They Came With The Storm (The Effacing)

by Clark, T. Anwar

  “Where’s my mommy?”

  “Sharon… Come on, sweetheart.” Mike pleaded.

  Tears dropped faster from her eyes. “What happened to my mommy, Mr. Mike?”

  “Sharon,” Mike begun. “Sharon, it’s alright sweetheart.”

  That was his weakness; he missed our kid sister and always wanted a daughter, but didn’t know how to handle situations like the one that stood in his path. Sharon wouldn’t get into the armored truck, clinging to him as if he was now her legal guardian.

  Bane shut the rear door, and the armored truck made its way through the debris, water, and dead soldiers that lay in the way (without Sharon aboard).

  "Bane?" Mike said.

  "Yeah, boss."

  "Get these kids to the rig." handing over Sharon, telling her, "It's okay. I'll be right behind you. Okay?"

  "Roger that." Bane concluded, taking hold of Sharon while ordering five of our men to join him. He turned back to Mike, saying, "We'll be waiting for you outside."

  “Mr. Mike!” Sharon called out, her arms stretched back to Mike as Bane carried her away. “Mr. Mike, don’t leave me.”

  Bane, the five men, and the remainder of the children began fleeing the building.

  The Runner roared. I knew it smelled our blood and flesh. I knew it wanted revenge. I also knew it was blind.

  “There it is again.” I said.

  Another explosion broke loose from somewhere in the city, shaking the ground.

  The lights continued to flicker.

  Thunder rumbled.

  The sound of rain began to flood our ears, combining with the popping sounds of electrical circuits and falling rubble. Then, the Runner appeared, its silhouette even more frightening than its actual presence.

  "Aim for the head!" I commanded, weapon ready.

  And immediately, everyone began shooting, lighting up the corridor, hitting the Runner with everything we had.

  Our bullets were more like rock pebbles to a freight train. The Runner ate every last one of them, and then charged us on all fours, snarling and knocking everything in the way, out the way.

  We were forced to retreat into the emergency room, unloading and reloading, firing in sequence.

  The Runner made its way into the emergency room and immediately grabbed the closest man, clutched the man's head inside of its long and clawed paw, and sunk its large and sharp, pointed teeth in the man's neck, killing him instantly, then lifting its head to let out a cry of victory while we continued to shoot; our bullets were still not affecting it in the least.

  "It's not working!" I shouted through the halls of gunfire. "It's too strong, absorbing our shells!"

  The Runner grew angered. It roared, and then lunged for another man, ripping his head from his shoulders.

  The brave-hearted man fell limp to the ground.

  Mike must have forgotten about the satchel he recovered from one of Sworn's downed soldiers.

  “Mike, the grenades,” I called out.

  He reached into the bag and snatched one out, pulled the pin and chucked the grenade at our enemy.

  Slick, the Runner quickly slid away from the grenade right before the explosion and roared. It headed for me, slip and sliding its way through the water, debris, and Sworn’s dead league of mercenaries, their heavy shields speeding across the wet surface from the Runners pounce.

  “Look out!” someone yelled.

  Our men were about to be destroyed. I didn't think we were going to survive. A surge of adrenaline rushed through my body, and almost instantaneously, I dropped my rifle and headed straight for the fire axe. Every noise at that moment immediately eased away. It felt as if I was moving in slow motion as I reached for the axe, grabbed it, and turned it around prepared to swing. I ended up staring Sworn's diabolical, parasitic creation eye-to-eye; its enormous, hairy frame was standing statue, with blood drooling from its mouth mixed with its poisonous saliva. The smell of its breath was horrendous. I was furious, paralyzed in bewilderment, and about to go out hacking away at its goddamn head before being made into an infamous Daleburger.

  I leaped for the Runners throat.

  BOOM!

  It's a miracle, I thought.

  The Runner's head exploded right before my eyes and blood splattered across the room.

  The sounds around me all of a sudden came back; the sounds of sparks, the heavy rainfall outside, and Mike and the rest of our men cheering in victory. Then I realized that I wasn't the one they were cheering for.

  As I looked to where the glass emergency doors once stood in place, I seen Frank Wildes behind the wheel of a Rock Raider, an AK gripping shotgun passenger, a backseat passenger holding a tactical shotgun, and with a Olympic gold medalists smile, it was Pops. He was standing up in the back of the Rock Raider behind the mounted .50 caliber; the mouth of the barrel was smoking hot. "Sorry you couldn't getcher shit off, son. It looked like he woulda had ya," he calmly spit.

  "Nah, I think I woulda had him," I insisted, still a little upset, but calming. "I suppose you want me to say thanks?"

  "Naw... just getcher ass in gear and let's move it out, soldier."

  And I felt like one.

  If it wasn't for the bond we created, and the friendship between my dad, Pops and Mike; Pops would have probably took what I said as an insult. And with his aim, let's just say I was glad to be on his team and had above average rapport with him to get away with it.

  Bane had the transport fully-loaded and ready to high-tail it out of dodge by the time I made it out the hospital. The rest of our men hopped in the back, and Frank and Pops took the lead in the Raider.

  The smile and warming embrace made by Sharon and Mike when they took their seats in the transport was priceless.

  CHAPTER XX

  We must have hit speeds of up to seventy miles per hour on Maison Freeway; we slowed down only to maneuver around the 'abandoned vehicles' obstacle course' in the way. The storm was getting worse, we were getting drenched by the down-pour of heavy rain, and the only thing I thought of was linking back up the rest of our resistance.

  The jeeps were our defense against the infected. Their passengers with assault rifles and mounted guns cleared our path. The bails of rain was trying hard to put out the flames that came from homes, small wooded areas, vehicles, and random automobiles we passed; and out of all people, the children, as frightened as they were, were the first to take heed of the Bleeders in the far distance.

  The Bleeders stood as still as mannequins dressed in Halloween costumes posing in a Dillard’s window shop display; the eye candy to horror-frenzied window shoppers, only the infected use to be real people. It was a forever unforgettable moment that the children should have never witnessed; branded for life with the tainted images of the neighbors they once knew and recognized, now the hideous creatures of their nightmares, brought into that ultimately surreal predicament of our reality.

  "Why are they just standing there?" Cat questioned, brushing her damp red hair out of her view, positioning her palm above her eyes, thumb cuffed to get a better look.

  I thought, the Bleeders must have lost their sense of smell for human flesh due to the rainfall. "Don't look at 'em," I told the children, rather loud. "You guys shouldn't see this..." then, I looked back to make sure my words were effective.

  "Are we going to end up like them?" Diana asked with her head lowered.

  "Hell no," Mike answered, Sharon sitting close by his side. "We're on our way outta here."

  Through the entire ruckus, from the rain to the Bleeders, the children all began to ask us questions I didn't have the answers to. Where's my mommy? Where's my daddy? Is my brother alive? Why are they doing this? And just about any other question you can conjure, or statement, backed up with the depressing sigh of wishful and hopeful children, caught up in the center of chaos that was created by the sinister; the mischievous work of the devil's henchman... also known as Steven Sworn.

  Then, suddenly, everyone stood guard, panning around through the da
rkness, guns hot and ready. We heard the irritating sound of Sworn's siren blaring all around us but far off into the night.

  "Travel along the quarantine fence and head straight up," Mike yelled to the driver through the small, vent-of-a-window that separated us from the driest spot of the truck. "Everyone should be just a few more blocks ahead. Cut in between Claudine Commons and The Reciprocal once we're past the high school."

  Everyone fell silent.

  The rain lightened up before coming to a cease. Thunder still occasionally rumbled, and lightning illuminated through the dark red of the night, strobe lighting horrific flashes of the Trackers as they attacked the Bleeders; Pops had told us they feed on each other when their bellies rub the wrong way. The driver slowed down as we were coming up on a section of the city that was hit hard by gunfire, and it became more of a bumpy thrill-ride with the concrete streets cracked and turned inside out. The children were having fun, laughing and letting out the wooo’s and weee’s as the truck shook and rattled with every bump we hit. But our soldiers stayed on point; never loosening up. And through the flashes of lights and through the darkness, I made out the remnants of a city that was once lively, now ghastly, with crumbling buildings, tatted streets of blood and shell casings, empty magazines, abandoned vehicles, and human caucuses either burnt, shot up or dismembered.

  "Looks like we found out where those bombs dropped." Bane called out, checking his ammo as we ran over the rugged terrain.

  The children screamed as we were all thrown in a clutter to the front of the vehicle. We fixed ourselves back in place when the truck came to a breaking halt; I wondered why we stopped. I wondered what was going to happen next, and hoping those damn Bleeders and Trackers wasn't regrouping to hunt us down; but instead, following Sworn's sirens. I looked around to make sure everyone was situated; nobody was hurt.

  Mike walked up to the small vent and asked, "What's going on?" put his ear to the opening and raised his voice a notch, "Are you serious?" Then passed by everyone in a hurry, and jumped out the back of the transport without saying another word.

  A few of the men, including myself, hopped out behind him, curious. And the rest stayed with the children.

  In front of our entourages headlights were the abandoned vehicles of our comrades that escaped the hospital before us. Ahead of the mobiles was complete darkness. And when I made it to the vehicles, my heart skipped a beat when I noticed the road. It was no longer there.

  "The others must have continued on foot," Mike suggested, taking a deep breath as he looked to both sides of the street; as if he was trying to determine which way they might have traveled, and we'd follow.

  "True enough," Bane agreed, shining his flashlight across the gravel, pointing out the many footprints that were cluttered through the mud that led down into the meek darkness, "these aren't ours. It looks like they all gathered up and crossed over to the other side from here."

  "Yeah, you're right," Mike said, walking into the light to get a closer look. "They gotta be with everyone else by now. We gotta get a move on it before the infected reaches us."

  There was no telling how deep the hole was. How wide it was was a mystery; we couldn't see across. What might have been down there was another Dick Tracy, the stench was nauseating. And observing only a few soaking wet dead bodies around us, it wasn't hard to figure out that Sworn – or whoever was flying the helicopter – had knew of the road being our only chance of escape. He destroyed the only safe road leading to the docks, trapping us with the infected. Or so he thought.

  "Are we going across?" A smaller, slim, and apparently, shook fighter asked.

  "Get the kids ready. Tell them to cover their noses and mouths with something." was Mike's answer.

  We all gathered as Mike requested, keeping the children (the older kids carrying the younger) inside of our tight, protective circle of gunmen. They either held their noses shut with their fingers, pulled their hospital gowns over their noses and mouths, ducked their heads inside their gowns or shoved them into the armpits and shoulders of their peers or our fighters.

  The children were protected by the best our city had to offer, I thought. The circle was easier to keep track of the kids, and see to it that none of them wandered off; and only after everyone was accounted for, we proceeded to march in the footsteps of our brothers and sisters, and begin our descent into the unknown; one more step closer to freedom.

  About fifty feet into the tenebrous pit, through the muffled cries of scared children and the shhh's and it's okay's from the men leading them through a never-before been through devastation, the moistened steps of our groups scuffled movements and the wind's rigorous-touched breeze, I raised my .40 caliber, signaling the circle to a halt when I heard the ticks and tacks of loose rocks, tumbling down into the pit from above.

  "Shh." I whispered, listening for any footsteps that might have followed; nothing.

  Then, a light came from above the pit. Was it a cigarette lighter? No. Someone had lit a torch from up ahead, about 60 feet out, and the figure holding it was waving us in.

  “The others,” expressed the same frail and shook soldier from just moments ago incorporated without second guessing.

  The children were getting excited, making that squeaking noise some make when you give them sweets, becoming really jittery and energetic. And we sped up the pace, still being careful not to make too much noise, not knowing if the infected was down there with us.

  We came upon the end of our underground journey, ascending from the hole, and more shadows appeared with the one. The shadows were almost identical, and all held lowered weapons. Our group came to an immediate halt; none of the shadows casted reminded me of the girls and their party. The shadows at the top of the hole all aimed their guns into the pit.

  That unforgettable, fucked up voice of Satan's little helper, Master Sergeant Steven Sworn, said, "We thought you'd never make it."

  I heard Mac say, "Daammnn!" like he’d just lost a 5 dollar bet in a game of pool.

  Pops followed, “I had a better shot back in the shop." dropping funnies at the wrong time. I caught on quick, but it slipped my mind to laugh at his inside joke.

  Bane took two steps toward Mike and said, "It's on you, boss."

  Sworn's men didn't flinch.

  Frank Wildes took a step toward Mike. His eyes were sunken, the desperation of getting back to who he'd promised and sacrificed – the family that waited and prayed for his safe return – and he entered, "I’m with you, Mike—”

  “Fuck it!” I said, “One more time for the road, big bro.”

  "Don’t be foolish. You seem to be intelligent gentlemen," Sworn entered, "...and being the intelligent gentlemen that you are, you would know when you have lost the game. No?" Sworn snickered rather loudly, mocking us for our efforts to escape. "Your friends await you...you have my word you won’t be harmed… Lower your weapons, or this hole you're in will become your graves."

  "Yeah," Mike said, bold and arrogant; with little Sharon tugging at his shirt sleeve. "And who’s to say we put the guns down you still won't shoot us?"

  "I don't think you're in a position to bargain... Mr. Ashe."

  "And if you're wrong?"

  "You don't stand a chance in hell." Sworn said, before he hawked up a spit and released it into the hole.

  They had the high ground; we had the children's lives at stake. From what Sworn said, everyone else was already captured, and whatever we did would have only made their imprisonment worsen – and Sworn just called my brother by his last name. Mike didn’t seem to mind, but I did; no one else seemed to catch it. And if they did they didn’t say a thing.

  I looked at Mike and barely shook my head in the negative, hoping my thoughts about him were wrong.

  "Relieve yourselves of your weapons and armor." Sworn laughed, backing away from the edge, behind his army as they stepped forward, marching into the pit.

  Sworn's men rounded up our weapons and armor, and grabbed the transmitter Mike found on one
of the dead soldiers. They escorted us back up to ground level where they placed plastic restraints around our wrists and randomly separated us in the back of two, caged rigs; at least it seemed that way before I noticed an, almost, even split between Bane’s men and ours. They separated me and our original group from Mike, but left him with Sharon.

  Sworn's men were obviously proud of themselves. They gave each other high fives and laughed at our capture when it was all over. They all made way to their black Humvees and jeeps. Then I started to think of a way to escape.

  I thought of prying the restraints off with my teeth, but they were extremely thick, a specially developed type of thick plastic; with wires in the middle; courtesy of the Master Sergeant. I gazed over at a couple of the kids, and they were trying to chew them off, the soldiers just laughed and ignored them. And since I didn’t want to risk looking like a Beaver that wasn’t able to chomp down wood on a stormy evening, I panned around looking for anything sharp that would help me break free and do what I could to get our people out of there alive.

  The sky lit up red only once before the cracking of the loudest thunder I’d ever heard. It gave me a glimpse of our destroyed streets by way of natural disaster and that of which was man-made, combined once again. The overturned and bullet-riddled vehicles, the rubble, destroyed pavement and littered streets; the fog enclosing us, the loosely spread fires that were burning homes and businesses in the distance. And lastly, three shadows in between the apartment building structures not even 50 feet away. Did I see three shadows? Was it just the hungry and depleted mind playing tricks on me? It was impossible to tell, but I waited for another flash.

  The sirens blew loud over our heads, and the children cried louder. Sworn was calling in the defects again, and then he was going to give that same worn-out, weak-ass speech to lure in the lushes. Then, I thought, why would he do that if he knew we were opposing him? All the people had to do was take one look at the children in hospital gowns and the angered faces of us men to get the real picture of what was going on.

  As the sirens ceased, I lowered my head on the flat cold steel cage, and whisperingly, I called over to the other truck, "Mike! Look! Mike!" I repeated, still not grasping his attention, "Mike!"