Skyfire

by Vossen, Doug

  “I’m fine, but the girl…” Callie had spoken only five words to this woman, but immediately felt a strong connection. She trusted her. She couldn’t explain it.

  “Ma’am, my name is Staff Sergeant Ramos. May I examine your child please?” She reached for Jessica with a blend of maternal instinct and confidence.

  My god, what the fuck is happening? Callie scanned her surroundings as Sergeant Ramos rested Jessica on a litter and began checking her vitals. Labored breathing and moans filled the air, as well as information yelled between doctors, nurses, medics, and anyone else able to speak. All Callie could smell was the pungent, sour odor of fresh vomit over a metallic whiff of blood. Next to the stretchers, on the exposed grass beneath the tent’s canvas roof, were piles of piss, shit, vomit, and gore. The slick ground squished underneath Callie’s knee-high leather boots. This is absolute madness. Who the fuck is in charge here?

  “Ma’am, when did this start?” Callie asked the sergeant.

  The question hadn’t registered. Callie continued looking around, her mouth agape at the horror. She locked eyes with a corporal even younger than she was. His ACU pants were undone, his tan t-shirt untucked as he lay writhing in pain, clutching his abdomen. He looked terrified. He was muttering something that didn’t even sound like English. A stream of dark fluid steadily emanated from this mouth, and his eyes were tainted red – just like the people lying in the streets. Wait a second. The image of the bodies in the West New York Police Station popped back into Callie’s mind. She recalled the bullet wound in the back of the Officer Suarez’s head. Holy shit. Her face turned white.

  A firm, gentle hand touched her shoulder, returning Callie to the present moment. “Ma’am, look at me.”

  Callie did as she was told, locking eyes with Sergeant Ramos. Her panic slightly subsided.

  “Ma’am, everything is going to be just fine. Tell me what happened to your little girl.”

  She’s asking me even though she already knows. She isn’t even thinking about it happening to her. This chick is incredible. “She got sick just before the sun went down.” Hold it together! Jess needs me.

  “I understand, ma’am. Has she been displaying outward signs of headache pain? Nausea?” Ramos held her clipboard. She was right handed, which made sense. She seemed very analytical.

  “Yes,” replied Callie.

  “Ma’am, what about discharge? Has she been experiencing any bodily discharge today?”

  Stop calling me ma’am, I’m younger than you. “Yes.”

  “OK ma’am, pull up one of those folding chairs from the corner and have a seat next to your child. What is her name?”

  “Jessica.”

  “Jessica what?”

  Callie started bawling. “I don’t know,” she blurted. “I lied, she’s not my daughter. I just wanted to help her! I’m really, really sorry! She’s a good little girl!”

  Ramos was unfazed.

  “I’m hiding a gun in my purse that I took off a dead cop this morning. I promise I don’t want to hurt anyone! One of your people at the gate tried to shoot me earlier because he was scared and they arrested my friend and I just want to go home!”

  Sergeant Ramos touched Callie again, this time with one hand on each shoulder. She again locked eyes with Callie, her gaze so intense it was as if she were placing Callie under a hypnotic spell.

  Don’t ever stop looking at me.

  “Hey, it’s OK. You did amazing. You’re untrained and got all the way here. You saved a little girl, protected yourself, and didn’t crack under the pressure. You did it. Don’t worry about all that other stuff, it’s all just bullshit anyway. Let us take it from here. We got this. Just be there for little Jessica.”

  Callie’s blubbering settled down to a sniffle as she regained some composure. “I’m just a fucking stupid stripper,” she said, managing her usual lighthearted giggle.

  “Negative, ma’am. You’re obviously much, much more than that,” said Ramos.

  “Stop calling me ma’am, I don’t deserve it. My name’s Callie Kennedy. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Sam.”

  Callie used the inside of her wrist to wipe away the tears. She was back to normal. It was as if the burst of emotion was a release valve for her sanity. How do these people do this for a living? I think I understand a little more about Army people now. I can do better too!

  “Sam, I’m sorry for my outburst. I feel stupid.”

  “Hey girl, you’re human. We all are. My favorite place to go cry in Afghanistan was porta-shitters so no one else could see. We all have feelings, it just matters what you do with them.”

  This woman should be my fucking role model. “Sam, how can I help? I’m not a paramedic or anything, but I can help. Just tell me what to do. Please, it’s the least I can do.” I’m not sick and neither is this chick, or all these other people running around trying to help. I have two choices: help, or give up like a little bitch.

  The corporal writhing in pain let out a spine-tingling groan that sounded like a metallic screech superimposed over a human voice. Callie’s blood ran cold. Sam ran to him and placed her hand on the left side of his neck, between his jawline and shoulder. “Callie, come here and help me hold him down. He’s burning up. I need to get ice packs on him ASAP. He’s going to keep convulsing all apeshit if we don’t!”

  Callie stood there. What about Jess?

  “You wanted to help, didn’t you? Come on! He’s worse off than the girl. I promise we’ll get to her next. Now move!” Ramos struggled to restrain the stocky patient.

  This is one of those moments. None of this is about me. Callie sprang to action, pressing all of her 105 pounds onto the corporal as he convulsed atop the gurney. She was getting manhandled, but was keeping him from hurting himself or anyone else with his haphazard flailing. She looked directly into his eyes. She could barely make out pupils through the thickening red membranes. He again let out the inhuman screech, this time inches from Callie’s face.

  Ramos returned with the icepacks. “Callie, make a hole!” Chaos seemed to be spreading across the aid station. Indistinguishable panicked voices could be heard outside as well. Callie leaned to one side and watched as Ramos cut off the corporal’s shirt with the knife of her multi-tool. She then yanked his pants down to his ankles. He was not wearing any underwear.

  “Sam, what’re you doing?” Callie asked.

  “We need to cool him off NOW! It’s the only way he won’t get his brain fried!” Sam grabbed a few icepacks, smashing one into each armpit and another into his crotch. “Someone find me an unsoiled ice blanket!” she yelled.

  Callie held the corporal down as his writhing intensified. “Dude, I don’t know if I can keep him down much more!” Oh fuck. Callie was thrown back onto her rear, landing on the exposed grass and almost knocking over Jessica’s litter. She landed in a pile of sticky bodily fluid. A mist of red liquid from the corporal’s spittle covered her face and clothing.

  The corporal groaned and jerked himself upright. He awkwardly ambled toward the tent’s opening flap. His steps were short and uncoordinated; his ACU pants were still around his ankles. What in the fuck is he doing? The dim lighting accentuated his red eyes and the fluid around his mouth. Dark, viscous liquid dripped down his pale chest, covering his genitals and thighs as he stumbled forward. All around them, inhuman screeching from patients inside the aid station now overpowered the sound of the generators parked outside the tent. The doctors and nurses were quickly losing control.

  Just then, the corporal thrust his left arm forward and grabbed a M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) from the rifle rack by the entrance. The weapon was already in the “fire” position, with the bolt forward in a configuration many believed protected against accidental discharges. He then jerked his right arm back, yanking the charging handle to the open-bolt position. He turned in the direction of the chaos, gripping the machine gun in an unorthodox manner with his left hand as he swayed back and forth.

  Without think
ing, Callie launched herself toward Jess, pulling her gurney to the ground and climbing on top of her prostrate body. “It’s going to be OK, baby!”

  The corporal clumsily lifted the twenty-two pound weapon while bent at the wrist. Then he spun in a semicircle at an upward, forty-five degree angle. JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG JUG-JUG-JUG! The sound was deafening.

  Chaos erupted. People dropped all around Callie and Jessica. My purse! Callie grabbed it and fumbled around inside during the brief respite after the first volley of SAW rounds. The smell of expended ammunition and gun oil wafted into her nostrils, complementing the stench of blood, guts, and excrement.

  JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG!

  The human screams grew quieter and quieter after every shot; the inhuman screeching grew louder. The most prominent sound was 5.56mm rounds from the snub-nosed barrel of the light machine gun tearing human flesh.

  Callie found the cop’s Beretta 92 and crawled toward the corporal.

  JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG-JUG!!!

  A soldier’s body fell in her path, his punctured jugular spraying her in the face. The blood tasted like a fistful of old pocket change. These are the moments that matter, slut. Callie flicked the lever at the back of the Beretta forward, exposing the red dot. She pointed the gun at the corporal, her hands shaking. Life is never going to be the same again. “I’m sorry!” She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. And then she squeezed again. And again. She went blind with rage.

  Click-click-click-click-click-click.

  “Callie, stop it! It’s over! You did it!” Sam gently touched the top of Callie’s forearms and pushed downward.

  Callie’s hands were still shaking, but she had a death grip on the Beretta. She didn’t even remember transitioning from lying down in the gore to standing above the now-faceless corporal, an entire magazine’s worth of rounds in his head and body. “Jessie!” she almost slipped in her haste to run back to Jessica. Callie knelt down, picked up her companion and cradled her.

  Sam signaled for Callie’s attention. “Callie, we need to go. Everyone’s dead or running around like a fucking crazy person right now. There’s still a few evac birds on standby over by the artillery battery at brigade. I saw them when we rolled in earlier to set up.”

  Callie was trembling. I just killed someone. I just killed a person. A REAL LIVING PERSON. “But Sam, I just-”

  “Girl, I get it. I really get it, but you did exactly what the fuck you had to do. You’re alive and he’s not, and that means you have the rest of your life to work through it. But now is NOT the time. The time is when you’re alone in tears cracking a fucking beer in your car fifteen minutes before an AA meeting your boyfriend’s making you go to a year from now.”

  Callie nodded, her face blank.

  “You saved us back there,” said Ramos. “Now you know what war is like. We’re going to get our asses to the blackhawks and pick up as many people who aren’t dead along the way, do you understand?”

  Callie nodded. “I get it. I can do this.”

  “Good girl. You got any more ammo for that thing?”

  “In my purse.”

  “You know how to do it?”

  Callie nodded, pulling Jessica closer.

  Sam grabbed another SAW from the rifle rack. “Let’s go, we got shit to do.”

  HUGHES

  The otherwise pleasant smell of the year’s final grass cutting was marred by the odor of human shit. Its fetid stench filled Trent’s nostrils as he and Master Sergeant Martin carried the sick man to the aid station. Almost there. Two hundred more meters. Wait, what am I hearing?

  “Did you just hear gunshots?” Martin asked, as if reading Trent’s mind.

  The sound carried an unmistakable echo. Gunfire was indeed coming from the aid station two hundred meters away. “Sergeant Martin, that was DEFINITELY what that was.” Trent’s mind raced just as it had every time he’d made enemy contact during his time in the Middle East. It took about three seconds to intellectually realize something horrifying. Holy shit, someone is firing a FUCKING SAW in there!

  “Martin, hold up here, man. That shit was absolutely a SAW. Let’s take a second to figure out what’s going on.” The two laid the young sergeant on his side so he wouldn’t choke to death on the stream of dark discharge coming from his mouth. Need to find some good cover for this guy and then get in there to find Jessica. Trent scannedleft and right. Before he could process his surroundings, he saw a group of dark silhouettes running at him from the aid station, screaming something unintelligible.

  Callie? Jess? A wave of relief passed over Trent. He hadn’t felt such elation in forever. “Callie, what the fuck happened?”

  “Trent!” It was, in fact, Callie’s voice.

  Thank god, she’s holding Jess! “What the hell happened in there?” Why are they all drenched in blood?

  Ramos spoke first. “I hate to break up the reunion, but we need to get the fuck out of here. Shit is about to get ugly FAST!”

  “What do you mean ugly?” said Martin.

  “I mean, everyone who starts out sick ends up homicidal! It goes hallucinations, symptoms, psychotic break!”

  “What the fuck do you mean psychotic break?” asked Martin.

  “Sergeant, I promise I will explain everything when we get a second to breathe. Are those birds over by brigade still on standby?”

  “Yeah, last I saw.”

  “Then that’s where we’re going,” said Ramos. “Switch off carrying the girl and this hurt dude. Pick up anyone else along the way that isn’t trying to kill you. Shoot anyone who is, even if they’re in uniform.”

  Jesus Christ, what is she saying? Trent’s eyes darted to Callie, as if to ask if the woman barking orders was legit.

  “Trent, she’s Sam and she’s cool. Trust me. We need to get to those helicopters to get Jessica out of here.”

  Whatever, this is completely normal by today’s standards. “Let’s move!” Trent yelled. “I’ll get up front with my long gun. Sam, are you cool to cover our six with that SAW?”

  Ramos nodded.

  I’m back. “OK, good. I want eight to ten meters between everyone, offset and staggered in our direction of movement. All of you FUCKING STAY SPREAD OUT. We have absolutely no idea what we’re dealing with. Sam, if I start shooting at something come to the front of the column and lay down suppressive fire so I can wheel around to assault the flank.” Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself? Assault the flank of what?

  Sam didn’t balk. She sensed Trent had an understanding of infantry tactics, at least more so than she did.

  They began the slow, deliberate process of moving toward the brigade TOC. After about a hundred meters, they saw a brilliant flash from the fractal phenomenon.

  Oh shit!

  Sergeant Martin noticed Harrison running past them, back toward the aid station. “Harrison, get on me! Shit’s changed, make sure you lock and load! Stick with the guy in the Yankee hat up front and listen to what he says!”

  Harrison complied, simply turning around and running alongside Trent. Trent saw him partially pull back the rifle’s charging handle to ensure he was locked and loaded. Good fuckin’ kid.

  Another brilliant flash materialized from the entity, its arms branching out in impressive fractal patterns, as if embracing the sky.

  The group kept moving. The popcorn sounds of small arms fire erupted all around them. Helicopter rotors whirred in the distance. Blood-curdling screams and shrieks filled the night air. Chaos ruled at Firebase Liberty.

  They approached a series of tents lined up in long rows on each side of the path, stretching as far as the eye could see. Each cluster of canvas tents contained a command headquarters, platoon lodging, and vehicle parking for each infantry company in the brigade, twelve total. Behind each group of four tents was a larger canvas tent for each of the three battalion headquarters areas.

  I have a bad feeling about this. We need to go around the long way. Fuck. “Guys, break left,” said Trent. “If everyone’s going
ape-shit shooting each other, we need to not be in the middle of where a brigade’s worth of infantry is!”

  “Roger!” responded Harrison, Ramos, and Martin in unison. Callie was still too shocked to speak.

  Where IS everyone? Trent wondered. I hear shots everywhere. Something isn’t right.

  They ran to the left of the first series of tents. A prominent sign, carefully painted by hand and measuring ten by eight feet, read ‘1-32 Infantry – Spartans.’ In the brilliant pulsing light of the phenomenon, the cheesy sign of a Greek solider looked strangely ominous, even if it looked like a six year-old tried to paint gay porn on plywood.

  What the hell? Trent held his right, non-firing hand up in the air, slightly higher than shoulder level. Everyone following him stopped instantaneously. What the fuck is that guy doing? “Guys, take cover behind these gun trucks.” Trent pointed to the neatly-parked row of M998 Humvees.

  “Hey man, be careful,” warned Sam. “You don’t know what he’s gonna do.”

  A man in uniform, wearing a full complement of combat kit and holding a rifle, stood next to a row of humvees parked just outside the 1-32 Infantry headquarters tent. It was eerily quiet around him, while in the background the screeching, screaming, and small-arms popcorn fire continued. The man looked to be swaying back and forth. He took no notice as Trent quietly approached, his weapon at the ready.

  I just want to get a little closer to get a better view. Trent lowered the quick release on his assault pack. The man seemed to be above average in height and weight, with body armor, a Kevlar ACH helmet, and a standard M4 carbine rifle, similar to Trent’s. What the fuck is he doing? The man was slowly and repeatedly knocking his head against one of the trucks. Trent walked a little closer.