by Adam Baker
Toon rubbed his eyes. He scanned burned-out trucks, a couple of wrecked 4x4s.
‘Sorry, boss. Trick of the light.’
‘All right. Ten-four. Stay sharp.’
A furtive shadow. Something shifting in the burned-out bus.
‘Shit. We got mail,’ shouted Toon.
He cranked the charging handle of the SAW and let rip. Muzzle roar. The weapon kicked. Recoil made his flesh shiver. Smoking cartridge cases cascaded onto the flagstones, clink and chime. Bullets slammed into the troop transport at two hundred rounds per minute. The vehicle trembled and sparked as bullets pierced the body panels.
‘What have we got?’ shouted Lucy. ‘Are we taking fire?’
Toon grabbed his binoculars from the parapet ledge and scanned the bus. Dust and smoke slowly dispersed. Ragged bullet holes glowed dull red.
‘What the fuck is going on? Hostiles? Do we have hostiles? Come on, man. Talk to me.’
He hooked a fresh box mag to the SAW. He clipped a belt into the breach and slapped the receiver closed.
‘Standby. I’m going to take a look.’
Lucy and Huang took shelter behind wrecked vehicles. Machine-gun fire echoed round the valley walls. They could hear the punch and shriek of bullets ripping through steel bodywork.
Flashback: Sergeant Miller, lecturing Lucy and her platoon on Imber Live Firing Range, Salisbury. A dummy village used to simulate urban warfare.
‘If you ever find yourself in a street fight, don’t be stupid enough to hide behind a car door. Sheet metal won’t stop a crossbow bolt, let alone a high-velocity bullet. If you need to crouch behind a vehicle, get low and put the engine block between yourself and the shooter. Safe in your mother’s arms.’
The gunfire ceased. The echo died slow. Sudden silence.
‘What’s he doing?’ shouted Huang.
Lucy looked over the buckled hood of a Lincoln. She saw the distant figure of Toon run from the guard tower. He was carrying the SAW. He ran to the convoy.
Lucy pressed transmit.
‘Toon? What the fuck is going on?’
Breathless:
‘Something out here. Swear to God.’
‘Think he’s lost it?’ asked Huang.
Lucy sighed.
‘Go look after him.’
Toon climbed aboard the incinerated bus. Rows of seats scorched down to springs. He walked down the centre aisle. Weak daylight shafted through empty windows and bullet holes that peppered the side panels and roof.
He wanted to find something. A snake. A dead vulture. Some kind of desert rodent. Proof he hadn’t lost his mind.
A body at the back of the bus. A long-dead Iraqi soldier, charred and shrivelled, spine arched in a paroxysm of pain.
Amanda climbed aboard the bus.
‘You okay?’
Toon shook his head.
‘I saw something. For real.’
‘Maybe the breeze.’
‘There isn’t a breeze.’
‘Maybe a change in atmospheric pressure. Evening cool messing with your perspective. Sure as shit wasn’t your friend on the back seat. He’s been cooked down to charcoal.’
‘You guys must think I’m some kind of burn-out case.’
‘I think it’s been a long fucking day and we could all use some rest.’
Huang stood in the bus doorway.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Amanda. ‘We’re done here.’
‘Okay,’ said Lucy. ‘First thing we have to do is clear some space. Give me a hand.’
Lucy took off her prairie coat. She unstrapped body armour. She stripped down to her Union flag T-shirt.
Huang shrugged off his flak jacket. The Sisters of Mercy. Event Horizon tour.
The truck was boxed by sedans.
‘Let’s see if we can roll these fuckers.’
Lucy and Huang each took a wheel arch. Amanda and Toon each grabbed a fender. They set the car rocking.
‘One, two, three.’
They lifted and heaved in unison. Metal creaked and shrieked. The car rolled onto its roof. It shed doors, hood and hubcaps. It kicked up dust.
They rolled wreckage until the truck stood alone in open space.
Lucy uncapped her canteen and poured water over her head.
She examined the truck. It sat with wheels half buried in sand. It listed heavily to the right.
She looked up at the darkening sky. Evening stars. A full moon. Deep shadow pooled and coagulated throughout the convoy.
‘We’re running out of daylight. We need to get her stable before we can crack these doors. Let’s see if we can get her running. I want to drive her to the citadel. Park her on flagstones. Get some light on her and set to work.’
She checked the underside of the truck. Tandem axles. Mesh over the tailpipe. The complete drive chain – the engine, transmission and suspension gear – protected by galvanised steel plate tack-welded to the chassis.
She kicked the wheels.
‘See that? She’s got runflats. A big, solid rubber rim inside each tyre. Means you can drive on hubs, even if the tyres get blown out. Bust through a roadblock. Doesn’t matter if a bunch of crooks throw a stinger strip across the road; take a shotgun to your wheels. Wouldn’t even slow you down. You just keep on rolling. Fucking sweet. This baby is shopped like a tank.’
They tried the cab doors. Locked.
Huang unholstered his Glock and took aim at the handle.
‘Don’t bother,’ said Lucy. ‘You’d just catch the ricochet.’
One of the side windows was cracked.
‘Ballistic polycarbon. Class One, but it’s taken a shitload of hits.’
Lucy pounded the window with her rifle butt. The inch-thick slab of optical plastic split from the door seal and fell into the cabin.
Huang swung himself into the cab. He reached beneath the dash and popped the hood.
Lucy inspected the engine. She peeled off a glove and slapped dust from the motor. She checked filters. She checked injection lines. She checked starter cable.
‘Can you hot-wire this thing?’ shouted Huang.
‘Watch me,’ said Lucy.
She leant into the engine bay. She connected the coil at the back of the V12 engine to the positive terminal of the battery.
The dash lit up.
‘Hey. Looking good.’
She reached beneath the battery into the fender well and tripped the starter solenoid.
Huang tore the cowling from the steering column. He spliced ignition cable.
Engine revved. The windshield wipers thrashed backwards and forwards, splashing sand. A single intact headlamp flickered and glowed steady.
‘Sweet job.’
Lucy slammed the hood, and climbed in the cab. Huang let her take the wheel.
‘And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we do that.’
The truck was sunk in sand. Amanda and Huang chocked the wheels with trunk lids from nearby sedans.
‘Okay. Let’s get her rolling.’
Lucy revved the engine. She pumped the throttle, tried to rock the truck clear of deep ruts. The wheels span. Shredded tyre rubber whipped and tore.
Huang hung out the window and checked progress. He shouted encouragement.
‘That’s it. Keep going. Almost there.’
‘Feels like I’m digging deeper.’
‘Just keep going. An inch more, and you’ve got it.’
Huang jumped from the cab. He joined Amanda and Toon at the back of the truck. They pushed. They sweated. They strained. The armoured truck lurched free. They caught a faceful of grit.
A deep groan as the plated underside of the truck ground rock.
Lucy’s voice over the radio:
‘How’s it looking?’
‘You’re doing okay.’
The truck pulled out of the convoy. It nudged the wreck of a Nissan aside. It lurched towards the citadel gate towers at a walking pace. Half a mile of lunar terrain. The engine laboured an
d revved. Toon and Amanda kicked rocks out the vehicle’s path.
Huang turned back towards the convoy. His body armour and assault rifle were draped over the hood of an Impala.
A body sat in the driver’s seat. A charred skeleton, fingers welded to wheel plastic. No hair. Empty sockets. Lips burnt away, giving the corpse a mirthless smile.
Huang turned his back on the carbonised corpse. He reclipped his belt. He clipped the holster strap round his thigh.
Behind him, the driver of the sedan began to move. The eyeless, grinning head slowly turned. Crisped skin cracked and flaked. Charred, skeletal hands flexed and tore from the steering wheel. The creature began to haul itself from the vehicle.
Huang rebuckled his armour. The rustle and rip of Velcro straps masked the grit-crunch of skeletal feet dragging through sand.
He slung his rifle. He unscrewed the cap of his canteen and prepared to swig.
Skittering stones. He swung round.
A tumorous figure, the colour of rot and dust. Something that used to be a man. Knotted metallic tendrils woven through flesh.
‘Holy fucking Christ.’
The creature tensed, as if reacting to the sound of his voice. It lunged. Huang dropped his canteen, raised his rifle and fired full auto. The cadaverous figure was lifted from its feet, belly ripped open. The impact of high-velocity rounds threw it across a Cadillac hood. It fell in the dirt and lay still.
Huang crouched over the dead thing. Smoking gut wounds. A skeletal face, empty sockets, tight skin pulled back across the bones.
Lucy’s voice:
‘What’s going on? Who’s shooting?’
He hit the pressel switch on his webbing.
‘Better get back here, boss. Something you need to see.’
The creature jerked to life. Rotted fingers seized Huang’s shoulder. The broken creature gripped the collar of his body armour, dragged him down and sank teeth into his neck. Skin tore, blood bubbled and dripped. Huang screamed and tried to pull himself free.
He drew his Glock, pressed the weapon to the creature’s stomach and pumped the trigger. Smoke. Muzzle flame. He emptied a full clip. The desiccated figure convulsed as bullets tore through its torso.
Huang tossed the gun. He pushed the creature to arm’s length with his left hand. He unhooked a frag grenade with his right. He twisted the pin loose with his teeth. The safety lever flipped.
He punched the creature in the gut, driving the grenade wrist-deep into its belly. He heaved the rotted figure away with his feet, and rolled clear.
The creature staggered upright, flap of glistening muscle clenched between its teeth. Stretched out arms, like it was trying to find Huang by touch.
Huang covered his head.
Detonation.
He lay, curled foetal, pelted with grit, stones, and scraps of burning flesh.
The Barricade
Huang sat in the rear doorway of an armoured personnel carrier. He leant against the doorframe and rested his head against metal. He held a rag to his neck to staunch the flow of blood.
Lucy, Toon and Amanda crouched in front of him.
‘Give yourself a morphine shot,’ said Toon.
‘No.’
‘You’re fucked up.’
‘Let me rest a while.’
Amanda washed his neck with canteen water and dressed the wound.
‘Sure you don’t want a shot?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘How does it look?’ asked Lucy, out of earshot.
‘Deep,’ said Amanda. ‘He’s lost a lot of blood.
Lucy walked between cars. Smoking fragments of flesh scattered in the dust.
She hooked blood-caked dog tags with the muzzle of her rifle. She examined them with gloved fingers.
‘What have you got?’ asked Amanda.
‘Republican Guard.’
‘Guess Jabril was wrong. Some of them made it.’
Lucy nudged a withered arm with her boot.
‘Burnt. Mummified. This guy has been dead for weeks.’
‘Huang says different.’
Lucy unsheathed the T-shaped push-knife she kept strapped to her webbing. She prodded the severed arm with the blade.
‘Looks like something’s embedded in his flesh.’
‘Like what?’
‘Wires. Tendrils. Fine thread knitted through muscle.’
‘Shrapnel?’
‘No. Something else.’
‘Sooner we get out of here, the better.’
‘Yeah,’ murmured Lucy, sheathing her knife. ‘I think you’re right.’
The armoured truck was parked in the main courtyard of the citadel. Jabril circled the vehicle, inspecting bullet damage. He saw Lucy approach.
‘These rear doors are your biggest challenge. The steel is three inches thick.’
Lucy grabbed the collar of his body armour and slammed him against the side of the truck. The impact shook free his prosthetic hook. It clattered on flagstones.
He tried to fend her off with his hand and stump.
‘We just got jumped. Huang. Someone, something, just tried to rip out his throat.’
‘Is he hurt? Is he bitten?’
Lucy shook Jabril. She knocked his head against the armoured hull of the truck.
‘What happened out here, Jabril? What really went down?’
‘You mustn’t touch Huang. None of you. Tell your men. They must wear gloves each time they go near him.’
‘Tell me. What happened here? The guy back there in the convoy. He looked like he had been dead for months. There’s no way he should be running around.’
‘You knew this place was poisoned. You all knew the risk in coming here.’
Lucy shook him.
‘There was something in his skin. Wires, cables. Did he do that to himself?’
‘No.’
‘How many more of your buddies are wandering around?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Talk to me. What the fuck is going on?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Lucy slapped his face.
‘I promised you gold,’ he said. ‘There is gold in the truck. Just take it and leave.’
Lucy’s crew crossed the courtyard. Huang supported by Amanda and Toon. He struggled to walk. He was pale and sweating.
‘How’s it going, boss?’ asked Toon.
Lucy shook Jabril one last time.
‘If we get hit by any more surprises I will seriously fuck you up.’ She released her grip on Jabril’s body armour. She turned to Toon. ‘I’m going to get the truck under cover. Mandy: with me.’
Toon helped Huang across the courtyard and sat him in shade.
Jabril wedged the prosthetic hook back onto his wrist stump. He crossed the courtyard and sat on rubble beside Huang. He looked at the bloody dressing taped to the man’s neck.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jabril.
‘The guy that jumped me. Swear to God, he was a living corpse. What the hell happened to him?’
Jabril looked down at his feet.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Lucy climbed in the cab. She gunned the engine. Puff of black diesel fumes. She eased the throttle. The vehicle inched forward.
She drove the truck through the citadel precincts. The central processional avenue cut a path through collapsed buildings and courtyards choked with debris.
The armoured car climbed the gentle gradient towards the entrance of the temple. The single intact headlamp projected a cone of light.
The truck passed between the two monstrous bull colossi and crawled into the darkness of the temple interior. The spluttering cough of the damaged motor echoed through the vaulted hall.
Lucy killed the engine. Amanda kicked open the cab door.
‘The roof should hide us from over-flight,’ said Lucy. She shone her flashlight into the shadows above them. Pillars supporting massive roof slabs. ‘Our heat signature should be pretty well masked.’
They inspecte
d the truck vault.
‘Inch-thick cadmium steel. No windows, no gun ports. We could try C4, but it would be a waste of time. Take a hydrogen bomb to punch a hole. The door is the weak spot. Thinner plate, but it’s sheathed in cobalt. Diamond drill wouldn’t make a scratch. Hinges are recessed. Roof vents, but they won’t give us any help.’
‘Then I guess we do it the hard way.’
‘Yeah. Check on the guys. I’ll get to work.’
Gathering twilight. Bright stars. A red moon.
Toon crouched on the courtyard flagstones. He unzipped a side pocket of his backpack. A patty of C4 and detonators.
He pressed and punched the explosive into a crevice at the base of a high pillar near the citadel entrance.
He pushed a detonator deep into the clay. He backed away across the courtyard, unspooling command wire. He tied the wires to the terminals of a battery initiator. He crouched behind a massive stone block.
‘Standby. Firing.’
The explosives blew with a gunshot crack. Puff of dust and stone chips. The pillar slowly toppled like a tree felled by an axe. Toon plugged his ears.
The pillar smashed across the courtyard flagstones with an infernal roar. Toon was pelted with rock shards.
He stood. Dust cleared. He brushed grit from his head and shoulders. The shattered pillar formed a waist-high barrier across the citadel entrance. He set up the SAW and stacked boxes of ammunition.
Amanda joined him.
‘Only way in and out of this place, said Toon. ‘Anything comes prowling, I’ll light the fucker up like the Fourth of July.’
Amanda flipped open the latches of her Hardigg rifle case. She pulled the SIMRAD night scope from its foam bed and clipped it to the picatinny rail of her rifle. A black lens the size of a saucer. She powered it up and flipped the cap. The view through her dayscope now boosted infra-red by a high-powered photocathode.
She lay out her mat, tipped the brim of her hat and took position. She unfolded the stubby legs of the rifle bipod and lay the weapon across a cylinder of fallen masonry.
The wrecked vehicles a quarter-mile distant were shadows in the gathering dusk. Viewed through the nightscope they became a strange luminescent landscape of sand-scoured, bullet-pocked metal. Hard to judge distance. The infra-red optics foreshortened perspective.