by M. Lorrox
Owen swallows.
“My blood won’t heal her like yours will. Do you have a knife?” Eddy looks at the blade strapped to Owen’s belt.
“Umm...”
Eddy groans. “Listen, cut your palm and make a fist over her mouth. You’ll be fine, now hurry up!”
Owen looks at her one more instant, then as fast as he can, he draws his blade, cuts across his hand, and squeezes his blood into her mouth.
Eddy smiles. “Thank you, Owen. I’ll radio the patrol boat for medical help.”
“But you can’t push—”
Eddy shrugs his light shoulders as he jogs away. “I’ll figure it out!”
The radio sits on the boat’s broken engine control console. Eddy pushes on one side of the radio with his non-elbowed arm, and with his other arm, he presses the button with his inch of forearm. It stings, but he still follows standard radio procedure, informs the patrol boat of the situation, and by the time he’s back on the top of the Ghost boat, Ensign Jessie is cruising over in the inflatable with a medic.
“Owen, that’s good... Wipe her mouth.” He side-eyes the approaching boat. They can’t hear me… “Pretend like she’s a regular human.”
Owen nods, pulls away his hand, and wipes her face with his sleeve. He glances at her exposed chest, and he realizes she’s in the morning’s direct sunlight. “Light’s okay for a minute or two, right?”
Eddy nods as Ensign Jessie kills the throttle. Gotta watch what I say now... “Give her some shade.”
Owen stands up and blocks the sun from her, and Eddy stands next to him. The medic takes a look at her, swears, then apologizes.
Eddy shakes his head. “It’s okay, just get to work. I bet she needs a transfusion…”
While all The Plant’s security personnel hit the armory to lock and load, Charlie is doing the same thing, except he does it outside the steel door that leads in from the helipad. Also, while the security guards grip CZ Scorpion EVO 3 A1 submachine guns, Charlie grabs something much bigger. He glances back over his shoulder. “Balena, you ready in there?”
In the front passenger seat of the smashed tourist helicopter, she waits with stripped wires extending out of each hand. “Just holler when you’re ready!”
Ghost watches from the side of the mountain, an M4 held awkwardly in her arms, her katars strapped to her thighs, her breastplate armor strapped tight, and her ski mask pulled low.
Charlie grins. Below him is the M197 electric cannon that used to be mounted on the Ghost attack boat. Its three, Gatling-style spinning barrels fire huge, 20mm rounds, each with eight grams of explosive in their tips. If it fired for an entire minute, it would send over a thousand rounds toward its target. Charlie glances at his target—a reinforced concrete wall that surrounds a steel door.
The gun itself weighs over one hundred and thirty pounds, and that’s without the ammo. The barrels extend six feet, and the part of the gun that spins them is the very back foot and a half of the cannon, making the weapon incredibly lopsided. To give Charlie something to hold on to and to put the center of gravity at a non-spinning location, Owen cut a long bar of steel from the boat’s hull and welded it to the cannon’s back end.
Charlie bends down and lifts the three-hundred pound, eleven-foot-long cannon, walks it a few feet away from the helicopter, and roots his feet into the ground. He aims and is about to yell for Balena to connect the wires to fire the cannon, but he thinks better of it. “Hey, Balena?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe just give me a quick burst at first, so I can see what’s gonna happen.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Okay.”
Charlie flexes his muscles and leans forward. “Go!”
Balena connects the wires with the intention of leaving them touching only until she hears it fire.
The gun barrels start to spin, and then before Charlie knows it, five rounds are hurtling toward the wall, then over it. The recoil shoves him backward. He steps to maintain his footing, and the back of the gun slams into the helicopter, nudging it with each additional recoil. “Whoa!”
Balena, surprised at being pushed back, pulls the wires far apart.
The gun barrels stop spinning, and Charlie shakes his head. Damn... This is gonna hurt. “When I yell, keep firing until the wall is gone or we’re out of rounds.”
She swallows. “’Kay.”
Charlie sets the back of the steel bar extending from the cannon against the side of the helicopter, leans forward, takes a huge breath, and tightens every muscle in his body. “Go!”
Balena connects the wires.
The barrels spin up again, and now when the bullets are shot out of the barrels at over a kilometer per second, every recoil rattles against the helicopter and shoves it back a quarter of an inch. The barrels spin so fast they’re a blur, and the bullets tear out of them.
Charlie’s face is locked in a grimace. He starts aiming at the corner of the ground and wall at the right side of the door, and he tries to control the beast of a cannon and track along the outside of the door.
When his explosive-tipped-bullet-hole-line reaches the top of the right side, concrete dust and debris fills his view of the door, and the helicopter has been pushed back more than two feet. All he can hear is the deafening scream of the rapidly firing cannon, he can no longer see his target, and he aims by memory.
By the time he figures he should start moving the stream of explosive bullets down the left side, the helicopter is pushed up against a large piece of the blown apart helicopter. The recoil is now distributed into more mass. Charlie tires from the shock and vibrations ripping into his arms from the harshly cut steel bar that he holds, but he knows he has to keep going.
When he reaches the bottom on the left side of the door, he squeezes the bar harder between his arms as he aims the gun into the middle—where the steel door still stands. The flesh on his arms tear with every recoil, but he doesn’t loosen his grip.
Balena glances behind her. She, their helicopter, and the other helicopter all slide toward the far edge of the helipad, toward a ledge. She feels relief however, because the collapsed tower lies past the other helicopter and will keep them from falling down the mountain. Unless the gun shoves that back… No way.
Ghost looks on and grimaces at the now much-louder sounds of the bullets striking the hardened steel door and of them exploding on impact. A piece of bullet shrapnel slams into the rock beside her, and she decides it prudent to dive backward and to the side, away from the door. She takes shelter behind a piece of the tower.
Charlie takes a breath of sulfur and smoke, mixes it like an alchemist with emotion and determination, and lets out a war cry as he keeps firing at the door. “I’m coming for you, Hector!”
The vibrations stop, and Balena stops shaking. Huh? She still hears the deafening noise. He’s still firing... She looks at Charlie, and she shakes again, but now it’s from a shiver. He’s walking it forward!
“I’m coming, July!” He leans and steps, then steps again, bringing the long barrels inches closer to their target. The constant roar from the steel grows louder and louder, until finally the pitch changes. Charlie still walks forward, firing. The explosions from the bullets deflect upward as the steel door falls back. Concrete pulverized into dust pours from the walls, and pieces of rubble rain down.
He can barely hear the crash that the five-inch-thick steel door makes when it hits the ground, but he does hear the difference in where his bullets are exploding; somewhere far down the long curving hallway that’s now open to them. “STOP!”
Balena rips the wires apart and, for a moment, is frozen in shock. She just stares at Charlie holding the massive weapon and the settling dust beyond him.
He takes a breath, then drops the gun with a crash. “Take cover!” He turns and dives behind the helicopter, and Balena dives out of the far door—barely missing a bur
ning piece of the other helicopter. They look at each other, and Charlie motions over his shoulder. He’s winded, and it takes him a moment to speak. “Thought they might fire back.”
Balena nods, then she finds her words. “Personally, I would have run the other way. I mean—oh! Your arms!”
Charlie looks down at his ripped open ACU top and his fresh-hamburger-like inner arms. The skinless, raw flesh oozes dark blood. “Ouch.”
She takes a small canteen from a hip pouch and tosses it to him.
He reaches to grab it, but he misses, and it hits him in the collar bone. He grabs it before it hits the ground though. He unscrews the cap and downs the contents. “Thanks.”
Balena turns, looking for Ghost, but she’s gone. “Did she go in?”
Charlie shrugs. “I think so. We’ll know if things start blowing up... Ready for phase two?”
She throws her hands to the sides. “ALL of that was phase one?”
“Oh, I dunno, but are you ready or not?”
She chuckles. “Yeah man, let’s fuck these bastards up.”
Gerard sits beside Minnie and holds onto the back of her shirt while she splashes her feet in the pool. He looks up when Sadie comes in. Although he notices blood covering one of her hands and her pantleg, he doesn’t need to inquire. He lifts Minnie out of the pool, then he spins and dries her legs with a towel.
“Thank you so much, Gerard.”
He starts drying her other leg. “I’m glad to be able to help. My daughter Jennifer and her son Tommy are staying nearby. Let me know if a playdate should be arranged.” He stands and smiles.
“That’s very kind. Can you give me her number?”
Minnie pouts. “Is Mr. Skip going to be alright?”
Sadie finds a look-reassuring-while-lying smile deep in her repertoire. “I’m sure he will be. Miss Katlyn is with him.”
Behind Sadie, the door opens and Lieutenant Colonel Schermer blasts in. “Ma’am, an update from our team in New Zealand just came in.”
Sadie’s eyes widen and she turns. She has a million questions, but she cuts to the chase. “Has the mission failed?”
Schermer swallows. “We took heavy casualties, and they’re just starting their, quote, last-ditch assault.”
Sadie falls a half inch in her stature, and Gerard steps forward to Sadie’s side. “What do you think about that playdate?”
Sadie sighs, turns to Gerard, and bows her head to him. “I’ll be in your debt.” She drops down to her knee—the warm water on the pool’s deck soaks into her pants. “Minnie, darling, will you spend some time with Jennifer and Tommy?”
She hesitates, but then nods. “I hope he’s feeling better.”
“I hope so too, and if he is, give him a big hug, okay?”
“Okay... You’ll stay safe too?”
Sadie nods and rubs Minnie’s shoulder. “Of course.”
Gerard pulls out his phone. “Give me your number. I’ll set things up, and I’ll text you both Jennifer’s number and mine. Can you prepare a bag to send?”
Sadie gives him her number. “I’ll pack a bag in just a bit… Don’t leave yet.” She hugs Minnie, and then Gerard. She disappears, following Schermer back to the banquets area where everyone else still lingers.
When they’re alone in a hallway, Sadie sighs. “Casualties?”
Schermer nods, but she doesn’t stop walking.
“That bad?”
Again, she nods but doesn’t stop. “I’ll show you the message. It came from the New Zealand Navy.”
“Did you connect us to them?”
“No. Apparently the fixer was an imposter, and he did before he...” She sighs and stops in the hall, then she turns to face Sadie. “I’m sorry, Prime Minister Costanza, but your son is injured. He’s alive, but—”
“But what?”
She swallows. “He lost both arms.”
The world stops spinning for Sadie, including all her thoughts. All she imagines is Eddy the way she saw him last, before the mission. He was healthy, and happy, and had all his body parts.
After a second, Schermer grabs Sadie by the shoulder. “Madam Prime Minister, you are needed.” She pulls her forward, then leads her down the hall.
As Sadie follows, she nods and tries to dim the image of Eddy screaming in pain with salty tears pouring from his eyes. She takes a deep breath that starts shaky but ends strong. Then, with the speed of thoughts catching back up to her, her eyes dart around. “If they’re just starting their last-ditch assault, that means the Væir group is still a very real threat. Can you also brief me on the knights activated in the target cities?”
“No, but...” She opens the door to the room where only minutes ago, guardsman Deina died gasping and choking on her own blood. “Councilor Villablino can.”
Sadie walks into the room where all eyes are on her. At the front of the room now is a table with the High Council, and in rows on the sides are the other vampires—they were all invited to stay. She glances to her side and sees a body set below the windows covered with an awkward table cloth. Fucking bitch.
Sadie collects herself with a breath, straightens her shirt, and walks forward to preside over the High Council’s table.
Hector rushes to the biotechnology lab carrying a case in one hand. Inside the lab, he finds the scientists huddled on the ground in the corner. “Anne! Trinn! Where is it?”
Anne is hugging her knees, sitting against the wall. “There on the counter!”
Hector looks around, then he spots two, five-gallon water jugs. Oh. Each is filled with something opaque and pinkish-tan. “This is all of it?”
“Yeah!”
Hector sets the case he brought with him down and checks that the jugs are sealed tightly. Old, torn-off tops were reapplied and secured with duct tape, and he’s impressed at how well they seem to hold. He picks one jug up by the handle, then frowns and stows his Desert Eagle pistol in his shoulder holster.
Trinn stands. “What’s going on out there? We felt explosions.”
Hector grabs the other jug. “That’s because there were explosions.”
“Should we evacuate?”
Hector glances at the case he brought in and laughs. “Evacuate? No. You all can just act like scared chicken-shits, and I’m sure you’ll be fine. Or you could grow some balls and see what I brought you.” He turns and leaves, gripping the jugs and carrying them like suitcases.
William O’Byrne stands and sets his hands at his waist, pulling his white lab coat open like he was a superhero wearing a cape. “Who does he think he’s talking to?”
Trinn turns to face her assistant and part-time submissive playmate. “You’re wanting to fight?”
“I’m not going to just give up on what we’re doing, so if that means fighting, then yeah.” He steps toward the case that’s large enough to hold a few of the security personnel’s submachine guns.
Trinn walks toward him as he opens it. “Alright… What’s in there?”
William groans. “Pistols.”
Hector runs across The Plant and takes the stairs up to the top, main level. He rushes past guards, and whenever they look to him for reassurance, he only responds with criticism. “You going to let anyone waltz up here? We’re under attack! Take up firing positions! You wanna die with that stupid look on your face? Get your shit together!”
He rounds the corner and runs past the zombie holding area, then he slows and looks over his shoulder. If the knights follow, they’ll have to come this way... He sets the jugs down and swipes his all-access pass to enter the small room between the hallway and the “kennel.” Through the window leading into the zombie-holding area, he sees Valerie three quarters of the way toward the back, taking notes on her clipboard. Beside her, the remaining containers’ worm-gear operated doors are all open, and each panel of sliding security plexiglass is in
place to prevent any zombie’s escape.
Hector sighs, then logs into the terminal in the small room. He enters some commands.
Down the hall, Valerie hears a familiar but strange sound. That can’t be. She turns to the closest container. Oh shit!
Every plexiglass wall is sliding open. Usually, that’s only done as the containers’ metal doors are being closed, or when the zombies inside the containers are gassed to knock them out. But there wasn’t any gas released, and the metal doors aren’t closing. Valerie rushes to the end of the hall, to the closest computer terminal, and she tries to shut all the doors. Locked out? But only me and... FUCK. She peers down the length of the hall to the front, and she can see Hector’s profile through the window. She rounds the corner and starts to run toward the door.
Hector enters more commands, and all the blinding lights aimed into the zombie containers go out. Then he enters more commands, and all the zombies’ arm blades spring into place. He opens the door to the main hallway and props it open, then he returns to the door that leads to the kennel.
Valerie is running down the dark length of the kennel; the only light pours in through the window of the small room that lies in front of her. At every container’s open door—both behind her, alongside her, and in front of her—the first zombies enter the hallway. She feels a flicker of hope when she sees Hector open the door and additional light floods into the kennel. He’s letting me out!
Hector props that door open too, then he draws his pistol and puts one of the gun’s massive bullets into Valerie’s leg. It tears through the muscle and shatters her femur. She lands on the leg and falls, and a second later, zombies with arm blades also fall on her. She screams while they reach for her, but instead of wrapping their decayed fingers around her flesh, they skewer her with the thick blades she bolted to the bones in their forearms.
Hector slips his gun back into the holster and steps into the hallway. There, he glances at the guards he recently passed. “Clear this level!” Without any other explanation or instruction, he turns and grabs the pair of five-gallon jugs, then he sprints in the same direction he was headed earlier—away from the helipad.