by Bible, Jake
Masks are ripped off and fingers go straight for eyes. Teeth find flesh and rip. Men fall as they are pounced on from people that had been docile just seconds before, but are now raging, homicidal maniacs.
“Drop them!” Foster shouts and the firing begins.
With surgical precision, every tech is put down. Most have perfectly spaced holes in their backs, while some are missing most of their heads. Either way they are all killed quickly.
“Sound off!” Foster orders as she ejects her spent magazine and slams in a fresh one. After the roll call, she realizes they are down to less than half strength. Fuck.
Then the wheel in the center of the vault door starts to turn. All rifles take aim as the messed up children’s song keeps playing over and over. But the sound changes. It no longer comes from the speakers, but from behind the vault door as the massive hunk of steel swings open.
Standing before the armed contractors are twelve teenage women. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, all dressed in dark grey tank tops with skintight black pants tucked into black combat boots. In each hand, they hold long blades that look dangerously sharp.
They are the voices singing now, taking over for the voice in the speakers.
“We kill the soldiers because they hate us, they hate us, they hate us,” they all sing. “We kill the soldiers because they hate us. And it’s fun to watch them die!”
The speed.
When it is all over that is one thing Foster remembers until her last breath, the speed.
She was born into the military life, has seen combat on every single continent across the globe, but has never seen speed like that before. The girls move like cranked up cats, the blades out like claws, their arms swinging this way and that, leaving nothing but blood and screams in their wake.
Foster ducks a blade and jams her rifle into the solar plexus of the redhead that tries to kill her. The girl grunts and staggers, unable to overcome the hit. Foster doesn’t hesitate, knowing a thing or two about speed herself, and brings the rifle butt into the girl’s jaw, knocking her off her feet. Without a thought, Foster drops the rifle and pulls the long pistol from her hip. Two shots to the girl’s chest. Two small darts bob from the girl’s right breast, sending her to la la land.
“They’re our targets!” Foster screams to her people. “Tranqs only! Do not kill!”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Joe T yells as he takes a slash to his left bicep.
It isn’t enough to slow him, but it hurts like a motherfucker. He sends a haymaker into the side of a blonde’s head, knocking her off her feet. His boot connects with her ribcage as he pulls his tranq pistol and puts two in her thigh. She struggles to get up then collapses, unconscious.
Foster watches as two of her men are split from groin to throat by one girl. Sharp can’t even express the blades if they go through Kevlar like butter. Foster raises her pistol and fires, but the girl ducks and rolls, letting the darts fly harmlessly into the wall. The girl comes up and chucks one of the blades, forcing Foster to dive to the side or lose her head.
Before Foster can get up, the girl is on her, her fist finding Foster’s jaw, sending the woman tumbling. Foster rolls with it onto one knee, tranq gun still in hand. She fires, catching the girl in the neck. The look of surprised fury on the girl’s face is almost comical. Almost.
“Sorry about this,” Foster says as the girl falls to a knee. Foster slams her fist into the girl’s face, knocking her on her ass. The girl tries to get back up, her drugged eyes burning holes in Foster’s. “Damn. You have some fight in you.”
Foster puts another dart in the girl, right next to the first one. The girls spits at her just as she passes out.
Turning to survey the scene, Foster is glad to see all the girls have been taken down. She’s also shocked to see she lost eight men, leaving her a bare bones Team of ten. Not ideal, but better than a complete loss.
“Joe,” Foster says, “you okay?”
“It’s not deep,” Joe T says, looking at the wound on his arm. “I’ll live.”
“Everyone else?”
“Good to go, boss,” Zorn says. “We sweeping the rest of the facility or bugging out?”
“Command? This is Foster. You copy?” Foster says into her com. “Command?”
“Hold tight, Foster,” a voice replies, “we have a situation.”
Everyone frowns and they look at each other and wonder what the fuck that means.
“I’m sorry,” Foster says, “but the only situation I give two shits about is the one I’m in now. We have the targets and are taking them to the extraction point. What’s the ETA on the chopper?”
“Hold, Foster,” the voice says.
“Listen,” Foster snaps, “I have no time to hold. We need an ETA on the extraction, stat.”
“Foster,” a voice growls, “this is Bedford. You need to sit tight. Something bigger than us is going down right now.”
“What the fuck?” Zorn mouths, but Foster shakes her head.
“What’s the scoop?” Foster asks.
“We don’t know,” Bedford replies. “We have reports of riots spreading across the country. Wait...now across the world. People are going insane.”
“I’m not following, Bedford,” Foster says, “and I don’t care. Get us that bird ASAP. I want my Team out of here within the half-hour.”
“Roger that, Foster,” Bedford replies. “Bird will be on the way. Just a heads up you’ll be coming home hot. Headquarters is surrounded by rioters.”
“Understood,” Foster says, “just get us out of this backwoods shithole.”
“So, no sweep?” Zorn asks.
“No sweep,” Fosters says and nods at the tranqed girls. “Make sure they are secured and let’s haul them out to the LZ. There are some very influential and rich people waiting to get their daughters back.”
“We aren’t going after the crazy fucker that took them?” Joe T asks.
“Not the objective,” Foster responds as she pulls several zip ties from her pocket. She leans over a girl, flips her onto her stomach and ties her wrists together then her ankles. “I doubt the esteemed Doctor Kramer stuck around to watch the show. He’s probably long gone by now.”
The Team is able to get the girls secured and hurry to haul the sleeping bodies outside to a wide clearing. Rifles at the shoulders, the Team watches the tree line around them and the ridges above, never taking their safety for granted.
“Come on,” Foster whispers. “Where the fuck are you?”
“MA’AM!” THE CHOPPER pilot shouts as he steps from the helicopter. “Ma’am! You need to move!”
The pilot watches as a woman staggers towards him, her body covered in only a torn nightgown despite the chill in the early morning air. A grunt and a moan draws his attention to the trees beyond and he sees a man dressed in only boxers come stumbling out from behind a large oak.
“Fucking hillbillies.”
The woman opens her mouth and hisses at the pilot, sending cold chills up and down his spine. He slowly draws the pistol from his belt, holding it firmly down and against his leg.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what drugs you are on, but you need to step away from my bird,” the pilot yells.
“Dell? This is Bedford,” a voice says over the com. “Why aren’t you in the air?”
“A problem with the locals,” Dell replies. “It’s getting a little Deliverance here.”
“I don’t care. I have my own shit to deal with. Things are fucking weird,” Bedford says. “Get to the LZ and extract Foster’s Team now.”
“Roger,” Dell says and holsters his pistol. “See if I care if this bitch gets chopped to bits.”
Dell hops back in the chopper and slams his door shut. The woman keeps coming at him, but he just flips her off and starts to prepare for takeoff. Just as he is about to lift up, the woman reaches the chopper and starts banging on the door, making Dell jump.
“Jesus!” he yells. “What the fuck is...wrong...with... Holy shit...”
The woman’s face is smeared with blood and bits of flesh hang from her mouth. She snarls at Dell and slams her forehead against the chopper while her hands, also covered in blood, slap against the Plexiglas.
“Command?” Dell calls over the com, looking past the woman to the man. He has friends.
“What is it, Dell?” Bedford asks. “I don’t have time for this.”
“When you said things are getting weird, what did you mean?” Dell asks. “Did you mean like crazy people covered in blood weird?”
“It looks like that,” Bedford says. “We don’t have all the intel yet.”
Dawn light crests over the ridge of the cove the chopper is tucked away in, lighting up the man and his friends. Like the woman, they are all covered in blood. One of them is carrying what looks like a doll’s arm. But as Dell watches blood drip from the end, he quickly thinks it didn’t ever belong to a doll.
He knows for certain when the woman carrying the arm jams it into her mouth and starts chewing.
“Holy fuck,” Dell says. “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
He starts to lift the chopper, but it tilts wildly, unbalanced on one side. Dell looks over and sees that a whole crowd has snuck up on him while he was busy watching the woman and the people behind her. A blood covered, gore smeared mob has the skids pinned as they surround the chopper. Dell thinks he can get some lift and maybe shake them off, so he pulls up on the stick.
He’s wrong.
Everything goes to shit fast and the chopper begins to spin wildly. The rear rotor slams into the part of the mob that aren’t caught in the skids, spraying the landscape with blood. Dell tries not to puke as guts splatter the windshield. He fails.
The tail catches on a short pine and the chopper tips, sending the main rotor into the ground. The blades snap in half as the helicopter spins and falls to its side. Stunned, covered in his own sick, and terrified by the insanity about him, Dell pulls his pistol, kicks the side door open, and hauls himself up out of the smoking chopper.
The area around him is covered in blood. But that doesn’t stop any of the people from stepping right through it on their way to him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you fucks?” Dell shouts as he empties his pistol into the mob. He sees the slugs rip open chests and hit legs and he watches the people fall. Then he watches them get back up. He keeps pulling the trigger, the sound of the empty pistol echoing along with the moans and groans of the mob.
Dell fumbles at his belt, trying desperately to find the extra magazines for his pistol. His hand finds one just as a hand grips his ankle. He screams and looks down. Below him is the first woman. Or half of her at least. The bottom half is gone and all that is left are intestines hanging from her torso.
“Holy fuck!” Dell screams as the woman starts to climb his body.
He ejects his spent magazine, tries to get the fresh one in, but fumbles it. It falls and smacks the woman right between the eyes. She hisses then opens her mouth wide and chomps down onto his leg. Dell screams as he feels her teeth tear into his flesh, going right through the pants leg.
He pulls his arm back, ready to punch her in the face and knock her off him, but his arm is caught. Dell looks over his shoulder and the blood drains from his face as the piss drains from his bladder. The last thing he sees is a mouth of bloody teeth.
“COMMAND!” FOSTER YELLS. “Where the fuck is the chopper?”
“No go, Foster,” Bedford replies. “We lost contact with Dell. Secure yourself and the cargo. It could be a while before we can get you out of there.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Foster yells. “I am going to have your ass for this, Bedford!”
“I know, boss,” Bedford replies. “But we have- HOLY FUCK!”
The com goes dead leaving a slight ringing and a hiss of static in Foster’s ear.
“Command? Command? Bedford, do you read me?” Foster calls. “Bedford! What the fuck is going on there?”
There is no reply.
“Uh, boss?” Zorn says. “We have company.”
Foster turns her attention back to the facility and frowns. “I thought we terminated the staff.”
“We did,” Zorn replies. “After they went all ape shit we put them all down.”
“Some got back up,” Joe T replies. “Jesus, I killed that guy myself. Look at the placement on his chest.”
A couple dozen staff members, moaning and groaning, shamble their way towards the Team. Most of them are covered in blood from the chest wounds they received when they were shot. It doesn’t even faze them.
“Boss? Orders?” Zorn asks.
“Take ‘em out,” Foster replies as she opens fire.
The staff begin to shudder and shake like a grotesque, country line dance. Then they fall. The Team all wait, their rifles still up. Every one of them have their senses set to high, their guts telling them it isn’t over. And it isn’t.
One by one, the staff begins to rise.
“Not possible,” one of the Team members says. “Not fucking possible.”
“Don’t say something isn’t possible when you are watching it happen,” Foster snaps. “Head shots. Now.”
The rifles bark and brains fly. The staff drops again. The Team waits. This time they don’t get back up. The Team keeps waiting. Still no movement.
“I’ve seen this movie,” Joe T says, “it doesn’t end well.”
“I want a supply check now!” Foster orders. “We are on our own until we hear from Command.”
The Team takes stock of their ammunition and supplies. No one is pleased.
“Orders, boss?” Zorn asks Foster.
She starts to answer but is interrupted by one of the girls on the ground.
“We kill the soldiers because they hate us, they hate us...”
The singing is stopped by Foster’s boot to the girl’s face. But others start to stir and take up the refrain. Foster’s face scrunches up with rage.
“The girls on the ground shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up!” Foster screams in the cadence of the nursery rhyme. “The girls on the ground shut the fuck up or they get a bullet to their heads!”
The girls on the ground shut the fuck up. And stare at Foster.
“That’s not creepy,” Joe T says.
No one moves. Foster watches the girls and the girls watch Foster.
Then...
“The girls on the ground get up and walk, get up and walk, get up and walk,” Foster sings. “The girls on the ground get up and walk, all the way back inside.”
The girls on the ground get up and walk back to the facility without question.
“What the fuck is going on, boss?” Zorn asks.
“They’re conditioned,” Foster says. “Early stages, by the looks of it.”
“Why?” Joe T asks.
“If we hadn’t crashed Kramer’s party then he would have let them go,” Foster replies. “Brainwashed sleepers set back into some of the wealthiest families on the planet. The song is a trigger. He was just getting them compliant.”
“We can make them do anything?” one of the Team members asks.
“None of you make them do shit,” Foster says. “Watch their asses and make sure they don’t try to kill us again.”
“Are we going back inside with them?” Joe T asks.
“For now, yes,” Foster replies. “We clear the facility and hunker down until Command can send a chopper. Try to find the communications room. We need to see what the fuck is going on that had Bedford so spooked.”
“He didn’t sound spooked at the end,” Joe T says.
“He sounded dead,” Zorn adds.
“No assumptions,” Foster says. “We secure the facility. Make it ours. We are now in Plan B.”
“We had a Plan B?” a Team member asks.
“We do now,” Foster replies.
Z-DAY PLUS THIRTY.
“Foster? Do you read me? Foster come in.”
“Huh,”
Foster mumbles, pulling herself from a deep sleep. She checks her watch and sees she was out for only an hour, the longest straight stretch of sleep she’s gotten in weeks. “What the...? Bedford?”
“Yes!” Bedford nearly shouts in the com. The com Foster hasn’t been removed from her ear in thirty days. “You’re alive!”
“What the hell, Bedford?” Foster snarls as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Staying alive,” Bedford says. “Not the easiest thing to do these days.”
“Tell me about it,” Foster says. She, along with the girls and the rest of the Team had watched the news reports until every station started to blink out one by one. “Is there even anyone left out there?”
“I don’t know,” Bedford replies. “I just got back into headquarters. We’ve secured most of the floors including Command. You’re the only Team that has responded.”
“Jesus,” Foster sighs. “There were eighty Teams out on missions across the world.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bedford says. “Doesn’t mean they’re all dead, just means none of them are answering.” Bedford takes a deep breath. “Listen we’re coming to get you.”
“Thank God,” Foster says. “What’s the ETA on the chopper?”
“No chopper, I’m afraid,” Bedford replies. “We have a convoy of Humvees heading your way. I just gave the order. ETA is two days. Just hang tight and stay on the com.”
“Two days?” Foster says. “From DC to Asheville? That’s an eight hour drive.”
“Not with the way the roads are,” Bedford says. “Every major interstate is clogged. Takes forever to clear room. They are using back highways and side roads. I’ll send you exact extraction coordinates when they get closer. For now just do whatever you are doing to stay alive.”
“Roger that,” Foster says, “and hey, Bedford?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“It’s good to hear your voice,” Foster says.
“You too, boss.”
“BRITTANY JUST ATE MY ass!” a girl yells, her arms up in the air as she stands over the slumped form at her feet. “Game, set, and match, beeyotch!”