by MacCraw
Kirkley vaulted over the countertop and over to where his wounded friend was still lying. Kirkley reached into his pockets and pulled out all of his handgun magazines before giving them to Hannah.
“Here, you’re gonna need these”, Kirkley insisted.
“What about you?” asked Hannah.
“I’ve got it under control”, smiled Kirkley, who gestured to the shotgun shell bandolier.
Kirkley climbed out of the drive-through window and over to the roll cage of the Typhoon, where his SPAS-15 was stowed. He grabbed his trusty shotgun and released the nearly-depleted drum magazine, which he caught in midair. He then began the tedious process of chambering each shell, one by one. It was a repeating cycle of clunking, clicking, and cycling as each shell was loaded. It took roughly half a minute to load the drum up to maximum capacity, and with a firm slam, Kirkley loaded the drum magazine into the shotgun, which was now at its prime.
“Hannah, come over to the window”, Kirkley said, not too loudly lest he risk attracting the attention of the dog soldiers. “I’ll help you get into the passenger seat of the car.”
Kirkley left his shotgun in the team’s car, and went over to aid his wounded girlfriend. Kirkley grabbed Hannah’s left hand as she stretched her long, svelte legs over the counter. With assistance from Kirkley, she climbed out of the restaurant, and climbed into the passenger seat of the car. As soon as Hannah was safely in the vehicle, Poet and Connor had finished climbing back down off of the roof, and buckled themselves into the side-mounted seats.
“Being all exposed up here makes this feels like a fuckin’ shark diving cage or something”, Connor laughed, receiving a light chuckle from Poet.
Kirkley started up the car and drove it around to the front of the building where Kylie, Pack and Logan were waiting. “Need a ride, or are you three gonna walk out of this wretched city?” Kirkley grinned.
Everybody else loaded their weapons and backpacks between the parallel rows of seats, and fastened themselves in. Once everyone was on board and accounted for, Kirkley stepped on the gas, and the car went off, speeding down south towards the southern edge of Glasgow.
“Hopefully we don’t get shot at this time”, Hannah sighed as she slowly stretched and shut her eyes.
…
During the drive through Glasgow, something unexpected happened that could potentially change the course of action for Kirkley and his friends.
A chopping whir was heard, and looking up, Kirkley spotted a helicopter flying overhead. He was so transfixed by it to the point where he couldn’t keep his eye or his mind on the road, and by the time he looked back in front of him, he had to slam his foot on the brakes, lest he crash through the wall of an abandoned shopping mall a few meters in front of him. The sudden, unpredictable halt jolted everybody, particularly Hannah, who didn’t appreciate being abruptly awakened.
“What in the fuck was that, Kirkley?” Hannah groaned, before following his gaze that led her to the helicopter. Her pupils dilated, and she impulsively began firing pistol shots up into the air. Kirkley floored it in pursuit of the helicopter, and following Hannah’s lead, everybody else began firing wildly into the sky, trying to signal the helicopter with the sound of gunshots and the sight of muzzle flashing, though they were a microscopic flashing needle in a gigantic grey haystack.
“Cease fire, cease fire!” Kylie shouted, “You’re just wasting your ammo! Kirkley, keep on that chopper! Don’t lose sight of it!”
“Got it”, said Kirkley, who continued to chase after the helicopter.
The Typhoon and its crew kept pursuing the fleeting helicopter, and it was about a 20 minute drive before the helicopter started to land.
“What’s it doing?” asked Hannah.
“Probably landing to refuel”, Pack responded. “Kirk, pull over in that alley.”
Kirkley turned the car around into an alley about 5 minutes away from the landing zone of the helicopter, and everybody exited the vehicle. “Alright, game plan?”
“Any of you lot know how to fly a chopper?” Kirkley asked.
“I do”, said Logan.
“Good, then you’re the VIP, mate”, Kirkley replied. “Kylie, Hannah, stay with the car, in case things hit the fan. Rest of you, with me. We’re taking over that chopper.”
“Ooh-rah!” Pack clapped.
“Come back to me, Kirkley. Promise you’ll come back”, Hannah said, gently rubbing Kirkley’s cheek.
“I’ll be back. We’ll all be back”, Kirkley smiled, kissing Hannah on the lips before Pack gently tugged him and reminded him that their mission was on a time limit. The elite infiltration team consisting of Kirkley, Pack, Poet, Logan and Connor then proceeded to sneak up towards the helicopter’s landing zone, but they did it quietly in the knowledge that there was almost certainly a bandit escort with the helicopter. They didn’t communicate by speaking; only with gestures and hand signals, which was pretty much how Poet always interacted, so it was nothing new on her part. Looking through her long ranged scope, Poet tallied up a total of 7 bandits, and then turned to face Kirkley. Kirkley made a gesture of slinging a rifle, pulling out a pistol, and screwing a sound suppressor onto the barrel. Poet complied, though in somewhat of a sarcastic way: she did sling her GOL, but onto Kirkley’s shoulder, not her own. Kirkley scowled at her, which she took amusement in. Her moment in the sarcastic spotlight over, she pulled out her sidearm and swiftly dashed across the street, to one of the buildings outside of the landing zone.
Connor was up next; his silent orders were to stack up with Poet, but to attack at point-blank range, since Poet had a better chance of dispatching targets from a short, ranged distance. Connor ducked and rolled across the road, once again impressing Kirkley with his athletics and endurance. He was able to reach Poet both without being shot by the enemy or by accidental friendly fire from Poet. Once Kirkley’s two stealthiest allies were together, Kirkley signaled for one of them to knock on the side of the building they were hiding behind. Poet nodded before tapping her knuckles on the wall, making a light bumping noise that drew the attention of a dimwitted bandit who casually strolled into the alley, not realizing that if he wasn’t about to get clubbed or stabbed to death, he was going to get shot in the side of the head. Sure enough, the target got a little too close for his own comfort, and Connor swung his machete deep through the base of his neck before using the entrenched blade to haul his fresh kill around the corner to prevent one of the other guards from catching a glimpse of the body. The eclipse also worked as a cloak of darkness for Kirkley’s survivor group, and cast deep, dark shadows that concealed the body and the man who caused the casualty.
With one out of 7 guards dispatched, the operation was slightly easier, though they still had more to deal with. The primary goal wasn’t just to hijack the helicopter, but to do it silently. Gunfire from the bandits or the survivors would probably ring the dinner bell for the dogs, but then again the helicopter was probably doing that, too. It was only a matter of time before the wolf men arrived on the scene, which made it more crucial for the group to commandeer the helicopter before their immortal foes showed up and ate everybody.
“This is just like at the gun store”, muttered Connor, only to receive a “lips-sealed” gesture and angry glare from Poet, who was taking the stealth mission more seriously than a nerd with a video game.
Poet crept along the other side of the building and carefully looked around the corner. On the right side of the chopper, a bandit was busy fuelling up the vehicle, and was too careless to have any sense of his surroundings, especially with the threat of one or more wolf packs in Glasgow. Poet was concerned, since sitting next to the bandit was a drum of fuel; and especially with the man pouring fuel into the helicopter, one wrong shot could cause a destructive explosion that would destroy her, the chopper, Connor, and what could very well be their only reliable avenue of escape. Not willing to take that chance, Poet signaled for Connor, who waited a few seconds before darting to Poet. Poet pointed to the
bandit refueling the helicopter, and held up her gun while shaking her head. Connor understood what she meant, so he took delicate aim, planning to use his machete as a throwing knife. Poet looked skeptical of Connor’s plan; his machete was as tall as his club, and had a leather handgrip. Another design similarity with the machete was that it had the same “dip” as the club, which was an indent that could hook an enemy’s weapon and tug it out of his hand. The blade itself was above the indent, and was shaped like a fire axe with another small spike crudely protruding up a few more centimeters. Connor’s blade was not designed for stabbing, but rather for slicing and slashing.
Against the odds, however, Connor managed to nail his unsuspecting target with the bone machete, much to the amazement of Poet. Connor swiftly scrambled over to the body and pulled the machete out like King Arthur’s sword Excalibur. Once the body was no longer visible to any bandits in the immediate vicinity, Connor gestured for Poet to come to him, and she rapidly darted from the deep shadow of the building she was hiding behind to the right side of the helicopter. Poet stepped past Connor with her pistol drawn, and prepared to open the door to the cockpit. She was hesitant, trying to mentally drill herself to take out both the pilot and copilot as quickly as possible, but she finally worked up the nerve to swing around the corner while simultaneously throwing the door open and startling the pilots. The pilots attempted to reach for their sidearms, but with several rapid clicks and pops, Poet took them down with expert marksmanship from a suppressed .45.
Unfortunately, the cover of the two infiltration units was finally compromised, as a guard noticed the sudden deaths and heard the glass cracking. “’Eh, lads, over here!” he shouted. Kirkley nodded to Pack and Logan, who began to open fire on the enemy. The low caliber SMGs wielded by Pack and Logan wildly fired on their targets, dousing them in a lethal spray of hollow point bullets. Within a matter of seconds, the bandits were extinguished, and the helicopter was captured.
“This belongs to you, Poet”, Kirkley said as he handed her beloved sniper rifle back to her. “Alright now, let’s load up.”
After hauling the dead bodies out of the cockpit, Logan tossed his weapon onto the copilot’s seat, and climbed into the pilot’s seat, while Kirkley, Pack, Poet and Connor piled into the cargo hold, and once all crew members were aboard, Logan took off.
“Oh my God”, Connor gulped as the helicopter gained altitude.
“What’s wrong with you, mate?” Kirkley asked.
“I’ve never been up in one of these before”, Connor replied, “And I’m afraid of heights.”
“Lemme guess”, Kirkley laughed, “One of your mates made you jump off the high-dive at the swimming pool.”
“And I landed on my arse, on a frozen pool”, Connor glared. Pack and Kirkley flinched, though Poet seemed amused.
“So why didn’t we bring Hannah or Kylie?” Pack questioned. “What exactly are we doing up here?”
“We’re going to guide our girls in the car out of Glasgow”, explained Kirkley. “See ‘em down there? Plus, that way we won’t be putting Hannah in danger.”
“You love her, don’t ‘cha?” Pack grinned, nudging Kirkley on the elbow.
“I’m surprised you didn’t figure that out, buckethead”, Kirkley remarked.
“Piss off”, Pack scowled.
“Kirkley, this is Logan”, Logan announced over the helicopter radio, “Have you actually stopped and noticed how mammoth this city is?”
“By Su’s spirit…” Kirkley gasped as he looked out at the incredibly massive Glasgow. The city was even more impressive in the air than it was on the ground. Even from the helicopter, the city was enormous.
“Is Kylie still tailing us?”
“Yeah, she’s down there.”
Suddenly Kirkley felt a sense of mortal dread. His eyes perked up unexplainably, and his unusual, sudden anxiety was confirmed when a loud beeping echoed through the passenger hold.
“Missile lock!” Pack screamed. Kirkley’s skin crawled, and he shouted in terror alongside his companions. Pack was entering a state of sheer horror, due to his traumatic memories of the War, and Connor was also shaking uncontrollably. The boy hadn’t been up in a helicopter at any point in his life, nor had he ever been shot down while up in a helicopter. Poet was also frightened, and held Connor’s arm tightly; though whether she was trying to comfort him or give herself a sense of security was unclear. The terror was amplified when Kirkley not only spotted the missile approaching the defenseless helicopter, but he could hear the hissing of it despite all of the loud screaming and alarms. Kirkley closed his eyes, and clutched the edges of his seat.
The missile violently struck the chopper, which angrily shook and tumbled its passengers. The doors of the helicopter’s passenger bay were still closed, which gave the frightened survivors a very minor sense of security, but they were still being rattled around painfully.
“Parachutes!” Kirkley shouted to his friends, “Find some parachutes! Hurry!”
After frantically ripping open every cabinet onboard the helicopter, Poet managed to recover four parachutes, one for each passenger.
“Put ‘em on, rockjumpers!” Kirkley ordered as he strapped his parachute on.
“Well wait, what about Logan-?”
“Hopefully he’s got one!”
Pack heaved the door open and instantly went hurdling out, though he immediately pulled the string on his parachute and opened up his ‘chute. Everybody else followed his lead, diving out of the spiraling helicopter and deploying their parachutes. As Kirkley dove out backwards and opened up his parachute, he watched in despair as the helicopter, which was now severely damaged from the impact of the fired missile, went crashing straight into the face of a building before it violently exploded repeatedly, each blast more vicious than the last. The explosions sawed the chopper in half, and sent chunks of scrap metal flying everywhere. Perhaps the most tragic sight was the lack of the sight of a fifth parachute, which meant that Logan hadn’t made it out alive. Glasgow was a graveyard that had claimed the lives of two heroic souls. Connor was in tears, since he had lost his second-to-last comrade and his good friend.
The paratroopers landed with a thud, and they all blacked out.
…
Kirkley wearily reawakened to the sound of wheels grinding across a soft dirt trail, and the sight of trees rapidly flashing before his eyes. Looking to his left, he realized that he was in the survivors’ custom car, and more importantly, he was still amongst the living. The element of the situation that enjoyed him the most was the fact that he was finally out of Glasgow, the worst goddamn capitol city on the face of the planet. Hannah was still riding shotgun in the car, and when she heard her man groaning and mumbling like a drunk, she nudged her friend Kylie’s arm, and Kylie pulled over onto the side of the road.
“Hey, buddy”, Hannah gently whispered, kissing the semi-conscious Kirkley on the forehead once the vehicle had come to a stop.
“Wh… what the fuckin’ ‘ell happened?” groaned Kirkley.
“You, Poet, Pack and Connor went skydiving”, said Hannah.
“What about- what- about… …Logan…?”
Hannah sighed. “He didn’t make it.”
“No…” Kirkley croaked, slowly coming to grips with another major loss. “How long have we been on the road?”
“I’ve been driving for three days”, Kylie commented. “Got us out of Glasgow.”
“Good job, K”, Kirkley smiled, weakly giving her a thumbs-up before falling back into his seat.
“What’s our next course of action?” Hannah asked.
“We keep heading for London”, said Kylie. “Problem is, I don’t know these roads, and I’m skeptical of the possibility of there being a direct route from Glasgow to London. And you can’t exactly follow a star in these conditions”, Kylie added as she pointed up to the eclipsed sun.
“So we’re essentially going in blind”, Hannah deduced.
“We’ve got the compass, so if we f
ollow the compass, keep our wounded alive, and don’t run out of gasoline, I reckon we’ll make it out alive.”
Hannah and Kylie both got back into the car and continued the long drive onward towards London, and since everybody else was either unconscious or asleep after narrowly surviving a helicopter crash, they decided a productive way to pass the time was to chat. And based on the behavior Hannah had in relationship with Kirkley, Kylie decided to ask her about this supposedly new attraction.
“So…” Kylie giggled, grinning at her friend, “You and Kirkley…”
“He’s unconscious”, Hannah said.
“You love him, don’t you?”
“Fuck off”, Hannah laughed, playfully punching Kylie on the shoulder.
“Hannah and Kirkley, sittin’ on some boulders; gunning down some mean dog soldiers!”
“Okay, so where did you get that shitty line?”
“Made it up on the spot”, Kylie chuckled.
“So, ahem, uh, you aren’t jealous in any way, are you?” Hannah nervously asked.
“Naw, man, he’s yours. And he wants you.”
Hannah blushed, feeling her heart rate soar at an alarming rate, and her cheeks were blushed a bright crimson. “You’re right”, she smiled.
…
The four survivors of the death-defying helicopter crash finally woke up several hours later. The car was sitting still, and was in the middle of a road out in the misty forest.
“SITREP!” Pack weakly hollered, trying to avoid attracting any unwanted attention from the wolf soldiers that almost certainly patrolled the woods.
“We’re back in commission, Pack”, said Kirkley. “We still have our gear, and our, erm, bits and pieces.”
“Well that’s lucky”, Pack replied. “And luck isn’t a word our little survivor band can use often.”
“Don’t say that, man!” Kylie exclaimed, “Knock on wood!”
Poet, who was inspecting the roll cage, playfully leaned over Pack and knocked on his scalp with her gloved knuckles, much to the obvious annoyance of Pack, who angrily swatted at her only to smack his hand on the car.