by Sam Sisavath
He was staring at a McDonald’s golden arch, wondering how much longer it was going to stay up there, when he glimpsed figures moving around on the rooftops of a nearby Wallbys. He hadn’t fully processed what he was seeing before they opened fire, bullets punching into the hull above his head, the ping-ping-ping! like firecrackers going off next to his ear.
“Contact!” Keo shouted even as he jerked his head away from the opening. “Collaborators at five o’clock!”
Thank God he was strapped to the bench, or Keo might have been thrown out the hatch when the big Sikorsky pitched left, then right, even as the pop-pop-pop from below faded against the engine’s roar.
Vince had grabbed ahold of Keo while the helicopter was throwing them around and putting distance between them and the shooters. “Whoa, man, you hit?”
“I’m good, I’m good,” Keo said, righting himself. “I’m good…”
“I guess they definitely know we’re coming now,” James said across from him.
“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty safe assumption, kid.”
Danny unbuckled his seat belt and leaned toward the cockpit. “How much farther?”
The copilot glanced back. “Ten minutes!”
Danny nodded, then swept the faces around him. “Listen up!”
They turned to look at him.
“You’ve all been briefed on the mission,” Danny shouted, even though he really didn’t have to. Keo guessed it was mostly to get everyone’s undivided attention. “You know how this is going to go down. The bird’s going to insert us right up the target’s skirt. There may or may not be a hornet’s nest of bad guys waiting to make us wish we hadn’t volunteered. You can take one thing to the bank: It’s going to get hairy real fast, and you’re going to be scared—hell, you wouldn’t be human if you weren’t—but you’ll have to push through it and do your job. Whatever happens, do your job, and we all go home happy little campers with a great story to tell the kids. Fuck up, and we carry you back in a body bag. Comprende?”
The others nodded back at him.
“Good.” Danny turned to Keo. “You got the ball, Kemosabe. Try not to get me killed, huh? I got the world’s hottest redhead and a bun in the oven waiting for me at home.”
“No promises,” Keo said.
Danny grinned, then sat back down.
No pressure, Keo thought, staring at the faces looking back at him and wondering whatever in the hell possessed him to agree to lead this mission.
Oh, who was he kidding? He knew exactly what he was doing out here. It was because she had asked him to.
“Besides Danny, you’re the only one I trust to do this. To get this done.”
How the hell was he going to say no to that? He could have, sure, but he didn’t want to. It wasn’t often people told him they needed him to do something and didn’t threaten to put a bullet in him if he didn’t. All she had to do was ask.
You’re going soft, pal. Real soft.
Keo sighed to himself and refocused on the faces looking back at him.
Vince to his left, close enough that they rubbed shoulders every time one of them took a breath. Then there was Mackey, squeezed between Vince and Danny. James, directly across from him, with the mountain of a man, Hanson, immediately to his right. Angie after that, and, across from Danny, Delaware, who looked more like a Florida with his dark tan.
Keo smiled back at them. It wasn’t hard. He had mastered the fake smile a long time ago.
Up front, the copilot threw another quick look into the back. “Hold onto your panties, ladies; we got incoming!”
Keo turned his head and looked out the hatch as both Warthogs appeared outside, staying alongside them just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the shark’s teeth painted on the front of both jets, the “mouth” opening wide where the Avenger rotary cannon was positioned. Instead of the U.S. star insignia on the side, there was instead the familiar sun emblem with the rays shooting outward.
The twin-engine planes were close enough that the Sikorsky actually tilted slightly as it was caught in their wake. Keo also reflexively grabbed onto the hatch, forgetting for a moment that he was still buckled in.
One of the Warthogs veered right while the second one kept straight ahead.
“I’m glad those things are on our side,” Vince said beside him.
“Yeah,” Keo said. “Let’s hope they’re enough.”
Or this is going to be one short mission, he thought, but didn’t think Vince or the others needed to hear that last part.
Keo kept his eyes outside the hatch as the main downtown area of Houston appeared in the distance. The sun was high in the sky, a great ball throwing a sea of brightness against the towering skyscrapers. Monuments to mankind’s greatness, now probably teeming with tens of thousands of ghouls. Could they see the aircraft gliding across the cityscape right now? He could imagine their frenzied state, wanting desperately to attack, to swarm with their numbers but held back by an invisible enemy.
He looked across at James, still playing with his wedding band. “Hey.”
James glanced up and tried to smile—and failed miserably.
“You’ll do fine,” Keo said. “Don’t wander off, and don’t do anything I don’t do. Stay close to me or Danny at all times.”
James nodded, but it looked too halfhearted.
“Stay close,” Keo said again.
“Okay.”
“It’s okay, you know. Everyone’s nervous their first time.”
“Were you?”
“I was fucking terrified. But I got over it.”
James nodded again, and this time Keo almost believed the kid wasn’t scared shitless. Almost.
“What about me?” Vince asked, clutching and unclutching the machine gun between his legs. “Any words of wisdom?”
“Yeah,” Keo said. “Shoot everything that isn’t us.”
“That’s it?”
“Danny, you got some advice for him?” Keo shouted across the bench.
“Yeah,” Danny said, leaning forward, “if you absolutely must shoot someone, go for Lego My Keo over there. After all, he’s ugly and no one’s going to miss him.”
“Thanks for that, pal,” Keo said.
Danny grinned back at him, just as two massive BOOMS! shattered the afternoon air, both explosions coming from directly ahead of them.
It was quickly followed by the familiar roar of a 30mm cannon, firing to their right:
Brooooooooooorrrrttttttttt!
27
GABY
THEY WERE CLOSE. She could feel it, an overwhelming sense of dread—the kind that made it hard to breathe even with the mask keeping (most) of the smell around her at bay—growing with every step. It had gotten worse in the last hour or so, and as if to confirm her suspicions, the attack finally began.
The narrow, claustrophobic world they had been stuck in for what seemed like an entire lifetime shook and the cracks widened, dust and dirt falling from the walls in sheets as the first bomb detonated, followed not long after by the second. Then a third and a fourth, sending aftershocks across the entire length of the tunnel.
They stopped moving to listen to the buildings crumbling, the pek-pek-pek of falling debris easily heard even from all the way down here.
“Jesus Christ,” Blaine said. “That last couple sounded way too close.”
A big chunk of the ceiling came loose and plopped into the thick sewage water in front of her, creating ripples around her knees. She had hoped the water would start to get shallower the farther into the city they went, but there was no such luck. If anything, it seemed to get denser, and each footstep took just a little bit more effort. Of course, it could have just been that she was more tired now than when they had begun the trek.
Will was standing about ten feet in front of them, looking forward as if the tunnel (seemingly) coming apart around him wasn’t worth his attention. It was nothing new—if anything, he was doing that more and more often. He was here, with them in the se
wer system, but not really here.
“Will,” she said.
He glanced over, blue eyes glowing against the green of her night-vision goggles.
“Is this all going according to plan?” she asked.
“Yes,” he hissed.
She clutched the rifle tighter. “What—”
Brooooooooooorrrrttttttttt!
Every inch of her body trembled at the noise and it took a second—five seconds—before it passed.
“Jesus, I hate that sound,” she whispered. “I fucking hate that sound.”
“Is that it?” Blaine asked, water sloshing around his boots as he moved closer. “Are those the Warthogs you were telling me about?”
“Yeah. I still hear them in my nightmares.”
“At least they’re on our side this time.”
“‘They?’”
“Doesn’t it sound like there’s more than one of them up there?”
“Maybe, I don’t—”
Will was looking at them.
“What is it?” she asked.
“We have to go,” Will said before turning and continuing on.
They followed, while beyond the tunnel walls the continued brooooooooooorrrrttttttttt! of the Warthog sent shivers up and down her spine. This one sounded farther from their position than the previous, which meant the planes were constantly on the move as they engaged enemy targets across the city. Or at least, that was the plan.
God, I hope it’s all going according to plan up there...
“You’re right,” Blaine said, “they do sound like Godzilla…on crack.”
“It’s worse when they’re right on top of you.”
“What kind of guns are they using?”
“Danny says they’re 30mm Gatling guns. By the time you hear the noise, the bullets have already landed. And if they’re shooting at you…”
“You’re already dead.”
“Uh huh.”
“Like I said, glad they’re on our side.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, still not fully one-hundred percent in agreement.
The loosened parts of the tunnel were starting to fall at a quicker rate around them now. Something pek! off her NVG and bounced into the water. Will had put a little more space between them, and she had to keep biting her tongue to ask him to slow down. She picked up her pace instead, and Blaine did likewise next to her.
“Damn, that sounded way closer,” Blaine said when another brooooooooooorrrrttttttttt! filtered through the thick concrete walls.
“It’s definitely closer,” Gaby said.
“So it wasn’t just me.”
“No.”
“Good to know. Being down here for so long—how long has it been now?—I’m not sure I can trust my instincts anymore.”
You and me both.
Will had slowed down, allowing them to catch up. Seeing his unpanicked state (was he even capable of panicking anymore?) always put her mind at ease, and she had to keep reminding herself that this was all going according to plan. His plan.
God, she hoped this was all going according to plan.
She kept one eye glued to Will’s black-shaped form about fifteen yards in front of them and the other on the walls and ceiling, waiting for the tunnel to come tumbling down and bury them down here where no one would ever find them.
Way to think happy thoughts, girl.
“I didn’t think she had it in her,” Blaine was saying.
“Who?” Gaby said.
“Lara. When we had to abandon Song Island, I didn’t think she could keep it together, much less take command the way she did. She really proved me wrong.”
“I think she proved everyone wrong, including herself.”
“Funny how things work out.”
She understood why he was talking. It wasn’t because any of this was important, because they weren’t. He was doing it because it helped to keep his mind off what was happening up there and the continuous trembling around them whenever one of the planes came too close to their position. And each time the Warthogs did that, she trembled slightly, thankful it was too dark for Blaine to see unless he was staring right at her.
“Lara thought she was going to be a doctor,” Blaine was saying. “I thought I was going to go from one dead-end job to dead-end job until the day I died. Now look at us.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asked.
He chuckled. “I don’t know. But what about you? I bet you had choices.”
“I always just thought I’d go to college and see what happened after that.”
“So it’s safe to say you never thought you’d be carrying an M4 while knee-deep in, literally, shit?”
She smiled underneath the mask. “That’s an affirmative.”
SMALL-ARMS FIRE.
They had begun about ten minutes ago and didn’t sound as if they were going to be stopping anytime soon. Instead, they got louder as she, Blaine, and Will continued to trudge their way through the sewer, which meant of course they were moving toward the gunfire.
Will was somewhere in front of her, though she had lost sight of him when she craned her neck to look up at the ceiling (for just a moment) to make sure it wasn’t going to cave in on her. Every now and then she would hear one of the Warthogs doing another strafing run from somewhere else in the city, the familiar roar of their guns reaching her all the way down here, as if seeking her out and asking her, Hey, you remember us?
Yes, she remembered them. She would never forget them for as long as she lived…however that turned out to be.
Positive thoughts. Think positive thoughts.
And then Will disappeared.
“Where’d he go?” Blaine said as he stepped up beside her.
“I don’t know,” she said, fighting back the panic in her voice.
“I wish he’d tell us first before he does one of his vanishing acts.”
And I wish I was back on the Trident with Nate, she thought, when her night vision picked up something in the water in front of them.
It was floating on top of the sludge: A trench coat.
“What is that?” Blaine asked.
She knew the answer even before she reached forward and picked up the fabric with the barrel of her carbine, the long suppressor at the end giving her a pole with which to work with. The cloth was heavy, its natural color buried underneath the layers of filth. It was shredded in spots, just like Will’s trench coat had been when he led the ghouls away from them at the barn a few nights back.
“This ain’t good,” Blaine said, lifting his rifle until it was in firing position.
Above them, the gunfire continued, the pop-pop-pop of automatic rifle, interspersed with barrages of brap-brap-brap from a machine gun, coming from seemingly every direction now. It was a full-blown war zone up there.
“Gaby,” a voice said.
The hairs on the back of her neck spiked as he appeared out of thin air in front of her.
“Jesus Christ,” Blaine whispered. “I think I just had my first stroke.”
She didn’t give voice to it, but Gaby felt the same way. She always knew Will could be extremely (impossibly) quiet when he wanted to be, but to come and go without her or Blaine even noticing, while the three of them were trapped down here in the close confines of the tunnel and knee-deep in sewage?
How does he do that?
Will hadn’t just taken off the coat, she saw, but had ditched the backpack he had been carrying. The reason for that was easy to see: he didn’t need it anymore because he was now wearing its contents.
The “gauntlets,” as Danny called them, covered both of Will’s hands and extended almost all the way up to the elbows where they were clasped in place by a combination of leather and metal straps. Studs gleamed against her night vision, jutting out of the gloves from where his knuckles would be—essentially silver spikes, each one almost three-quarters of an inch long. He wore identical foot-long knives on his thighs, the handles covered in thick black duct tape for better gripp
ing. The blades themselves were silver which, while not fatal to Will, was to the black eyes. A smooth, black matte ballistic helmet covered his entire head, his eyes hidden behind tinted goggles built into the piece.
The addition of the helmet to the ballistic jersey made him look like a motocross racer geared for the ride of his life; or maybe an extra from one of those post-apocalyptic movies, wandering wastelands looking for unsuspecting victims. The getup was unquestionably intimidating, even though its main purpose was to hide his identity as well as give him the tools he’d need for close-quarter survival against ghouls.
Close-quarter. Like being stuck in a sewer tunnel.
She couldn’t tell at all that he wasn’t just another man by looking at him. Maybe he was a little too obviously lanky, but the wardrobe hid his skeletal shape underneath it. The whole thing should have been heavy—she would know, having carried all of that in the duffel bag for a time herself—but Will moved in them as if they weighed nothing.
“Sweet threads,” Blaine said. “Gotta get Mae and the gals to make me one of those when we get back.”
Gaby almost smiled, except the shooting above them had increased in intensity and it drew her attention instead. It was still just the pop-pop-pop of small arms, along with the brap-brap-brap of machine gun fire. There were no signs of the Warthogs, and she couldn’t decide whether to be glad or worried by that fact.
She looked back at Will. “How much farther?”
“Almost there,” he said, and turned and continued on.
With his helmet on, she had to strain to hear him. His voice also didn’t sound nearly as hissy.
She and Blaine followed him down the tunnel again, and with each step the gunfire above them (In front of them? Behind them? She swore it sounded as if it were coming from every direction now.) seemed to get louder and faster, more intense as the back-and-forth continued unabated.
Jesus. What’s going on up there?