The sound of the stampede nearly hurt the men’s heads. The sound closed in, the ground shaking as the creatures entered the village.
Now, everyone began screaming.
A woman turned into the alley, and both men nearly killed her on the spot. They eased their fingers off the triggers, breathing a quick sigh of relief.
The woman looked at them, crazed at the notion of strangers here. Frozen, she stared at them, bewildered at everything going on.
Out of nowhere came three pairs of long, white arms. They stretched around the corner, dangling out like a spider’s legs, long fingertips digging into the woman’s flesh.
She cried out.
A moment of stillness followed. It was as if everything stopped. But in a blink of an eye, the pace intensified.
The long arms wrapped around her, the hands gripping tight. In an instant, the woman was pulled away.
The men could hardly believe their eyes.
Marcus kept his rifle trained south, Hernandez had his pointed north, up the alleyway. They watched one another’s backs, attempting to figure out where to go.
Something hit Marcus in the face. At first, he couldn’t figure out what it was. He reached he hand up, touching his cheek and neck. It was as if somebody turned on a faucet, the man’s skin was soaked.
“What the fuck?” Marcus exclaimed. He turned to his right to look at Hernandez, realizing what the fluid was.
Blood—his teammate’s blood.
The man’s neck was torn open, the artery pulsating, splashing blood out like a geyser. Marcus immediately let his rifle drop, now suspended by the straps, and reached his hands up. He pushed hard on the wound, blood spraying between his fingers.
“Marcus?” Hernandez gurgled.
“Oh, goddamn!” Marcus shouted. “What the fuck, man? Are you hit?” He reached for his friend but was pushed away.
Hernandez nodded forward, toward the street. He then staggered back, struggling, going to one knee. He hovered for a moment, off balance and dizzy, and then slumped to his backside. He pushed harder on the open gash.
The artery pushed back.
Marcus looked back, facing south just in time. Ten meters away, one of the most hideous things he’d ever seen stood before him. It loomed, taller than the soldier, smelling of rotten meat, enough to cause Marcus to choke on his own vomit.
The creature breathed hard, and began to lunge forward.
Marcus raised his M4 high, clicked the switch to fully automatic, and opened fire.
“Fuck you!” he screamed.
100
“Post up,” Comstock barked. Jefferson tucked up near a fallen wall to his right, York to his left. They scanned the area, anxiously awaiting contact. Dale called into his mic, “Five, Six? Report!”
They could hear something, words maybe, but nothing they could understand.
Comstock called out again.
No response.
The men could hear the small arms fire. One M4. Why one? That didn’t make sense.
“Game on,” York said.
Comstock looked in his direction, and York grinned. Dale spoke into his mic, glaring at York while doing so. “Hollywood One, this is Delta One.”
Nothing.
“Dammit, Rivers, answer me!” Comstock said.
A moment later, Rivers said, “This is Hollywood One. We’re good. Hearing the shit hit the fan from here. Want us to come your way?”
“Negative,” Comstock said. “Hold your position. What’s your SITREP?”
“Not too many people nearby. We’re alone, and they seem to be running your way. I have a clear line up a wall. Think we can make it and stay hidden.”
Comstock pondered this, then realized he didn’t have much time. He couldn’t risk the four entering the village. What if they found themselves in trouble? They’d be exposed on all sides, so remaining on the outside of the village made the most sense. “All right, keep it tight and keep quiet. Try to get to the eastern edge of the village. Sierra Bravo Four will cover you.”
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Rivers asked.
“To get my guys,” Dale replied.
“You could use the backup,” Rivers suggested.
“Negative,” Comstock replied. “Don’t want to worry about you, Hollywood. Stay put.”
Rivers knew what this meant. Dale was making a decision because of the woman. Had Svetlana not been there, he would have gladly welcomed everyone to the fight. But Rivers didn’t question Comstock, instead replying, “Roger that, we’ll meet you on the other side of the village.” He motioned to Clements, who nodded and began moving up the wall. Thompson and Svetlana followed.
*
Marcus unloaded a dozen 5.56 mm rounds into the creature’s head, turning it into a pulpy mess. The beast staggered a moment, then fell with a giant thud.
Two more rounded the corner.
Marcus did the same, unloading the magazine in a hurried burst. He ejected a magazine, letting it drop to the ground despite his training not to do so. A soldier never drops anything, especially a magazine. But time was racing, and the man didn’t have time. He reached to his chest, pulling another thirty round mag out and slamming it into the rifle. He changed it, then pointed the muzzle up, waiting for more.
They came. Dozens of villagers were now running, the creatures fast behind. Marcus watched in horror as a woman got snatched from her feet. Her legs still tried to run, held two feet in the air as the thing bit down on her neck. Another creature jumped on a man’s back, tearing into the human with razor-like claws. The man bellowed, attempting to keep his feet under him. It didn’t work, though, and he tumbled to the ground. The creature was on him, savagely cutting and slashing with his claws, every so often biting down and ripping out large chunks of flesh.
Two more arrived, then another pair. They bore down, frenzied as they chomped on the man. They ripped at his arms and legs, one focusing on his head. The creature ripped away the scalp, hair and all, leaning its head back to let the hairy piece of flesh slide down its long neck.
“What the fuck?” Marcus exclaimed, eyes wide. “We’re getting the fuck outta here, Hernandez,” he said.
No response.
He realized he hadn’t heard Hernandez fire.
Marcus stepped back, kneeling. He reached his left hand back, feeling for Hernandez, who had been slumped against the wall. Problem was, Hernandez was no longer there. Instead, Marcus’ hand was wet with warm blood, a pool of it mixing with the hardened sand.
Marcus turned, horrified that Hernandez was gone, nowhere to be seen. A long trail of blood led down the alley. Marcus snapped his head up, checking his back one quick time before looking down the alley. It was only thirty feet to the other side, but the dusk was fast becoming darkness, and he was having trouble seeing. A cloud of sand had kicked up, everything hazy. The building cast a shadow, and Marcus strained his eyes, softly calling out.
No response.
“Fuck it,” he exclaimed. Marcus looked over his shoulder once more. He saw dozens now, feasting on the flesh of helpless villagers. He then turned, tearing into the shadow, following the trail of blood.
Almost there and he saw him. Sure enough, Hernandez seemed to have crawled to the other end of the alley, laid up in the shadows. The trail of blood was easy to follow, and Marcus nearly slipped in it. Finally, though, he reached the other side. He crouched down, eyes up, looking for danger. He reached his left hand down, touching Hernandez’s moving legs. “Goddamn, bro, thought I’d lost you. We need to get out of here. Let’s get to the outer wall and I’ll patch you up.”
Still no response.
“Hernandez?”
Then, Marcus looked down. The sight before him was gruesome. What remained of his best friend was merely hips and legs. A long strand of intestines trailed out, rounding the corner of the alley.
Hernandez’s legs still moved in spastic spasms, kicking furiously.
Marcus began to vomit, tears filling his
eyes.
He puked twice, then heaved a third time. Finally, he stopped, shaking his head and attempting to gather himself. Over all these years of combat, he had tried mentally preparing himself for death, and the death of a friend. It was something he’d seen, but nothing this horrific. Monsters, he thought. Fucking monsters. It was unbelievable.
Then, Marcus raised his rifle back up. He heard something.
Crunch.
Crunch.
It sounded as if bone was being chewed on.
Marcus moved in, petrified and thirsty to avenge his friend.
He’d move a dozen paces, kneel and fire.
Reload.
Move and fire.
Reload.
But Marcus eventually met his death. It was one of honor, worthy of praise, glorious as he fired dozens of rounds into the trampling beasts. They came and droves and he dished out revenge, but in the end, the swarm was too much.
Marcus died screaming for revenge as he killed as many as he could.
It was a good death.
101
“Fucking shit, we’re coming,” Comstock said over the radio. He snapped up from his crouch, sprinting past York who was kneeling, providing cover. Comstock ran to the end of a roadway, his back against the wall as he faced north. He motioned, and Jefferson soon raced up, kneeling at an adjacent wall. York fell behind, watching their six o’clock.
Comstock took a moment, making sure the way was clear. He then stood again, running down another path, tapping Jefferson on the shoulder as he did. Comstock ran thirty feet to the mouth of another corner, this one leading onto the main street of the village. He took cover behind a cart, eyeing the scene before him.
Dale Comstock, in all his years of combat, had never seen such chaos.
The creatures were everywhere. Their skin was white, dry and cracked—almost like scales. These things had long arms and legs, not proportionate to their torsos. Their heads were enormous, giant oblong shapes with rows of teeth and slanted eyes.
The creatures attacked anything that moved, sometimes one another. They were raging, a fury of blood-lust filling them. They spasmed, slashing and biting at fleeing men and women.
Some came from around corners.
Others bounded into homes.
A few leapt from rooftops, surprising their victims who for a moment thought they might get away.
Jefferson raced up, kneeling beside Comstock and uttering, “What the fuck, Dale?”
“My God, what did we get ourselves into?” Comstock asked.
Moments later, York appeared. He sprinted an extra twenty feet, crossing the road to the other side. He hunkered down in the shadows, a fallen board his only cover. He raised his rifle up, calm for a strange reason, lining up the nearest abomination in his sights.
Comstock shook his head, trying to clear it, make sense of what he was seeing. He was disheveled, though he knew he had a job to do. His men were in trouble, and he needed to get there, and fast. Problem was, there was only one path ahead of them, and it led directly into the mouth of madness. Absolute chaos filled the street, the creatures feasting on dozens of villagers. It was a slaughter, the people had no hope. They were helpless against the attack, and if they did have guns, they didn’t bear them. There wasn’t time, anyway. The only thing they could do was run, and most did.
Comstock was appalled at what he saw next. Fifty feet away a small huddle of women stood against a wall. They were in panic, frozen at the sight of their husbands being slaughtered. They gathered close, arms wrapped around one another. The five women kept quiet, their mouths not daring utter a sound.
It didn’t matter, though. One of the nasties looked up from his meal, guts rolling out of his mouth, shaking his head, bits of meat dropping to the ground.
“Gra-grak!” it uttered. Then, it sprang up, running on all fours at breakneck speed, bounding toward the frozen women.
Comstock raised his rifle, zeroing his red dot on the creature’s chest. His finger grazed the trigger.
“Not smart, Sergeant,” York said. Comstock turned and York continued, saying, “They’ll charge if they hear it.”
Comstock turned back, looking down the street. Then, he spoke, saying, “Well, York, you wanted a fight. Here it is.”
Dale Comstock fired three bullets into the charging creature of the night, filling the air with more gunfire.
Then all hell broke loose.
102
Rivers, Clements, Thompson and Svetlana hurried down the southern edge of the village. They could hear the gunfire, helpless to aide. They continued down the path, hearing the creatures scatter by, hearing them snatch away innocent humans, bringing them back to the cave.
The four rounded a pile of rubble, and stopped in their tracks.
A woman, dressed head to toe in a burka, stood in front of them. Her face was exposed. She was young, late teens, and her face was quite beautiful.
“Fuck man, I almost shot her,” Clements said, bringing his M240 down.
“It’s just a villager. Let’s keep moving,” Rivers stated.
“Damn, my pack is heavy. Why the fuck am I carrying your shit. Oh, that’s right . . . cause a SEAL can’t bear the weight.”
“Trust me, we’ll need it soon,” Rivers said. “Let’s go!”
The four started to walk past, but something about the woman stopped them. Instincts kicked in, the situation was all wrong. She should have been afraid, petrified, but instead the woman smiled. Perfect eyes, skin, lips. Her smile grew wider and wider . . .
. . . and wider.
“That’s fucking impossible,” Thompson whispered.
The woman’s mouth now covered most of her face, jaw protruding, rows of teeth glaring at the men.
“Um, what the fuck is she doing?” Clements asked.
A moment later and Rivers shouted, “Shoot her!”
“What? I’m not shooting some innocent woman,” Clements barked, looking back.
With reflexes like a panther, Rivers shoved Clements aside. He raised his AK-47, finger on the trigger. But he paused, he couldn’t help it. Luckily, he didn’t wait long.
A massive tail rose from behind the woman. It stretched high up above her head. Rivers noticed its tip was pointy, a strange fluid dripping out.
Then, from the woman’s sleeves, what should have been hands extended. Instead, they were half hand, half claw. They clattered at him, clicking, all the while the giant tail behind her swaying back and forth like a Cobra.
It was mesmerizing.
Then, the tail struck. It came fast, from high up. Rivers moved just in time, tucking to the left, grabbing Svetlana as he went down. He screamed, “Shoot it!”
Clements was horrified at the sight, and happy to oblige. He stepped forward, braced himself, and let his M240 automatic bark glorious thunder.
The rounds ripped the creature to shreds.
Once the body crumbled, no longer a threat, all four huddled together.
“What the fuck was that?” Thompson exclaimed.
“One of the creatures,” Svetlana replied.
“We better get going,” Rivers said. “We hurry up this wall, reach the eastern side of the village stat!”
“Shit, you want to run into more of those?” Clements asked.
“Country Fuck, have you looked behind us?”
Clements turned, and to his horror saw a group of eight beasts. Some were on all fours, one had what looked like tentacles growing from its face. They were slender, hardly clothed, hardly identifiable as anything human except their general form.
All had lanky arms.
All were pale in color.
“Ah fuck, run!” Clements shouted.
Rivers grabbed Svetlana’s hand, yanking her hard as they rushed up the wall.
Clements and Thompson opened fired, spraying the creatures with forty or fifty rounds before turning and following as fast as they could.
They could hear the trampling feet at their backs.
103<
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Meanwhile, Delta One, Two and Seven had neared the location of the shots. They had since ceased, and the three feared the worse. They moved like a giant snake, slithering up the roadway, covering all angles, engaging anything that moved.
The creatures jumped from buildings, from windows, from shadows.
“To your left!” Dale shouted just in time.
Jefferson sprayed two with three round bursts from his M4.
York raced up ten meters, to another alley, taking kneeling position and firing at a dozen headed down the wide path. He screamed as he fired, taking great pleasure in killing as many as he could.
Jefferson ran up, helping engage, followed by Dale.
They moved closer and closer, nearing the last known location of Five and Six. They searched, killing creatures and looking down alleys. There was too much carnage, too much chaos.
“Sergeant,” York called out.
Gunfire erupted once more.
“Sergeant Comstock!” York screamed.
Dale turned back.
“They’re dead. Accept it. We need to get out of the village.”
“We don’t leave a man behind.”
“Hear that?” York asked. “Your boy Clements, that’s his M240. They have some trouble. Ahead of us though. Close to the edge of the village.”
Dale thought a moment, though he didn’t have long. The creatures were regrouping, and he scanned down a dark alley, seeing dozens flock past on the adjacent street. They were headed to their rear. The creatures were flanking them.
Impossible, he thought.
Dale decided York was right. “Fine. Move forward, call out your mag changes. We hit the outer wall. We’re not that far away. Jefferson, watch our rear.”
Onward and onward they moved, down street after street, fighting a bloody battle for survival.
104
Clements would turn and spray, killing a handful, then turn and run again, Thompson always at his side. He could hear the AK-47’s distinct sound in front, as Rivers cleared their path, checked their corners as they passed alleyways.
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