by Mark Tufo
The others clicked fresh magazines into place as Garcia opened a comm channel back to the GW strike group.
“Command, Victor Hotel Alpha,” Garcia said. “Do you read?”
“We read, Victor Hotel.”
“Change of plans. We’re bringing civilians to the extraction point.”
“Victor Hotel, those were not your orders. You are to proceed to extraction point as planned.”
“Negative, Command.” A brief thought flashed through Garcia’s mind, and he wondered if he was being as stubborn and foolhardy as Rollins had been. But he quashed the notion. These civilians were the ones they had been sworn to protect, the ones they fought for, the ones they sacrificed their lives for. They had already completed the objectives Davis had given them. “We’re saving these people. You saw ’em. They won’t last much longer here.”
“No can do. We—”
“Clear it with Davis.”
There was silence at the end of the line. Garcia listened to the increasingly violent wash of waves over the beaches dozens of yards away. A cold, storm-borne breeze tickled at his skin.
“Victor Hotel,” the specialist began slowly. “Davis has cleared a detachment of choppers to aid in civilian extraction. Where do you want ’em?”
Garcia gave him a set of coordinates, and a wave of relief trickled through him, quenching the unending rage he had felt before. It was a small victory for him. Now, he was more certain than ever fate had brought him to Corolla, and this was what was intended for him. He needed to save these people.
With a nod from Garcia, Stevo nudged the door open to the mansion. The Variant Hunters dispersed along what remained of the floor overlooking the huge crevice full of wriggling creatures. Garcia pressed his back against the wall as he skirted over a thin strip of flooring. Risking a short glance down, he guessed that if the fall did not kill him, it would take only seconds before his body was turned into macabre confetti. The noise of the monsters growling and clicking and eating below drowned out the footsteps of the Variant Hunters, rivaling the smack of rain against the roof. The marines positioned themselves under the webbed cocoons where people still lived, if only by the threads of their life. A Variant scuttled along the wall above them, and Garcia signaled for Rollins to hide under a pouch. Garcia crouched beside one with the remains of a man’s torso. Rib bones protruded from the lacerated skin, and he tried to ignore the odor until the Variant passed along to another wall.
Rollins reached to the pouch he had been hiding behind and withdrew his blade. With several precise slices, the webbing fell away, and a man slumped into his waiting arms. The man’s head rolled back for a second until his eyes fluttered open. His mouth wrenched open, ready to scream. Rollins clamped his hand over the man’s lips and held a single finger to his own. Pallor overcame the rescued man’s face, but he nodded in understanding, and Rollins slowly released his grasp. The man crouched behind Rollins, shaking but remaining quiet as he studied his surroundings with wide eyes.
Next, Garcia cut loose a woman covered with scratches. She jolted awake, looking as if she was ready to fight, before Garcia signaled her to remain quiet, too. One by one, they made their way through the cocoons, releasing those that seemed to have a fighting chance at life. Rollins and Garcia had a group of five in tow. The others seemed to have found similar rates of success, with a group around a half dozen deep following each Variant Hunter team.
Rollins grabbed Garcia’s shoulder, pointing across the wide pit toward the group Thomas led. His heart beat wildly when he spotted them taking a man with broad muscles and a trimmed beard off the wall. Chewy. They continued onward, one Variant Hunter stronger, releasing civilians from the Variants’ prison, stopping occasionally only to hide as a creature climbed across the walls.
Finally, Garcia reached the cocoon with the woman and baby. He gingerly cut away the silky strands of webbing imprisoning the duo. The baby came loose first, and Garcia carefully took the infant out, holding the sleeping child to his chest to keep it from waking. He gently roused the mother, clasping his hand over her mouth until she saw her child was safe. Even as he helped her wobble down from her roost, the stabbing bite of bittersweet pain rocked through his heart. He had saved this woman, but he could not help wishing this were Ashley and Leslie he escorted away from the damn cocoon.
“I’m Beth,” she whispered.
Garcia nodded but held a finger to his lips then pointed to the name tape on his fatigues before continuing on. When it looked as though he and Rollins had freed all those who could be saved, he signaled for the man to guide the remaining civilians to the porch. Tank and Thomas’s teams were also heading to the exit, dodging between cocoons and avoiding the few Variants lurking on this level of the hive. They were almost outside, where they could begin their journey to the extraction point, escorting these poor souls to safety, out of the hell from which they had come.
Then it happened all too fast.
A Variant unwrapping a web around a horse carcass worked above Tank. One of the horse’s legs flopped out of the pouch, then its torso and remaining legs slipped out. The corpse slid down the wall, headed straight toward a civilian. Tank dove to push the man out of the carcass’s way, and the man yelped in surprise when his head hit the wall.
The Variant noticed immediately. Its eyes locked on Tank. It reared back, feet still clamped on the wall, pincers clicking. Garcia wasted no time in sighting the monster up and squeezing the trigger. His suppressed M4 barely let out a sound as the bullets cut through the Variant’s flesh and ended its life. The monster rolled down the wall and bounced off the floor. Its corpse fell into the pit below. The dead monster crashed into a few Variants down there.
One by one, the creatures looked up, trying to figure out what had caused the disturbance. It took them less than a second to spot one of the free civilians. A single Variant cried out, its shrill voice exploding from the pit and rattling Garcia’s eardrums. More voices picked up around it, causing the manor to quake. The unholy chorus roared loud enough for the sound to resonate in Garcia’s chest and shake through his bones.
“Run!” he yelled above the din. He doubted the others could hear him, but it did not matter. They all sprinted for the back door, herding the civilians along.
Variants scrambled up the sides of the pit. Their joints snapped, and their claws dug into the earthen walls as they ascended, allured by the sight of fresh meat and their escaping meals. The Variant Hunters and the civilians rushed to the back lawn as the first Variant crested the side of the pit. Garcia gestured in the direction of the beach where the choppers and Ospreys were supposed to meet them.
But he soon realized they would never make it that far. All over the rain-covered landscape, through the woods and across the parks and lawns, Variants burst from the ground like exploding landmines. The demons of hell had escaped, and they had invaded the Outer Banks.
Garcia chinned his mic. “Command, we’re going to need those choppers a lot closer than anticipated.”
— 13 —
Human screams soon joined the throaty bellows and roars of the Variants. Civilians started to scatter, until Garcia and the Variant Hunters grabbed their arms and guided them to stay with the group. There would be no hope for any that decided to sprint into the darkness alone.
A few of the Variant Hunters looked to Garcia for guidance. Others shot into the surging ranks of Variants. The monsters were closing in on the group, with talons flashing and teeth snapping. Garcia shouldered his rifle and took down a Variant galloping toward Beth and her baby. The monster flopped forward, leaving a trail of blood in the wet grass. There would be no running from these monsters. No fighting them in the open. Going underground would be just as deadly. There was only one option.
“To the lighthouse,” Garcia yelled over his mic. He pointed toward the structure in case anyone could not hear him.
His words galvanized the marines, and they encircled the civilians, rushing them to the redbrick walled museum lead
ing to the towering lighthouse. Tank’s M249 opened up, scattering a group of Variants hurtling toward them. He barreled into the front door of the museum with his shoulder, and the doors cracked backward, leveled by the huge man. The others filed in, with Russian, Chewy, and Daniels taking rear guard, covering the group’s escape. Periodic gunfire lit up the museum as the Variant Hunters ushered the civilians past overturned displays of historic lighthouses as well as paintings and photographs with broken frames scattered along the waterlogged floor.
The Variants slammed against the front of the museum like a landslide. They struggled past one another into the building, breaking through other doors and bursting through windows. Their bodies bounced against each other, scales and armor plates clacking. Russian spewed curses at them as quickly as the automatic fire leaving his rifle. Chewy limped along, barely keeping pace with the group, still weak from his earlier attack. Daniels tried helping the man, but a Variant pounced forward, dodging past Russian’s gunfire. Its pincers closed around Chewy’s injured leg, and the marine stumbled. Daniels fired at the Variant. Bullets lanced through the creature’s body, but two more Variants tackled Chewy. They bit into his flesh before anyone could stop them. Chewy disappeared under their numbers, and a dark hatred for the monsters swelled in Garcia once more.
“Goddammit!” Russian yelled. His M249 sprayed into the creatures’ ranks, sending them toppling over each other. But it still was not enough to keep them from trampling over the museum’s displays, glass and wood crunching.
They churned past a ticketing counter, and Tank busted down the gates to the lighthouse. Civilians and Variant Hunters stomped up the spiral metal staircase to the top. Garcia paused at a landing, ushering them through until he spotted Russian guarding the back of the group. A couple of civilians limped in front of him along with Beth.
Garcia picked off three Variants leading the pack as Russian tried to slide the entrance gate to the lighthouse shut with Daniels’s help. They had the gate an inch away from being shut when a tangle of claws belonging to sinewy gray arms reached through, scraping at the two men. Garcia tried to help pick the creatures off, his heart pounding, but one of them caught Russian by his neck. Rivulets of crimson streamed down Russian’s skin. His neck split open from the gashing claws, and his face started turning pale. The man threw his body against the gate, shutting it with his last dying efforts. His body went slack as the gate locked into place, and he signaled for Garcia and Daniels to move on.
“Go!” he called. “Go, go, go…”
His voice grew weaker.
“No!” Garcia yelled. His rifle shuddered against his shoulder. Shot after shot flew between the metal bars of the grate, slamming into the Variants threatening to tear it down.
Russian dragged himself away from the gate. His bloodied fingers wrapped around the M249, and he blasted a final spray of rounds into the twisted creatures. Their corpses piled up, only to be discarded by more of their living brethren desperate to reach the humans. Daniels bent over Russian. He tried to staunch the man’s bleeding by pressing his hands against the wounds. But soon Russian’s eyes rolled back, and his fingers loosened around his gun. The weapon dropped.
“Daniels! Russian’s gone!” Garcia yelled. “Let’s move!”
Another name for the cross.
Daniels lunged up the steps. They made it up to the next landing, when the scream and screech of protesting metal sounded below. The gate gave way, and Variants poured into the stairwell. Their claws clattered against the steel steps, their voices bouncing off the cylindrical insides of the lighthouse. Garcia glanced up to see that the first few Variant Hunters and civilians had made it to the top. He prayed to God to grant him one more blessing, one more wish he did not deserve.
“Command, where are those choppers?” Garcia asked.
“Should be there any minute,” the voice called back over the comm link, immeasurably calm compared to the panic of the civilians and Variant Hunters’ escape.
The Variants rounded up the landing that Daniels and Garcia had just been around. Garcia fired down on them. His lancing rounds sent the first wave tumbling backward, knocking over their comrades. It provided only a brief reprieve. Variants climbed over each other and the stairs, unperturbed by the dead monsters falling to waves of bullets around them.
A yelp caught Garcia’s attention. Beth caught her foot on a stair and fell. Her ankle twisted violently, and she landed hard on the steps while protecting her child. Garcia lunged, heart hammering, adrenaline pulsing through his vessels, and wrapped an arm around her. He helped her to her feet, and she stood, gingerly favoring one foot.
“Come on! You can do this!” he yelled, straining to be heard over the monsters clamoring below.
“They’re gaining, Sarge!” Daniels barked. He turned and levied another burst of rounds into the nearest creatures.
Garcia let Beth wrap an arm around his shoulder and glanced at her leg. “You going to be able to make it up?”
She grimaced but gave him a firm nod.
Rollins paused above them in the midst of a pack of civilians. He shouldered his rifle and fired into the Variants churning up the winding stairs nearest Daniels. One of them tumbled over the railing and plummeted. Its limbs flailed, and a violent wail spewed from its lips the entire drop. The wail only silenced when its body smacked against the floor. Armor plates and bones cracked. The Variant disappeared as more and more of the vile beasts filled the lighthouse. The metal stairs quaked under their thunderous footsteps. Dust shook free from the bolts holding the staircase to the brick insides of the lighthouse. It sounded as if the Variants might bring the whole damn tower down through sheer numbers.
Beth’s baby cried. Its shrill sobs and shrieks pierced through the growls of the pursuing Variants. Garcia wished he could offer some comfort, some promise that they would be safe soon. But he feared their safety and survival was now out of his hands. Even if they made it to the top of the lighthouse, how long could they hold out against the horde?
Another raucous yell carried up the lighthouse. One of the Variants leapt from rail to rail, bypassing the stairs entirely. Garcia whipped his rifle around and fired on the creature. Bullets clanged against metal. Sparks flew. A few Variants crumpled, but not the one that had been jumping between handrails.
The monster’s muscles coiled and tensed under its scaly flesh. Its mouth broke into what looked to Garcia like a demonic grin, and its tongue whipped as it let out a long howl. Garcia fired. The monster flew. Its claws slammed against his shoulder. Pain rocketed through Garcia’s flesh, reigniting missions-full of injuries. His helmet crashed against the wall, and he slumped onto the stairs. Beth fell, and the Variant bore down on Garcia. Spittle flew across his face as he dodged the creature’s snapping jaws.
He tried to swing at the monster, but it held his arms down. Daniels bashed the Variant with the stock of his rifle. Weapon collided with skull. A sickening thud rang out. The creature never turned its attention off Garcia.
Glowing yellow eyes locked with Garcia’s. They drilled straight through to his core. He could practically feel the hot pangs of anger and hunger pulsing through the genetically altered monster. If he squinted, he could almost see the man the creature once had been. Bits of green flecked its irises, and strands of hair hung over its scalp. Veins throbbed along its forehead and bulged in its neck. When its mouth opened again, teeth inches from his face, Garcia felt its rancid breath wash over him.
Deliver us from evil.
The words whispered through Garcia’s mind, but he knew no divine intervention would save him now.
He slammed his head forward. His helmet crashed against the Variant’s open mouth. Teeth cracked, and the monster’s lips split. Surging upward, Garcia forced the monster backward. It was dazed by its cranial injury, and its legs caught the handrail. Garcia fought through his own pain and shoved the creature’s chest hard. The Variant’s pincer claws snapped open and closed. Garcia jumped back and delivered another kick in
to the monster’s torso. Daniels smashed the stock of his rifle into the side of its head. It fell over the rail, disappearing into the mass of other creatures.
Daniels gave Garcia a knowing nod, and they continued upward. They were almost there. Already, civilians and Variant Hunters filled the platform around the lantern panes. The injured civilians, including Beth, were still lagging behind. The nearest Variants narrowed the gap between themselves and Garcia, now only a half-dozen yards away. Another Variant pounced across the space in the center of the lighthouse, but its claws came up short, scraping against the metal handrail. It plummeted.
The baby continued to scream, and Garcia dashed to catch up. He helped Beth along. The pain in her leg appeared to be worsening, and she winced with each step. Garcia motioned to take the infant so she could focus on herself. At first she seemed reluctant, holding the wailing baby closer to her breast. But a shriek from a Variant clattering up the stairs convinced her otherwise.
Beth handed over the infant, and Garcia tucked the young girl against his chest. The child’s small fingers grasped at one of his pockets, balling into tiny, delicate fists. Daniels emptied his magazine into a couple of gaining Variants. They somersaulted forward then crashed onto the steps. Others trampled their bodies, each more desperate than the last to retake the civilians that the Variant Hunters had absconded with. Garcia’s quads burned, and his lungs strained. Pain stitched itself up his sides as he finished climbing the final few steps, joining others in the light room. With the babe still secure in one arm, he reached back with his free hand to help Daniels onto the platform, where the civilians and other Variant Hunters milled about.
Someone else grabbed Daniels’s other arm and lugged him clear of the hatch to the stairs. Rollins. The marine slammed the hatch shut, locked it, then slid a heavy iron bar in place to keep it closed.