by Mark Tufo
“Soldier, stop that Humvee now!” she yells, directing her order to the driver. The vehicle skids to a halt.
The driver, now only yards away and with his elbow resting on the window frame of the door, sticks his head out of the window and looks back at her. “Sorry, sergeant,” he says and pulls his head back in as the Humvee picks up speed.
The three remaining soldiers, including Specialist Taylor, kneel in the sandy road next to her bringing their M-16s to their shoulders and sight down on the Humvee which is now rapidly growing smaller with the dust partially obscuring it. Lynn reaches her palm out to the top of the weapon next to her and pushes the muzzle downward.
“Stand down,” she says. The remaining barrels lower as the soldiers rise to their feet.
“Sorry, Sergeant Connell,” Taylor says as the Humvee ahead makes a left turn and disappears from view, “there wasn’t much we could do.”
“No worries,” she says, still staring after the departed Humvee. “I suspected some would want to go but didn’t think they would do it this way.”
“Is everyone okay?” Lynn asks, turning to look at the soldiers.
“Yes, first sergeant,” they respond.
“What about those inside?”
“They’re still in there,” Taylor responds and proceeds to relate the details.
He had been sitting in the driver seat when he noticed the two Humvees down the road drive off. Just as he climbed out of the Humvee, one of the soldiers came up behind him and told him they weren’t staying and decided to leave with the other group. They asked him if he wanted to go. When he told them he was staying and that they were, in effect, conducting a mutiny, he was rather forcefully ‘asked’ to join the other two; the ‘asking’ being made by way of a drawn Beretta with him being on the wrong end.
Turning back toward the two Humvees she left guarding the other end of the avenue, and seeing they are still there, she tells Taylor, “Get on the radio and have them report back here.”
Taylor mans the remaining Humvee and the other two return a short time later. The soldiers inside accomplish their mission and stand outside just as the vehicles arrive coating Lynn and the small group in a small cloud of dust as they pull to a stop.
Lynn gathers the group around her. “Okay, is there anyone here who also feels the need to leave?” she asks sternly with her hands on her hips and looking at each one in turn.
As she locks eyes with each soldier, they answer with a “No, first sergeant.”
“Very well. If you hear of any rumors or word of such, you’re to let me know immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, first sergeant.”
She reassigns a single Humvee at each of the previous locations and gets on the radio informing Major Bannerman of the situation. “Very well, Sergeant Connell, we’ll be returning shortly,” Bannerman responds.
Lynn notices that one of the soldiers that departed was the one that had been bitten in the armory. She lets out a heavy sigh of disappointment and turns to await the arrival of the foraging party. The detail party returns a short time later loaded with food and water. Lynn brings Bannerman up to speed with the events and their situation.
“Sir, I recommend we break into single Humvee groups to gather our personal ready packs and meet back here in ninety minutes before heading out to the tower. We’ll need to recon the tower and set up before dark,” she finishes, looking at the blazing sun as it passes it zenith and heads into the afternoon.
“Very well, Sergeant Connell. Make the assignments,” Bannerman says.
Lynn forms them into four separate groups with Bannerman, Drescoll, Taylor, and herself leading. “Stay as a team and gather your items one person at a time,” she instructs them. They synch their watches, load into their respective vehicles, and head out to the various barrack facilities.
“What about our armor, Sergeant Connell?” Taylor asks.
“Bring them just in case, but it’s not necessary to don them right now,” she answers.
With Corporal Horace and two other Privates in her group, Lynn parks the Humvee in front of her barracks. She steps out of her vehicle and scans the area after grabbing her M-16 and several magazines from inside, sticking the extra ammo in the cargo pockets of her fatigues. The occasional birds usually heard or seen throughout the camp seem to be taking a break from the heat that has now climbed to over the hundred-degree mark. Nothing disturbs the still heat of the day. Even the muted sound of generators running near the TOC are silent, giving Lynn the indication that the power in this area has been disrupted by either mechanical failure or they may have simply run out of fuel. The closing of the Humvee doors sounds unnaturally clear and loud. Even the sound of their boots hitting the ground is crisp and disturbs the quiet more than it should.
“We’re going to move through and clear the barracks cubicle by cubicle from front to back. There may be survivors holding up within. I’m going to give a shout upon entry and, if no one responds, then we’ll assume anything moving is hostile,” Lynn says, gathering her small group around her. “Corporal Horace, you and Private Manning take the right side. Private Turnbull, you’re with me. Side by side, down the central corridor. Any questions?”
“No, first sergeant,” they respond. Clicks sound as weapon selector switches are transferred from ‘safe’ to ‘burst’.
Lynn steps up to the long and narrow convex building door; the steel building and door radiating the absorbed heat. Standing to the left of the door against the building with Turnbull behind her and the other team of two off to the other side in front of the door; Horace kneeling in the sand with Manning standing behind her, Lynn reaches for the door handle.
Looking back over her shoulder at Horace, she says, “You’re right, I’m left. Manning and Turnbull, you have the corridor ahead to the right and left respectively.”
She then gives Horace a nod, which the corporal returns, and, after the soldiers verify that their flashlights are on, Lynn swings the door open. She darts in turning instantly to her left, sinks to her knees to the immediate inside left of the door and brings her weapon to her shoulder with her light shining in her assigned area. Corporal Horace darts in on Lynn’s heels accomplishing the same to the right. Manning and Turnbull follow, setting up five feet farther inside and focusing down the concrete corridor.
The light pouring in through the closing door illuminates the barracks in a thin stream along the corridor for about fifteen feet before dimming into blackness. The thin beam of light narrows in width as the door begins to swing shut on its own behind them. The light from their flashlights shine about a third of the way into the barracks picking up rows of tan lockers along the corridor that separate the open space into smaller enclosed cubicles. The only other light in the building comes from the exit light above the far end door casting very little illumination around it.
The light from Lynn’s flashlight shines into the first cubicle to the left, revealing closed locker doors and two made bunks placed end to end against the front wall with footlockers neatly set against the foot of each bunk. No movement greets any of the team, and the only sound is the soft rustle of their clothing as they adjust their bodies. The door behind them closes with a loud click and a soft booming noise that echoes through the large enclosed space. The outside light vanishes, and the team is bathed in the soft glow of the exit light set into the wall above them. The beams of their flashlights cast searchingly into the darkness of the building.
“It’s all clear here, Sergeant Connell,” Private Turnbull says.
“Here, too,” both Horace and Manning say a second later.
“Anyone here?” Lynn calls out into the darkness as she reaches up to the light switch just above her head.
She flicks the bank of switches into the upward position just as several shrieks scream in close intervals out of the darkness. The interior lights remain off, indicative of a lack of power to the barracks. The echo of the screams makes it difficult to ascertain their exact location, but they seem to be co
ming from farther back in the building and from the side cubicles.
“Assume they’re hostile. Fire at will, but hold these positions,” Lynn says. Still on her knees, she orients herself down the corridor.
Immediately upon situating herself into her new position behind and slightly to the left of Private Turnbull, three figures burst into the wide hallway from the cubicles on the left and four from the right. They immediately turn toward the team, breaking into a run directly at them. More enter into the beams cast by their lights from the far end of the building right on the heels of the first ones. The sound of Lynn’s M-16 barks loudly into the diminishing echoes of the shrieks as three rounds leave the barrel of her weapon and streak toward the closest figure, the first round catching it squarely in the sternum. Her second round hits in the neck causing an explosion of bright red blood that spreads in all directions. A millisecond later, the third round hits the creature’s pale gray face just above the tip of its nose and emerges from the back of the skull, bathing the creatures just behind it in blood and gore as its head explodes backwards. The force and solid thud of the three rounds impacting immediately stops the forward momentum of its upward body as the legs continue to take one more step, resulting in the figure being knocked backward and the legs flying into the air in front. The body hits the concrete floor with a loud crack.
Before the strobe-like flashes of Lynn’s first shots vanish, more flash throughout the immediate area as the rest of her team opens fire on the rapidly swelling group running toward them. Bodies are flung in all directions as the corridor is filled with steel and the tinkling of shells hitting the floor as rounds are expended from the chambers of four weapons firing into the mass of bodies. Time slows.
Lynn calls out, “Reloading!” as she ejects the now empty magazine from her M-16.
The magazine hits the ground beside her with a ringing metallic sound as she grabs for another from her cargo pocket. Two clicks sound as she inserts a fresh magazine firmly into the lower receiver and triggers the bolt release. She quickly adds additional rounds into the air in front of them.
Although they are dropping bodies left and right, the figures are getting closer by the second due to their number and closeness in which they started pouring into the corridor. A cacophony of noise fills the barracks from a mixture of shrieks, growls, and gunfire. The additional sounds of cartridges hitting the floor and solid smacks of rounds finding their targets fills the air as the surrounding area is lit by a constant flashing of weapons being fired. Although thinned substantially from the accurate fire, the creatures close the distance to within a few feet of the kneeling team.
Time accelerates as one creature leaps into the air with a shriek and slams into Private Turnbull launching him backward toward Lynn. He lands beside her on his back with the creature on top. Lynn rams the butt of her M-16 into the side of the creature’s head knocking it off Turnbull and to the ground on the other side. She reverses her weapon and fires into its chest point-blank. Blood flowers from three neat holes close together in the middle of its chest as Private Turnbull quickly rises back to his knees.
Another creature simultaneously slams into Private Manning launching him in a similar fashion next to Corporal Horace. Warm liquid sprays outward and bathes the left side of Horace’s face as the creature bites into Manning ripping a large chunk of meat from the side of his neck. His piercing scream fills the air. Horace puts the muzzle of her M-16 against the creature’s head and fires. The head disintegrates, and the thing falls heavily to the floor. She turns back to face the hall only to find it empty.
The sudden lack of sound is almost deafening compared to the amount of noise that permeated the interior only moments before. The only exception is the quick, shallow, panting breath from the three still on their knees and the moaning from Manning immediately beside Horace. The smell of gunpowder hangs in the air. Lynn scans the surrounding area, but sees only a multitude of bodies covering the entirety of her front to the limit of the shifting light from their flashlights.
Lynn looks over at Private Manning and is immediately by his side. Blood spurts from the gouge in his neck, covering the floor around him and splashes on her fatigue pants. His entire neck, side of his face, and fatigues down just past his shoulder, are bathed in bright red blood. She drops her light and covers his wound with her hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Blood leaks out beneath her hand and through her fingers. Private Manning looks up widely at her and their eyes lock. His eyes are full of pain and a fear that his last moments are drawing near.
“It’s okay, private. We stopped ‘em thanks to you,” she says, keeping eye contact with him.
A smile crosses his ruined face as his body stiffens with a tremor, and the life leaves his eyes, dimming them and glazing over. The blood that flowed beneath her hand stops, and she reaches up to close his eyes.
Lynn looks up from her kneeling position toward Horace and Turnbull noticing Turnbull holding his left forearm. “Are you injured?” she asks.
“It bit me, but it’s only superficial. I’ll be fine thanks to you, sergeant,” he says, looking at her with a smile of gratitude.
He lifts his hand from the wound and shows her. A bite mark has penetrated the skin, but the wound is not gouged out. Lynn gives a nod, turns her attention to Horace and says, “Get the med kit from the wall and dress that up.”
“Yes, Sergeant Connell,” Horace responds, walking over to retrieve the med kit.
Taking bandages and tape from the inside, Horace wraps Turnbull’s arm. Private Turnbull then pulls his sleeve back down over the bandage. All three check their ammo, insert their last fresh magazine into their receivers, and gather up their empty mags, putting them into their pockets.
“What about Private Manning?” Horace asks as she pulls the flap over her pocket.
“We’ll clear the rest of the barracks, pick up my gear, and pick him up on the way out. I’ll lead in the middle. Corporal Horace, you are behind me on the right, Private Turnbull, behind me on the left. Same plan as before. Clear each cubicle on the way to the back,” Lynn answers. “If we’re attacked, fall back side by side to the door. We don’t have enough ammo for a sustained assault like the last one.”
“Yes, first sergeant.” They quickly take their stations moving toward the rear of the building.
Bodies litter the corridor with barely any of the concrete floor showing underneath. They step over and between the bodies as they make their way to the rear. The beating of her own heart sounds loudly in Lynn’s ears. The only other sounds are the breathing of the others and the soft step of their boots on the floor. Cubicles are cleared one by one, but nothing rushes out as they head toward Lynn’s cubicle in the rear of the building.
Just before rounding the corner leading to her cubicle, Lynn hears a faint rustling sound coming from within. Both Horace and Turnbull hear it as well. Three lights and barrels move in unison focusing on the opening. The bunk where Lynn’s sick roommate was the night before is empty. The bunk is unmade and blankets are rumpled on top of it. There is another shuffling sound from deeper within the small enclosure. She motions for the other two to remain in place and cover her while she side steps across the corridor opposite the opening, keeping her light and weapon trained on the cubicle entrance. Crouched low, Lynn leans to her left bringing the entire cubicle into view.
She immediately picks up the cause of the sounds as her light catches on a figure against the back of the cubicle. In a flash, Lynn recognizes it as that of her roommate who is turned away from her and against the far metal wall. As soon as her light flashes upon her roommate, the figure turns around quickly and, with a snarl and shriek, the gray blotchy figure launches toward Lynn. The building interior is once again lit with triple strobes and the sound of gunfire as Lynn squeezes the trigger of her M-16, sending three projectiles out into the space between them. The three rounds strike the figure’s chest, launching her backward and slamming her against the wall with a ringing thud. Her now
ex-roommate topples to the side and, after knocking against the wall locker, slides slowly to the floor.
With the return of silence to the interior, Lynn retrieves her ready pack from her bunk, ,and they head back to the front of the building with more dog tags added to the ones gathered in her almost full pocket. Shouldering their weapons, Horace and Turnbull retrieve the body of Private Manning, and they step out into the heat and light. The transition from the cooler and darker interior causes them to blink and an immediate sheen of sweat coats their skin. They set Manning’s body into the rear of the Humvee and, after replacing their depleted magazines from the ammo in the Humvee, they make their way to Horace’s barracks and then to Manning’s, encountering none of the creatures within either of them. Finished with gathering their ready packs, they return to the TOC.
They are the last detail back and meet up with the rest of the group. Each detail quickly shares their very similar stories. In all, they’ve lost three soldiers and have two additional wounded counting the loss of Manning and Turnbull’s injury. However, they found six other very frightened and exhausted soldiers within the various barracks. Mounting the vehicles once again, the group heads over to the Intel shop gathering up and destroying the sensitive documents within. While there, they also try contacting other units within and outside of the camp with no success. Finishing, they head across the camp to the small airstrip and control tower.
Driving out from between buildings lining the ramp serving the airstrip, they see the control tower off to one side adjacent to the ramp. The light gray concrete ramp is empty of aircraft, but several ground carts and fuel trucks are parked neatly in front of one of the buildings. Several other Humvees are parked in various locations. Bringing the small convoy to a halt on the ramp, Lynn gets out of her vehicle and studies the control tower.
It is a small portable tower; a cross between a smaller control tower and a glass enclosed RV hybrid. There is an outside metal walkway encircling it, and it bristles with antennae pointing skyward from on top. It is mounted on top of five concrete-filled cargo containers with metal stairs running up the side to the top and entrance. The stairs are similar to external fire escapes with the bottom portion able to be raised about ten feet off the ground. A chain-link fence with razor wire encircling the top sits close to the tower and encircles the entire structure.