by A W Wang
“Stop shooting,” I say, watching the bobbing figure struggle, the armor restricting just enough movement and adding just enough weight to make swimming impossible.
The pops of gunfire reverberate louder and more insistent.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“They might come back for that one,” says a girl with a 2.65 score.
Knowing the opponents, I shake my head. “The shooting means they’re coming down the other islands. We can’t get cut off. Remember, against these guys, any mistake can get us killed.”
When she glares, Bob adds, “Tammy, there’ll be plenty to kill later.”
As the faraway splashing stills, I lead my teammates toward a network of waist-high trenches crisscrossing the long island and select the one leading to our boat. Crouching and in single file between the walls of dirt, we manage a decent clip, but when we near the landing point, the spiders flitter over my nape. I stop.
“What’s wrong?” Bob whispers.
Trusting my instincts, I reply, “We’re in trouble.” I point to the far side of the island. “We go to the reserve boat.”
Not fully understanding, Bob follows with the others as I move into a leftward veering trench.
Shadows flicker near the shoreline on our right. “Damn, they’re getting around us.”
The statement sets off alarms. The others crunch on pebbles and scrape against plants as we scramble toward our escape.
“Noise discipline,” I hiss.
Their motions quiet, but our pace noticeably slows.
Frustration boiling, and needing to stop the threat, I slow at a junction and wave everyone past. “No matter what, keep moving,” I whisper to Bob.
As I slowly back after them, I keep my attention on the flank, picking out a single shadow sliding among a spiral of plants.
After studying the quick movements, I settle on a bonfire in the figure’s path.
When it moves behind the flames for cover, I pull the trigger.
The three-round burst connects with armor.
Without waiting, I burn the rest of the magazine in a barrage of suppressing fire to make the enemy more cautious. Then, quickly reloading, I turn.
Ahead, three darkened forms jump at Bob and the others. The intermingled battle doesn’t allow for a clean shot, so I leap out of the trench and sprint ahead.
After clearing some shiny leaves, I sling my rifle and leap between the dirt walls, yanking out my knife. As I fly past Bob, I slash at the person attacking him.
She throws up enough of a defense to block the strike, but the distraction tips the fight in his favor.
Not stopping, I plow into the next opponent, using my free hand to create enough of an opening to plunge my knife into her gut. Then instead of letting go, I jam my shoulder into her chest and push her into the next fight.
She laughs, trying to bite through my armor.
The final one stabs Tammy and then, leaving the knife in her, grabs at his pistol.
I hunch lower, and when he shoots, the bullets smack into my human shield, killing her. When his gun empties, I toss the body into him and charge. The unconventional tactic catches him by surprise, and I nail a side kick into his chest.
The large man flies into a wall.
I follow and pile drive my shoulder under his chin. Then flipping his visor up, I swivel and shove him face first into a plant. A pointy leaf disintegrates against the back of his helmet.
As his limp body spills down the wall, the passage quiets.
Bob has disposed of his opponent and while he helps up my other two dazed teammates, I retrieve my knife and check on Tammy.
She’s dead.
Surprised the good luck lasted as long as it did, I say, “We’ve got a few seconds before they figure out what happened. Run.”
Bob tugs my arm. “There’s only three or four more. We can take them.”
We probably can, but we can’t afford a prolonged fight. “No, we stick with the plan.”
After a last check of the landscape, I push myself from the trench and dash directly to the shore with everyone struggling to keep up.
As I near, a momentary fear shivers up my spine, but thankfully the reserve boat sits at the water’s edge. When we reach it, I say to Bob, “It’s here like you said it would be.”
He winks as I shove the boat off the beach. “Everyone in.”
After the others board, I force the rubber craft further from the riverbank and slide over the side tube.
Down an intersecting channel a couple of hundred meters away, one of the enemy boats lands near some bonfires.
A crossfire erupts from their front and across the channel.
“Get em,” Bob says while the others cheer.
In a few seconds, the brutal firefight consumes the five enemies, the last twisting into a bonfire and releasing an orgy of angry orange sparks.
Bob announces with a smile, “We’re finally whooping some ass.”
Staying silent, I watch the water rush by as we head to the next defense position. Soon, we’re going to run out of ground to give and we’ll have to stand and fight.
Then, this shit-show will get worse.
A lot worse.
Razor leaves slice at my shin protection with each of my hurried steps. I dive over a row of prickly shrubs and land in a shallow trough.
Bullets follow, smacking through packed earth and exploding deadly plants.
As metallic debris rains over me, I press my face into the dirt.
More shots blast into a nearby fire.
I jerk sideways as hot ash spatters the area, spilling over my armor and seeping between the shoulder plates. I roll behind another shrub, grimacing from the pinpricks of heat stabbing my skin.
The gunfire hits a crescendo and then ebbs, a familiar pattern being replayed during the last few minutes.
True to my worst fears, we’ve run out of room to retreat and the battle has become a nightmare. Just like in the ninja scenario, the enemy is vicious, cunning, and ruthless—everything one could desire in elite combat assets.
I peek beyond the fading orange specks.
A shadow separates from the dim landscape.
Expending valuable ammunition, I fire behind the sprinting form, placing shots into dark patches that could hide lurking evils. Afterward, I hunch and scuttle to my right.
Sand sprays as Bob thumps next to me.
“Anyone left?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “They’re not trying anything resembling strategy.”
“They don’t need any. Killing and torture—that’s their goal.”
“They’re doing an outstanding job.” A smirk appears under the crack in his visor. “I got two of those pricks.”
As long as Syd is alive, I can’t afford the levity. “Don’t get too happy.”
Bob lifts his visor. “In my younger days, I did some cruel things. I don’t remember them, at least not most of them. I wanted to survive long enough to forget everything, but this makes up for it. I suppose.”
This time when his stare lingers, seeking some sort of absolution, my anger rises. Walt killed his neighbor’s dog and thought forgetting it would be the same as not doing it.
“Even if you forget, you can’t undo what you’ve done. And what you do here will be worse and you’ll never get rid of those memories.”
When his eyes waver, I regret the harsh words. It’s not his fault Walt betrayed me or Suri died. Bob’s trying to become a better person. By being good or lucky, I’ve reached a nine sigma level, but that doesn’t qualify me as a priest.
I turn my head to yellow dots winking across the other islands. A second later, faded pops fill the air. It’s reassuring. “The team’s fighting well. Much better than I had any right to expect.”
Bob turns serious. “There’s no stopping them.”
Like the lulls in our battle, the distant flashes die as the remaining combatants conserve ammunition and seek more advantageous positions. “We’re giving much m
ore than we’re getting.”
“That won’t last,” he says with resignation. “We’re not going to win, are we?”
Syd’s people outnumber us more than four to one. They could attack with everything at once and we’d be done. But they’re not. “No, we won’t, but so long as we’re alive, we keep fighting. Never forget that.”
A bullet shatters a nearby plant. Bob ducks before I can see if my advice had any effect.
Silence follows. Another calm in the chaos. I peer beyond the shallow rise of our cover.
Distant forms shift positions under the bright moonlight.
I tap Bob on the shoulder. “There are five more. Probably going to try a flanking attack. Let’s move.”
“Maybe I’ll kill enough of them to scrub that guilt stain off my conscience,” he offers.
“You might, you might just do that,” I reply, exaggerating his southern accent.
Nodding, he gives a grim smile, the expression of someone who has finally accepted his death.
Good.
After taking a last peek at the shadows crossing the long landmass, I lead him, mostly sliding and sometimes crawling, past the raised line of plants and into a shallow dimple at the edge of the beach.
Behind us, wisps of a thin fog from the coming storm crawl over the channel, while far across the waterway, our flag shimmers. Protecting the landing beach from the opposite side is a three-person team led by Odet and so far unengaged. Another good sign.
Bob freezes as a sexy voice drifts past. “Brin? Girl with the pretty red hair. Is that you hiding?”
Belle.
I lift my head and scan the darkness.
“They know you?” Bob whispers. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Be quiet,” I reply in too angry a tone.
Faint footsteps come from our right as a shadow darts between the cover of the shrubs. “Why so shy, Brin?”
They know I’m here because of Walt.
I should have killed him.
The deranged voice continues, “Syd is thrilled you’re here for his sendoff. He’s coming for you. He’s going to get what you promised before he leaves this universe. But he’s not here now. Now, you’re mine. All the wonderful suffering I have planned for you.”
Despite my combat experiences, the hairs rise on my arms as I think of Belle between my thighs cutting my femoral nerves. I fight the urge to toss my grenades because I only have two of the precious commodities. Instead, I satisfy my fear and anger by snap firing over a small arc and wasting ammunition.
No wet crunches of bullets piercing armor and entering soft flesh come from the darkness.
“What are you doing?” Bob hisses.
Probably getting us killed.
I should know better than to allow my personal feelings to interfere with the scenario.
“But if nothing else, this battle is entirely personal,” internal me states.
Turning to Bob, I stab my finger in the direction of my stalker. “Keep watch.” Then I slide down the loose sand and onto the wasted shell casings. I’m too fixated on what’s in front of me. The familiar spiders are crawling on my nape, and I’m missing something. The enemy is feral and animal smart. Everything happens for a reason.
Because it’s a decoy.
I twist onto my back and fire at a leaping form. The bullet hits center mass, blowing a hole in his chest. The body flops out of sight as I switch to fully automatic and empty the magazine into a helmet rising over the crest of our shallow depression. Sand and blood spray everywhere.
Bob fires in the opposite direction.
Before I can reload, a massive outline blots out the full moon.
I toss my weapon at it and dive, tumbling onto the riverbank with bullets stitching the ground behind me.
From the side, Bob curses. Dark forms swirl in the dimness as he engages Belle in desperate hand-to-hand combat.
The firing stops.
Instantly, I’m on my feet and drawing my knife, I leap at the final two before they can reload.
The first, a smallish woman, yanks out her pistol, shouting, “She’s got red hair. Kill her. Cut her up.”
As the barrel swings toward me, I quick step inside her guard and launch my knife through her breastplate.
Groaning, she drops the gun and wraps her hands around the hilt.
Shocked by the unbridled hatred in her eyes, I hesitate as she falls and twists the knife from my grip.
A huge shadow flies at me, covering the night sky.
Surprised, I backpedal.
The second opponent, more giant than man, lands and charges with his raised knife glinting in the moonlight.
I execute a two-handed block and stop the blade.
A punch slams into my chest, denting the armor and knocking the air from my lungs.
I stagger but maintain the block on his knife hand.
He’s unnaturally strong and lands another vicious blow.
Gasping from bruised ribs, I slip, trying to find purchase in the sand, then as his fist rises again, I twist to avoid the follow-up. The blow glances off my shoulder, but in my awkward position, I sink to a knee.
A groan comes from Bob. I can’t help him.
My opponent stabs at my head.
I grab his wrist with both hands, stopping the point a centimeter from my helmet.
Leaning over me, the monster-sized man grunts as he uses his superior weight to drive me into the ground.
From the contorted stance, I resist with every bit of strength I can muster, but the knife tip hovers millimeters above my visor.
A cry of pain and a snap of cartilage come from the other fight. I have my own troubles.
Words float past me. “Kill the meat. Cleave the meat. Eat the meat.”
The crazed chant is coming from my opponent.
Terror rising, I fire a punch into one of his thick legs.
Without the force of both my hands, the knife sinks, slicing the clear material of my visor, but with a desperate shove, I stop it short of my eye as the chanting rings louder in my ears.
I punch again, harder and nearer his knee, leaving a dent in his armor.
This time he grunts and shifts his body.
The change in his balance allows me to twist his wrist. His knife leaves a gash across the visor as I guide it past my face. He grimaces as I bring my punching hand back to break his grip.
The weapon falls into the sand. Although monstrous, he’s no bald giant.
I pop up and drive an open palm into his chin, rattling his head and knocking his helmet askew.
With a snarl and blood dripping from his mouth, he clutches my shoulders and pushes forward, powered by an unnatural rage.
The blue liquid.
My legs buckle as I strain to hold my ground.
He relaxes his grip, chanting as he gathers strength for a final assault. When he shoves at my chest, I swivel. Tucking, I use his momentum to shoulder throw him into a circle of plants. His massive form smashes through the brittle leaves with loud crunches and flops into the water.
As he rises, I swoop over the plant stems and into the river, launching a hook that catches his temple and sends his helmet flying.
He staggers a few steps and then tumbles with a gigantic splash.
Trembling from the effort, I suck down a long breath to settle my nerves.
Rivulets of water pour down his armor when he turns over and sluggishly stands. Painted streaks of blood, black and oily in the moonlight, create a zigzag pattern around his dull, beady eyes. While he stares unnaturally, a blocky smile containing an odd gap between his huge front teeth appears on his face. He utters, “Meat.”
I leap and jab his throat with armored knuckles. As he coughs, I brush past a feeble block and jump up. Latching onto his shoulders, I twist my legs and pull him down, slamming his unprotected head onto a plant.
What’s behind his face splits into pieces.
While bits of skull and brain float away in dark streams of blood, the
insanity of the blue liquid forms on my tongue. I spit and after taking another calming breath, kick his body into the water.
A gap in his armor snags on a broken plant stem, leaving his thick limbs waving in the slow current.
Although the spiders aren’t dancing on my nape, I draw my pistol and sweep the moonlit terrain.
Everything has stilled, and, at least temporarily, the fighting is over.
I exit the channel and check for injuries. Besides being scratched, my armor has done its job protecting me from the dangerous flora. There are superficial wounds, a minor burn on my shoulder and several bruised ribs but nothing to impede my combat abilities.
Cackles float from above the beach.
Taking deliberate steps to gather myself, I put away my pistol, and after I ascend the slope, step to my first female victim.
Not recognizing her but wondering why she hated me, I let my gaze linger.
Blonde hair with frosted purple tips peeks from under her helmet, partially obscuring her large green eyes. A slight upturn makes her nose cute, while a perfect alabaster complexion and full lips complete her innocent but sexy look. Even amongst the perfectly fit people of the Ten Sigma Program, she’s stunning and not someone to forget.
I scowl.
Who cares why she hated me?
Although not obvious, dabs of blood adorn the sides of her face. She’s a mass murderer on a team of mass murderers and is probably one of the worst people who’s ever existed. None of them deserve any mercy.
When I pull my knife from her chest, her eyes jitter with fury.
A scary moment passes before I blow out a disgusted sigh. It’s only moonlight reflecting off her visor. There are enough terrifying things running around this scenario without factoring in the supernatural.
Here, death is final.
To show my disdain, I lift the visor and wipe the bloody knife on her face before sheathing it. Then I nab my assault rifle and add the magazines from the dead to my ammo belt. I don’t find much; they’ve had a lengthy scenario too.
After finishing, I march toward the last combatants lying in the moonlit side of the shallow dimple.
Bob is gone. His face presses into the junction of his killer’s thighs, his knife buried at the end of a long slit in her belly. Except for being clad in armor, they could pass for lovers in foreplay.