by Mark Tufo
In the darkness, she hears a rustling and sees his shadow move from his position facing the runway to the trap door. She descends quietly down the stairs after he has stepped off, shuts the trap door, and meets Sergeant Drescoll and the other private at the bottom. She relates her discovery and sighting to all of them in whispered tones.
A shriek rises from outside, and the small group steps over the sleeping bodies toward the window facing the creatures outside. Several of those sleeping sit up quickly as the shriek penetrates their various dreams. Looking out of the window, Lynn sees that the creatures are now attempting to scale the wire fence.
Without taking her eyes from outside, she says, “Sergeant Drescoll, wake the others.”
She watches as the group of five creatures climbs the chain-link fence and become entangled in the razor wire running along the top. From her position, she sees blood spurt in a multitude of locations from the figures. All of them howl and shriek from the assault and decimation of their bodies, but they continue on, all of them eventually falling to the perimeter inside in heaps. They do not move from where they have fallen, but they have taken the razor wire in that section of fence down with them.
The soldiers within the tower have all awakened, either from the sounds outside or by Drescoll, and crowd the interior of the control room. Other creatures head in their direction in the night under the lights.
Lynn turns from the window and addresses the group, “Five have knocked the razor wire down and others are heading this way. Everyone out onto the walkway. Four to a side with two facing the runway and two facing toward camp. Sergeant Drescoll and I will be on the roof directing. You two,” Lynn says, pointing at a private and a corporal nearby, “cover the flight of stairs.”
She then turns to Major Bannerman. “If that is alright with you, sir?”
“Carry on, sergeant,” he responds with a nod.
“Guns only. No grenades unless I say different. We don’t want to blow the fence down. Now move,” she says.
She and Drescoll start for the steps leading up to the roof amid the sound of soldiers shuffling to and out of the door. The sound of magazines being inserted into weapons, clicks of safeties being switched off, and the ringing clatter of boots on the metal walkway, momentarily fills the top of the tower.
Helmets line the walkway just below her feet as Lynn stands on the roof looking out to the ramp below. Looking down over the tops of the helmets, she sees several creatures emerge out of the darkness in the middle of the ramp and into the light spilling from the tower. The things, which had been on the run, come to a stop once they step into the light. Some peer around them, both into the shadows from which they emerged and around the tower base itself. Others peer into the bright lights streaming down, blinded by the intensity. Lynn knows the creatures are unable to see them because of having to look through the blinding light. She kneels and whispers to the soldiers to hold their fire until she initiates or calls for it.
Looking back over her shoulder, she whispers to Drescoll, “You take control of the front and other side; I’ll take the ramp side and rear.” She senses more than sees Drescoll nod.
Looking down at the soldiers just below her, she sees them standing by the railing with their weapons at their shoulders aiming downward at the creatures. The two at the head of the stairs kneel with the barrels of their M-16s sighted down the stairs. More of the creatures emerge out of the darkness and into the light. Looking back into the encampment, she sees other groups run through the circles of light heading in their direction. Turning her eyes back toward the things on the ramp below her, she notices several of them with their noses in the air. She can imagine the sniffing sounds and perhaps growling noises they are likely making, but the drone of the generator is overriding any other sound. The sound of the occasional soldier below her, shifting positions, is the only other noise rising to her in the chill of the early morning air.
Stillness settles over the environment as time comes to a standstill. The creatures stand motionless and test the air with soldiers staring back at them with their weapons at the ready. Both groups are dressed in a similar fashion, the only difference being the color and shade of their skin and the creature’s fatigues darkened with blood. More than thirty have gathered below with others showing up with each passing moment. Lynn notices one of the creatures suddenly tense, turn its head in their direction, and stare upward. The other creatures stop their milling, apparently picking up on the same thing that made this one tense up. The one staring at them opens its mouth wide and a shriek intrudes over the generator. It charges toward the fence with the others following suit, shrieking as they come.
“Open fire!” Lynn yells before the creature has taken its second step.
The sound of M-16s opening up along the walkway and sending their deadly load into the mass splits the night, overriding the sound of the shrieks and generator. Lynn sights down her M-16 just as the first sounds erupt, her red dot centering on the chest of the creature who first charged their way. She squeezes the trigger, adding her own steel to the other rounds drilling into the charging mass. Blood blossoms and sprays outward from the creature as her rounds impact directly into its center mass and it drops rudely to the ramp.
Bodies drop repeatedly to the concrete as more rounds find their marks, but the creatures rapidly gain the fence due to their vast numbers. They immediately begin scaling the chain-links and, just like the others before them, become entangled in the remaining razor wire. They fall to the ground inside the perimeter dragging the razor wire with them.
The fence looks as if it has sparklers attached to it as many of the rounds being fired come into contact with it as Lynn and the soldiers fire into the creatures scaling the metal links. Many of the things circle around the fence, and the sound of gunfire erupts from behind her as Drescoll’s group opens fire.
The air is filled with a myriad of sounds: The barking of M-16s, the clink of empty magazines hitting the walkway, the plinking sound of spent shells bouncing on the metal grating, the occasional shriek rising above the din, the yells of Lynn and Drescoll as they direct fire and, when sounds fade just for a split moment in time, the ringing sound of the chain-link fence being scaled.
The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and the flash of weapons as the rounds leave the barrel. Bodies pile up along the fence, but the sheer numbers force entry into the perimeter. The weight of the creatures on the fence bends it over in places.
The walkway and stairs prevents an angle to the ground directly below on the ramp side, so the soldiers continue to direct their fire into those still coming into the light and on the fence.
“They’re inside the perimeter!” Lynn turns and yells to Drescoll.
He turns toward her from his kneeling position on the edge of the other side of the roof. “Here too!”
“We don’t have an angle on them below from here because of the stairs,” she replies.
“We can hit them fine from here,” he assures.
That’s good news, Lynn thinks as she turns back to the ramp side, observing that they only seem to have one blind spot; the spot directly below the stairs and ladder.
If they manage to somehow find a way to navigate those ten feet to the first stair level, she will not know they are coming until they round the last level and emerge on the landing directly below. Creatures continue to emerge into the lights, circling the tower in unrelenting groups and waves.
“Down to my last mag,” one of the soldiers calls out below her.
Lynn details one of the soldiers manning the stairs to grab ammo from the crates stacked in the office below. He returns a short time later and positions it behind the group on the walkway. The gunfire on the ramp-side ceases momentarily as soldiers grab a resupply of magazines. She details the same soldier to carry some of the ammo to Drescoll’s side.
Weary and deafened from the continuous noise, Lynn notices the sky to the east lighten, portending the coming dawn. As if a switch was thro
wn, the multitudes of creatures stop emerging into the light. The ones that were inside the perimeter and shielded from the stairs run out onto the still darkened ramp, chased by rounds with a few dropping before finding the safety of the dark.
“Cease fire!” Lynn calls as the last one is swallowed by the darkness. Sergeant Drescoll echoes her command to the group on his side.
The silence that ensues is almost foreign in its quietness. Even the continued sound of the running generator is not heard through the ringing in everyone’s ears and the smell of almost two hours of continuous gunfire hangs thick in the still, morning air. With her legs stiff and knees popping from the time spent kneeling on the metal roof, Lynn stands and reaches around to the small of her back, stretching to work out the kinks.
“Police up whatever magazines you can find and meet inside,” she directs the soldiers below her.
They wearily begin to scoop up the many empty magazines on a walkway littered with shell casings. Lynn, standing above them, notices how truly cold the night air is as she starts coming down from the flow of adrenaline. With one last look at the bodies covering the ramp and the sky continuing to lighten in the east, she starts down the stairs behind Drescoll, The other soldiers begin their slow, shuffle-like steps into the control room. Details about what needs to be done in the coming day, fixing the fence and gathering additional ammo being among them, fills Lynn’s mind as everyone gathers.
“It’s becoming fairly obvious that whatever changes have occurred with these…um…creatures, only allows them to operate at night or in the dark. We’ll therefore only travel during the day and in groups of four or more. Buildings will be treated as hostile environments and avoided as much as possible. If we need to go in, it will be completely cleared before gathering whatever is needed. If that is fine with you, sir?” she asks, turning to Major Bannerman.
“Good plan, Sergeant Connell,” he responds.
“It’s 05:25. We’ll stand down and rest until 08:30 and then, I’ll assign details. Besides the radio watch, we’ll stand two on watch in one-hour shifts until 08:30. Now get some rest,” Lynn says after assigning guards and shift schedules.
She opts to take one of the first shifts, setting up on the roof covering the ramp and camp side while a corporal covers the runway and far side. Sitting with her legs swinging over the side of the roof, she looks out, concentrating with only part of her mind while the rest sorts through the multitude of thoughts that race through.
She holds onto the belief that Jack will come, even as a logical part of her mind tells her the chances of that happening are marginal at best. She needs to ensure the safety and survivability of the group in her charge here. The camp will do for the short-term, but if no one comes, they will need to move on for any chance of surviving in the long-term. That will require a continuous supply of food, water, and shelter. To that end, it will mean a long, arduous journey; most likely to some land surrounding The Med, and that being more likely on the European side. For the first time, she thinks she may not see America again or that, if they are not picked up, it will be a long time coming.
I’ll give it four more days before we start planning an alternate route, she thinks, looking over to the western horizon with the sun rising behind her. A quick thought of Jack enters, Please be okay and come get us.
The hour passes and she lies down on the floor of the control room after passing the next shift to another private. She falls asleep almost before her head touches the floor only to be awakened after seemingly minutes. Waking the rest of the group, she details a squad of four to commandeer additional ammo, some to repair the fence as best as possible, and others to cart the bodies to an open area of the camp. With that detail, she assigns a heavy equipment operator to dig a gravesite to bury the bodies after collecting all of the dog tags she can. Her thought is that these were all once soldiers and that makes her to give them as close to a decent and military burial as possible.
Once the bodies have been interred, she gathers the entire group together in the early afternoon sun and heat to pay their last respects. The fence is resurrected as much as possible with a fresh lining of razor wire both on top and on the ground below. Ammunition is gathered and resupplied to the tower. The generator is filled with diesel.
After the burial ceremony, Lynn has the group rest until the early evening anticipating a replay of the night before.
During the day, Private Turnbull came down with a fever. Lynn inspected the wound on his arm to find that the immediate area around the wound had become the same pale shade of gray of the creatures with a surrounding bright redness of infection. The fever became worse as the day progressed and by nightfall, Private Turnbull was dead.
The next two days and nights are replays of the first: resupplying, resting, and burying the dead during the day and fighting off the attacks at night.
Is this live or Memorex? Lynn thinks during the third night.
The creatures show up under the light in gradual numbers and overwhelm the fences, only to be halted and not able to gain entrance to the stairs by the coming of dawn.
How many can there be? The question passes through her tired mind as the rising sun chases off the last attack. The radios, however, remain silent, as had any answering of telephone calls to the outside world.
The fourth day dawns as had the previous mornings. The sun rises in the east signaling yet another heat-infested day filled with the tedium of staying alive. Lynn gathers her mind and thoughts toward vacating the area for a more survivable, long-term solution. The thoughts of their need to conduct a long, arduous journey and what they will need to accomplish this fills the majority of her day. Tomorrow, she will begin to enact their withdrawal of the area and to create the criteria of their new destination.
Tomorrow, I will worry about that, she thinks as the sun begins its descent into the western horizon. Where are you, Jack?
With the thought of the last night in camp, Lynn stays with the guard detail posted for the first shift and watches the gathering of the first creatures around the tower. The difference between this and other nights is the quickness of the gathering. The fence perimeter is quickly overwhelmed with many of the creatures gathering at the base of the tower on the ramp side. Some complacency, due to the tiredness of the troops, follows a seemingly exact repeat of the previous evenings; doing enough to exact damage and a depletion of the creatures without them being able to gain entrance.
Within the deafening din, Lynn picks up a faint noise of hammering metallic sounds from below her. She looks down to the soldiers on the walkway trying to fix the sound to the spent rounds falling and the magazines impacting the walkway, but the sounds seem out of sequence with what she sees.
A flash of light fills her head, “They’re on the stairs!” she yells to the soldiers manning both the walkway and covering the stairs.
Leaning over the edge as far as she dares, Lynn sees creatures scaling the outside of the stairs and shadows of others rapidly ascending. They have somehow reached that elusive final ten feet.
“Drescoll, I need two of yours over here!” Lynn shouts to her companion on the roof.
“On the way!” he shouts back.
“Direct your fire on those climbing up!” she yells to the soldiers beneath her. They lean over the railing to aim their fire directly downward.
Bodies fall off the staircase structure as rounds impact shoulders and heads, but the vast numbers on the stairs, and the inability to fire directly on those ascending, allows the horde to surge ever upward, slowly but surely pressing toward the small group defending the tower. As she directs the battle below her, thoughts penetrate her mind that perhaps she will not have to worry about any future, arduous adventure.
I will not fail! The thought gives force to her willpower and the volume of firepower directed on the ever-advancing horde. The soldiers seem to sense this thought and direct an even more focused attempt to repel the invaders.
“Sergeant Connell! Sergeant Connell!�
�� A voice calls repeatedly behind her, having to be repeated due to her intense concentration on the creatures driving ever upward. She turns her head and notices Major Bannerman sticking his head through the open hatch to the control room.
“Yes, sir,” she responds between trigger pulls.
“There’s someone on the radio!” he tells her.
Not fully grasping the gravity nor import of the meaning, she looks back at him skeptically. Realizing that she has not comprehended what he is saying, Bannerman adds, “Sergeant Connell, there’s someone calling on the radio with a call sign of Otter39?”
A dawning comprehension reaches into her eyes and soul. “Sergeant Drescoll! Cover the stairs. I’ll be in the control room on the radios.”
Sergeant Drescoll stands and repositions himself at the other edge as Lynn descends the stairs to hear, “This is Otter 39 on UHF guard. Anyone read?”
Lynn sees Specialist Taylor raise the mic to his mouth and respond, “Otter 39, this is Arifjan, read you loud and clear, over.”
“Arifjan, this Otter 39. We are an inbound HC-130. State status.”
Major Bannerman takes the mic from Taylor and says, “Otter 39. This is Major Bannerman. State your position and intentions.”
I look over at Robert with one raised eyebrow and a ‘what the fuck’ expression. He looks over and shrugs; our tiredness from the extended trek showing.
“Um, Bannerman, we’re now approximately forty miles west and I guess we intend to pick you up. State souls.”
There is a long pause with no response from Arifjan. I see the lights of a small city stretching off our nose as we continue our descent. “Arifjan, Otter 39. Confirm lights are on.”
“Otter 39, um, Arifjan. Roger. Lights are on.”
“Roger that, Arifjan. There wouldn’t happen to be a Sergeant Connell with you would there?” I add.
Complete silence ensues on both ends of the radio. On my side, it is awaiting a final word and verdict. On Lynn’s side, there is a sense of unrealness as all eyes turn and center on her.