from behind a rock, one with a grenadier’s rifle, the under-barrel attachment in a distinct firing position.
Summers threw the grenade with enough force that he didn’t see an arc. It shot straight into a man beside the one he’d been aiming for and shattered, then exploded.