by Mic Shannon
“We just passed one a few miles back, Chief.”
“We’ve got enough battery to push it,” he replied, “We just gotta make it to Torreón. Then we can stop. We’ve got a little less than an eighth of a charge. We’re fine.”
“We have a sixteenth of a charge, we need to go back now.”
“I’m not stopping until we’ve at least made it somewhere safe. We’re too out in the open.”
“And what the hell are we gonna do if we break down, huh? Should I write sitting duck on the side of our car?!”
The Chief slammed on the brakes, causing them to lock up as the car slid uncontrollably. When the car finally came to a stop and their heads snapped backward, he threw the car in park. James suddenly became infuriated.
“So, let me get this straight,” said the Chief, turning to James and raising his voice, “you want me to turn the car around and go back to a recharge station that provides zero cover so that we can stand outside for ten minutes waiting to get jumped on by invisible…whatever the fuck they are?! You wanna talk about sitting duck?! There’s your sitting duck right there!”
“We’re not going to make it unless we recharge!” retorted James, yelling back at him, “and if we do make it…and that’s a big if…how do you know that we won’t be sitting ducks there as well!”
“Who’s in charge here?!” yelled the Chief, dip spit flying out of his mouth into his mustache and beard, “Or did you forget that this is my op?!”
“Screw this, I’m outta here,” said James, pulling the door handle and hopping out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him in an emphatic exit.
“Hey,” yelled the Chief, hopping out of the vehicle to follow him, “Hey…you get back here right now!”
“NO!” he snapped, “I’d be better off on my own.”
“I’m serious, Jim! We’re exposed! We need to get out of the open!”
James turned back to yell in response, but as he did, he realized he couldn’t hear a thing. It was as if his sense of hearing had been snatched from him. He reached up and touched his ears, thinking that he had suddenly gone deaf.
Suddenly, he began to hear a faint high-pitched tone. It started off at very low volume, like a hearing test at the doctor’s office, then beginning to crescendo until the volume began to rattle his ear drums. He could see the Chief standing next to the vehicle holding his ears in pain. Even though he couldn’t hear it, he could tell that he was yelling in agony. The sound continued to increase until James was forced to grab his own ears for fear that his head might explode.
The object that hit the vehicle caused a bright flash that fried his AR Glasses to a pitch blackness. The impact pushed him away from the vehicle and almost made him fall onto his back, and then immediately sucked him back toward the vehicle, landing him on his chest. The chief, closer the SUV, had been blown away from the vehicle into the air, and then changed direction mid-flight as he was sucked back toward the SUV, landing on his side. As his hearing returned to him, James, in confusion, tore the AR Glasses from his face for fear of blindness. Blinking several times, he looked around. Both men laid on the ground, confused, having never experienced anything like that before. The SUV, just like the battleship on the coast, was melting into the street.
“Cover...” James choked out, his throat unexplainably dry. He cleared his throat and then repeated it at a full scream when he regained his voice, “COVER!”
The Chief was lying flat, his face pressed against the blacktop, dazed. His AR Glasses looked burnt on the outside as he slowly sat up, holding his ears and moaning from the pain. James popped up, holding his ribs as he flew over to the Chief’s side and helped him up, throwing one arm over his shoulders to assist him with walking. In the distance behind them, James saw a stampede of claw marks tearing up the ground, about three hundred feet away, racing in their direction.
“Shit, Chief let’s go!”
The Chief was still trying to pull himself together, stumbling from the loss of equilibrium. He pulled his AR Glasses off and looked over at James, confused. His hearing still hadn’t returned yet, and his vision was blurry, but he could see the desperation in James’ face as he craned his neck repeatedly looking behind them. The Chief, finally gaining more confidence in the use of his legs, looked back and saw the claw marks approaching full speed, going from the roofs of the buildings to the walls and propelling themselves closer. When it clicked, the Chief’s eyes grew frighteningly large and he began to increase his speed.
They both broke out into a full sprint, faster than they would have ever believed that they had the energy for. Their hearts began to beat to the tune of survival as their legs did the carrying without any second thought toward anything other than self-preservation.
They continued running, getting off the main road and taking a right turn by a supermarket nestled at the corner. Just a few feet away, there was a U.S. Marine standing by the side door, waving for them to come over to the entryway.
“Let’s go, hurry up!” yelled the Marine, arms frantically waving for them to get inside.
Instinctively, they ran into the supermarket and plastered their backs to the wall in fear, sliding down onto the floor in exhaustion as the metal door slammed behind them. The Marine turned the bolt lock and peeked through the small window at the top of the door, observing.
James and the Chief were still sitting on the floor, catching their breath. When they looked around the giant open area, dark from no power, they saw two other Marines kneeling in their direction with weapons at the ready.
“Talk to me, Carter, what do you see?” hissed one of the Marines, his rifle trained anxiously at the door.
He peeked back through the glass on the door and saw the concrete cracking in the middle of the street, followed by three more cracks dropping onto the blacktop. He ducked back down quickly.
“We got a shit ton of ‘em outside, Staff Sergeant!” he hissed back, trying keep quiet with his stage whisper.
“Alright, let’s go!”
“Come on,” whispered Carter to James and the Chief, “stay low and follow us.”
They ran through the market, making sure to stay out of view of any windows or glass that would expose their position. They weaved through the aisles like rats in a maze smelling cheese. Rushing to their destination, they finally arrived at a cellar door.
“Let’s go, inside now!” yelled the Staff Sergeant as he lifted the door and held it open, helping everyone into the basement as they passed him, and finally running through himself and closing it.
They made their way down the stairs into a small opening, with a bulb swinging from the ceiling next to its pull chain.
“Ok,” said the Staff Sergeant, “everyone stay quiet.”
They could hear the creatures jumping onto the roof and crawling up the sides of the building walls. The bumping noises from them running across the top of the building got louder and louder until it was apparent that they had provoked way more than they originally thought.
James huddled next to Lance Corporal Carter. As he looked across the tense faces of the men, he began to speak.
“Ya know, you don’t have to whis…”
“Shh, quiet,” whispered Carter.
He stopped speaking to satisfy them. He wanted to explain that silence wasn’t necessary, but on second thought, amidst the chaos, he kind of welcomed the idea, as if it provided a calm for the nervous anxiety built up inside of them.
After what sounded like the running of the bulls passing over the roof of the building, James looked across the room at the three Marines, all hiding in solitude. There was a crate full of fruit and empty soup cans on one side of the room. On the other, bottles of water had their place on the stocking shelves next to green vegetables.
“I think they’re gone,” said the Staff Sergeant, looking up at the ceiling as the dust stopped falling on their heads, “Staff Sergeant Romeo, Second Battalion, Fifth Marines. That’s Master Sergeant Wick over there by the beans.”
“James Jackson, Special Operations Group, Special Activities Division.”
“Chief Petty Officer Harris, SEAL Team Six.”
The Staff Sergeant looked over at James, “CIA, huh?”
“Hey,” said the Master Sergeant, “weren’t you at Tiger Black Site in Tel Aviv? You look familiar.”
“Well, you know,” replied James, “even Papa was a rolling stone.”
The Master Sergeant smiled.
“To answer your question, Staff Sergeant,” began James, “Yes. I…along with the Chief here…were a part of the first wave. We rode in about a month ago ahead of the main force to collect intel and got lost in the fog.”
“Well then,” said the Staff Sergeant, tossing them each a piece of fruit as he spoke, “you were right before us. We were a part of the recon push three and a half weeks back.”
The Staff Sergeants face slowly started to change to a dazed expression as he reminisced.
“We came in ready…I mean, my guys were looking to kill. Everything was quiet, ya know? We were ambushed. Took heavy losses before we ever knew what was going on. My A-Glasses going crazy. Two birds overhead providing cover fire and I mean…I mean, they just destroyed us, man. I mean tore us apart. Melted those helicopters like cheese in an oven. Most of our vehicles too. You could hear ‘em screaming, ya know? Just…body parts everywhere. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Next thing you know…”
He scratched his nose and cleared his throat.
“Next thing you know, man, we’ve got people getting torn apart, ya know? I mean these things were literally tearing people to pieces. Our whole battalion…poof. Just us now.”
“Well,” said James, attempting to comfort him, “it won’t be in vain, my friend. Listen...we have intel that can help us win, like really change things…in our favor…but we need to get stateside A-S-A-P. Have you guys made contact with anyone else?”
“Look around, man,” said Lance Corporal Carter, raising his arms, “we didn’t even know you guys existed until now.”
“He’s right,” said the Master Sergeant, “we had a radio operator until we lost him the second day. Didn’t matter anyway. Inside of the fog he wasn’t able to get our COMM to work.”
“Same thing with us,” replied the Chief, “we couldn’t get through to anyone on the radio until we were near the coast.”
“The coast?” asked the Lance Corporal, excited.
“We could wait ‘til nightfall,” said the Staff Sergeant.
“Well,” said the Chief, “night time would be the best option. They seem to only have a sense of sight.”
“Plus,” said the Master Sergeant, “at nighttime they’re usually huddled near a fire.”
“Wait,” interrupted James, “say that again?”
“They build fires,” said the Master Sergeant, “and they huddle around them at night…for warmth, maybe?”
James and the Chief looked at each other, remembering the moment when the creatures first discovered it.
“Well,” said the Chief, “I guess we move out tonight.”
--- 3:48 pm ---
El Paso, TX, USA
“Please keep in mind, gentleman, that this is a search and destroy mission! Our last reported intel has confirmed enemy activity just south of Torreón, here. We sent in Marines three weeks ago, but we lost contact so keep an eye out for friendlies. Alpha Company, you will convoy south from Chihuahua into the city. Bravo Company, you will break off and flank from the east, moving out of Monterrey and heading westward. Elements of the Mexican Army will be with Alpha Company, spearheading the operation. A larger element of the Mexican Army will flank from the western front. Radio operators, we need you to maintain constant contact with the Command Center at all times. The Command Center will relay to HQ, roger?”
“Roger, sir,” said the radio operators in unison.
They were all crowded into a large, auditorium-style enclosure, equipped with a large projector screen, monitors, and a sound system. The Commander of Ground Forces had joined his men at the border, personally briefing them on their mission as the National Security Advisor, General Adams, had requested. For the most part, the briefing had been for the officers and senior enlisted. The junior enlisted had only one job, pay attention and be on your best behavior.
“If your signal gets jammed, don’t keep quiet. We’ve got intel about possible jamming signals in the area, so look out for anything suspicious. If you get cut off, don’t panic, just signal flares and hold tight. Tanks and amphibious assault vehicles will be rolling, and air units are on standby to light ‘em up, hooah?”
“Hooah!” yelled the crowd.
“Also, keep an eye out for any civilians in the area. The displacement of civilians has been disastrous, and we don’t know how many are still alive.”
The General signaled for one of the soldiers to turn off the projector and turn on the lights, “we move out at seventeen hundred hours. Eat good this evening gentlemen, for tonight we fight!”
--- 7:48 pm ---
Chihuahua, Mexico
“So, this is Mexico, huh?” said Tee, staring at the vast array of buildings lining the scenery of the once-populated city as he inspected his machine gun, racking the chamber and placing his weapon back on safe.
“Yeah, I guess so,” replied Michael.
“Well,” said Tee, “you always wanted to travel down south, remember?”
Michael shot him a salty look, “Pshh, yeah okay.”
“Join the Army, see the world!” he yelled, raising his arms to the sky; the rest of his platoon laughing hysterically.
“Let’s go!” screamed the Company Commander, Captain Yi.
The troops gathered around their Platoon Sergeants. The temperature was brutally hot, and they still hadn’t become fully acclimatized to the warm weather. Most of the soldiers hugged their canteens, drinking as much water as possible to avoid dehydration.
They had all been assigned to fireteams, with Michael’s fireteam consisting of him, the rifleman, Tee, the machine gunner, Pvt. Miller, the grenadier, and Sgt. Lewis.
“Now remember,” said Sgt. Lewis, briefing them before departure, “fire and maneuver. If things get crazy, stick together. No friendly fire, no wasting ammo. Remember your training. Don’t forget to call contact if you see something. Things get loud so use your big boy voices, hooah?”
They felt confident under Sgt. Lewis, a veteran of both Korea and Sudan as a private in 2029. He had been in for almost ten years, with two punishments underneath his belt for misconduct. Both times the punishments were given reluctantly, the circumstances being more of a matter of morality vs. the rules. The first was an assault on a fellow Corporal; Lewis could not let him get behind the wheel of his car drunk and it eventually led to a fight. The second being abandoning his post one evening while on guard duty; his wife was having their child. At this point in his career he should have easily been a Staff Sergeant or a Sergeant First Class, but his Non-Judicial Punishment had tainted his record.
“Let’s go, saddle up and move out!” screamed Captain Yi.
Ground Force One loaded up into their 7-ton vehicles and began their journey from Chihuahua looking for trouble. They had a force of roughly three hundred and fifty troops in Alpha Company and another five hundred in Bravo, with two tanks and two amphibious assault vehicles assigned to each Company.
The journey was miserable, tiring, and hot. They were crammed into the 7-ton vehicle hip to hip, which made the ride uncomfortable, like sitting in the stands of a packed sports arena. Everyone was silent during the ride, which was abnormal for any group of young men. The tension was high, and Michael attributed their nervousness to the anticipation of the possibility of death. He was grinding his teeth, and tried to stop himself, but he just couldn’t shake the idea of not returning home to Cynthia.
--- 7:53 pm ---
700 mi Northeast of Alexandria, near Chicago
Cynthia looked at her wristphone, checking the time. She had be
en informed that morning that Christie McDonald had accepted her request for a meeting. She hadn’t really thought of what she was going to say. “Tell the truth”, Natalie had told her.
She made her way through the square as the sun was descending past the horizon, leaving a cooler summer breeze to sweep through the compound. There were a few people still outside, their eyes affixed on everyone moving through the large space, ever vigilant for the serial killer. So was she. There was much that she wanted to express at the meeting, yet she was slightly intimidated. She didn’t like Christie, but she wanted to try her best not to show it.
When she approached the Headquarters building, two State Police guards stopped her at the gated entrance.
“Stop right there,” said the officer, putting his hand in front of him as he kept his other hand on his electric rifle.
Cynthia stopped and pulled her hands out from her sleeves.
“State your business,” said the officer, chewing his gum with arrogance.
“I have, like, a meeting with Christie McDonald,” said Cynthia, bringing her hands up to her face and putting her fingers in her mouth.
Both officers looked at each other. The first one nodded the second one away, sending him over to a table by the door with a clipboard. The officer examined the clipboard, flipping the pages.
“What’s your name?” hollered the second officer from the table.
“Cynthia Ramirez,” she replied, removing her hands to talk and then placing them back in her mouth.
The officer ran his finger down the list, then flipped the pages back and dropped the clipboard on the table.
“She’s good,” he yelled to the other officer, who motioned for her to lift her arms.
Cynthia stepped forward reluctantly, lifting her arms at her sides as the officer ran his hands along her waistline. He was especially handsy, running his hands up her stomach toward her sports bra. Cynthia dropped her arms and pushed his hands away.
“Hey,” said the officer forcefully, grabbing her hands by the wrists, “I never know what you’re hiding.”