The Tide: Salvage

by Melchiorri, Anthony J

  “Then tell them to shut those goddamned birds down!”

  “I did, sir!” Jackson yelled back. “They said they were under orders to keep ‘em hot.”

  Shepherd slammed a fist on the desk, and the specialist jumped in surprise. “Screw orders! Are they going to help us when the Skulls come charging over those gates?”

  “I’ll take care of it, sir.” Jackson marched back to the soldier and started talking to him again. The soldier seemed to listen but then held up a hand. The command sergeant major gestured angrily at the stubborn man. The soldier continued to ignore him. He held up his radio to his ear, appeared to listen for a second, and then signaled to the two men next to him. They pointed their rifles at Jackson.

  Shepherd’s eyes went wide. “What the—”

  The lead soldier hammered the stock of his weapon into Jackson’s head, and he fell to the tarmac. The other two zip-tied Jackson’s wrists and threw him into the Black Hawk.

  “Lieutenant Ramos, keep an eye on the cams,” Shepherd said. If they wouldn’t listen to Jackson, he was their only hope. “I’m going out there.”

  He sprinted from the center. His boots clicked on the tiled floor, echoing in the empty hallway. Once he made it outside, he spotted two privates—both belonging to Detrick—guarding the entrance to the NEC. Private Bard had a dark complexion and square jaw, and Shepherd vaguely remembered chatting with him once or twice about training for marathons in his off-duty hours. Private Wesson was doughier, though not completely out of shape, and his eyes were steely.

  “Bard, Wesson, on me!” he ordered.

  They both fell in behind him without question. He rushed toward the chorus of Black Hawk engines with only a few generator-powered lampposts to guide him. Cool night air rushed past Shepherd as he ran. He charged past the dark gymnasium and medical center, where they’d been hosting refugees from the surrounding areas. He was soon no more than fifty yards from the closest Black Hawk. The rotor wash started to flap his jacket.

  “Commander!” Wesson skidded to a stop and pointed toward the wall nearest them.

  Angry at the interruption, Shepherd almost ordered his men to start moving again. But then he saw what the private had spotted through the shadows bathing the fort. Movement. Subtle, but definitely movement. Then he heard a sound that never failed to turn his blood to ice. The inhuman shrieks of the Skulls echoed, carrying over the drone of the choppers.

  “Comms, this is Shepherd! Breach!” Shepherd barked. “We got a breach!”

  “Copy, Commander,” Lieutenant Ramos replied, her voice cracking with fear. She’d barely survived the initial Skull outbreak on the base, and Shepherd hated that she was about to relive those nightmares.

  “Comms, get lights on the wall,” Shepherd called over the radio.

  Spotlights from the neighboring buildings lit up the scene. Four Skulls leapt over the wall, running low along the grass and casting ghoulish shadows.

  Shepherd pulled his handgun from his holster. “Take ‘em out!”

  Wesson and Bard shouldered their suppressed rifles and aimed at the beasts. They took measured shots at the charging Skulls. One clad in soiled clothes, grimy and shredded, tumbled and slid across the grass. Another Skull, maybe four and a half feet tall, flipped backward when the soldier’s shots smashed against its body. It fell onto the lawn, its arms spread wide and its claws still twitching. One of the privates swiveled to take down a Skull with a bodybuilder’s form. The monster barreled toward them despite the clatter of bullets pinging off its organic armor. Shepherd raised his handgun, catching the creature in his iron sights, and waited for it to get closer.

  “Commander!” Bard yelled.

  Shepherd ignored him as he aimed between the creature’s bloodshot eyes and snarling nose. He let loose three rounds, and the Skull’s mouth drooped. Blood poured from its fatal wound. The fourth Skull continued charging, but it was headed to the Black Hawks. The men beside the choppers didn’t seem to have heard the suppressed gunfire over the roar of the engines and thumping blades.

  “Skulls!” Shepherd yelled, running toward the choppers and waving his arms, desperate to be heard. “Look out!”

  One of the men in the 82nd turned. He jumped back and shouldered his M16 then fired on the attacking creature. Rounds lanced into the Skull, but the monster continued forward. The spikes along its spine bristled as it tilted its body forward. It pounced. Two more soldiers leapt out of their Black Hawks and started firing. Shepherd watched in horror as the Skull disemboweled one of the soldiers before finally falling to the salvo. Two other soldiers bent to help their brother in arms, but Shepherd could see the man’s glistening organs. It was too late for the poor bastard.

  But it wasn’t too late for the rest of his soldiers or the citizens that had taken refuge at the base. Out of breath, Shepherd made it to the edge of the tarmac with the waiting choppers. He ran up to the first master sergeant he found. “You need to leave! Get the fuck out of here before you attract more of those things!”

  “We can’t!” the man yelled.

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “Orders, sir!” Then the man’s eyes went wide. “You’re Shepherd, right?”

  “Deputy Commander Shepherd,” he said, emphasizing his rank.

  The man took a step forward, leveling his rifle at Shepherd’s chest. His face had blanched, and he appeared uncertain.

  Shepherd stepped forward, pushing the man’s barrel away from his chest. “You do not want to—”

  A loud crash resounded from the wall, and the master sergeant turned toward it. Shepherd used the distraction to hit the soldier with a right hook and then disarmed him. He couldn’t take any chances. He also couldn’t take the time to consider the implications of what had just happened. Had Kinsey ordered his men to shoot anyone who interfered, or had he specifically commanded them to attack Shepherd and his officers?

  He ran back past an idle Jeep and met up with Wesson and Bard. The brackish glow of the lights around the base illuminated the source of the earlier crash. An enormous Skull stomped on a piece of the steel wall it had torn down. It used claws, each the size of Shepherd’s arms, to impale another piece of the wall and rip it away then crumpled the panels like they were paper. Its head, diminutive compared to its Humvee-sized body, reared back. It let out a bellow that shook Shepherd’s bones.

  Captain Holland and Dr. Winters had given him a recent recap of their mission in Annapolis, and they’d mentioned a Skull larger than any they’d ever seen. They called it a Goliath, and now Shepherd could plainly see why. The Goliath snarled then lumbered forward like a bone-plated gorilla. It ran with an awkward, galloping gait, and its skeletal spines and horns rattled against each other. A dozen guards ran toward the destroyed chain-link fence and the trampled wall, each firing at the Goliath. But the beast ignored them.

  This time, the 82nd saw the breach, and dozens of soldiers poured out of the waiting Black Hawks. The bark of chopper-mounted M240s cut into the air, and muzzle flashes exploded around the tarmac. More rounds smashed against the Goliath, and the beast shuddered, its limbs knocked by the impacts. Craters started to form in its armor as the bony plates were chipped away. But it pressed on as if it were only pushing through a snowstorm.

  The giant’s demolition job had introduced a new threat. Skulls poured through the opening, scrambling through the broken chain-link and over the fallen steel panels. Desperation filled Shepherd. Detrick was in more danger than ever before. He shouldered the M16 he’d taken from the traitorous soldier and fired. Gore sprayed from a nearby Skull. He aimed at another running with its serrated claws already glistening with blood. He squeezed off a three-round burst, knocking the beast backward.

  “Comms, call all available troops to my position!” he called into his radio.

  More Skulls swarmed in. Some ran into the parts of the base still covered by darkness. Others followed the Goliath and its wake of wreckage. And more charged at Shepherd and the two privates he’d recruited to w
atch his six.

  An explosion rocked the tarmac.

  The Goliath fell back, still gripping the rotor from a Black Hawk it had destroyed. Standing, the monster roared again. It punched a massive fist into the cockpit of another bird. Three of the dozen Black Hawks lifted from the ground. One man, evidently a company leader, waved his arms at the flying choppers, gesturing for them to stop. But the trio already in the air seemed intent on getting the hell out of Dodge.

  Cowards, Shepherd thought as he aimed the M16 at a Skull with long horns jutting from its forehead. The thing slashed the air with its spindly appendages, but Shepherd brought it down before its claws reached him.

  Twenty more Skulls dashed across the street, their claws clicking on the asphalt. Detrick’s units were doing the best they could, but they wouldn’t be able to stop the unabashed assault. An all-too-human scream echoed in the night, and Shepherd knew it was one of his own falling under the merciless, indiscriminate clutches of a Skull.

  The sound of rending metal assaulted Shepherd’s eardrums once more. He spun, watching the Goliath tear open another Black Hawk like he was peeling off wrapping paper. The soldier manning the M240 on the chopper continued shooting, raking gunfire across the Goliath’s chest at point-blank range. Bone shattered and splintered. Blood oozed from the wounds. But the monster ended the soldier’s courageous resistance with one downward strike, smashing the man like an insect.

  More of the 82nd’s guns trained on the Goliath, firing into its gory chest. The Goliath stumbled toward the next chopper. The heavy gunfire had taken its toll on the beast. It shuddered with each step until it fell to its knees. A final demonic wail echoed from its tusked mouth before it slumped forward, crashing into the tarmac.

  Shepherd felt a brief wave of hope as the 82nd opened up on the remaining Skulls. One Black Hawk took off, and Shepherd feared it would be another deserter, leaving only six undamaged birds on the ground. But instead, the chopper circled around to the opening in the wall. The door gunners let loose wave after wave of lead. The soldiers along Detrick’s wall cheered as the flow of Skulls finally ebbed. Shepherd surveyed the scene. Skeletal, spiked bodies lay bleeding, strewn across the lawn and streets. He counted several of his men among the monstrous corpses. More losses to haunt his conscience.

  Shepherd turned to Bard and Wesson. “You both okay?”

  They nodded. Wesson’s eyes were wide, and Bard’s lower lip trembled. Sweat glistened on their faces.

  “Then let’s move up and help our boys out!”

  The trio charged toward another civilian sedan abandoned along one of the streets. Sporadic gunfire still resounded around the tarmac between the Black Hawks as the 82nd finished off the Skulls that had infiltrated their ranks. Radio chatter droned on, calling out sightings of hostiles around the base. But just as quickly, those Skulls that had run off on their own were killed by the other guards patrolling Detrick’s perimeter and protecting the civilian shelter.

  As the gunfire quieted, Shepherd lifted his radio to his mouth again. “Comms, gather up the injured. Get chelation therapy going for anyone who had direct contact with the Skulls, and get me a casualty report.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the lieutenant’s reply.

  “Sir!” Bard said. “We’ve got new contacts!”

  Shepherd stood from behind the sedan, his heart climbing into his throat.

  “Holy shit!” Wesson yelled.

  Shepherd thought that was an understatement. Four more Goliaths barreled through the opening in the fence. One swiped out with a huge fist, sending two soldiers flying through the air. Another picked up a third soldier and crushed the man in its grip. The third Goliath, tangled in the chain-link, ripped at the fence, bringing another ten feet of fence and wall down with its struggle. The fourth ran and leapt at the Black Hawk hovering just above the giant monsters. Its claws connected with the chopper and punched into its metal paneling. The monster swung itself into the bird’s open side-door, barely able to fit within. Two of the soldiers jumped from the bird, screaming as their legs broke when they hit the ground. Another three were forced out by the creature’s thrashing arms. The pilot fought to keep the bird in the air, and the Black Hawk tilted from side to side with the constantly shifting weight of the Goliath. The chopper started listing to its port, and the Goliath moved with it. The bird spiraled in an uncontrolled descent. It hit the ground hard on its side, its blades smashing and bending. Fire spouted from the wrecked bird, and thick plumes of dark smoke billowed up. The Goliath emerged, its bony armor gouged and burned. Its beady, bloodshot eyes scanned for its next target.

  Shepherd froze as the creature locked its gaze on him. The monster’s face contorted in a snarl, its nose wrinkling under its bone-rimmed brow. It raised its bulging arms in the air, and each scythe-like claw cast its ominous silhouette against the pale moon. With a grunt, the Goliath leapt from the wreckage of the Black Hawk and charged Shepherd.

  -7-

  Renee’s lungs burned. With only a waterproof flashlight to guide her, she strained to see through the murky brown water. Sediment and debris floated with the current, and she pulled herself through it toward the sinking ambulance. Bubbles streamed from the open rear of the emergency vehicle and trickled out of the cab’s passenger door.

  Her heart stopped when her flashlight beam caught a white shape floating behind the ambulance. A body. She kicked faster and used her hands to pull herself deeper toward it. Its arms drifted out, away from its torso, and its legs were splayed. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and her brain screamed at her that she needed to breathe. But she wouldn’t let this person drown. She kicked again and reached out with one gloved hand.

  She snatched her hand back. The body wasn’t a human at all. Long, sharp claws jutted out of its hands, drifting with the current. Its dead eyes glowed a dull red when the flashlight beam caught them. Renee played the light over the spikes and plates covering its gray skin. Its body rolled over with the current and slowly sank lower. It disappeared from her view, succumbing to the cloudy depths.

  If she were at the water’s surface, she would’ve breathed a sigh of relief. The goddamned thing was dead. Apparently the Skulls hadn’t learned to swim yet.

  But just because the Skulls couldn’t swim didn’t meant the person she was trying to rescue could. She kicked until she reached the ambulance’s roof. Her fingers wrapped around the edge, and she pulled herself into the rear of the vehicle. IV lines and glass bottles filled with medicine floated within, reflecting her flashlight’s beam. Above, the roof had trapped a large bubble of air. She pushed herself up to the bubble. Though only a couple of inches high, she managed to get her lips past the sloshing water and into the dry air. She gulped down wonderful, sweet air and panted until she felt the burning in her lungs dissipate.

  Taking another deep breath, she ducked her head under the bubble and peered through the murk. She moved a floating gurney out of her way to get a view of the front cabin. But before she could play the flashlight beam over the front seats, something grabbed her leg. She screamed. The noise was muffled, drowned by the water. Bubbles streamed from her lips as she wasted precious oxygen.

  She tore her leg away from the gripping hand and pulled her knife from its thigh sheath. With her knife hand cocked back, she prepared to stab her attacker. But the fingers didn’t end in hooked claws like those of a Skull. She adjusted the light toward the body belonging to the hand and illuminated Spencer’s square-jawed face. He made a placating gesture, his eyes wide. Renee gave him a relieved thumbs-up. The Navy SEAL raised his shoulders and held out his hands, palms up, as if to ask where their survivor was.

  Renee indicated the cab with a nod. First, she surfaced once more in the air bubble, took a breath, and waited for Spencer to do the same. They ducked back into the freezing water and swam to the cab.

  Another body appeared in the glow of the flashlight. This time Renee shone the light over it to ensure there were no skeletal appendages, horns, or other signs of a S
kull. She swam to the person and found him snarled in the unbuckled seatbelt. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. His dark hair swayed in the current, and his eyes remained closed. Spencer powered past Renee and helped untangle the seatbelt from around the driver’s leg.

  Once they’d freed him, Renee and Spencer each took an arm and pulled the man out of the ambulance. The vehicle had sunk deep enough that they could no longer see the water’s surface. Soil and refuse blocked Renee’s meager flashlight beam. She and Spencer kicked to propel themselves up, following their escaping bubbles.

  Another Skull’s body floated past Renee, but she ignored it. Spencer started to pull ahead; the SEAL was clearly more adept at swimming and holding his breath than her. He didn’t seem to have to fight as hard to bring their charge to the surface, but she wouldn’t let the unconscious man or her lungs, now on fire once more, bring her down. She pumped with her legs and pulled at the water with her one free hand.

  Renee’s muscles strained. She had shed her tac vest on the Zodiac, but her sidearm, sodden fatigues, and heavy boots were enough to pull against her body’s natural buoyancy. She hadn’t counted on being so much deeper than when she’d first found the young man.

  Her boot caught on something. She thrashed, trying to free herself. A heavy weight yanked against her while she struggled. Whatever she’d gotten stuck on was substantial enough to start dragging her down.

  Spencer turned back to see what had delayed her. His eyes went wide. A stream of bubbles escaped his open mouth. With his free hand, he pointed behind Renee and shone his flashlight on the thing that had snagged her boot. More bubbles streamed up, carrying her silent scream to the surface.

  A six-inch blade of bone had gotten snagged in her laces. And that blade belonged to an enormous Skull—a Goliath. The monster rotated slowly, its body only partly visible in the murk. When its head came into Spencer’s flashlight beam, Renee saw the creature’s mouth was half-open. Tusks protruded from its still lips, and its eyes gazed vacantly into the darkness.