Fred Died Here Part 1

Dying on the shitter was a hell of a way to go, and not exactly what I had planned for myself. I was thinking that if I had to go, it would be better to go out with some dignity, like 80 some years old and in bed with a couple – three – 20 something hookers. Maybe in Bangkok. Or even just plain old auto erotic asphyxiation. Sure, you lost some dignity when they found you, but at least it wasn’t so bad when it came to actual dying part. Instead I was sitting on the toilet behind a locked stall door.

Someone had written “Fred Died here” on the wall. It was the stall that Fred Barnes had died in come to think of it. He’d gone in to take his morning dump, just like clock work, after his 10:30 coffee and donut break. It’d been well after lunch before anyone had realized that he wasn’t at his desk and closer to quitting time before we’d found him on the stall. He’d died of a massive coronary while trying shit out a wad of greasy donut like product from his colon. The next day someone had written “Fred Died here” on the wall in blue Sharpie. Management kept having the janitor wipe it away, but it kept coming back, making this the Fred Barnes memorial toilet. I’m sure that he’d have wanted it that way.

Mitch had split, he’d made a run for it. Ostensibly he was going to get help, but I had my doubts. I couldn’t really blame him. Not with Iggy red eyed and glazed banging his head on the doors outside. I don’t know if Iggy was his real name or not, but he looked like an Iggy.

Iggy had been the replacement security guard for the night shift. I hadn’t caught his name, but he looked like an Iggy. Big guy, as in fat, sunken eyes, sloping brow. Yeah, Iggy worked for him somehow.

The only reason that we even had night time security was because some of our files were confidential. We were just an insurance company for Christ’s sake, it wasn’t really that interesting, but our own insurers gave us a break on rates for having armed guards on the premises. The only reason that we’d added a second guard at all was because of the parking garage expansion.

Mr. Phelps, a vice president in charge of something or another, had forgotten and left the top down on his small penis/mid life crisis Porsche convertible during a storm. The Corinthian leather (I guess wherever Corinth is, they must have nice skins on the cows) seats had ended up soaked and ruined. Two weeks later they broke the earth on a parking garage to waste some stockholder equity.

Anyway, tools and construction materials kept turning up missing, so they added a guard at night to do a walking patrol and try to keep things from vanishing from the job site. Iggy was the new man, Kyle was out sick or had the day off or some damn thing, I wasn’t sure.

I had only been working nights this week to catch up. We had an audit coming and I’d just gotten back from vacation. I should have just fucking stayed in Florida – sun, sand, sluts. What more could a man want? But no, I had to be a good corporate tool and come home on time. What did I find when I got back? Two weeks away from an audit that no one had bothered to tell me was coming. Thus I was working nights for a bit playing catch up.

Mitch and Kyle were the usual guard. I didn’t know much about Kyle. He seemed tight lipped. Mitch, now he was okay. I didn’t mind Mitch. He was finishing up his four year degree in accounting and wanted to become a CPA. I admired a man who liked his numbers. Unlike Kyle, Mitch didn’t seem fond of going into the store room to jack off to the pages of Hustler. I’d had to start bringing in pencils from home.

I’d been happily typing away at a spread sheet when the lights had gone out. The back up system for my computer kicked right on, so I didn’t lose my spread sheet, but I still hit the save button to keep from losing four hours of number crunching. Sure, it only should have taken about an hour, but I was getting a bonus for working extra hours, so I was milking it.

The 6 volt emergency lighting system kicked on. I was the only person in the building aside from Toby in IT who was working on the servers or surfing Dutch internet porn or some damn thing and the guys in the security office. The emergency lighting was enough to see by, but wasn’t exactly bright. I had a promotional flashlight that someone had dropped off a while back in my desk. There was a whole bag of promo items that I had thrown in there, a carabiner with a little compass on it, some kind of knock off Chicom Leatherman reject multi tool, and a lighter. I just about cut myself on something, but managed to find the little plastic AA LED light and click it on. The batteries actually still worked and it kept me from tripping over any cords while I made my way down the stairs and to the front of the building to see if the guys in the security office knew how to fix the breakers or turn some kind of switch or something to make the lights go back on. Sure they were just contract employees from some kind of agency or another, but they needed to earn their 12.50 an hour.

Toby was bumbling his own way down the stairway, eating a giant submarine sandwich of some kind. Plop. He dropped a hunk of tomato from his sandwich and onto the floor. Toby was a douche bag and I hadn’t had much respect for him since the time I watched him go into the shitter, cop a squat on a stall, and make godawful noises while he squeezed out a dookie the size of St. Louis, all the while munching away on a foot long Blimpie sub. It’s hard to respect a man after you see something like that, even if he does have the hook up for some donkey show smut fresh out of the back dens of Holland.

“Whazzup wit da lights?” Toby managed through a mouth full of meat and meat like products.

“They went out,” I replied.

“Whab?” Toby said.

“I don’t know why, I don’t think there is a storm,” I added.

“Mebbe sumbud fogot peb da bib,” Toby said, snorting and splattering bits of what looked like ham, but could have been prosciutto, down the front of his shirt.

“I’m pretty sure that we paid the bill,” I muttered, as I had been around Toby enough lately to learn how to speak sandwich.

Iggy and Mitch had the door to the security office open and were shining their lights around. They always kept a couple of those big rechargeable Maglites in the security office. Mitch had used one to walk me to my car the other night to avoid Nemesis possum, who lived under one of the topiaries. That damn thing was always hissing at me, and I’d tried to brain him (her? I hadn’t checked the filthy rodent for cojones) with a rock a time or three.

Iggy had the front door propped open and was leaning against it, fumbling a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket, throwing his clip on tie over his shoulder to get to them.

“Lubs ub,” Toby said to them, panting a bit from having to go down the stores.

Mitch stared at him for a moment, apparently being less conversant on understanding sandwich in mouth than I was. “Huh?” he said, seeming puzzled. He swept us with the beam from his Maglite.

“Ack,” I yelped, throwing my arm up over my eyes, the beam from the flashlight seeming painfully blind compared to the dim 6 volt emergency lights that probably just barely met code. “Watch it, would you Mitch?”

“Sorry,” Mitch said, moving the beam down towards the floor.

“The lights are out upstairs,” I said, translating from the Toby into the English language.

“Thab, whab I sud,” Toby said, shoving more of his sandwich into his mouth. I had my suspicions that he kept a ready supply of them in his mini fridge down in his office so that he’d never be without one. Damn but I hated working nights.

“The power is off in the whole building, even the street lights are off outside in the parking lot,” Mitch said, pointing outside.

I looked out the windows and the parking lot was indeed pitch black. Great. I’d been thinking about calling that girl that I’d met at the bar the other night this afternoon too. I looked at my watch, Mickey said that it was 4:00 a.m. It was a Saturday, I’d planned to go home, take a nap, and maybe get up around noon or so and see if I couldn’t find a date for tonight. What was her name? Angela? Andie? Something like that. She was cute enough, I’d stopped off for a drink during my dinner break and we’d chatted a bit. She seemed cute enough, but she said something about having to get home to her daughter. Kids, that was bad, still she might make a nice fuck and single moms were often lonely.

A sound like thunder reverberated across the parking lot. Maybe there was a storm after all.

“Whab de fub?” Toby muttered, stuffing the last of the crust from his sandwich down his gullet.

“That was loud,” Mitch said, stroking his chin. It looked he was trying to grow a goatee, maybe trying to look less like an accountant.

Heat lightening? I wondered as I saw what looked like a flash coming from the tree line beyond the parking lot.

Iggy succeeded in getting his cigarette lit. It stank. I realized that he wasn’t smoking real cigarettes after all but had some of those nasty “mini cigars” like they sell at gas stations and had merely jammed them into an empty Marlboro pack.

I coughed dramatically, but Iggy seemed oblivious, staring at the trees. “Did you hear something?” he asked, looking back at us with his dull beady eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied, he met my gaze expectantly, “I heard me coughing because of you lighting that thing. It smells like ass. Take outside farther would you?”

“I’m going to go look around anyway,” Toby said, hitching his belt up. He had some kind of Taurus .357 revolver with rubber grips that he was carrying in a cheap nylon holster. Mitch had told me that they had to buy their own guns but received a $400 allowance for one that came out of their checks in increments but was returned in full if they served a year. Mitch had gotten his – an old square trigger guard S&W 5903 9mm auto for $375 from the used case at the local Gander Mountain. I suspected for some reason that Iggy had already owned his.

“Yeb, geb thab obba har, pepple are trubbing to ebe,” Toby said. Where the hell had he gotten another sandwich from anyway?

“Don’t go too far,” Mitch said, looking worried for some reason, “I need to call this in,” he added, going back into the security office and reaching for a phone on the desk.

I decided that if the lights didn’t come back on in about fifteen minutes, that I was just going to go home and call it a day, or morning, or night rather.

“Ub thib webe ouga gob home?” Toby asked. He dropped a slice of pepperoni onto my shoe.

“If the lights don’t come back on, I don’t see why we should have to-” I stopped short as I saw Mitch come out of the security office, he looked puzzled and scratched his new beard. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Can I borrow one of your cell phones?” Mitch asked. “The landline in there isn’t working and I can’t get any service on mine for some reason.”

I had a Razr on a pouch on my belt, I’d practiced flipping it open to work on having a bit of flair to use at the bar to impress the bitches, but despite my polished opening routine, I found myself staring at a “no service” message. “What the fuck? I just got this thing.”

Toby had removed his Blackberry from a pouch around his ample middle and was staring at it. “Dab obb, I gob no bars,” he said, his gaze narrowing.

“Lightening must have struck the cell tower,” I said, wondering if I could get reimbursed on my plan for the time that it was out of service. It looked like maybe I wouldn’t be able to get a date anyway. Just as well, I’d started to break out in a rash since I got back from Florida and wondering if maybe I should have worn a condom with one of those spring break girls. I’d told her that I was auditioning new talent for a “Girls Gone Wild” video and she’d fallen for it. I hoped that she hadn’t given me herpes or something.

I stopped thinking about my itchy shit down below and jerked back to the present with as the unmistakable sound of gunshots drifted across the parking lot. Looking outside I caught the muzzle flash from what I presumed to be Iggy’s six gun as the sound of another shot came rolling across the lot.

“What the hell?” Mitch said, shining his light outside.

Iggy came running back across the lot far quicker than I’d have thought possible for a guy his size. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” he yelled. He came barreling in through the empty door. He’d lost his flashlight, and I could just barely see where it’s beam was at the far end of the parking lot, near the trees. His Taurus was in his right hand, his finger on the trigger, and he was making me nervous as his finger was still on the trigger. His left arm was bleeding. “Mother fucker bit me!” Iggy said.

I pushed the muzzle of his revolver towards the floor. There was a plop noise as Toby’s sandwich dropped to the floor. Toby was just staring.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Mitch said, looking pale as he ducked back into the security office.

“Who bit you?” I asked, trying to calm Iggy down.

“Some bum man, he was all fucked up, on drugs or some shit,” Iggy said.

“Where?” I asked

“Out by the trees, some fucking bum,” Iggy repeated, “I thought he was out there stealing shit so I was all like ‘you’re in my house now boy, better get out of here before I call the cops’, but he just came right at me and tried to kill me,” Iggy said, breathing rapidly.

“What did you do? Shoot him?” I asked, concerned that old Iggy might have been a bit trigger happy.

“Damn right, he was all fucked up I’m telling you, he was going to kill me!” Iggy insisted. He looked over his shoulder.

Mitch came back out with the first aid kit and snapped it open, knocking a plastic plant over so that he could use an end table. “There’s gauze here somewhere I think,” he said, shining the Maglite on it.

“Uh, guys?” Toby said.

“Maybe you should give me the gun,” I told Iggy, still worried about his finger on that trigger.

“Fuck you man, I’m telling you he tried to kill me!” Iggy insisted. He dug out his pack of ass smelling little cigars with his wounded hand, trying to calm himself it seemed.

“I know that there is gauze in here somewhere,” Mitch said, dumping the contents of the kit onto the table.

“Uh, guys?” Toby said again.

“Don’t smoke that in here,” I told Iggy, gun or no gun, I didn’t want to smell those those things.

“Fuck you, I’m not going back out there,” Iggy said.

“Found it!” Mitch exclaimed triumphantly, holding up a roll of gauze from the kit. “Now where’s the tape? Don’t we tape with gauze?”

“There’s some scotch tape on my desk, or maybe use the Swingline,” I said.

“Damn it guys!” Toby yelled.

I looked over at him. He looked three shades paler than usual, which was pretty pale, being as how Toby didn’t exactly get out much. “What is it?” I asked, thinking that he might want someone to go get him a new sandwich. Then I noticed that he was pointing at the parking lot.

“Is that… Is that him?” Toby stuttered.

I spun around, Mitch doing the same and shining his light out into the parking lot. Pinned in the light was the bum, and I had to give Iggy credit, the guy did look fucked up. He didn’t really look like a bum though, well maybe he’d fallen on hard times. The guy was wearing a suit that looked two price points up from mine, but it was torn and dirty. He had red stains around his mouth. At first I’d suspected that Iggy had just fallen and hurt himself, but suddenly I believed him when he said that the guy had bitten him.

“Sir? Sir? Are you okay sir?” Mitch asked trying to be polite.

“Look out, that’s the fucker that bit me!” Iggy insisted. He started to raise the Taurus.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, jerking Iggy’s gunhand upwards, almost too late. He pulled the trigger, dumping ceiling tile dust down on me and causing my ears to ring. Damn, but the muzzle flash was bright. “You can’t shoot someone for no reason!” I started to say.

Then the bum charged right in through the door that we still had propped open. He was moving fast, faster than even Iggy had been running. The bum bowled right into Toby, knocking old Tobe right down on his ass. Then it got worse. The bum made some kind of snarling noise and leaned forward, biting Toby in the neck, the teeth sinking in deep. Suddenly there was a spray of arterial blood and it was all over the tiles.

“Jesus H. Fucking Christ!” I yelled, staring wide eyed. I felt my jaw drop as I released my grip on Iggy’s gun hand.

Iggy pushed me out of the way, slamming me into a wall as he brought the muzzle of his Taurus down. Another bright flash and my ears were ringing again. It looked as though he’d hit the bum, in the back maybe, as I saw a bloody wound on the bum’s left shoulder now, but it didn’t seem to have slowed him down any. Toby was barely whimpering as the bum bore down on him gnawing like a hungry dog on a rawhide chew. Click, click. Iggy kept pulling the trigger on his gun, but nothing was happening.

“Do something!” I yelled to Mitch who was also standing there frozen.

Seeming to snap out of his trance, Mitch started clawing at the security holster that his gun was in. He told me that he’d ordered it from Galls on clearance and it was supposed to be designed to keep someone from taking his gun away. Mitch apparently hadn’t bothered to practice getting it out himself though, as he seemed to be having trouble with it.

There was a fire extinguisher on the wall behind me. I ripped it loose from its claw mount and swung it, not noticing how heavy it was. Clunk, I caught the bum in his shoulder. It didn’t seem to bother him. Clunk. I swung it again and whacked him upside of the head with it.

The bum snarled but rolled off Toby. He landed on all fours and stared at me. I felt my bowels release as I realized that he was about to leap right for me and I had a sudden image flash through my head of laying there bleeding out on the floor next to poor Toby.

Mitch was standing there pointing his gun at the bum, trying to pull the trigger, but nothing was happening. I realized what was wrong somehow, “Safety!” I yelled, swinging the fire extinguisher at the bum for all I was worth and smacking him in the bridge of the nose. It split into a bloody pulp and also some teeth went flying, slowing his lunge enough for me to dodge.

I slipped in some of Toby’s blood and went flying, landing hard on my shoulder. It hurt like a mother fucker.

Mitch stood there stunned for another instant and then managed to find the safety on his Smith and Wesson and push it upwards with his thumb. Bang. The first shot seemed to almost startle him, it went wide, the long and hard double action trigger pull sending the 9mm slug up into a light fixture sending glass tinkling downward. The gravely injured Toby rolled around a bit and I saw him take a face full of the glass, causing me to lose my dinner as I vomited onto the floor.

I lost count of the shots as Mitch kept pulling the trigger. By the time I was done puking, and looked up, Mitch was standing there still pointing his pistol. The slide was locked back, the gun empty, and there was a spreading wet stain down the front of Mitch’s gray uniform trousers. I realized that he’d pissed himself.

The bum was down, one of Mitch’s bullets had caught him in the head. It didn’t explode like in the movies, but there was now an open flap on the back of the man’s skull and some gray matter just seemed to be slopping out as he lay on the floor twitching.

Iggy was still clicking his empty revolver at the bum, an unlit ass stink mini cigar flapping forgotten between his lips. Finally, he stopped, but his eyes still looked wild as he thumbed the cylinder release on his revolver and dumped the empties onto the floor. He struggled to reload it as his wounded arm now seemed to be bothering him more.

“Are you okay?” Mitch asked me.

“No, I think I need new shorts,” I admitted.

“Join the club,” Mitch said, ashen.

I noticed his empty gun. Guns had been a hobby of men when I was in college, before I discovered the joys of pussy. “You have any more ammo for that thing?” I asked, nodding towards his Smith and Wesson.

Still ashen, Mitch nodded and dropped the empty magazine to the floor. He fumbled a fresh magazine out from a pouch on his belt and managed to insert it, pulled back on the slide to snap it forward to chamber a fresh round.

“Toby, we need to help Toby,” I said, looking over at him, he seemed to have stopped moving.

“I’ll get some gauze, we just need gauze,” Mitch said, seeming fixated on the subject. He picked up the bandage roll, it was something labeled Kerlix, that he’d dropped earlier.

Toby sat up.

“Toby? Are you okay there big guy?” I asked, struggling to my own feet. “Iggy, help him up will you?”

Iggy grunted and tucked his revolver into his belt and moved forward, offering Toby his good hand.

Toby stared at it for a second, his eyes seeming to glaze. Then he leaned forward and sunk his teeth into Iggy’s wrist.

Iggy started screaming and I blew the rest of my dinner out of my ass and further soiled my already ruined Scooby boxers.

I started running, heading for the display kiosk off the lobby. It held examples of all the various long service and retirement awards that the company gave out. There were watches, plaques, trophies, pens, and other items. For the sixty year mark, assuming anyone made it that far, there was a display of what we’d jokingly called the retirement Luger. The joke was that they gave you a gun so that you could blow your brains out when you saw what your pension really consisted of. It wasn’t a Luger though, it was an engraved three inch Smith and Wesson Model 60 revolver in .357 magnum. For whatever reason, they had one displayed in a wooden presentation case with ten rounds of ammunition sitting in the case. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and maybe wasn’t even legal, but then we probably shouldn’t have had beer in the vending machines either.

I hadn’t done my sixty years, more like six, but right that moment I’d decided that I was going to make an executive decision and award myself that gun for services rendered.

Home Sweet Home Part 1

Home Sweet Home

Somebody set off a flash bang outside, rattling the windows even with the boards over them. I doubted that it was the cavalry coming to the rescue, the local county Mounties and city PD were both holed up in the county law enforcement center, a walled former mall that had gone belly up in the early 80s and been bought up by the county for a song. There was a second window rattling dull boom, and this time I hear the sound of bits of plastic shrapnel dusting the siding of the house. Ah, so it wasn’t a flash bang after all, just the Stevens brothers outside fucking around again.

I didn’t bother getting up from the floor where I was sitting. I had a coffee table propped up in front of me and a couch and a love seat dragged to either side with my back to the wall. It wasn’t the best cover in the world, but anyone – and more importantly any thing – trying to get at me was going to have to stumble over the furniture. I tightened the ACE bandage wrapped around my knee. That was probably a good thing, as I wasn’t as mobile as I’d like to be since I’d jacked up my knee getting away from the mailman. Or what had been the mailman anyway…

There was one more window rattling explosion followed by the booms of two shotgun blasts. The Stevens brothers were my neighbors. They were a couple of good old boys. The sort who liked to fill PVC pipes with gunpowder and set them off to celebrate the Fourth of July and always kept a couple of shotguns around, laws about felons having firearms not withstanding. They probably having a ball in their own way, or at least they would be until they ran out of beer, illegal fireworks, and whatever else they had squirreled away in their place. I just hoped that they didn’t manage to burn the house down.

I’d grown up here, well sort of. My mother had put the house up for sale and moved to Florida after she’d finally called it quits with my dad. The real estate market had been down, so the place had been sitting vacant. I’d promised to check on it periodically whenever business called. Truth be told, I never bothered, let the Realtor do that. I could give a rat’s ass less. Mom and I didn’t exactly get along. A lousy standard issue traumatic childhood will do that to you.

I’d know the Steven brothers growing up, we’d shared a study hall and I’d helped them do their math homework in exchange for car care assistance. Paul and Mark were decent guys in their own way, just a little crazy. There was another explosion, this time larger than the last. Okay, maybe more than a little crazy…

Still, the nice thing about being out in the country was…. Well at least it wasn’t the city. I’d like to say that I’d gotten out when the getting was good, but I’d actually been caught ass out. I’d been supposed to meet the Realtor out here and sign some papers since my name was on some of the land accompanying the sale of the house. It hadn’t sold, so dear old Mom had decided to rent it, and since that was now what I did (not that Mom thought I was applying myself), I was also supposed to give the place a look over. Then of course I hit a deer and busted out the window on my Scion and also fucked up the axles when I ended up ploughing into one of those ten foot deep country ditches getting out here, I‘d forgotten that when one saw one, that a bunch of deer were probably nearby and hit number two running across.

A hundred miles was a bit far to walk to get back to my apartment in the city. At first I figured that I’d just be stuck out here for a few days until I got the Scion fixed, it was easier to just do it here then have it towed back home a hundred miles, or take the rental home and have to come back. Yeah, that would have been nice. That was before the fucktards started showing up outside and the mailman tired to bite my side out.

On the plus side, this area had seen at least some development. When I was a kid, it was a 20 or 30 minute drive to get to the local K mart and A&P. Now there was a Target and a Super Walmart five minutes away.

What saved might have been that I was a slumlord, or so I used to say when I was feeling in a humorous mood. I hadn’t really known what to do when I’d finished my undergraduate work in business. Law school hadn’t exactly worked out, maybe I was too morally flexible even for a career in law. So I’d sunk a minor inheritance into a buddy’s business and ended up in the property management game, renting low cost apartments to various crazies and degenerates. You’d think that a business degree would have helped with that, but really I should have studied criminal justice or abhorrent psychology. Long story short, I’d seen some crazy shit, been stabbed twice, car jacked once, and had to face down some moron with a five gallon can of gas trying to burn down one of our eight units because he was pissed at his baby’s momma.

Yeah, six years of college and I got to deal with dopers and stick my hands down people’s toilets. I should have listened to my dad and become an engineer. But then I probably wouldn’t have been in the habit of wearing a bullet proof vest and toting three pistols around. Hey, it isn’t paranoid if people really are out to get you.

Technically a bullet proof vest is more bullet resistant than bullet proof. They are very hard to bite through though. Thus when Sid the mailman had wandered up with his pith helmet ajar and turned his head sideways to try to sink his teeth into me (twisting like some sort of crazed animal), I’d been knocked on my ass and twisted my knee, but teeth aren’t going to penetrate Kevlar. I hadn’t been expecting trouble so I’d left my Browning in the house, but I didn’t so much as walk out to get the paper without my little Smith and Wesson .38 in my pocket.

Only problem was that Sid had me pinned to where I couldn’t get to it and was still trying to gnaw into my ribs, making snarfly eating noises some kind of dog with a rawhide chew.

Fortunately for me, I’d taken to carrying a third gun, a little Bersa .380 automatic, tucked over behind my left hip so that I’d be able to get to it if someone had a hold of my right arm or I was pinned. Stabbing number two would have been prevented if I’d figured that out earlier you see.

At that point I still didn’t know why exactly Sid was trying to kill me, and the first thing I thought was that he’d just gone “postal”. I wasn’t in a mood to reason, and my attempts to shove him off me weren’t going anywhere with his weight pressing down on me (Sid was a fat fucker). I was able to clear the Bersa though and jammed the muzzle right up into Sid’s love handles. That little .380 held seven rounds in the mag and one up the spout. I pulled the trigger until the side locked back. I got lucky, real lucky given that a .380 is rather anemic as bullets go. One of rounds must have angled upwards just right and severed one of Sid’s vertebrae. He ended up rolling onto his side and making a god awful moaning noise.

My knee was already throbbing, but I shoved the door back open and got my ass back inside, slamming the door shut behind me and locking the deadbolt. It was a hell of a morning. Truth to be told, I’d drank half a fifth of bourbon the night before out of boredom. Thus at that point I had one hell of a head ache already and now I’d just had to shoot my mother’s mailman. (Mom was careless about things, part of why she and dad hadn’t gotten along. She hadn’t bother to forward her mail, expecting me to pick it up and go through it, and the power, cable and phones were still on at the house, as well as the paper still coming.)

I reached for my G’zone that should have been on my belt, but it wasn’t there anymore. Looking out the window, I saw that it was now laying next to Sid, who was flat on his back, thrashing around like a beached whale, only paralyzed from the waist down. Yeah, I wasn’t planning to go back out there and grab it.

I realized that I was still holding the empty Bersa, so I hit the mag release and let the empty fall to the floor. I had a spare magazine in my pocket, so I dug it out and shoved it into place before hitting the slide release, chambering a fresh round.

I’d taken a course after stabbing number one and learned my way around using a handgun. The instructor had stressed always reloading and getting your gun back into action since you never knew when a fight would be over. I’d been pissed at the time that I’d dropped a grand and a week of my life on the course, as I was still naïve enough at the time to think that it was excessive.

It was at that very moment that I got my money’s worth and then some, as the sliding glass window near the deck came crashing in. Fat fuck number two, who I didn’t recognize, but was wearing torn farmer’s overalls had just come rolling in through the window.

He had a face full of glass, but that didn’t seem to be anything that he’d notice, nor did the fact that his belly was torn open and some of his insides were spilling outside really seem to faze him.

I probably should have wondered what the fuck was going on, but training, habit, or just luck made me level the Bersa. I probably should have tried yelling “Freeze” like on Cops or something, but a fat bloody guy with a face full of glass who’s tripping on his own intestines stumbling towards you can leave you at a lost for words.

I pretty just shoved the Bersa out in front of me, having switched it to my right hand at least, and started pulling the trigger as Farmer Fat Fuck (a lovely bit of alliteration that ran through my head instantly) shoved a kitchen chair out of the way and started towards me.

A .380 doesn’t kick all that much, at least compared to some guns, but recoil will still make a muzzle rise on any gun, putting follow up shots high. I think my first shot probably hit Farmer Fat Fuck just above the navel, but the last two before the slide locked open hit bracketed his right eye, above and below, dropping him with a disconcerting and bloody splat right through my mother’s prized glass dining room table.

That had been my last magazine for the Bersa, so I jammed it into my waistband and pulled my little Smith and Wesson .38 snub and covered the Farmer. I just about pissed myself and spun around as a fist went through the bottom of one of the windows facing the porch. I spun around to see Sid shoving first his hands, oblivious to a fist full of glass shards, through the gap, followed by his face, his nose now bisected by yet another piece of glass.

“Oh fuck me,” I muttered as I lowered the muzzle of the snubby and pulled the trigger until it went click. I counted three bullet holes in the floor later, but two of my five hit their mark, at least one getting Sid right between the eyes and decorating the floor with brains as his chin slapped into the floor.

I didn’t have a reload on me for the .38, but I still dumped the empties by reflex onto the floor, thumbing open the cylinder release before I even realized that I didn’t have anything to put into the now empty cylinder. I snapped the gun shut and jammed it back into my pocket, grabbing the phone off the wall and mashing “911”, wondering how the hell I was going to explain all this.

911 was busy. I’d have expected that back in the city mind you, it wasn’t terribly uncommon to have to wait on hold for 911, so I tried again. This time I got a message that all circuits were busy.

I looked at my watch, it was 11:30 in the morning and I still hadn’t cleared the remains of my hangover from my brain. My ears were still ringing from firing my guns indoors without ear plugs, but I hadn’t noticed that yet and was only just starting to feel how badly my knee hurt. I didn’t have much time to focus on either, as I noticed what I thought might be Mrs. Farmer Fat Fuck crawling up the steps on the deck and heading towards the broken window to the kitchen. She was missing one leg, but was crawling along on three limbs like a sick old dog that one of my tenants had had for a while until it’d been hit by a city bus while dragging its ass along the street.

I blinked twice, maybe three times, and then I started up the steps, taking them two or three at a time and pulling myself along with the handrail to keep my knee from giving up. My Browning was sitting on the dresser next to my old bed where I’d spent the night waiting on auto repairs, and suddenly I wanted it very badly.

I heard more glass shatter downstairs, telling me that my new visitor had probably made it inside. I pushed myself over the top of the bed and grabbed the Browning out of its paddle holster. I always kept a round chambered. I overshot the bed a bit and ended up landing on the floor, but I kept the Browning in hand. I finally took a deep breath and realized that I hadn’t been followed. I had two spare magazines, so I pulled them loose from their pouch and stuffed them into a pocket and walked back out of my room to where I could cover the stairs. There was no longer the sound of breaking glass from downstairs, but I did hear the snarfly eating noises again.

I descended the stairs more slowly then I’d gone up them, my knee starting to give me even more trouble. There I found Mrs. Farmer Fat Fuck with the missing leg munching happily on the intestinal loops hanging out of the guts of Mr. Farmer Fat Fuck. I gagged slightly, and if I hadn’t already puked up the food on my stomach when I’d woken up (thanks to the bourbon and the bad Chinese food that had been dinner), I’d have probably had more than just a passing set of dry heaves.

The woman looked up at me, and a pendulous gray breast flopped out of her torn sun dress. I noticed that the nipple was gone and looked bitten off. I didn’t stop to think, but simply centered the front post sight on my Hi Power on the woman’s face and thumbed off the safety. For some reason, probably my already screwed hearing, the shot itself barely seemed to register, but I remember the sound of the empty brass shell casing pinging off the linoleum.

I was probably slightly in shock, but I found myself wondering how the hell much it was going to cost me to get this mess cleaned up in order to get the place rented now.

 

 

I didn’t have much time to sit, or stand rather, and ruminate. The unmistakable – at least if you’ve not led a sheltered life – sounds of a car accident, replete with someone leaning on the horn and squealing tires sounded like it had just taken place in the front yard. Limping a bit, I turned and went back into the living room. There was still the face of a dead man jammed in next to the front door, so I stayed the hell away from that and instead used the muzzle of my Browning to push back the drapes away from the big picture window in the living room and take look outside while still keeping myself pushed flat against the wall.

Graunch Solution Part 14/Fini

The slide on the Kimber locked back, a lucky shot striking the reaver’s ovipositor.  It made a truly inhuman screeching and thrashed onto its side.  A brown tongue flicked out, the females having a different color than the male.  Hardigan dropped his empty magazine and clawed for his remaining spare.

 Kaufman hadn’t stayed still during this, she’d been caught off guard by the reaver’s appearance, but she’d scampered out of the line of Hardigan’s fire as well as avoiding the creature’s wrath.  Kaufman didn’t both to go for her Sig, not trusting the pistol to do more than aggravate the creature.

 Realizing quickly that Hardigan’s shots were drawing the thing towards himself, Kaufman struggled to her feet, ignoring the brambles and dirt that clung to her clothes and bag.  Struggling to maintain a half run, she hunched her body over and grabbed for Hardigan’s discarded carbine as the reaver stood and began to advance again.

 Shouldering it, she fired the carbine into the creature’s head, worked the bolt and fired again, center punching it near where she guessed one of its three hearts would be.  Hardigan thumbed the slide release and brought his pistol back up, the partial magazine had five rounds in it, but he held his fire.  Kaufman cycled the Remington twice more, sending 140 grain soft point 7mm bullets into each of the creatures remaining two hearts. 

 Dirty tired, and now bleeding from several scratches she looked down at Hardigan as he struggled to pick himself up from the dirt.  Kaufman clicked the safety to the on position, and handed Hardigan the Remington.  “This is one hell of a walk in the woods,” she said.

 “Welcome to my world,” Hardigan grunted, opening the action on the Remington and refilling the magazine.  “Good shooting tex,” he added, panting.

 “Hand eye coordination comes with the job,” she said dismissively. She cocked her head, hearing more shots coming from nearby.

 “Those are close,” Hardigan said, using the carbine to pull himself to his feet. “Real close, and that sounded like an M16.”

 “Maybe someone else got out,” Kaufman said, drawing her pistol.

 Both of them saw the flash and flames as smoke billowed up.  “Someone with some interesting toys,” Hardigan said drolly.  “Ready for this?”

 “I was born ready,” Kaufman said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
 
 “Close enough,” Hardigan said.  “I’m about out of .45.”

 “Throw rocks,” Kaufman said.  Hardigan would have thought she was joking if she hadn’t picked up a large chunk of limestone.

 “Jehosophat,” Tanner muttered, watching the corpses of the reavers shrivel in the flames.  “I owe you a beer Mac.”  Tanner hadn’t known quite what to think of the guy on the motorcycle when he first appeared, but now he was pretty sure he liked the guy.  His wife was hot too, but if there was one thing Tanner had learned, that was never try your hand with the woman of any one who had access to explosives.  His Uncle “Three Fingers” Paulson had taught him that. 

 “That was some fine homicidal intent,” Dale said, equally thrilled to see things catch on fire. “That was even better than what them fire leprechauns did.”

 “It was squirrels, arson squirrels,” Tanner insisted, revisiting their old argument.

 Molly kept her hand close to the Ruger in her waistband.  “These guys aren’t quite right are they, Mac?” she whispered.

 “No, I don’t think they are,” Mac whispered back.  “I don’t their family tree had as many branches as it should, but they seem to mean well.”

 The hillside was still smoldering with small fires in the underbrush.  The two thermate bombs had set the reavers alight, molten jets of metal burning rapidly through their hides.  Mac rummaged in his pocket and pulled loose a scrap of paper and his pouch of pipe tobacco.  He began to roll a cigarette.  “Give me that beer later,” Mac said, “Right now, I’d be happy just to get the hell out of here.”

 “Amen to that bro,” Dale said, opening his shotgun and inserting his last two shells into it.  “We’re a good team though.”

 “Yeah,” Molly said, smiling politely. 

“Hello the road, two coming forward!”

Mac turned to see two figures approaching from the road, his hand already brushing his .38.  Visitors weren’t always friendly, and he still didn’t wholly trust the intention of Dale and Tanner.  He glanced over at Molly, and saw that she too was still on edge.

“Better be careful,” Tanner said, unnecessarily, “They might be coming to steal our cheese.”

 “What cheese?” Dale asked, looking at his brother with confusion in his eyes.

 “I got me a head of cheddar in my backpack I been carrying around,” Tanner said, glancing around conspiratorially.

 “You had cheese all this time and you didn’t share it?” Dale asked, sounding offended.  “Dude, I’ve been hungry, give me some.”

 “No way dawg, that’s my lucky cheese,” Tanner said, forgetting about his rifle and clutching his backpack protectively.

 Mac looked at the two brothers even more warily as Molly made her “I’m disturbed” facial expression.

 “Can we come forward?” the man on the hill yelled again.

 Looking closely, Mac saw that it looked like two people.  One in a somewhat battered Army uniform, and the other wearing a fedora and a blue sweater.  The one in the Army uniform had a slung carbine, and it looked as though both had pistols.
 
 “Hey, isn’t that Hardigan?” Dale asked.  “Dude, how sweet is that, we can get paid.”

 “Oh man, that is Hardigan,” Tanner said, “I wonder where Whitey is?”

 “You two know him?” Molly asked, motioning forward.

 “Yeah, that’s Sarge Hardigan from the base, he’s on one of the rescue teams, we been working for him on a special assignment,” Dale said proudly.

 “I see,” Molly said, sucking on her tongue with disapproval.  Mac had known her long enough to know that when she said, “I see” it meant bad things.

 Mac reflected that whoever this Hardigan was, he had odd taste in hired help, and also that this made him out numbered if things turned sour. 

 “We don’t mean you any harm!” The second of the figures yelled down, the one in the fedora.  Mac realized that this was a woman.

 Larry’s actions were unexpected, and took them all off guard, he immediately started to run forward, heading up the small rise, heedless of the small fires and the smoldering reaver carcasses. 

 “Larry, wait!” Molly yelled, trying to grab him, but he moved right past her grasp. 

 “Kid, don’t!” Mac yelled, starting forward as well, “This could be a set up,” he yelled, though he wasn’t sure quite how it could be.

 Larry kept running forward, until her reached the top and threw himself into the arms of the apparently shocked woman in the fedora.  “Mother!” he cried, sobbing.

 “Whoa, dude, the guy in the hat with Hardigan is that kid’s mom?” Tanner asked, adjusting his glasses.

 Not-Steiner crawled through the opening with ease, dislocating a shoulder, but no longer feeling the pain. It was a small opening to be sure, as the hatch to the auxiliary garage no longer opened all the way.  It would have been difficult for any man to crawl out, but Not-Steiner was no longer a man.  Crawling up the ladder had been hard work to be sure, learning how the new form worked.  Putting one foot down, then one hand.  The air was already fouled in the complex, from fires burning out of control with in, and the ventilation system shutting down.  The toxic fumes seared already blackened and dead lungs, but the new cells growing in them were unaffected, slowed only slightly by the increasing lack of visibility. 

 Standing now, in fresh air, Not-Steiner found his vision improving, with senses sharpened.  To the west, carried on the air, were strange chemical odors, as well as the scent of reavers.  The shambling hulks that the humans called revenants, their odors were also strong.  A product of what was, and what was to be, Not-Steiner sniffed the air, searching for a familiar –sensation – was the closest word to describing this new sense.  It was more than a smell, it was more than a presence, it was the knowledge of a being, and the being that had in his own way created Not-Steiner, or helped his birth.  A being occupying a place between God and Satan, and who would have to be destroyed.

 Not-Steiner began to walk forward, and then settled into a run, dead muscles still functioned as they reshaped at a basic level.  Black forms writhed and turned, tearing and stretching the skin which Not-Steiner wore as a frame.  The change had come faster this time, replacing the old occupant of the form, replacing it and changing it. 

 The flat loafers fell off Not-Steiner’s feet as he began to run down the roadside, revenants either shying away or bonding and beginning to follow, beginning to converge around him.  Somewhere deep inside, bits of the Old-Steiner’s memories still floated, trapped now as mere electrical firings.  A relevant one formed, the image of scents of fuel on the air.  Not-Steiner’s mind equated this with escape, with flight.  Suddenly, Not-Steiner knew, knew that the Godcreature was headed that way, and would try to flee it.

 Not-Steiner picked up his pace, the thin dress socks on his feet shredding as he ran, followed by the skin on the bottoms of his feet.  The change had come so quickly, that Not-Steiner was both more and less than the products of the former host.  The memory of fire stirred, searing flames, sufficient to force the essence to retreat deeper into the shell before.  So hot, and coming so close to destroying the essence.  Another chemical firing in Not-Steiner’s brain, and the image of more fire and unimaginable pain flashed forward.

 Not-Steiner ran still faster, knowing that it too had to escape.  Escape or risk the essence with in.  Two competing desires now drove Not-Steiner forward towards the airstrip, the desire to destroy the originator, and the desire to protect the essence.  Not-Steiner became dimly aware of the presence of humans nearby too, between it and the escape.  No longer capable of speech, Not-Steiner thought only of a single concept “food”.

 Hardigan leveled his Remington carbine and leaned out of the shattered back window of the Mazda.  “Cover your ears,” he said to Larry, who was sitting next to him, sandwiched up against his mother.  The two hadn’t said much, but had simply hung onto each other, though Hardigan had gotten the distinct impression that Larry thought that Hardigan and Kaufman were a couple. 

 Larry nodded and put his hands over his ears as Kaufman did the same. 

They’d made good time getting out to the airstrip, and the revenants seemed at first to be converging back towards the base and away from them, though now the flow seemed to be mysteriously reversed again.  Tanner and Dale, sitting in the front seat didn’t bother covering their ears as Hardigan pulled the trigger, shattering the padlock and chain that was securing the gate to the airstrip.

 “That was loud,” Larry said.  He had his bag with him, as well as a .22 rifle that was banging Hardigan in the shin.

 “The car catches the sound, and reverberates,” Hardigan said, his own ears still ringing.

 Tanner was driving and threw the car into reverse, circling around and smashing through the gate.  Mac and Molly followed close behind on their motorcycle, with Molly in the sidecar now.  She fired a burst from Mac’s Thompson at the revenants starting to coalesce into a group behind them.

 “Stop here,” Hardigan ordered as they were just past the gate. 

 “Be careful,” Kaufman whispered, her eyes raw and puffy from the unexpected reunion.  She took Hardigan’s hand and pumped it fiercely as he started to climb out.  “Do not get killed on me,” she added before she released it.

 Hardigan leaned forward and planted a fast kiss on her lips before darting out, slinging his carbine.  He waited for Mac to roar past the gates, and then he swung them shut again, looping the chain around as best as he could to help hold it closed.

 Mac had the cycle idling nearby, as Molly leapt from the sidecar and moved behind Mac.  “Here, take this,” she yelled, pressing the Thompson into Hardigan’s hands.

 Surprised by the weight of the weapon, Hardigan grunted as he swung his legs into the sidecar.  He wondered where Mac had managed to find a fully functional Model 1928 Thompson along with a fifty round drum magazine.  He didn’t feel like complaining though, as Mac opened up the throttle to catch up with the battered Mazda.

 They rolled past an elaborate marble fountain that stood outside the terminal of the airstrip.  It was an elaborate scene of wood nymphs frolicking amidst lily pads.  A nozzle came from a squirrel’s mouth, and Hardigan wondered what it would look like if it were operational.  A hand lettered sign on the fountain read “Fountain Out of Order”.  Next to the fountain was a fuel truck, and he saw a hose leading from the truck to the fountain.  Suddenly there was a spray of liquid from the standing squirrel, and Hardigan caught a whiff of fuel.  He realized that someone must have run a connection from the truck to the fountain and done so recently. “What the fuck?” he muttered as he looked toward the Mazda to make sure Tanner and Dale weren’t smoking.

 “That’s weird dawg, someone turned the fountain on, but with gas,” Dale said as they sped by.

 “Yeah, people do weird shit,” Tanner grunted as he swung the wheel around hard, squealing the tires as they sped past the fountain.
 
 “Can you try not to kill us with your driving?” Kaufman asked from the bag seat.

 Dale studied his brother for a moment and then turned around to face Kaufman, “I’d honestly like to guarantee that we won’t Ma’am, but I just can’t make that promise.”

 Tanner took another turn at high speed, sending them barreling down the tarmac towards where the helicopters were parked.  “Sweet, this thing can get the speed up if you put it right to the floor.”

 Kaufman looked into the front seat and noticed that all the needles were in the red.  “You’re going to burn out the engine,” she cautioned.

 “Don’t worry mom, this is fun,” Larry said. 

 Kaufman looked at her son and wondered what sort of habits he might have picked up, and then she simply let him cling onto her again.  Kaufman took some solace in the fact that Mac, Molly, and Hardigan were just behind her on the motorcycle.  She still wasn’t sure exactly where they’d come from, but Mac claimed to be able to fly a helicopter, so she was glad to see him, even if he was wearing a strange sombrero.  From what little Kaufman had been able to learn so far, they’d taken good care of Larry.

 “Who’s that?” Kaufman asked, as they pulled within sight of the two helicopters parked along the tarmac.  Someone was climbing into the UH-1 and seemed to be hastily completing the preflight checks.

 “Son of a bitch, that’s the bastard who almost ran us off the road!” Tanner yelled, seeing a blue Honda motorcycle parked nearby.  “I’m so going to beat his ass for that.”

 “You and me both dawg,” Dale said, pounding his fist into his hand. 

 Tanner squealed the brakes and tires both, stopping the Mazda in front of the UH-1.
 
 “Stay here and be careful,” Kaufman said to Larry as she drew her pistol and started to open her door, turning behind her to see that Mac had stopped the cycle just behind them.

 Before any of them could act, the pilot of the UH-1 left from the cockpit, swinging a Heckler and Koch MP5 out from the seat and triggering a burst. 

Kaufman threw herself out the door and flat as she saw Dale and Tanner fall to the ground, landing hard on her shoulder, Kaufman lost the grip on her Sig.  “Hardigan!” she screamed as she saw him fall as well. 

 Mac hit the dirt as soon as the shooting starting, rolling from the bike.  He pulled his .38 and tried to make himself small.

 “Mac! Be careful, don’t hit the choppers!” Molly yelled, pulling her shotgun loose from the motorcycle.  Despite her outburst, she fired a load of buckshot herself, which sent a spider web impact pattern across the glass of the UH-1.

 Out of deference to the popular opinion to start shooting, Mac fired two rounds from his Model 14 in the general direction of where the pilot had been.  He looked over to the sidecar and saw that Hardigan was down in the dirt, clutching his right arm.

 “Throw down your guns or I’ll kill the boy!”  The pilot yelled.  “Stand up and throw down your guns!”

 “He’s got Larry!  He’s got my son!” Kaufman yelled her voice filled with anguish.

 Mac looked over at Hardigan first, and then Molly, meeting each of their eyes in turn.  “Well?”

 “Mac-“ Molly said, and then she shrugged helplessly.

 “You have a hold out piece?”  Hardigan whispered.

 “Yeah, a little Sig .380,” Mac replied.  “What do you have in mind?”

 “Just stash it where I can reach it,” Hardigan replied, “Shove it in your waistband behind you and I’ll stand to your side.”

 “I saw that same movie,” Mac said sourly, “And they basically all died.”

 “Let’s hope I’m faster than Chow Yun Fat then,” Hardigan said.

 “I don’t like this,” Molly said, making a very sad nose wrinkle.

 “Your guns gentlemen, now, or I will shoot the boy.  I suggest you follow the lead of the good doctor Kaufman and stand up.  Raise also your hands please.”

 “Who is this ass clown?” Mac asked, starting to rise.

 “Doctor Emil Lang, resident mad scientist,” Hardigan said.  “Or so it sounds like.”  Hardigan dragged himself to his feet, “Don’t shoot, we’re throwing our guns down.”  Hardigan removed his Kimber from his tanker rig and tossed it to the ground.  Watching as Molly threw down her Ruger and shotgun.  Mac finally stood and threw down his Smith and Wesson.  He tilted his head slightly so that Hardigan could see where he had his Sig P232 hidden.

 “Come towards me now gentleman,” Lang ordered.

 Seeing the others looking towards him for affirmation, Hardigan nodded and they all slowly marched forward.  Lang was standing in from of them.  He’d now discarded his MP5 and was armed with Kaufman’s Sig M11, which he was holding to Larry’s temple.

 Kaufman was kneeling in the dirt in front of them, near the prostate forms of Dale and Tanner.  Hardigan saw that they were still moving, and that Kaufman seemed to be unhurt save for a split lip.  It looked as though Lang had cuffed her one, and Hardigan made a note to even up that score.

 Larry seemed to be holding his own, though he as white as a sheet.  Lang had grabbed him by his backpack and was still holding onto one of the straps.  Hardigan wasn’t sure how it had happened, but it looked as though Lang had charged the car after emptying his SMG, belted Kaufman, and taken hostages.

 “Alright Lang,” Hardigan said, “We’re here, don’t shoot the kid, let him go.”

 “I did not want any of this,” Lang said, seeming flustered.  “I only wanted to correct the balance.”

 “Correct what balance?” Kaufman asked,  “Are you insane Lang?”

 “Quiet,” Lang ordered, tensing like a snake.  “If Nora had come away with me like we originally planned, this wouldn’t have happened.”

 “Nora?” Hardigan asked, who’s Nora.

 Tanner managed to drag himself into a sitting position, holding his lower leg.  He looked over at Dale, who was holding his side and seemed to be in worse shape.  “Nora was your girl Greer’s mom Hardigan, this dude was putting it to her.”

 “Lies, lies!” Lang yelled, “I loved that woman, but she chose her fool of a husband over me.  The false security of a failed ideal instead of a new life.  I could have saved her from all this.  If people had listened to me and adopted my methods earlier, this never would have happened.  We could have concentrated the infected and controlled the spread of the reaver spores.”

 “What the hell are you talking about?” Mac asked.

 “You, in the sombrero, shut the hell up or you’ll die wearing that stupid hat,” Lang said tersely.

 “Just let my son go, you’ve got what you want Lang,” Kaufman said, surprising everyone including herself be not being hysterical.  Shock will do that to a person, she told herself.  She looked at Hardigan, he seemed to have taken a bullet in his right arm, but it looked about as “not serious” as a gunshot would could be.

 “You know nothing about what I want, nothing!”  Lang insisted, a vein bulging in his forehead.

 “Uh oh, this guy looks like he’s about to pop,” Mac whispered.

 “Tell us what you want Lang,” Hardigan said, trying to be reasonable.
 
 “I do not know,” Lang said, his eyes growing unfocused.  “When I came here, I thought I had the new answer.  Genoflux, to mix the DNA they want to harvest anyway.  With the solar cycle at its zenith, they were already due to converge.  I wanted to control the convergence, but I fear all I have done is worse then infection.”

 “Is that why you sent your moon men to kill the daughter of the lady you were banging?” Tanner asked, adjusting his glasses.

 “Do not guess at things beyond your power to understand,” Lang said fiercely.  “I sent them to save a man I once called a friend, perhaps the team didn’t act entirely appropriately, but I did not know.”

 “What is he talking about?” Mac asked.

 “I don’t know,” Hardigan said, though he was beginning to understand more about how Greer was involved in all of this.  “Nora’s daughter is safe Doctor Lang.  Lisa Greer got out just fine.”

 “She’s a whore, just like her mother, a cock tease whore,” Lang spat.

 “This guy seems to have some personality issues,” Mac said quietly, keeping a smile and trying not to move his lips much.

 “You’re noticing that too,” Hardigan said dryly.

 “All of you back away, I do not wish to kill any one,” Lang demanded.  “I will take the boy with me as a hostage, the rest of you can die by the hands of others or make a run for it.  It will not be on my hands,” Lang  motioned them back with the pistol and began to pull Larry towards the UH-1.

 “Mom!” Larry yelled.

 “No! Larry!” Kaufman cried out, starting to rise to her feet.
 
 Lang started to bring the Sig down towards her.

 “Don’t do it Lang,” Hardigan yelled.

 “No closer, no closer!” Lang insisted, still backing towards the helicopter.  He discharged the pistol into the dirt at Kaufman’s feet as a threat.

 Mac pretended to stumble on something and bent down, exposing the .380 held in the small of his back.  Hardigan saw it and made his move, reaching with his left hand and grabbing the .380.

 Kaufman stumbled backwards, twisting to the side to make her a harder target.  She threw the piece of limestone that she’d picked up earlier, striking Lang in the cheek, causing him to momentarily lose his balance as he opened the helicopter door.  Larry seized his chance and broke away from Lang’s grasp, running forward as fast as his legs would carry him.  “Mom, mom!” he yelled, throwing himself into Kaufman’s arms.

 Hardigan decided it was time to earn his nickname, and brought the Sig up left handed, firing it at Lang now that he lacked his human shield.  Mac turned on his heel and ran back to where they’d dropped their guns, Molly doing the same.  Hardigan kept firing one handed, advancing as he did so.

 A number of rounds spent themselves against the Plexiglas of the helicopter but several found their mark, burying themselves in Lang’s torso.  He stumbled and dropped the Sig, but found a last burst of energy to throw him behind the yolk. The rotors began to spin faster as he adjusted the controls.

 Mac started firing his .38 and Molly brought her Ruger up, firing rapidly at the helicopter, rounds sparking as they bounced off.  Lang pulled back on the stick and the helicopter began to rise. 

 Hardigan saw Lang clutch at his chest as the chopper rose, kicking up dust and debris and forcing them all back.  Rushing forward, Hardigan threw his arms around Kaufman and Larry and shielded them with his body as best as he could.  Mac and Molly gave up shooting at the helicopter and pulled Tanner and Dale back away from the rotor wash.

 Behind them the gates began to vibrate as dozens of revenants began to slam into it. 

 “That chain isn’t going to hold,” Hardigan said, looking over his shoulder at the seething mass assaulting the fence and gates.  He was still holding onto Kaufman and Larry.

 “Here, take these,” Mac said, bringing over Hardigan’s Kimber and the Remington.

 “I’d better take care of those two anyway,” Kaufman said, breaking the embrace and kissing Hardigan softly.  “I didn’t expect any of this by the way,” she added, grabbing her pack from the Mazda.

 “Me either,” Hardigan called after her, slinging his rifle.  He turned to Mac and looked at the gates.

 “There’s something funny going on out there,” Mac yelled, pointing towards the gates.

 Hardigan saw it too, the sea of revenants seemed to part, as a figure walked between them.  It was still shaped mostly like a man, but its form was now contorted, things seemed to be moving over its body.  It ran forward and with sheer momentum began to bang against the gates.

 Hardigan reached down and shook Kaufman’s shoulder, causing her to look up from working on Dale and Tanner’ wounds.  “I’ll get your arm in a minute,” she said, not looking up immediately.

 “Not that,” Hardigan said hurriedly, “Look towards the gate.  Is that Steiner?”
 
 Kaufman looked up and her jaw dropped, both of them stared in horror as a figure, which looked very much like a contorted version of Steiner slammed itself into the gates, sending them spinning.  Running faster than any man could, it began to advance, a sea of revenants coming behind it.

 Meanwhile, Lang continued struggling to get the helicopter airborne, touching and going from the tarmac, and finally coming to rest a few hundred yards away, down the airstrip. He threw open the door and fell to the ground, trying to rise again, with what appeared to be Steiner rushing rapidly toward him.

 “We need to go, now!” Hardigan said, decisively. 

 “You need to be bandaged up, and so do they!” Kaufman said, then she saw the mass of revenants, thousands of them, following behind the Steiner thing and all running towards Dr. Lang’s landing spot.  A number of them were now headed towards where they were standing.

 “Oh hell,” Kaufman whispered.
 
 “We need to go mom,” Larry said, tugging on her sleeve furiously.

 “Can you fly that thing?” Hardigan asked quickly, looking at the UH-60.

 The color gone from her face, Kaufman shook her head, “I only know how to fly a fixed wing aircraft, and a helicopter is a whole different ball game.”

 “I can fly it,” Mac said, coming from up from behind with Molly at his heels.  He was hauling the saddlebags from the motorcycle as well as his Tommy gun.  “But we’re going to need to pre-flight it, and that assumes that it is all gassed up. I’m going to need a couple of minutes.”

 Hardigan raised his carbine to his shoulder and fired, “We don’t have a couple of minutes.”

 “You got any of those bombs left?” Tanner asked, struggling to his feet unsteadily.
 
 “Plenty,” Mac said, hefting the saddlebags.

 “You thinking what I’m thinking bro?” Tanner asked, looking down at Dale.

 “Yeah, guess I am,” Dale said, dragging himself up to his feet, despite a pained expression. 

 “Arson squirrels bro,” Tanner said, grabbing some of the thermate grenades and forcing them into his pockets.  He pulled out a crumpled pack of Victory cigarettes and stuck one between his lips.

 Hardigan leaned over and lit it for him, taking one from the pack and passing one to Dale as well.  “You sure you want to do this?”

 “Someone has to,” Tanner said simply, reaching into the back of the Mazda and pulling out the trash bag he’d recovered from Greer’s house.  “Here, take this, its what you sent us for.  Not sure how much it will clear up, but your gal – he looked at Kaufman for a moment – “Your other gal anyway might want it.”

 “What are they doing Mac?” Molly asked, gaping.

 “Killing themselves,” Mac said, looking away.  He pulled out his last two bottles of beer from his pack and handed them over.
 
 “Much obliged friend,” Dale said, opening his.

 “This is crazy, you’re hurt, and we need to…” Kaufman started to say.

 Hardigan picked up her hat and forced it onto her head.  “Go, now,” he said, taking her by the hand and dragging towards the chopper.

 Larry grabbed Kaufman’s two bags and his rifle and ran along behind and Mac sprinted for the pilot’s seat. Molly stared after Dale and Tanner for just a moment longer as they climbed into the Mazda and started it, Tanner driving, they swung back around towards the oncoming revenants.

 “Let’s see if I can remember how all this works,” Mac said, tossing the saddle bags and their remaining contents into the troop compartment and slamming the door.  Molly climbed into the copilots seat next to him.

 “Shouldn’t I be up there?” Kaufman asked.

 “You already said you can’t fly this bird, so it’s my show Doc, just fix his arm,” Mac said, smiling and adjusting his sombrero.

 “Laura, call me Laura,” Kaufman said absently as she tore Hardigan’s sleeve open and began to inspect his arm.

 “Better figure it out fast Mac,” Molly said.  She had her shotgun held close.

 “I haven’t let you down yet,” Mac grunted as he began to throw switches.

 “Mac will save us,” Larry said with determination, though he immediately begun to utter prayers under his breath.

 “Looks like this is it bro,” Dale said, firing his Colt out the window as they sped towards the revenants.

 “Sure does bro,” Tanner agreed, firing his own Ruger one handed.

 “I don’t feel so good with these bullets in me anyway bro,” Dale confessed, already looking pale. “I think I lost a lot of blood.” He drank his last swallow of beer and tossed the bottle out the window.

 “Looks as though we’re dead soon anyway bro,” Tanner said, smoking the last of his cigarette. “Someone had to be the hero, and I want to blow up real good.”  He coughed and blood dripped down his lips.  “Think I’m hurt worse than I let on too.”  He slammed down the last of his own beer.  “Time to meet the arson squirrels again.”  He pulled the pin on one of the thermate grenades and spun the car, tossing it forward, and then taking off at a 90-degree angle as it exploded, heading back to the fountain.

 “I hope this is quick,” Dale said, reloading his Colt.

 “Don’t know, what do you think happens after this?” Tanner asked, feeling philosophical.

 “Warm and fiery to warm and fiery,” Dale cackled.

 “Sweet,” Tanner said, steering the Mazda towards the fountain, he saw the aviation gas glittering from the nozzle, sprinkling down like rain from the mouth of the squirrel. It was the most beautiful think he’d ever seen.  In his mind, the army of squirrels with gas cans danced once again.   He tugged the last of the thermate grenades from his pocket and pulled the pin, still holding the safety spoon down.

 Tanner drove the Mazda right into the fountain as the sea of revenants swarmed around them.  The sign fell into the clear sparkling fuel, the letters fading rapidly in the solvent.  In the drivers seat Tanner released the safety spoon on the grenade and threw it over his shoulder into the back seat.  He pulled his Ruger and put it to his head.

 “See ya bro,” Dale said, tucking his Colt under his chin.

 “Righteous dawg, righteous,” Tanner affirmed, smiling at his brother for the last time.

 Not-Steiner saw the creator in front of him and charged.  He had been able to sense the other’s presence since he tossed the gates open, his new army following behind him.  An old synapse fired out of sequence again, and Not-Steiner thought blended with Old-Steiner thought, as he saw himself leading a charge of gleaming cavalry steeds. 

 The creator/instigator/god was stumbling away from his helicopter, bleeding from bullet wounds to his torso.  Not-Steiner no longer knew what the machine Lang had climbed out of was called, but he still sensed that it offered escape for his prey.  Ruined lungs releasing a hideous gasping howl, Not-Steiner through himself into an even faster run, bowling into the other man and knocking him to the ground.
 
 “No, no, this is not how it must end,” Lang screamed, trying to pull away.

 Not-Steiner reached his arms out and pulled Lang close, embracing him, as the forms beneath the skin exploded and burrowed into the other man’s flesh, finding access first through the bullet holes and then ripping more.  Not-Steiner knew the essence was pleased, as it felt a rush of something never before imaginable. It felt union as it began to infest the instigator.

 The bliss was short lived, as the entwined form of Not-Steiner and Lang was bowled over by the wave of the fire ball of the exploding fountain, followed by the fuel truck, followed by the UH-1 exploding.   The successive blast waves scorched and seared, breaking the union and replacing it only with pain.

 “Jesus,” Mac whispered as the UH-60 shook from the explosion.

 “Those brave, dumb, crazy, hillbilly bastards,” Molly muttered, staring in awe at the rising fireball.

 “You can say that again,” Kaufman said, pausing from working on Hardigan’s arm to wipe a tear away.

 Larry tugged at her sleeve, “Why are you crying mom? We’re together again, it’s going to be okay.”

 “I know, I know son,” Kaufman said, her voice cracking under the strain.

 “Hang on, here goes nothing,” Mac said, pulling back on the stick.  The helicopter began to rise.

 “Looks like we made it after all,” Hardigan yelled, “Ouch. Careful with the arm Laura!”

 “It just grazed you, now hold still,” Kaufman said, suturing the wound with butterfly sutures.

 “There’s helmets on the seats, put them on and plug them in,” Mac yelled, “You’ll be able to hear better.”

 Larry was the first to fit himself into a helmet, though it rattled around loose on his head.  “Looks like I got to ride in a helicopter after all, and I got my mom back, thank you Mac.”

 “Any time, any time,” Mac laughed.

 “How much gas do we have?” Molly asked, looking over the gauges.

 “Almost full,” Mac said.  “Where are we headed?” he asked.

 “Norfolk, the plan was to get Norfolk,” Hardigan said, sounding as exhausted as he looked.  “There’s supposed to be a German submarine there, and maybe a freighter too.  They’re the ones who bought Lang over.”

 “The crazy guy Lang, the one who tried to kill us all?” Molly asked incredulously.

 “The Lang who shot you and tried to kidnap Larry and fly off, leaving us to our deaths?” Mac asked at the same time.

 “The same,” Hardigan and Kaufman both chorused.

 “How do we know that there’s still any one at Norfolk?  And if the Germans bought Lang over, that isn’t exactly doing us a favor.  What makes you so sure that we’re not flying out of the frying pan and into the fire?”

 Kaufman squeezed Hardigan’s hand, “We’re not,” she said, “We’re not sure at all.”

 “Sounds about right then,” Mac said, concentrating on his flying.  “We’ll have enough gas to get to Norfolk, but it’s going to be one way.  If we don’t like what we find, there’s not going to be any place else to go.”

 Molly wrinkled her nose and squeezed Mac’s leg. “At least we’re together.”

 “She’s got a point,” Kaufman said, leaning down and kissing Hardigan gently.  “We might be flying into another adventure, think you’ll be up for it?”

 “Assuming you let me take a nap,” Hardigan croaked. He squeezed Kaufman’s hand.
 
 “I like your new boyfriend mom,” Larry said, smiling contentedly. 

 “We’re…” Kaufman started to say, but then she looked at Hardigan.

 “We’re going to do just fine,” Hardigan said, looking out the window.  He held Kaufman’s hand while she hugged Larry.  He wondered about where Greer and Jenny were, and if they were still alive.  Was Whitey still alive?  What about Jenny and Stavros?
 
 Kaufman pumped Hardigan’s hand again, “I think I love you Jack.”

 “I think that might be mutual Laura,” he whispered.  He wondered if the Germans would be friends or foe.  And whether they had a place to escape to or were just running themselves? 

 “Think we’ll ever know just what all Lang was guilty of?” Kaufman asked, running her hands through first Larry’s hair and then Hardigan’s.

 “I don’t know if we’ll ever know, but maybe that bag Tanner gave me will have some answers, and maybe Greer will have others, if we ever catch up with the others,” Hardigan said, frowning.

 “Hey,” Mac said, keying the intercom, “Don’t worry so much, we’re either going to be alive or dead soon, but we’ll know one way or the other.” He chuckled.

 Hardigan widened his embrace so that Larry could lean on him as well and sunk back into the seat.  Mac was right he thought, for right now he was alive, Kaufman had her son back, and they were as safe as they were going to be for the time being.  He also had the joys and perils of whatever was developing with Kaufman.  Hardigan nodded as he started to fall asleep.  All in all, it was about the best he could hope for.

 Not-Steiner lay in a ditch, as the essence experienced deep and true pain once more.  The fireball had washed over, but it had not been hot enough.  The union was temporarily disrupted, but once again Not-Steiner extended tendrils into the still form of the instigator.  The instigator was still now, but the flesh was still pliable, and could help the host. 

 In the condition that Not-Steiner was in, the transformation took more time, but soon the still form of Dr. Lang began to stir again as other shapes moved under its skin.  Not-Steiner heard and felt the helicopter pass overhead, and a part of him felt sadness at loosing the food which might help the incubation, but other bodies could soon be gathered.  Already some of the revenants were gathering chunks of burned flesh from their fallen comrades to help germinate the spores as well as give the eggs a chance at hatching.

 So intent in the transformation was Not-Steiner and so foreign was the intellect, which now comprised the essence, that it had no concept of the hours that passed by.  As the sun set, and the darkness gathered, Not-Steiner began to move again, moving towards a pile of the flesh, preparing to begin the process of nest making.  The hosting of the instigator would make a more powerful brood.

Sticking to one of Not-Steiner’s burned wounds was a scrap of Wall Street Journal, it read “Swiss Bio-Chemist Claims New Discovery Based On Mars Fossils”.  The paper blew off and flew into the darkness.

 On Not-Steiner’s burnt wrist, a scarred Timex watch beeped furiously, the alarm ringing.  A last electrical impulse from the mind of the Old-Steiner suggested that this was important somehow, but then it soon faded.

 The watch was fast, but not by much, seconds later the ball of fire hotter than the sun washed over the airstrip.  This time the fire was hot enough to destroy even the essence.
 
 
Epilogue

Alice was still a bit unsteady on her feet as she surveyed the plane.  “You were right Tom,” she said, looking at Baldwin, “Landing was the hard part.”

 Baldwin grimaced from his seat on the beach, either from Alice’s statement or from the antiseptic that Nellie was applying to his head; it was hard to tell.  “The deal was that I didn’t kill us all, and no one died,” he said, smirking slightly.  Now that they’d been on the ground for a few hours, his color seemed to be returning.  “Not bad for a night landing on a piece of crap road with just burning barrels for light,” he said.

 “Not bad at all,” Alice said, blushing slightly, “And yes, I remember our deal.”

 “What are you two talking about?” Nellie asked, wrapping gauze now.

 “Nothing,” Baldwin and Alice both replied at once, meeting each other’s gaze.

 Nellie shot them both an odd look before returning to her work, “You need to let me look at that leg of yours yet,” she added absently.

 Alice nodded and looked again at her calf.  The slacks to her suit would never be the same, but she hoped the cuts were minor.  “What bothers me is that I didn’t do this in the landing, I did it falling off the ladder climbing out,” she muttered.

 “And don’t forget who you fell on,” Baldwin said, softening the comment with the smile.

 “I’m sure that I can make it up to you somehow,” Alice said, a slight twinkle in her eye.  She wondered if she’d regret taking up with Baldwin later, but decided that for now she was happy just to be alive. 

 “Here they come,” someone said from further down the beach.

 Alice turned her head to watch flares rising into the air.  By their light, she could see a number of yellow boats bobbing in the surf, headed towards the beach. 

 “Let’s hope they’re friendly,” Whitey said, coming towards them.  He had his M14 slung over his shoulder.

 “If they aren’t, is there much we can do about it?” Baldwin asked.

 “A thing or two,” Whitey said, smiling without mirth and tapping a finger against his holstered .45.

 “If that’s going to happen, I need a gun,” Alice said softly, weighing their options.

 “Me too,” Nellie added, her voice seeming to come from far away.

 “Already ahead of you,” Whitey said, removing Nellie’s Beretta from behind his waistband and handing it back to her.  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do with that,” he cautioned.

 “Don’t worry,” Nellie said, her voice toneless.  “I miss Laura, but I know I’m needed here.”

 Whitey nodded, seeming satisfied.  Then he removed his Browning Hi Power from his thigh holster.  He hadn’t fired it even once during their evacuation from the complex.  Carefully, he passed it to Alice.  “Safety’s on, one up the spout already,” he said.

 Figuring that was going to be the only instruction that she was likely to receive, Alice nodded and kept her finger well away from the pistol’s trigger as she placed it into her waistband. “Danke,” she said, smiling ironically.

 “Yeah, let’s just hope you’re can remember more German than that,” Whitey said.

 Greer overhead parts of Whitey’s admonitions from where she sat just down the beach.  She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders to avoid the chill of the night.  Just behind her, the barrels that had been lit to guide them to the deserted road near the beach were still lit.  Greer had her Mini-14 laid over her thighs. 

 “They’re on their way,” Jenny said from her own seat.  She removed a waterproof match vial from one of the pockets of the field jacket she was wearing, and struck a match.  It lit up her face briefly, revealing eyes that Greer thought were probably as puffy as her own.  Jenny put the match to the tip of a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Now we find out if we’re home free or not.”

 “I’m not sure what home is any more,” Greer muttered.

 “We’ve still got each other,” Jenny said, trying to keep her tone light and shrugging slightly.

 “That we do,” Greer admitted, “Look Jenny, about Hardigan… I didn’t try to steal him from you, I want you to know that, and I still care about you, that never stopped…”

 Jenny smiled softly and placed a finger to Greer’s lips.  “Shush, it’s okay.  What happened is what happened.  I mean, look at Stavros and Finley, she’s still got her eyes set on Whitey, who’s got that Nikki was pulled out of the tower moping after him now too.  It’s going to get complicated.  There are only so many of us left.”

 Greer nodded and reached out, squeezing Jenny’s hand, “I miss him.”

 “I know you do, I miss him too,” Jenny said, “But nothing we’re going to say can bring him back.”

 Another flare went off, lighting up the night sky, as the boats drew closer.  Greer could see the conning tower and deck of the German submarine now, and behind it, the just barely visible outline of the freighter that served as its companion.

 “Let’s hope the rest of them aren’t like Dr. Lang,” Jenny muttered tersely.

 “They won’t be,” Greer said, staring out into the night, “Lang didn’t mean to hurt us, I don’t think he meant to hurt any one, but that didn’t make what he did any less hurtful.  I think the others saw in him what we did, a chance, any chance, to grab onto.”

 “Are you ever going to tell me what went on between you and your father?”

 “One day,” Greer whispered, a tear falling again, “I promise, one day.”

 “I’ll hold you to that,” Jenny said simply.

 Greer watched the boats drawing closer, “Of course if I’m wrong about them,” she patted her Ruger, “We always have plan B.”

 “We need a plan B,” Kaufman said, visibly shaken as they made a pass over the submarine below them.  Their flag could be seen flapping on a pole on the conning tower. 

 “Plan be requires more gas,” Mac said, tapping the fuel warning lights on now lit up. “We’re going to be sucking fumes in a minute. Best I’m going to be able to do is set her down on the beach, unless you want to get your feet wet.”

 “That might be better than ending up in an oven,” Kaufman said harshly.

 From the co-pilot seat, Molly rubbed her face and whispered, “I don’t know what to do, we can’t turn around and all the bases here seem to be overrun.”

 “The Krauts are the only ones who answered the radio calls,” Mac said.  “Hell, you talked to them, they said to land and they’d come get us.”

 “I’m scared,” Larry said simply.  He had been clinging to Kaufman on and off throughout the flight, and now did so more than ever.

 Hardigan wiped his brow and then squeezed Kaufman’s shoulder.  “We flew past where the C130 landed, it didn’t look like there had been a battle. If the Germans meant us harm, why go to all this trouble?”

 “Then tell me why they’re flying what looks like a damn Swastika on their bow?” Kaufman said, pulling her Star of David necklace out.  “That doesn’t make me feel all warm and cozy.

 Mac frowned deeply as he brought the Blackhawk back around toward the beach.  “Rather take your chances back on the ground?” he asked.

 Kaufman snapped the chain and pressed the necklace into Hardigan’s palm. “When we land, throw that as far away as you can,” she whispered, looking at him until her nodded.  Her fingers wordlessly found their way to Larry’s shirt and pulled it open, yanking off an identical necklace and handing it to Hardigan. 

 “Mom, why do we have to…?”  Larry started to ask, but then seeing the look in his mother’s eyes, he didn’t resist as she took away his necklace.

 “I’ll toss them,” Hardigan said.  He didn’t know what else to say.  The city of Norfolk showed extensive fire damage, and the naval installations were just plain gone.   Nothing more than wreckage was waiting for them, save for one lone voice on the radio.
 
 “I can’t bring myself to do it,” Kaufman said.  She pulled her fedora on and tucked her hair up under it. 

 “I’m going to bring us in,” Mac warned, “this might be a bit rough, I haven’t landed one of these in a long time,” he added, grunting.

 “If I end up in some kind of Nazi rape camp, I’m personally coming back to haunt you both,” Kaufman muttered.

 Molly heard this and blanched a bit, reaching her own hand out to squeeze Mac’s shoulder.  “Do you think they’d do something like that?” she asked, her voice icy.

 “I don’t know,” Mac said.

 “They’ll have to get through us first,” Hardigan said.  He wrapped the sling of his Remington around his forearm.

 “They’ve already got boats out, headed towards the beach,” Molly said, watching more flares sparkle.

 “Here goes nothing,” Mac grunted, letting their wheels touch down.

 Kaufman had been wondering about Mac’s abilities as a pilot, but now she had to give him credit, he managed to set them down with barely a jar.  Waiting for the blades to stop moving and the debris to settle, she took one last look at Hardigan.  “At least it’s been a hell of a ride,” she whispered.

 “This isn’t goodbye Laura,” Hardigan said.

 Kaufman simply nodded, and she thanked Hardigan quietly as she watched him throw something over his shoulder as soon as they stepped out onto the beach.  Her Sig was in its holster, but she had already made up her mind to reach for it if things went south.

 Hardigan set his arm around Kaufman, while Molly took a seat on one of their bags, waiting.  Mac meanwhile, calmly rolled a cigarette.  “Need a light?” Hardigan asked, flaring his Zippo to life.

 “Always,” Mac said, letting the rolled paper catch.

 “Roll one for me?” Kaufman asked.  “It’s tradition for the condemned to get one last cigarette.”

 Mac regarded her for a moment, but then produced a bit more paper and one of his pouches of Borkum Riff.  “Better roll one for everyone then,” he said, rolling three more.

 Molly had never been one to smoke, but she took one and let Hardigan light it, as he also lit Kaufman’s, and finally his own.

 “Anyone asks I’m a Mormon,” Kaufman said suddenly.

 “I think the Nazis might have killed them too,” Hardigan observed seriously.

 “Today isn’t my day then,” Kaufman muttered, exhaling.

 “I used to be a Mormon,” Molly said, sounding even more worried.

 “And I’m wearing a funny hat,” Mac said.

 “Maybe they’ll be nice Nazis,” Larry said philosophically.

 Hardigan savored his cigarette, wondering if it actually would be his last one.  “Funny,” he said, “We come all this way and now we have to worry as much about other people as we ever had to worry about those things out there.”

 “That’s the way the world works,” Kaufman said. She pulled out a bottle of vodka from her medical bag, and continued, “When we aren’t facing something else, we turn on each other.”  She noticed everyone’s stares, “Purely for medicinal purposes,” she explained, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink, before passing it on.

 It took the Germans longer to reach the shore than they’d expected, so much so that a good bit of the vodka was already in Kaufman’s system by the time the first boat hit the beach.  Watching the Germans cautiously approach, she noticed a familiar face with them.  “Tom!” she yelled, wondering for a brief instant if she was dreaming.  “You made it!”

 “We all made it,” Baldwin said, smiling easy and striding quickly forward to embrace Kaufman briefly.  Releasing her, he reached his hand out and shook the hands of the others in turn. 

 “Greer and Jenny?” Hardigan started to ask.

 “Everyone made it out,” Baldwin said.  “I’d say without a scratch, but as you can see,” he tapped the bandaged around his head, “But I took the worst of it. Alice fell on me coming down the ladder.”

 Hardigan cast a wary glance at the dozen odd German sailors standing behind Baldwin.  Kaufman noticed his glance, and nodded at him, “Going to introduce us to your new friends Tom?” she asked.

 “Allow me,” one of the Germans said, stepping forward.  He was wearing a wet suit like the others, “I am…the rank you would be familiar is Captain I believe… I am Captain Udet of the Imperial German Navy.”

 “Imperial?” Mac whispered under his breath.

 Seeing their concern, Captain Udet simply said, “There have been some changes.”

 Kaufman felt her blood run cold.  Later, she’d wonder if it was the vodka, but she asked, “Is that why you’re flying the swastika?”

 Hardigan wondered if he’d have to reach for his gun, mentally he calculated it as an even money shot that he and Mac – whom he could also see tensing – could take the Germans.  As to what would happen next, well on that count, Hardigan didn’t care to speculate. 

 Instead of ordering them machine-gunned, as Kaufman half expected, Udet merely stared at them for a moment in confusion.  “If you mean our flag, the Imperial Naval Battle Flag is an old design, but I assure you that it bears what you’d refer to as an Iron Cross, not a swastika.”

 Kaufman released the breath she’d been holding and squeezed Hardigan’s hand to steady herself.  “I had… wondered… about that,” she said.

 Udet merely nodded, “Come, we will help you load your things, it is not safe here.  You will be much safer on the ships with your friends,” he paused.  “Is that vodka I smell?” he asked.

 Kaufman handed him the bottle,  “My gift,” she said simply.

 Udet bowed and took it, drawing a brief sip and then passing to each of his men, who also took quick sips.  “My thanks,” he said, “But we must hurry, this area is still not as safe as it could be.”

 Larry stepped forward now and asked timidly,  “You won’t hurt my mother and I will you Captain Udet?”

 “Mother?” Baldwin asked, looking confused for a moment before pausing to smile at Kaufman when he realized whom Larry was referring to.

 “Certainly not my good young man,” Udet said, still looking perplexed.
 
 “They’re on the level,” Baldwin said.

 Taking both Larry and Hardigan’s hand, Kaufman walked towards the waiting rubber rafts, following Mac who was more adventurous and had scooped Molly up in his arms.  The German sailors rushed to grab their assorted bags from the helicopter and were soon on their heels.

 As she sat in the raft, Kaufman pulled her had down over her eyes and sheltered her eyes from the salt spray.  Larry hugged her knees and Hardigan continued to keep his arm protectively around her.  “We didn’t do so bad, all things considered, did we Jack?” she whispered.

 “You’ve got your son back,” he said, smiling softly, “and most everyone we took out with us made it out alive.  All things considered, I’d say we won this one.”

 “What about the next one?” Kaufman asked, listening to the soft hum as one of the Germans kicked on their raft’s electric motor.  They began to move closer towards the waiting ships.  “We don’t even know what’s waiting for us out here.  Not really I mean.”

 “No one ever knows,” Hardigan said.  He remembered that he still had the journal he’d found recently in his gas mask bag.  He slid the bag open and ran his fingers lightly over the pages.  “The best we can do is try to make sure that someone comes along after us to pick up whatever pieces we can’t,” he said, smiling softly at Larry.  “And we try to leave something for them to hold onto, so that they won’t forget what we did.  That way even if we fail, they have something to pass on.”

 Kaufman punched him in the arm, “Cut it out, you’ll make me cry again,” she whispered.

 “Hey, you guys have any Scotch?” Mac yelled from another raft.

 “Nein, schnapps,” someone replied.

 “Eh, I knew there had to be a catch,” he moaned.

 Kaufman and Hardigan both chuckled.

Graunch Solution Part 13

“I think we’re in enough trouble even with people still liking us,” Hardigan said glumly.

“Shall we try to find our way to the airstrip a different way, take to the roads, or just fuck our brains out and then do a murder suicide pact?” Kaufman asked.

“For now, why don’t we try a bit of Plan A along with some Plan B and try to cut through the woods, circle around, and try to make it to the airstrip,” Hardigan said. “We can always go with your Plan C if that doesn’t work out.”

“Ah, what a way to turn a girl down,” Kaufman said, snapping her fingers in an exaggerated motion of mock disappointment. “They probably won’t wait for us, especially since they think we’re dead. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Hardigan said, “But there might be other planes there, you can fly anything right?” Hardigan asked hopefully.

“If it makes you feel better to believe that, then yes, yes I can,” Kaufman said, giving Hardigan an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Cheer up, did you ever think you’d live this long?”

“No, nor did I think I’d want to, given the state of things,” Kaufman said, her voice quiet again. She still fell in behind Hardigan and matched his pace, which wasn’t hard since he was still limping.

“What changed that?” Hardigan asked.

“Nellie,” Kaufman said, her voice betraying a hint of emotion. “I was… a mess when I first came to the complex. She had just arrived herself, and she’s still emotional now, but more so then. It’s not my place to tell you things about her, but suffice to say, she had a rough time of it too. A lot like… my own experience, with losing her family thrown in too. I suppose we bonded together,” Kaufman said, not bothering to disguise the warmth in her voice. “What about you, why do you keep going?”

“Jenny and Greer I suppose,” Hardigan said. “Jenny’s tough, a lot like you Laura,” he said, laughing.

“I’ve met your Jenny,” Kaufman said, smirking back. She stepped over a fallen log and helped Hardigan cross it. “You seem to have a thing for dangerous women.”

“Maybe it just worked out that way,” Hardigan said, grunting in pain as he dragged himself over the log. “Greer was with Jenny first, I guess they were a lot like you and Nellie. Then Jenny and I… sort of happened, and Greer came along with the package. Only now… Lisa and I …”

“Only now you’re in love with Greer too,” Kaufman said. “It’s not hard to see, and there’s not enough of us left to be petty about things. If it works for you, go with it. Families can take all sorts of forms.”

Hardigan nodded. “I suppose you’re right Laura.”

“Of course I’m right, that’s what I’m here for, don’t you remember?” Kaufman said, smiling. “There’s not that many men left in our little bunch, looks like you’ll have to go around.”

“Lucky me,” Hardigan grunted, using his rifle butt to help support his leg as they climbed over some rocks. Mercifully, the wind was blowing so as to hide their scent from the revenants, and they were now on the reverse slope of a slight rise, hiding them from sight as well. “You hinting at something Laura?” Hardigan asked.

“And if I am?” Kaufman asked, blinking slightly.

“Everyone would have to know the score, and it’d be complicated,” Hardigan said.

“Well, we live for danger you and I, now don’t we?” Kaufman asked, winking this time.

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Hardigan admitted, finding that he enjoyed Kaufman’s company. “Before all this happened, what you’re talking about might have been a dream come true, now it just seems like the way things are.”

“Blame the Army, all you poor dumb men died fighting,” Kaufman said.

“You don’t seem much like an officer any more,” Hardigan said, studying Kaufman’s rank tabs.

“I’ve been thoroughly civilianized and corrupted,” Kaufman replied, grimacing. “I made it a very deliberate point to stop thinking like I was in the service after… after the hospital.”

“You still tend to give orders a lot,” Hardigan said.

“So do you,” Kaufman snorted.

“Yeah, I guess we never have much choice do we?” They walked past a burnt school bus, singed books still blowing about in the breeze. “They must have tried to evacuate, been desperate enough to try driving cross country,” Hardigan muttered.

“Someone has to give the orders,” Kaufman said, pausing to stare at the bus for a moment. “Otherwise, there’s no future. Someone has to make it, or there was no point to this, to any of it.”

“That’s why I’m still up and walking,” Hardigan grunted, reverting to using his rifle as a walking stick again.

“You’re the one who said you needed a pep talk sometimes,” Kaufman reminded.

“Last time you were just going to give me a bullet,” Hardigan retorted.

“Times change,” Kaufman said. “If I start to nag, just let me know, sometimes I’m afraid I sound like the old Jewish mother that I am.”

“You’re not that old,” Hardigan said stealing an admiring glance. Kaufman caught him looking and returned the smile. Then part two of it dawned on him, “I didn’t know you had kids.”

“I had a son,” Kaufman said quietly, looking away again. “He was with his father, my ex-husband. Visitation and all that. Before all this started, he was away for the summer.” Kaufman shook her head and kept her eyes averted.

“I’m sorry,” Hardigan said.

“I told you before Jack, stop being sorry for what you can’t change, just deal with what you can,” Kaufman chided.

“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories is all,” Hardigan said, pausing to lean on his rifle again and catch his breath.

“You’re getting out of shape there,” Kaufman said, resting her hand on Hardigan’s shoulder for moment. “And don’t worry about the memories, sometimes memories are all we’ve got left. Good, bad, or indifferent, they make us what we are.”

Hardigan nodded and started forward again, “If you get me out of this, I should name my kid Laura,” Hardigan said.

“If I get you out of this, and you do, let’s hope it’s a girl then, otherwise your son will be awful traumatized,” Kaufman said, laughing and wiping away a tear she didn’t want Hardigan to see.

“I could name him Larry then,” Hardigan suggested.

Kaufman paused and gave him an odd look, “I think that might be fitting,” she whispered, “Larry was my son’s name.”

Hardigan didn’t say anything else for a few moments as they made their way closer through the woods. He paused twice to shoot revenants wandering through the trees. “How long were you married?” he asked finally, wanting to break the silence.

“Not long and yet too long,” Kaufman laughed. “I never even took his name, his name was Miller, a nice Goyim like you. He was older though, a doctor already.”

“That why you went to medical school?” Hardigan asked.

“I don’t know; my undergraduate work was in biology. I studied plants if you can believe that. Somehow I took the idea into my head that I wanted to be a fast jet pilot, so that’s what I did until I became pregnant, then ground duty until my time ran out.” Kaufman’s voice was still uneven, “What about you, ever have a Mrs. Jack Hardigan?”

“No, came close a couple of times, but nothing ever clicked,” Hardigan said shrugging.

“And now it’s like the end of the world jokes used to be, if you were the last man on earth and all that,” Kaufman said, smiling again.

Hardigan noticed that Kaufman had crow’s feet around her eyes and was looking increasingly haggard. He paused, leaning against a tree and removed his canteen. He handed it to Kaufman again, who accepted it. Drinking deeply, she nodded her thanks.

As Kaufman handed back the canteen, they both looked up. The sounds of the engines were unmistakable as they heard a plane fly overhead.

Greer opened her eyes again when she felt the pressure of someone squeezing her hand. She looked around and realized that she was still strapped into her stretcher, but noticed that Nellie was no longer lying across from her. Straining to move her eyes upward, she saw that Nellie was now strapped into a regular seat near her, and that her eyes were shut.

Suddenly conscious of pressure in her ears, Greer realized that someone had inserted a set of foam earplugs into them. Feeling another squeeze on her hand, she looked to the side and saw that Jenny was strapped into a seat, holding her hand. Feeling a sudden sense of panic, Greer cast her eyes left and right, her gaze finally catching Jenny’s.

Greer swallowed hard, her mouth feeling suddenly dryer than it ever felt before, she looked at Jenny, already realizing that the blank, empty look on Jenny’s face was mute confirmation of her worst fears. “Hardigan?” Greer yelled, trying to be understood over the sound of the engines.

Jenny was wearing over-the-ear hearing protectors, but she seemed to already know what Greer was going to ask. She simply shook her head. Greer could see that Jenny’s eyes were red and puffy, “I’m sorry, he didn’t make it,” Jenny yelled, the tears flowing fresh.

Greer looked away, staring down the cargo hold. There were boxes of ammunition and rations secured to the floor with tie downs, and the fold down bench seats were crowded with the civilians they’d managed to rescue, as well as the handful of soldiers from the airstrip. Greer noticed a number of children, and at least two infants. At least they’d gotten some people out Greer thought, that was something.

She swallowed again and nodded, no longer able to talk. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt merely empty, well and truly empty. Someone had loosened and rearranged the straps so that her arms were free, so she ran her hands over her face, feeling them come away wet.

Back in the cargo compartment, Abernathy had apparently recovered the speakers and sound system from the M113 and was blaring music that could be faintly overhead even over the sounds of the engines. Greer quietly mouthed the words, “This is the end, my only friend, the end…”

Baldwin fought to keep the plane level, he didn’t like flying so low, and it had been dicey enough taking off from the short strip. There was sweat already beading up on his forehead.

“Hey, look at me,” Alice said into the intercom, getting Baldwin’s attention momentarily and locking his gaze onto hers. “You’re doing fine, just keep it level and the air speed up.”

Baldwin nodded, gingerly removing one hand from the control yoke to wipe his brow. “With the sunspots, we need to be careful how much to trust the instruments, and we have to stay low to avoid dangerous atmospherics,” he said.

Alice nodded, even though he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, assuming that it simply made Baldwin feel better to voice his concerns. “It’s going to be a long flight, just let me know if you get tired,” she offered. “I can at least hold us onto a steady heading.”

Baldwin merely nodded; he was starting to take on a distinctly greenish tinge again. There were already two used trash bags near his seat. “I think my gut is about empty anyway,” he said looking at the bags briefly and managing a weak smile.

Alice smiled back, “I’m sorry about Kaufman,” she said finally.

“It’s okay, I think… I think she’d have wanted to go out like that, making it so that other people had a chance. I don’t know how much easier that will make it in the end to accept it, but I like to believe it.”

“That’s a good way to think about it,” Alice said soothingly.

“Makes me want all the more to not crash,” Baldwin said, still looking green.

Alice nodded, and then turned the intercom to a private channel where only Baldwin could hear. She then described for him in lurid detail what be willing to do with, for, and to him if he managed not to crash the plane. A guided tour of her undergarments being just the start. By the time she was done, she wondered if it had done more harm than good, as she was now flushed and panting, and Baldwin’s greenish tinge had turned into a distinct blush.

Alice watched as he wiped the sweat off his brow once more, and also dried his palms. “I’m going to try very hard not to crash us now,” he said, seeming more confident already.

Still blushing, Alice simply nodded, and switched the intercom back to the general usage channel. “This is the co-pilot speaking, we hope you’ll enjoy your flight with ‘Last Chance Airways,’ please observe the no smoking signs and keep your seatbelts fastened…” she intoned, trying to keep a straight face.

Whitey adjusted the plug on his helmet; he was keyed into the intercom channel by virtue of somehow being elected into the defacto leadership of their little group. He’d been somewhat worried by the brief moments of silence from the cockpit, but now he scowled slightly at Alice’s mock announcement. Still he thought, chewing his pipe ruefully, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to light it until they were safely on the ground. Unless of course they started to crash, or the plane caught, or blew up… Whitey’s mind ran through the possibilities, as he remembered why he’d never joined the airborne forces. Just in case, he’d already filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco, in case of any of the worst-case scenarios, he had decided that all bets were off, and that he’d go ahead and light it.

He turned to the woman sitting next to him, Nikki, the tower gun. She’d helped him aboard when they’d pulled their Humvee up next to the plane after it already begun to taxi. “That was a good idea getting the .50 caliber on board and finding the tripod for it,” Whitey said over the intercom, holding up three fingers so that she’d switch to a private channel.

“Thanks,” Nikki said, finding the channel. “I thought we might need it is all,” she said simply. Then she studied Whitey for a moment, “You’re one of the leaders huh? Weren’t you on rescue and forage duty?”

“Yeah, team two,” Whitey said, still holding his pipe ready with white knuckles.

“You probably shouldn’t light that,” Nikki cautioned.

“I don’t plan to,” Whitey said defensive, “I’m just going to chew on it for a while.”

Nikki snorted, “Don’t like to fly do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Whitey said.

“Neither do I,” Nikki admitted, “But I think it’s less scary than when I jumped out of that tower today,” she said.

“Look about that,” Whitey said, preparing to explain his regret at Tripod’s dubious driving skills and having almost killed Nikki and her co-gunner Eric.

“It was so brave the way you drove right up through those things and saved us,” Nikki said, becoming slightly flushed. “Those freaks had already over run all the other towers, and we were running low on ammo. I thought for sure you might just leave us after we blew the wire, but then you just stayed on your gun and had your driver run right up to us, even knocking the tower down to slow those things up. That was just above and beyond,” Nikki said, smiling.

“Um, what can I say,” Whitey said, really not knowing what to say.

Nikki set let her hand brush Whitey’s leg in a not altogether casual way, “Eric’s girlfriend was even in one of the trucks, so I guess we all ended up lucky today,” she said.

Whitey nodded and simply rubbed the stem of his pipe. He began a mental count of their passengers. They had managed to rescue a total of forty-five civilians, in whose number he still placed Alice and Frenchy. These consisted of two infants (one boy and one girl), nine children ranging in age from four to fifteen (five girls and four boys), and thirty-three adults. Of the adults, there was one man of around seventy, and a fifty-year-old woman. The others ranged in age from about eighteen to their mid 30s. There were only five men including Frenchy who’d made it out among the civilians, the other 28 adults were women. Of the military personnel, they had the twelve airstrip survivors, four of whom were women, himself, Doc Baldwin, Stavros, Finley, Abernathy, Greer, Jenny, Nellie, Nikki, Eric and Ike from the motor pool. That meant that there were a total of twenty-four adult males on board. Meanwhile there were thirty-seven adult women on board, and a total of sixty-seven survivors.

Whitey studied Nikki again for a moment and realized that their half again as many women as men, roughly the same percentage that their had been back at the complex. He nodded to himself and realized that even with Tripod having his harem, people were still going to start pairing off. Suddenly Whitey understood why Nikki was behaving the way she was. He thought back to Tripod’s friend as well, and remembered Hardigan’s arrangement.

“So tell me about yourself,” he said, smiling at Nikki. Including himself, about nine of the men seemed to be unattached to any one. Including Nikki, there were eighteen unattached women. Nellie, Greer, and Jenny were going to need time to grieve so he didn’t count them, and he had already decided that Doc Baldwin and Alice were going to be a couple.

Whitey sighed and thought about Hardigan, about all the other friends he’d lost over the years, and as he began to talk to Nikki, they both talked about loss as much as anything else while they let hope kindle.

Steiner had found the paper matches wedged in the bottom of his pocket. He had always tried to keep his habit of smoking a secret from his subordinates, thinking it a sign of weakness. (Although he still found himself truly craving a cigarette, he also found that the morphine he was slowly administering to himself cut even that craving.) Now, the matches helped serve him well, as they were his only source of light. The escape tunnel was a straight-line path, so he sparked one only occasionally, using them to make sure he still had his bearings.

The escape tunnel would take him right to the old garage and eventually intersect with the old access tunnels. In the old auxiliary garage, Steiner had placed an apparently broken white van up on blocks, but he’d also left a pile of tires under a tarp nearby, as all the van really needed was tires. He’d also kept it fully gassed up. Should that plan fail, he’d also hidden a motorcycle in the rear of the van. Perhaps it was the morphine distorting his perceptions, but Steiner had decided that perhaps it would be best if everyone and everything else went up in flames, but if he personally made his escape.

Although he stumbled from time to time, he felt that he was making good progress towards his goal. In the back of his mind, he remembered that there had apparently been a security breach at the garage, but he was willing to bet that even if any of those freaks had gotten inside, that they likely would have gone further into the complex where the actual food, i.e. occupants were. Steiner smiled with some relish, imagining Dr. Lang still strapped to his hospital bed and being gnawed on. A part of Steiner also visualized Dr. Lang being strapped to that same bed, only having an ovipositor forced into his rectum by a reaver. For reasons Steiner wasn’t sure he wanted to contemplate, and liked to imagine the drugs as causing, he found that mental image strangely erotic.

Steiner struck yet another match, and read the sign at the corridor junction. Were those bullet holes in it? He wondered, staring at it a moment longer, and then dismissing the idea. The sign said that he was just shy of his goal in the garage. He smiled, and then paused to think, he’d been worried that there might be mice and rats down in these corridors, as they had seemed to congregate in the lower and basically unused regions of the complex. Now though, he couldn’t hear any of them making a sound. All the better he supposed, even if there were any rats, let them burn too.

Steiner cursed as he inadvertently burned his hand, tossing the stub of the match into the darkness. He’d just entered the garage itself anyway, pausing again as he did so. “That’s odd,” he muttered, looking around. It looked as though there had been a fire on the floor. To make matters worse, the back door of the van was open, and it looked as though someone had stolen the motorcycle, Steiner saw as he lit another match, the pack rapidly decreasing.

“Goddamn it, bunch of thieves,” he muttered.

The match burnt down, and Steiner cursed again, feeling his fingers get even more singed. From the corner of his eye, he thought that he saw movement. “What the hell?” he muttered, lighting his last match. “What, what are you?” he hissed, looking at something approaching him. It seemed to walk almost like a man, but seemed hideously burnt and with… shapes, shapes like baby reavers burrowing in and out of its skin, as the skin itself unfolded and writhed. An entire flap of skin was gone from the chest, as Steiner thought he could see a blackened, mostly ruined lung, continue to inflate and deflate.

“I am abomination,” the thing hissed with a ruined throat, as it lunged towards Steiner with surprising speed.

“No!” Steiner yelled, as the shape enveloped him, his match falling to the side and extinguishing itself in a pool of slime on the floor. Anything else he wanted to scream was choked off as a black writhing shape invaded his throat. Trying to gag as the form worked its way past his jaw, and deeper into his esophagus, Steiner found his teeth snapping painfully at the roots. Even as bile and vomit tried to rise, the object forced it back down. A mixture of pain, utter horror, and lack of oxygen caused Steiner to begin to rapidly lose consciousness. Somewhere, he thought he heard a voice hiss, “The fire, the fire wasn’t hot enough. Know my pain.”

Even through all the pain that he was getting to know first hand, a part of Steiner remained distant and removed from events. He had a mental image of himself sitting back in the C&C room, only in a Lazy Boy now, drinking a nice cold Red Stripe. A wide screen TV was in front of him, just like on Super Bowl Sunday, only rather than the big game, the image on the screen was solely occupied by a countdown clock. His mind flashed forward in time, everything passing by in a blur, until he saw an image of a touch down melding into one with a giant ball of a fire and a mushroom cloud, as the crowd went wild.

Finally, Steiner’s heart ceased to beat, this being the smallest of untold violations of his body. Seconds later it began to pulse again, irregularly, no longer strictly alive in the way it had been, but now enthralled to another presence.

“Man, there’s some weird shit in these books, bro,” Tanner said. The batteries in his Game Boy were dead, and he was fresh out, so he had taken to looking through some of the documents he’d found while Tanner drove. Being surer of their route, they were making double or more the time getting back as they had leaving.

“What’s it about? I liked that first one you was looking through that the girl wrote, all about her love life, and talking about her being attracted to other girls when she played with herself and that shit, though it was all sad and shit at the end, about her dad lying to her, yada yada and her boyfriend leaving her,” Dale said, “It reminded me of that Lifetime Channel shit that used to be on, except how she dug other chicks, that was sweet dude,” Dale said, whistling.

“And how,” Tanner said, pushing his glasses back up. The first journal he’d read reminded him of another word from his word a day calendar, though the definition was foggy in his memory, melancholy he thought it was. “Any who, this other book is all about how this dude what wrote it was talking to his old best friend, about some weird shit experiments, and how they thought all this weird shit would happen.”

“Weird shit like the shit what happened, or like other weird shit?” Dale asked, curious now, even though the narrative apparently no longer involved any teenaged girls having sex with each other.

“Dunno dawg, there’s all kinds of shit in here I don’t get, and you know I failed Mr. Bramble’s Science class.”

“You failed it three times,” Dale corrected.

“Yeah, whatever Mr. I couldn’t pass driver’s ed the first time cause I was too high.”

“Hey, that’s not fair, that was some good weed dad had growing back then,” Dale insisted.

“True enough,” Tanner admitted, “Anyway, catch this bro, it’s like he finds out that the other dude, his supposed buddy, was tapping his wife on the side, or suspected it at least.”

“Dude, you was right, he must have whacked that bitch, that’s cold,” Dale said whistling in admiration again.

“I ain’t so sure dawg, the writer and his ole lady were going to get a divorce, but then she like blew the other dude off and her and her husband were trying to get it back on it. Sounds like this dude keeping the book loved her something fierce dawg,” Tanner said.

“Whoa, so who snuffed her then, you think maybe she snuffed herself and he hid her down in the basement, maybe to still get some loving later?”

“That’s sick and wrong dawg!” Tanner protested, but then he paused to think about it, “Maybe.” He said nodding.

“Sick world bro,” Dale said, shaking his head, “Hey, you think we can trim some more bud off the plants we got in the shack?”

“They ought be about ripe,” Tanner said, thinking about it.

“Too sweet,” Dale said, rounding a curve. “Oh shit!” he yelled, pulling the wheel violently to the side and swerving to avoid the motorcycle which suddenly loomed in front of them in the road. Much to both his and Tanner’ surprise, the airbags in their battered Mazda still functioned perfectly.

Mac had taken the bike on wide loop towards where they estimated the base the revenants were headed towards to be. Even so, he thought they’d made excellent time. A motorcycle, even one with a sidecar on it, was still better able to negotiate what was left of the road system much more efficiently than any car was capable of doing.

With Larry contentedly riding in the sidecar, and Molly clinging to his back, Mac had taken them as quickly as possible towards their destination. Already they could see smoke ahead. Using their speed as well as a clever series of changing of roads, Mac didn’t know it, but he had done much better than Dale and Tanner had done when traveling in the opposite direction. He estimated them as just a few miles from their destination when they finally paused to take a break.

After they all used separate trees for a restroom break, but kept each other in sight, Mac broke open a bottle of beer from his pocket and shared it with Molly, who made her disappointed nose wrinkle. “I never did like beer much, and now I remember why,” she said.

“I’ve had better,” Mac admitted, draining the rest of the bottle, “But right now, this really hit the spot.”

Larry was sitting at the edge of the sidecar, quietly doing something; Mac looked over at him, and noticed that he was praying, though not in English. “Sounds like German,” Mac said conversationally to Molly.

“I think it’s Hebrew, he seems to remember bits and pieces of it, as well as German and Yiddish, he’s a great kid really,” Molly said quietly, not wanting to disturb Larry.

“I didn’t know he was Jewish,” Mac said, worried suddenly about all the pork in their diet, “I feel bad for all that Spam now.”

“He’s never said much about his family, he was with someone that I think was his grandfather when I first met him. But I was a little out of it then, still in shock I guess, and I suppose I should remember more, but I don’t. From what little he’s said, I think his mother was Jewish, but his dad wasn’t, and that they weren’t real religious. At least not until…” Molly broke off. “I went through a religious phase myself early on during all this. Then I got to wonder if praying did any good, so I stopped. Most of the time.” Molly’s voice broke again, “Then I started again the night Larry and I found you,” Molly whispered. She put her arm around Mac and tugged.

Mac hugged her back, “Just a bit longer and we’ll know about the base we think is out there, if it is gone, well I’ll think of something. I always do, don’t I?” Mac asked, lifting Molly’s chin and kissing her.

“That you do Mac, that you do,” Molly whispered. “Can we let him finish?” she asked.

“Of course, we’ve got a bit of time, “ Mac said, then we have to really haul ass, he thought to himself as he looked at the position of the sun in the sky. It would be dark soon, and if the base was overrun, Mac wanted to be able to find shelter by nightfall.

Larry rose to his feet again and noticed Mac and Molly looking at him, “Sorry if I took so long, but my mother told me once to say my prayers whenever I got scared,” he said, coming over and hugging Mac’s knees.

“What are you scared of?” Mac asked, rubbing the boy’s head for luck.

“Just am,” Larry muttered.

“That’s as good a reason as any,” Mac said, nodding. “Tell you what, you just hang on tight, and let old Mac drive, and I’ll keep us all safe, okay?” Mac said, waiting for Larry to nod, which he finally did.

“Don’t you fucking die on me Laura,” Hardigan cursed, pulling up Kaufman’s sweater to inspect the wound. Under other circumstances, he might have found the experience erotic, but right then he was just worried about stopping the bleeding and seeing how bad the wound was. He yanked up her blue USAF sweater as well as the t-shirt underneath, and finally yanked up her sports bra as well. Still not seeing anything, he began to feel around looking for the wound.

Kaufman moaned, and tried to rise, “Ow, what hit me, and why are you feeling me up?” she moaned feebly.

“You’ve been shot,” Hardigan said, still looking for the wound.

“How?” Kaufman moaned, “It feels like I’ve been punched in the chest,” she complained.

“I don’t know how, we were shooting at those two revenants we came across, I think one of your rounds must have hit a rock and ricocheted. I heard it whistle right by my ear, then saw dust come off your chest and you dropped. Roll on your side,” Hardigan ordered, feeling along Kaufman’s back.

“What a shitty way to die,” Kaufman said, half dreamily, “At least you finally got my top off though,” she coughed.

“Shut up, I’m trying to save your life,” Hardigan said, finding himself blushing slightly. Finally his hands stopped just above Kaufman’s left breast and he moved his hand away, “I don’t fucking believe it,” he said.

“What is it?” Kaufman asked, trying to rise again.

“Just hold still a bit longer,” Hardigan said, feeling around a bit more. “Does that hurt?” He asked pressing down.

“Ouch,” Kaufman said wincing, “yeah it does, but not terrible.”

“You’re the doctor, but I think you’re just bruised and got the wind knocked out of you,” Hardigan said, removing his hands. He held a bullet pinched between his thumb and forefinger, it was a 9mm pistol bullet partially flattened. “This was stuck on the stuff around your neck, your dog tags, Star of David, and locket. It looks like your dog tags are dented, but the rest is still fine.”

“I bet you think it’s fine,” Kaufman whispered, chuckling underneath. “Does that mean I can get dressed now?” she asked tossing her hair.

“Yeah, sorry,” Hardigan said, feeling a bit flushed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kaufman said, taking a couple of deep breaths in and other and pulling her clothes back into order.

“That’s the damnedst thing I’ve ever seen,” Hardigan said, slipping the bullet into Kaufman’s palm.

“I know I’m in good shape for my age, but you don’t need to flatter me that much,” Kaufman said, smiling slightly to let Hardigan know that she was kidding.

“Ha ha,” Hardigan said, then he frowned, “I thought I’d lost you there for a second Laura,” he said.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily,” Kaufman said. She coughed and then retrieved her hat from the dirt. She pulled the two cigarettes from her hatband and gave one to Hardigan.

He produced his Zippo and lit them, “We can just sit and rest a minute, it looks all clear,” Hardigan said. “Try not to scare me like that again, huh?”

Kaufman nodded, inhaling the cigarette, “Scared you, how do you think I felt?” she asked, shaking her head. Gingerly she rubbed her chest and then looked at the bullet. “Guess those dog tags saved my life twice now.”

“Guess so,” Hardigan agreed. “The locket came open, but it’s not damaged. Was that your son?”

Kaufman swallowed and nodded, “Yeah, it is. Or maybe was.”

“Maybe wherever he is, he was looking out for you too,” Hardigan said, his eyes moist.

“If you weren’t already involved with two other women, and me with one, I think I’d kiss you right now Jack,” Kaufman said, her own eyes moist.

“Why don’t you anyway?” Hardigan said softly.

“I think I will at that,” Kaufman said, leaning forward and pressing her lips softly to Hardigan’s. “If we get out of this alive, it’s going to take a lot of sorting to make this work, you know that right, assuming you want to make… something work…” Kaufman whispered, lingering and then kissing Hardigan again.

“We’re both just going to have to survive to give it a go then,” Hardigan whispered back, tracing his hand lightly against Kaufman’s side.

She chuckled lightly, “Easy there Sergeant, I’m still wounded.”

Hardigan smiled easily and removed his hand, “Back to the real world anyway.”

“You know, I sometimes wonder if all the other changes have affected all of our behaviors. If the sun spots can make the radios go out, and do what they’ve done to the radio, maybe they make us act the way we do too.” Laura said, and then she stroked the back of her hand on Hardigan’s cheek. “Which isn’t to say I’m not going to take you up on trying to make this work.”

Hardigan nodded and shrugged, “I plan to hold you to it as well. As to the rest, I don’t know. I think that it might just be Mother Nature taking her course. Maybe even clearing out a lot of the dead wood, and jump starting things running again with the rest.”

“If only so many of the dead wood didn’t have names,” Kaufman said bitterly.

“I’m sorry,” Hardigan said, “I didn’t mean to…”

Kaufman shook her head, half frowning, “I swear, if you apologize one more time for something not your fault, I’m going to… well never mind what I’m going to do, but you might or might not like it.” A mischievous smile flared briefly across Kaufman’s face. “You might just be right though,” she said.

“Come on,” Hardigan said, helping Kaufman to her feet. “If we don’t keep moving, it won’t matter anyway.”

Kaufman chuckled as she let herself be pulled to her feet. “You know, I hope we do make it, if for nothing else than to see the look on everyone’s face when you explain to Jenny and Greer that you’re adding Nellie and me into the relationship.”

“Nellie and you both?” Hardigan said.

“Where I go, she goes,” Kaufman said, raising an eyebrow, “That won’t be a problem will it?”

“What do you think Nellie will say about it?” Hardigan asked, curious.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll convince her.”

Hardigan studied Kaufman’s expression for a moment, and felt his mind reeling with still more possibilities. “Why am I so popular anyway Laura?”

“Because you and your friend Whitey, along with my good friend Tom, are quite possibly the three most handsome men left alive. Though your pal Finley and that guy who was wearing the beret aren’t doing too bad. On top of which, you’re smart, you care, and you have your own guns. The latter is like a dowry now.” Kaufman said, sticking her tongue out at him. “Are we done feeding your ego now?”

“Quite,” Hardigan said. “What about Ike from the motor pool?” he asked, reaching down to help Kaufman over a crater in the soil.

“Hardly, he was cleaning his ears with a drill bit,” Kaufman said. Then she chuckled again, “Besides which, I heard that you were almost the one who ended up with the nickname Tripod instead of being called Lefty.” Kaufman rolled her eyes.

“If only,” Hardigan agreed, continuing forward. “Just stay sharp Lau-“

Before he could finish, the ground of the crater opened up and the reaver popped out amidst a spray of dirt. All other thoughts would be forgotten for the next few seconds, as Hardigan wondered if this was truly the end.

Mac slowed the bike as they rounded the turn, seeing a flash of red metal in the road ahead. He wondered if somehow it was another vehicle on the road, but then dismissed the possibility. “What are the odds I’d see another car after I saw that truck the other day?” he muttered to himself, “That would be as crazy as it being the same people driving both.”

“Mac, look at that,” Molly said, tapping him on the side.

As it was, Mac couldn’t help but to look at it. Blocking the road was a battered red Mazda, with two men in duck hunting outfits busily at work changing a tire. Their air bags appeared to have gone off when they’d hit a wrecked UPS truck.

Mac slowed the bike as he approached the two men, but let his hand ease down so that he could draw his long barreled Model 14 if he had to. “Let’s place this cool,” he said to Molly, hoping she heard over the noise of the engine. He felt Molly remove her right hand from around his waist, allowing her to reach for the Ruger auto if she had to. Idling the motorcycle, Mac pulled it up within about fifteen yards of the two men, both of whom were now standing. A cut down shotgun and what looked like an M16 were lying on the hood of the car, but neither man was moving toward them. Mac noticed that both were wearing pistols however. Stopping the completely, Mac dropped the kickstand and swung himself off.

“Yo, you with that other biker who almost ran us off the road?” the blonde man with the goatee asked.

“Yeah dude, if you are, tell your buddy we’re going to kick his ass dawg,” the second man, who was wearing dirty Army glasses with thick lenses and a duck hunting hat said.

“I don’t know any other biker,” Mac said, pondering whether it was a good idea to let these two know that he was alone. “I’m just like you guys, traveling.”

“We ain’t just traveling friend, we’re on an important mission,” the one in the hat said. “In fact we’re on our way back to a genuine government base right now.”

Molly gasped slightly, and whispered behind Mac, “So there is a base, and it must be close.”

“But if these two are the sort manning it, maybe it isn’t such a good idea to go there,” Mac whispered back tersely.

“Hey, you got any beer?” the blonde one asked.

“Sorry, fresh out,” Mac said. “This base you’re headed to, is it nearby?”

“Couple miles,” the one with glasses said. “If you can stand the rules and shit, they let new people in.”

“Do you think it’s still there?” Molly asked, “I mean did you just come from the base?”

“Why wouldn’t it be there?” the one in the hat asked.

“Don’t you know what’s going on?” Molly asked, “Haven’t you noticed all the revenants massing this way?” She stared at them in disbelief.

“Well, now that you mention it,” the one wearing glasses said, “Them things did seem a little thick on the ground, but we didn’t think much of it.”

“The revenants aren’t the only thing around here that was thick,” Mac muttered quietly.

“I don’t think I like your tone mister,” the blonde said.

“I don’t think I care,” Mac said.

The one in glasses laughed, “See, Dale, he’s okay, he don’t take none of your shit. Don’t mind my brother dawg, he weren’t raised right. I’m Tanner Sherman, this is my brother Dale. Soon as we get this tire done, you and your wife and kid are welcome to follow us in to the base.”
Mac noticed Molly make an unidentifiable nose wrinkle at being referred to as his wife, he couldn’t identify if it was good or bad. He also tried to remember where he’d heard of the Sherman brothers before, but couldn’t quite place it. Instead, he decided to just plunge along into agreement, “If your base hasn’t been over run, I think we’d be happy to-“

Dale went for his gun, there was no warning, no prelude, and no immediate reason that Mac could see, but in deference to popular opinion, Mac snatched for his own holster, grabbing for the Smith and Wesson. Just as he was clearing it from his holster, he realized that Dale and Tanner were both turning away from him, and towards the road.

There was a narrow rise of earth and trees above them, which it wouldn’t be quite far to call a hill. A sluice of debris had rained down on the hood of the car, and with it was mixed it in human bones. Mac scanned his eyes across the earth, seeing the small indentations and bumps now, and realizing that they had stumbled across a nest of reavers.

Mac doubted how much good his .38 was going to do him, but his Thompson was still slung across his back, while the revolver was already in his hand. The first black, worm like head, was already poking from the earth, as the body struggled forth. Slick, black, hair like protrusions wrinkled along the length of the body, as it continued to emerge from the soil. A mandibled mouth, glistening with an oily slime stretched open, a forked silvery tongue darting out and tasting the air.

Larry was the first one to fire, surprising Mac with the pop of .22 rifle as he shot at the first creature to appear. Several more, Mac guessed it to be around six, were also emerging from the soil, one of which was behind the bike. “Look out!” Mac yelled, turning and trying to bring the Smith into line without putting Larry into the line of fire.

The sharper pop of Tanner firing his M16 caused Mac to snap a glance over his shoulder, seeing the rifle being brought to bear, his first thought was that Tanner had decided to shoot him after all. Instead, a short three shot burst of tracers impacted into the earth behind the motorcycle, slowing the reaver emerging behind Larry.

Molly spun as well, the .40 caliber Ruger already drawn. She squared her shoulders and took at tight grip, firing at the one behind the motorcycle. A piece of hot brass dinged off Mac’s sombrero as she swung in a 90-degree arc to fire at the hillside as well.

Mac thought he heard another, louder, rifle shot, and a flurry of pistol shots from the woods nearby, but he couldn’t spare a brief instant to think about it. Lining up the long barrel of his revolver, Mac pulled the trigger, sending a round thumping into one of the reavers that was now fully out of the earth. He missed the false eyes, but clipped one of the creatures antenna, disorienting it enough, that it’s full seven foot length rolled backwards.

Mac fired again, hitting the same reaver in the midsection, though he had no idea if his round penetrated deeply enough to do any damage or not. His third shot struck a mandible as he became vaguely aware of more hot brass striking his hat, and realized that Molly must be standing very close indeed, and was firing at the same target.

Dale had apparently emptied his revolver, and had broken open the action of the shotgun that had been lying on the hood, reloading it as well. Mac didn’t remember any shotgun blasts going off, but he was getting lost in the constant stream of gunshots. “Slugs,” he heard Dale yell as the sawed off duck gun was leveled. The recoil almost knocked Dale off his feet, as he’d braced the gun poorly, but one of his shots impacted another of the reavers, tearing a large chunk from its center.

Mac made his dash for the bike then, grabbing Molly by the hand and pulling her towards it. She shrugged him off and slammed a fresh magazine into her pistol, releasing the slide to snap it back into battery. Molly brought the pistol back into action, firing again and again.

Giving up his grip on her sleeve, Mac moved to the opposite side of the bike from Larry, to avoid the boy’s line of fire. Mac didn’t bother unslinging the Thompson, or even reaching for Molly’s shotgun, which was still secured to the bike. “I’ve got a better idea,” Mac said, tugging open one of the saddlebags and grabbing up two of the thermate grenades. “Fire in the hole!” he yelled, pulling the pins.

Hardigan rolled, jamming his already injured leg in the process but getting clear of the immediate rush of the reaver. He still had Kaufman’s bag on this side, and this partially cushioned his fall. The Remington slid from his grasp and went skidding in the grass, stopping just out of reach, as he tried to turn back towards the reaver.

It was out of the dirt now, a picked clean human skull still lying near one of its feet. In appearance, it looked much like a hideously over grown millipede. Only this millipede had an obscene looking growth jutting out from it, very phallic in look. The female of the species had an ovipositor, which it used to inject eggs, or rather, a sack of eggs, into the host. These would hatch eventually, and consume the host from the inside when they did so. This ovipositor was now extended as the creature advanced towards Kaufman.

Hardigan pulled the Kimber from his tanker holster. He had a full magazine in the pistol and one partial. He doubted it would be enough, but he planned to at least try. Swinging the gun into action one handed, the slide just barely avoiding contact with the ground, Hardigan started shooting even as he still lay on his back. Odds were that a .45 slug wasn’t going to penetrate; the females especially had thick hides, and a set of triple redundant internals. What Hardigan really hoped to do, though he barely admitted it to himself, was to draw the reaver’s attention away from Kaufman and onto himself

Graunch Solution Part 12

“We’ve got a full load now,” Jenny yelled down, directing her fire alongside Frenchy’s. “I fucking hate this, but I don’t think we can stop.” Her voice sounded like her control was about to break any moment.

“I can’t just leave Laura!” Nellie said, blinking through her tears.

“Hardigan was on that truck too Nellie,” Greer said, swallowing hard to keep herself from vomiting. She looked back at their passengers again. “We can’t risk it.”

“No, no, no,” Nellie kept muttering. “Not Laura, please God, not Laura.”

Greer wasn’t sure if Nellie was blaspheming or praying. She wondered about her own relationship with God and whether he’d take time to listen. She pulled loose the Motorola handheld from her tac vest and keyed the mic. “Whitey, this is Greer, Hardigan and Kaufman are down, over.”

“I see it,” Whitey said, his voice distorted by static. “But if I have Tripod pull off, you don’t have anyone to barrel through.”

An unfamiliar voice in the other Humvee cut in on the frequency. “I’ve got a full load of civs up here, do you want me to risk them?” Greer figured that must be Ike, the other motor pool guard, now impressed into service as a driver.

“We’re full up too,” Greer said, her voice finally cracking.

“It’s a shitty thing to do,” Whitey said, sounding like he could barely speak, his voice hoarse, “But Hardigan knew the risks. If we can get the convoy though, I can double back.”

“This is Baldwin, I’ll go back if no one else will,” another voice answered over the radio.

“Absolutely negative,” Whitey said, his voice still hoarse, “You’re our only remaining pilot, you pull that vehicle out of formation and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Greer ran her hand along her cheek, trying to think. She felt the dried blood crumble along her palm. “Whitey, what’s our ETA?”

“It’s about three more miles to the airstrip, but we’re not exactly making good time, or going as the crow flies, so I’d say it’s going to be about ten minutes to get there, especially if I have to keep ramming cars out of the way.” The sound of another wreck being crashed aside by the M113 was audible through the mic.

“That’s twelve to fifteen minutes that they’ll be on their own,” Greer said, still holding the mic down.

“I’ll double back,” Whitey said.

“Roger that,” Greer said, dropping the mic to the floor and letting the connection go dead. Somehow she managed not to vomit, not to let the numbness in her stomach win. Above her she heard Jenny yelling something, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. As they picked up speed again, she barely even heard Nellie sobbing; all she saw was smoke starting to rise behind them. “Hardigan!” she wailed.

Steiner watched as the stars finally started to recede from his eyes. He wasn’t sure when he’d lost consciousness, or how long he’d blacked out again. He’d been watching the vehicles roll out of the garage, stunned that they’d somehow found a way to get the door open. When he looked up again, all the cameras were out and only the emergency lights were on. “Compromised,” he whispered again, wondering if he could take more morphine yet.

He saw the binder at his feet and remembered that he a mission to perform, perhaps his last one. Steiner wished that he still had one of those pocket New Testaments in his pocket, but he’d used his to roll cigarettes. The rice paper made for some first class cigarettes. He coughed again and spit a mixture of blood and mucus on one of the corpses again. “That never gets old,” he muttered.

Steiner tore his key loose from around his neck and inserted it into a slot along the console. He turned it first to the left, returned it to center, and then clicked it left twice, finally turning it to the right and holding it for three seconds before turning it to center again. With a hissing noise, a cylindrical console appeared in the center of Steiner’s console, with a key in it. Steiner leaned forward and began to enter the numbers off of his authorization sheets. In the movies it always took two keys to launch a missile, Steiner thought, smirking. Since he didn’t plan on launching anything, he only needed his key and codes.

The Nike missiles were long since taken out of service, but what was not generally known, was that a handful of nuclear tipped anti-ballistic missiles continued to be deployed long after the cold war was ended, in direct violation of the ABM treaty. Steiner’s complex wasn’t just a normal Nike base, but meant to house the latter. These had been deactivated just before the crisis began, but the warheads had never been removed. Instead, they had been incorporated into a self-destruct mechanism put in place to prevent the installation from being overrun in the event of an invasion. Steiner had once laughed at the insistence of the powers that be in desiring to conceal their violation of the ABM treaty even in the face of nuclear holocaust.

Steiner smiled as he entered the last of the numbers and confirmed it. The resulting explosion wouldn’t be much by some standards, depending on how one considered Hiroshima and Nagasaki rolled into one. He looked at the static on the monitors again, it would be a real shame not to watch those things burn, but such were the vagaries of war. The countdown timer allowed twelve hours maximum before detonation, this in fact being the default time. Steiner left that in place and watched the minutes start to count down. Satisfied that it had begun, he reinserted his key and locked the system, before snapping it off in the mechanism. “Wouldn’t want any one getting in the way,” he muttered.

Steiner pressed his hands against his bandages, noticing that the bleeding seemed to have stopped. He looked at a small hatch recessed into the floor. “Might as well go for a walk,” he muttered tiredly, beginning to unscrew the locking mechanism.

Kaufman was pleasantly surprised that she could still walk, having now survived her second experience jumping out of a moving vehicle. The key she reflected, was to tuck yourself and hit the ground rolling. Looking up from where she lay in the dirt, she decided to pull herself to her feet and pick up her hat, which was lying nearby.

Taking another moment to catch her breath and rise unsteadily to her feet gave her a chance to see that the Blazer now lay on its side it the ditch. Jerry was still behind the wheel, but by the direction in which his head was bent, he probably wouldn’t be moving ever again.

Hearing a moan come from the vehicle, Kaufman was surprised to see the rear passenger door pop open. Her backpack and shoulder bag were promptly thrown from the vehicle, followed by Hardigan’s carbine, and a two-quart canteen. Hardigan himself emerged next, limping slightly. He waved as he managed to stay on his feet.

A quick check of her holster revealed to Kaufman that she’d somehow managed to hang on to her pistol, though she had no memory of doing so. She now had a few cuts and bruises, and her sweater was torn, but she felt lucky to be alive.

Hardigan looked somewhat the worse for wear, and now sported a black eye and was bleeding from his lip. “Seatbelt,” Hardigan said, panting and leaning against the wreck as Kaufman did her best jog impression and approached.

“Figured I’d take my chances rolling,” Kaufman said, quickly shrugging her pack on. “We’d better move, it doesn’t look like anyone stopped for us.”

“Guess we’re on foot then,” Hardigan said, shouldering the canteen and Kaufman’s bag.

“I can grab that bag if you don’t want to,” Kaufman offered, retrieving a partially crumpled cigarette from her hatband.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hardigan said, “We’d better get moving.”

Kaufman didn’t even have time to answer as the first of the Revenants waded into view. She simply brought her Sig up into her line of sight and began shooting.

Hardigan grabbed her by her belt and began pulling her back towards the road. “Gas is leaking,” he yelled, “we need to get clear.”

Kaufman nodded between shots, noticing the gas pooling. She was suddenly glad that she hadn’t had a chance to light her cigarette. “We’ll never make it,” she said, looking at the revenants flowing down the road, following the convoy, their numbers steadily increasing.

“We have to try,” Hardigan said. He pulled his Zippo loose and grabbed Kaufman’s cigarette from between her lips. “I need to borrow this,” he said, as she started to object. He flared it to life, and took a drag. “Better get down,” he suggested.

Sensing what he had in mind, Kaufman dropped to a crouch further down the ditch. Hardigan knelt down beside her and flicked the glowing cigarette butt towards a trail of gas rapidly forming from the damaged Blazer. With a satisfying “whump” the ember caught, and the flames rapidly spread back towards the vehicle.

“Move, we have to get clear before it blows,” Hardigan said, pulling Kaufman along by the hand now.

“We’re going the wrong way if you want to get to the airstrip,” Kaufman insisted, resisting Hardigan tugs.

“There’s no way we can make it, having to fight through those things, we need to find another way,” Hardigan said, unslinging his Remington and shooting two revenants who seemed to be drawing near from the edge of the ditch.

The explosion forced them both down, as the main tank on the Blazer exploded, detonating the cans of reserve fuel and ammo the vehicle carried.The popping sound of loose rounds of ammunition cooking off soon drowned out the sound of gunfire from the retreating convoy.

Kaufman cast a last desperate glance back at the fire and then started forward, following Hardigan. Two pistols, one rifle, little if any food, no radio, limited ammo, and not much water, Kaufman thought. Stranded on the other side of the only potential way out, and being pursued. She fired her pistol again, striking a revenant wearing a rotting clown costume. Mentally making a note to save the last round for herself, Kaufman tracked on to the next target. “We’re not getting out of this, are we?” she yelled to Hardigan.

He was loading cartridges into the chamber of his rifle one at a time, “Probably not,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry we never got to know each other better,” Kaufman said. She wondered if she ought to ask Hardigan if he was saving his last round too.

“We’re not quite dead yet,” Hardigan insisted, still moving forward.

Kaufman wasn’t at all sure that she liked the “yet” part of that statement, but kept going. There was a tree line about three hundred yards away and Hardigan seemed to have decided to make a break for it. In theory the trees might provide them the opportunity to hide themselves amidst the foliage and offer at least a temporary solace from their pursuers. Kaufman wasn’t holding out much real hope. The only good part, as far as should see, was that at least Tom would be able to fly the rest of the convoy to safety.

“Shit, I don’t know if I can do this,” Baldwin said, strapping himself into the cockpit of the C130.

“How do you think I feel?” Alice asked, strapping herself in next to him, taking the Co-Pilot’s seat.

“All I ever flew in were trainers,” Baldwin admitted.

“I thought you were supposed to be a fighter pilot or something,” Alice said, feeling the color drain from her face.

“No,” Baldwin said, pulling on a headset and beginning to run through a preflight check that mostly eluded Alice. “That was Kaufman, I washed out of pilot training and spent my tour running the officer’s mess on a cruiser before I secured an early release to go to medical school.”

“Why did you fail out?” Alice asked. She had been nominated to be co-pilot because she’d once handled the controls of an old boyfriend’s Cessna in law school, and had taken a few lessons.

“Air sickness, I kept getting sick,” Baldwin said, already looking a little green.

Alice suddenly felt more than a little green herself. “You’re kidding right?”

Baldwin shook his head, “You’re sitting where I thought I’d be, and I was hoping I’d have a lot of air sickness bags.”

“And me in my good suit,” Alice muttered, pulling on a headset of her own. “Can you get us off the ground?”

“I’m sure that will be the easy part,” Baldwin said, forcing a smile, “It’s the coming down part that I’m worried about.

They’d found the airstrip in fairly good condition. The C130H that the Germans had flown in on was still parked on the tarmac, nearby their own aging UH60 and UH1 helicopters that they used to shuttle out the search and forage teams. The small Cessna which normally also sat on the runaway was gone, having been commandeered by the on duty chopper pilot, who’d decided to make a run for it along with his crew chief, and liked his odds better in a fixed wing aircraft. The C130’s original crew was nowhere to be found, neither were the complex’s other helicopter pilots, all being presumed lost in the chaos at the complex itself.

A dozen people had already been at the airstrip, the ten guards, and two members of the permanent ground crew. They’d been busy shooting their sole machine gun in the guard tower at the revenants and stuffing whatever they thought useful into the C130 in hopes that someone who could fly it would show up. Plan B was to escape in the fuel truck and utility Humvee and take to the road.

Now that Plan A was feasible again, everyone was busy stripping the vehicles of supplies and loading them into the plane, or preparing it for take off.

Everyone save for a handful of figures, which were visible to Alice and Baldwin, who were loading into one of the Humvees rather than taking things out of it…

“You’re getting on that plane Greer, and that’s final,” Jenny said, manhandling a crate of hand grenades into the airstrips utility Humvee.

“But-“ Greer started to protest, but Finley and Stavros both grabbed her arms, and pulled her back from the vehicle.

“She’s right, you’ve got too much to lose,” Stravros said quietly, nodding at Greer’s midsection.

Greer blushed momentarily, but then fumed, “Is there any one who doesn’t know?”

“No, there isn’t,” Whitey said, walking towards the Humvee Jenny was loading. “Abernathy says the treads are shot and that we’re lucky we skidded in here, looks like we’re taking the Humvee after all,” he said, sucking on his pipe.

Greer looked at him, trying very hard not to let the tears clouding her eyes break totally free. She noticed that Whitey had his M14 tossed casually over his shoulder as though he was going duck hunting. “If anyone deserves to go it’s…”

“Nice try,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “We don’t have time for this Lisa, you’re getting on that plane and that’s final.”

Greer cast a worried glance outside the wire, looking at the steadily massing tide of revenants. “I’m a good shot, you’ll need me,” Greer said, her voice weakening.

“We’ve got plenty of crack shots,” Whitey said, his eyes opening somewhat in surprise as he saw Frenchy sitting behind the .50 caliber mount on the Humvee. “What do you think you’re doing Frenchy?”

“I’m sick of being drafted,” Frenchy said, tossing his cigarette overboard. He’d replaced his beret with a Kevlar “Fritz” helmet. “ So I figured I’d volunteer this time around, Sarge.”

“I-“ Greer started to say, but then she exhaled. “There’s no way you’re going to let me come, are you?” she asked, looking at Jenny now.

Jenny paused, setting the grenade case on the floor of the troop compartment. “No, there isn’t,” she said meeting Greer’s gaze. Jenny reached out her hand and stroked Greer’s chin. “I love him too Lisa, don’t worry, if he’s out there, we’ll get him back.” Then she leaned in and delivered a kiss that surprised Greer, as much in that it happened, as the electricity she too felt from it.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Greer admitted, the tears flowing now.

Jenny stroked her cheek again, “Don’t worry about it, I don’t plan on dying.”

“They never do,” Greer whispered.

Jenny smiled slightly and then kissed Greer again, more gently this time, before pulling away. “I personally made sure that Stavros and Finley here are going to drag you onto that plane if they have to,” Jenny said.

Stavros nodded and then patted Greer’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, we’ll take good care of you,” she said.

Greer nodded and felt herself go limp. “What about Nellie, how’s she taking it?”

“She’s just like you,” Whitey said, exhaling a cloud of whiskey-scented smoke. He’d broken open his remaining pouch of Swedish flavored tobacco for the occasion. “Doc Baldwin had to give a sedative, and we strapped her onto a bench seat. She’s too close to the issue.”

“What happens if you don’t come back?” Greer asked, feeling almost faint. She wondered if she’d soon be joining Nellie in the realm of the newly sedated.

Whitey shrugged, exchanging a glance with Jenny, who shrugged as well, and then looked away. “Then you fly away on that plane and hope Doc Baldwin knows what the hell he’s doing, you try to get to Norfolk, and you try to get on a ship. Then you sail away from his whole mess,” Jenny said.

“The Doc is going to give us an hour after you’re loaded, to try to get back,” Whitey added, helping Nikki, one of the rescued tower gunners load boxes of .50 caliber into the Humvee. She flashed him a smile as he did so. “Anything more than that, we probably aren’t coming back,” he continued, seeing Nikki frown, and then give him a thumb up for luck.

Greer swallowed hard and then nodded. “I think I’ll have one of those sedatives now please,” she said simply as she passed out.

“This is a shit car,” Dale said, grinding his cigarette out on the Mazda’s dash. “I can see why no one stole it before us.”

“Just be glad they didn’t, bro,” Tanner said, as they made their way slowly past a wrecked school bus. “Otherwise we’d be walking right now and I don’t think we’d be making it real far, do you?”

Dale grunted and pointed at the gutted console, “No radio, no cassette, no CD, no nothing,” he complained.

“What would you listen to if there was a radio? No stations are still on,” Tanner said, adding “Dumb ass.”

“Shaddup, you know what I meant. I don’t know why any one even ganked the stereo out of this crap box,” Dale said. Then he looked at the trash bag they had thrown in the back seat. “You think we should tell them about the bodies we found bro?”

“Yeah, I plan to, that was weird shit, and I think Hardigan and Whitey are going to want to know the whole 411,” Tanner said sagely.

“They might think we killed them though,” Dale said, sounding worried.

“How would they think that? Them bodies been there forever, besides if they wanted to go look at the house, they wouldn’t have sent us. They wanted those old books and photos, and we got them and more. Way I figure it, we ought to get a bonus. Maybe even get store privileges,” Tanner said.

“You think? Man, I hope they got some dandruff shampoo, and maybe some of that shit what kills lice too,” Dale said, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Word up,” Tanner said. “We be bug free and flake free we get that done dawg.”

“To dream bro, to dream,” Dale said, waxing poetic. “But that shit back there is still creeping me out. What was with the dead NASA dudes, did the old dude who lived there steal some moon rocks or some shit?”

“Dunno,” Tanner admitted, “Looked to me like they came to either grab or snuff someone, but they was hiding in the closet and got the drop on them other guys and whacked them.”

“What about the body in the basement then?” Dale said, scratching his goatee. Dale was really looking forward to getting some lice shampoo.

“You ask me-“ Tanner began.

“I just did ask you,” Dale said, sounding miffed.

“I know, that was a ree-tard-ical statement, dumbass,” Tanner snorted.

“I’ll ree-tard-ical your ass,” Dale threatened, shaking his fist momentarily, “But what was with the dead smelly lady in the office.”

“That was the dude’s wife I think, he must have snuffed her,” Tanner said.

“Cause she got bit or something?” Dale asked, “Damn it,” he cursed, “There ain’t no light knob, just a little no smoking sign doohickey.”

“Damn communards,” Tanner agreed. “I don’t think she got bit, you ask me-“

“Of course I’m asking you, we just covered that,” Dale said testily.

Tanner glowered, “I’ll choose to ignore your ignoramus outburst. Asking me, I says he snuffed his ole lady cause she was cheating on him or something.”

“Maybe getting a little on the side with the lawnscapers?” Dale asked, making an obscene gesture with his fingers. “We used to when we mowed lawns, remember when Mrs. Ostrander the math lady came to the door buck nekkid and wanted to take us both on?”

“Damn straight,” Tanner agreed, smiling in recollection.

“Man, I don’t care if she was seventy something, that old lady liked to fuck,” Dale said.

“I dunno dude, I was pretty high, but wasn’t it Mr. Ostrander only he was wearing a dress?” Tanner asked, puzzled.

“You know dawg, I don’t remember, I was pretty high too,” Dale said reflectively.

“Eh,” Tanner said dismissively, “Don’t matter none. I bet that the dead lady’s old man found out and whacked her.”

“Then what? Man this shit is cool, just like on when we used to watch Law and Order,” Dale said, nodding his head.

“Yeah bro, maybe we ought become like detectives or something,” Tanner nodded.

“Sweet,” Dale said.

“I bet her sent back some people to whack his daughter too,” Tanner said, tucking his glasses back up on his nose to appear more professional.

“That’d be some cold blooded shit dawg,” Dale said, then he smiled, “Yeah, I’d be down with it though, can’t have people knowing your bid-ness.”

“Damn straight,” Tanner agreed.

“What about all that moon rock bullshit though, it seemed like this dude did something important, maybe his wife knew too much and he had to get her whacked, like on James Bond,” Dale said, pondering the issue.

“Callous dude, but could be,” Tanner said. “I wonder if they’ll pay us extra for our deductering.”

“Bro, how they could not, what with insights like ours?” Dale said, snorting.

Tanner bobbed his head in agreement. In the back of his mind, he remembered a page on his word a day calendar entitled “IRONY”, but he soon forgot the notion and went back to concentrating on his driving.

“Maybe you’d better go on without me,” Hardigan said, collapsing momentarily against a tree. “I think I tore a muscle in my leg, the pain is starting to get to me,” he grunted, rubbing his calf.

“As a medical professional, I normally wouldn’t advise a patient to get up and run around after an auto-accident,” Kaufman said, leaning one arm on the tree next to Hardigan and resting. “These aren’t exactly normal circumstances though.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know if I can keep up,” Hardigan said.

Kaufman raised her hat incrementally and looked down at Hardigan, “Alright,” she whispered as she thumbed back the hammer on the Sig-Sauer and rested the muzzle along the top of Hardigan’s head.

“Umm, whatcha doing there Doc?” he asked carefully.

“I won’t leave you for those things,” Kaufman said, her voice devoid of emotion. “I learned a long time ago that this is the best way.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I just wanted a pep talk, or a little encouragement?” Hardigan said, his voice still measured. “But oh no, let’s shoot the weak,” he clucked his tongue.

Kaufman let the muzzle of her pistol drop to point only at the ground and then decocked it. She laughed, “I was really going to shoot you too,” she said, finding that that only made her laugh harder.

Hardigan laughed too, “I know you were, it’s nice to see you care that way.” He raised his gaze momentarily.

Kaufman smirked, “If we survive this, and I do mean if, let me know if you ever want to expand on that little mating triune of yours.” She said, holstering her pistol. “And I mean that.”

“Thanks,” Hardigan said, “Somehow, coming from you, that means something. I’m still not quite sure what, but something.” Hardigan looked over his shoulder, they still had a view of the road, but it was heavily obscured by the trees.

Hundreds of revenants were still milling around, they seemed to be massing for something. Hardigan felt a chill go down his spine; they weren’t supposed to be intelligent like that. What they were supposed to be, no one was quite sure. That was probably why people liked to call them freaks, or simply things. In the early days, some people had maintained that the Rapture had come and that these were the newly risen dead, waiting to be judged. Others said that they were the judgment, the judgment of all mankind. Hardigan wondered where that left him.

“There’s too many of them for us to try to make it to the airstrip,” Kaufman said, the first signs of despair in her voice.

“On foot at least,” Hardigan admitted. “And we’ve moved about a half mile father away.” He swung his canteen off of his shoulder and took a drink, swirling the tepid, chemical tasting water around in his mouth before swallowing. Then slowly took another pull. There was no telling how long the water would have to last them, so he wanted to make it last. Finally, he handed the canteen to Kaufman.

Nodding her thanks, Kaufman took a long pull, letting just a hint dribble now her chin, “Sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth self-consciously. “I guess I got greedy there.” She capped the canteen and handed it back to Hardigan.

“Don’t worry about it Doc,” he said, “Too many people die of thirst with full canteens anyway. Water in your belly beats water in your bottle.”

“Stop calling me Doc,” Kaufman said, “I told you before, just call me Laura.”

“Alright, deal. I’m Jack by the way,” Hardigan said.

“That’s a manly name,” Kaufman chuckled.

“Thanks,” Hardigan said. “You know, Laura, you look like a cowboy in that hat.”

“Keeps the sun out of my eyes,” Kaufman said. “And makes it harder to tell I’m a woman from a distance.”

“Ah,” Hardigan said, finally understanding.

Kaufman nodded, her face serious, “I’m sorry that I got you killed Jack,” she said quietly.

“I don’t see how you’re responsible, if you hadn’t come and gotten me, I’d have either died locked in an office, or defending the compound. At least out here I lived a little longer, and I got to help Greer and the others get away.”

“You never really had a chance to talk to her about the baby, did you?” Kaufman said, sadly.

“No, I didn’t,” Hardigan admitted. “I’m kind of sorry about that too, but I honestly do hope she keeps it.”

Kaufman nodded, “I guess I’d sort of assumed it was yours, would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t.”

Hardigan chuckled sourly, “So far as I know it would have to be mine, unless of course it’s somehow Jenny’s, but then we’ve all got problems if Jenny is somehow the father, don’t we Do- Laura?”

Kaufman tilted her hat back down. “We probably ought start moving again, instead of sitting here talking.”

“I’d tend to agree with you there,” Hardigan said, “Only if we move back to the compound, we’ll get eaten, if we stay here, we’ll be found and eaten, and if we go anywhere else…”

“We’ll probably get lost and starve to death it the howling wilderness,” Kaufman finished for him.

“Yeah, that seems to be the gist of our options,” Hardigan admitted. “Slim chance?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kaufman.

“Sounds like the one for me,” Kaufman said, smiling. She reached a hand down to help Hardigan up. “Next time I’ll give you the pep talk. Just be ready to do the same for me. Unless I really can’t get up, then do for me what I was going to do for you, deal?”

“Deal,” Hardigan agreed clasping her hand. He saw the scars on her arm again as she helped him up. Silently, he also vowed to make sure that Kaufman wouldn’t have to go through anything like that again either.

“Contact,” Baldwin said, starting the engines.

“Roger,” Alice said, looking out the cockpit windows to confirm that the props were rotating. She scanned her eyes rapidly across an assortment of dials. No alarms seemed to be going off, and none of the gauges seemed to be in the red. The plane was almost done loading, and the gates were starting to become clogged with revenants. It looked as though more were on the way too. Already they’d taken the fuel truck down along the fence line and sprayed some of the worst clumps down with high-octane aviation gas, before drawing back and setting them alight. Stavros and Finley had proven to be surprisingly adept at this maneuver, Alice reflected, at least they had managed not to burn themselves up.

“We sound almost like real pilots,” she said, eyeing the collection of gauges again.

“Well, I did fly one of these once in Microsoft Flight Simulator,” Baldwin admitted.

“Be still my beating heart,” Alice said, smiling weakly. She cast another worried glance outside the windows, despite the prop wash, Finley and Stavros were helping a woman in an Army uniform strip one of the .50 calibers out of a Humvee and bring it towards the plane. Alice thought the woman’s name was Nikki, the tower guard, but she wasn’t sure. “What are they going to do with that?” she asked.

“Maybe they found a tripod some where, with the right mounts, we can set it up later on the ground if we have to,” Baldwin said, beginning to flip more switches whose purpose eluded Alice and perhaps him as well.

“Do you think we can wait until the others get back?” Alice asked, her voice cracking.

“I’m going to try,” Baldwin said, his voice flat and toneless, “But if too many of those freaks out there come along, we’re going to have leave, with or without them.”

“But-“ Alice started to say.”

“Kaufman was my friend, we’ve been together since this all started almost, ever since she came to the compound, believe me, if there was any way to save her, I would, but I can’t risk you and everyone here to do it,” Baldwin said, grinding his teeth.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were so close,” Alice felt her cheeks color and looked away, “I mean, I hadn’t realized…” She paused and tried again, “Were you…”

“If you’re asking if we were lovers, no we weren’t. Laura’s an attractive woman, I give you that, and maybe under other circumstances, I’d have been interested. But no, I don’t think Laura goes much for men these days anyway. Besides, we got along too well as friends and colleagues,” Baldwin said. He offered Alice a slight smile. “Seems everyone is putting you on the spot today.”

“You’ve got that right Mister,” Alice said sourly. “All I wanted was another boring day of bland food and old TV programs. All this excitement I don’t need.” She flashed Baldwin a very weak smile. “I feel guilty even flirting with you at a time like this,” she admitted. “Like I’m doing something wrong, or not concentrating, we all could be dead in another hour and here I am flirting with the handsome young doctor…” She noticed Baldwin staring. “Okay, I’m rambling, I’ll shut up now.”

Baldwin smiled back warmly, “Don’t worry about it. Though we might all be dead in less than an hour, I’m not entirely sure that the plane won’t crash or explode on take off.”

From the tone of his voice, Alice wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, and he went back to moving switches before she could ask. Alice simply swallowed hard and began clicking the heels of shoes together, happy that she’d worn flats. “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” she began to whisper.

Greer felt her eyes were heavy, but she finally managed to open them a bit, momentary disorientation followed as she tried to place just where she was. Back on a stretcher she surmised as she saw a familiar face looking at her from another stretcher.

“Hi,” Nellie said meekly.

“Hello,” Greer said, wondering at her own clipped and precise tone. Her mouth tasted oddly of metal and burnt cordite.

“They strapped us in already,” Nellie said, pulling slightly against the straps holding her in her stretcher.

“Are you hurt?” Greer asked, with a bit of concern.

“No, they just didn’t want either of us running off to try to play rescuer,” Nellie said, tugging slightly against the canvas straps holding her in her stretcher.

“Doctor Baldwin gave us both something to calm us down I guess, but you had already fainted,” Nellie said, concern evident in her voice.

“I’ll be okay,” Greer said, though she wondered at her own lightheadedness.

“It seems like they’re going to take off soon,” Nellie said. “One of the men who was already at the airstrip has served as a crew chief before, he said he’d bring by some ear plugs, I guess it’s going to get loud in here. They tested the engines a moment ago, and I could hardly hear,” she said, making a face.

Greer thought about nodding, but decided the effort would be too painful, instead she merely said, “That might be what woke me up. How long have I been out?”

“I don’t know,” Nellie admitted, she tugged one arm against the strap slightly, “I can’t really see my watch.” For some reason that effort made her blush, “But probably no more than ten minutes.”

“How long since the Humvee left?” Greer asked, wondering if they should be back about now.

“About half an hour, or just over, I think,” Nellie said, chewing her lip.

“Just past the point of no return,” Greer said quietly.

“What?” Nellie asked, looking ashen again.

Greer wondered if Nellie would start sobbing again, “The plane is only going to wait an hour, so they’re past the half way point, they’re either on the way back, or they’re not going to make it.”

“Oh,” Nellie said, her face sinking still further, “I wish they hadn’t strapped me down like this, I could have helped maybe.”

“I know that feeling,” Greer said, somehow finding the effort to offer Nellie a weak smile.

“Do you think we’ll be okay where we’re going?” Nellie asked, her voice suddenly sounding more like a child.

Greer supposed it was probably whatever they’d been given kicking in more, but she felt calmer herself. “I think so Nellie,” she said, wondering if she was lying. Greer wasn’t sure what she thought any more, or how much of what her father had told her to believe.

“Laura used to tie me to the bed like this when I wouldn’t want to listen to her,” Nellie said, her face taking an oddly soothed expression. Without adding anything else, she started snoring.

Greer whispered, “Get some sleep Nellie, sweet dreams,” and was greeted with only a faint murmur from Nellie’s lips in response. Staring at the ceiling, Greer began to hope that she too would fall back asleep soon. As the motors of the plane’s engines began to vibrate again, she wondered at Nellie’s timeline and how much time was really left, for any of them. She also wondered if she’d ever dream again. Greer soon found that the sedatives she’d been given were more powerful than she’d thought, as she drifted off.

“Stop sleeping behind that fifty,” Whitey yelled. From his spot in the passenger seat of their Humvee, he’d already exhausted the contents of three twenty round magazines, and was halfway through his fourth.

“Who’s sleeping?” Frenchy yelled back, triggering a burst from the .50 in response.

“You keep missing them,” Whitey complained, snapping off two more hastily aimed shots and dropping a copier repairman who had been in a position to attempt to leap onto the Humvee.

Their vehicle was already splattered with gore. Simply getting out of the airstrips gates was no longer so simple. They’d had to pick up speed and slam their way out, cutting through a packed mass of revenants. Even with the combined fire of their M2 .50 caliber, and Whitey’s M14, it had taken them almost half an hour to get back to the spot where the Blazer had wrecked. This was because of frequently having to turn down side streets or make loops to gather ramming speed.

“I’m hitting plenty of them too,” Frenchy retorted. A stream of hot brass ejected from the gun in proof of his point, cascading into the troop compartment. Two metal .50 caliber boxes were already emptied and upended onto their sides.

“You can sleep when you’re dead, just keep shooting,” Whitey said, dropping his partial magazine and rocking a new one into place. That was one downside to the M14 he thought, the magazines didn’t drop straight out like on an M16, instead you had to groove them in just right, lock them in place in the front, and then seat them rest of the way. Despite the slowed reloading time, Whitey liked the extra punch the .308 rounds gave him.

“We’re all going to die,” Frenchy yelled down.

Jenny continued to drive, running down the revenants as necessary. She kept looking at her watch, “Time’s about up,” she said simply.

“We’re almost there,” White said, trying to be as encouraging as possible. “Just hang in there,” he fired again.

“There’s smoke up ahead, 11 o’clock,” Frenchy yelled, tracking his weapon to clear a path in front of them.

Jenny put her foot straight to the floor and smashed through the revenants in front of them on the road. A normal Humvee had a top speed of about sixty miles per hour, armored ones dropped depending on the level of the armor package. White estimated that they were probably going about fifty when they crashed through the flesh barrier in front of them, but somehow Jenny kept control.

“There it is, there’s the wreck,” Frenchy yelled.

They barreled right past it on their first attempt, as there were too many revenants for them to slow down, let alone get out. Jenny made a dangerous and half insane U turn, sideswiping bodies aside and sped back, giving them a better view of the Blazer.

“Or what’s left of it,” Whitey said, pausing from his sporadic sniping to study the wreck, as Jenny slowed slightly. The wreckage was burnt out, and the gas tank had obviously gone up. The burned and mangled body of the driver could still be seen in the front seat. “I’m sorry,” Whitey said. There was no sign of anyone else.

“We need to keep looking,” Jenny said, her voice manic, as she swung the wheel around again.

“Time’s up,” Whitey said, pointing at his watch. “I’m sorry, but we’re just too late,” he sighed.

“NO!” Jenny yelled, slamming the wheel around and sending them speeding the wreckage again.

“She’s going to kill us!” Frenchy screamed, doing his best to hang on, his gun swinging in a wide arc.

Whitey watched the tracers bound up off the earth and corkscrew about the tree line. “Damn it Jenny, use your head, he’s gone, they’re both gone. Greer is going to need you!” He grabbed the wheel and steadied her hand on it. “Now turn us around!”

“No, no, no,” Jenny sobbed.

“Pull it together,” Whitey said, still steadying the wheel as he began to guide them back to towards the airstrip. He wondered if they’d make it back themselves.

“Well, we made it this far,” Mac said, trying to soothe Molly.

“I know Mac, but now what?” Molly said, staring at the throngs of revenants crossing near their apartment building.

“People seem to ask me that a lot,” Mac said. He unfolding a piece of Wall Street Journal and began to roll a cigarette. A headline near the top of the page read “Nobel Laureate Bio-Chemist Named in Divorce Suit, Earnings Plummet As A Result of Unusual Scientific Rivalry.” Mac kept bits and pieces of even back issues, and had torn that sheet off of one of those he’d used to line their blankets. Striking a match, he lit it and pondered the next step.

“Where’s there’s one nest of reavers, there’s usually more,” Mac said.

“I’m just glad I took my bag with my Joes and Army men and Teddy,” Larry said. “Cause now we have to run again.”

“That’s a practical way to look at it,” Mac said, thinking that Larry had an excellent point. “Most of what we need to survive for a while, we’ve got on the bike. And we still have a fair amount of gas in it.”

“We could use those thermate grenades you found to get back to the apartment, couldn’t we Mac?” Molly asked, making her hopeful nose wrinkle.

“We could,” Mac ventured, “But there’s no municipal fire department any more, so if the blaze gets out of hand, we’re on our own. Thermate doesn’t exactly discriminate in what it burns,” he added.

Molly made her disappointed nose wrinkle and frowned deeply, “We’re on the road again, aren’t we?”

“It won’t be so bad Molly,” Larry said cheerfully. “We’ve got Mac now, he’ll protect us, won’t you Mac?”

Mac smiled, finding the confidence Larry had somehow developed in him to be rather touching. “Sure thing Larry,” Mac said. “And we’ve got the bike now, vroom, vroom, right?”

Larry grinned before frowning momentarily, “I still wish I could have sat in the helicopter.”

“I know, but it made a nice explosion, didn’t it?” Mac asked, trying a different approach.

“It sure did,” Larry agreed, his enthusiasm returning.

“I sometimes think you too are far too alike,” Molly said, but she now had a trace of a smile.

Mac put his arm against her and pulled her close. “Come here you,” he said, though she didn’t resist. “We’re going to do just fine, I swear to you.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of promise that is in your power to make Mac,” Molly whispered into his ear, following it with a kiss.

“I’ll decide what I can or can’t promise,” Mac replied, returning the kiss. What the hell, I’ll return it with interest, Mac thought, as he kissed her harder. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Molly said, nodding. She cast another glance at the revenants. “They have to be headed some place, maybe that place is still holding out. Maybe we can get help there.” Molly said.

“We might not like the kind of help they’d offer,” Mac said cautiously. He wasn’t thinking so much of himself, though it was possible that living in a bunker too long might make him look particularly pretty to some poor troopers. He looked at Molly, and worried about what sort of interest she’d engender.

Molly seemed to pick up on what he was thinking and shrugged, “It’s a risk we have to take Mac, we only have so much food and ammo on the bike. We don’t know what else is out there otherwise. More revenants and reaver nests, we know that.”

Mac grunted and took another drag off his cigarette, returning it to his lips from where he’d been holding it to the side so that he could kiss Molly. “Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind then,” he said.

“Our minds,” Molly said, making a happy nose wrinkle, “I made up our minds,” she said.

“Well thanks for consulting me at least,” Mac said.

“You’re welcome,” Molly laughed.

“We ride now?” Larry asked.

“Yeah, looks like that,” Mac said.

“Cool,” Larry said, climbing back into the sidecar. “Vroom, vroom,” he said.

“This is not cool,” Kaufman said, pulling herself to her feet. A .50 caliber tracer round had shattered into a pine tree near her head.

Hardigan continued waving his arms and even discharged his carbine into the air, all to no avail. He watched as the Humvee spun around and headed back the way it had come. “They didn’t see us,” he said, turning to Kaufman.

“Doesn’t appear that way,” she said, “Unless they just plain don’t like us any more and that shot was deliberate.”

Graunch Solution Part 11

“Looks like Sarge knew what he was doing,” Jenny said from the gunner’s seat as she swung her machine gun to track on the gradually opening space in front of them. The number three Humvee had an M240 GPMG mounted on it. The letters meant general-purpose machine gun, and it fired the same .308 rounds as Whitey’s M14, which made it a lot more powerful than an M16 though notably less so than one of the .50 cals. Since they had 1200 rounds and a spare barrel for it on board, Jenny was still quite happy.

Greer was sitting in the passenger seat and frowned. There was a man and a woman sitting behind them in the troop compartment, and she still doesn’t know their names. They were cuddling two children, perhaps theirs, perhaps not, a boy and a girl. She knew their names to be Carl and Dorothy, from the two adults soothing them. Greer unconsciously let her hand fall to her abdomen, and then turned away from the troop compartment, not wanting to stare any longer, and realizing that their passengers were already self-absorbed. Instead she opened one of the magazine pouches on the tactical vest she’d pulled on over her t-shirt, allowing her faster access to a spare magazine. There was also a built in holster on the vest, which was suitably adjustable that it now carried Greer’s Colt. She’d even had time to pull on a pair of BDU pants which more or less fit, and now covered her legs.

A part of Greer wished she was riding with Hardigan. Another part of her wanted to go curl up into a ball and cry. And still another part of her quietly whispered that in two separate vehicles, there was a better chance of one of them getting out alive. If what her father told her was true, she wasn’t sure how much good that would do, but one step at a time, she reminded herself.

“Almost open,” Nellie said, revving the engine. She claimed to know how to drive a Humvee, and Greer was inclined to believe her. Nellie had proved to have a surprising depth of calm beneath her surface frailty. Am I like that, Greer wondered?

Nellie noticed her staring and smiled, “Don’t worry, it’ll all be just peaches.”

“Peaches,” Greer repeated, then forced a smile. She assumed that be a favorite expression of Nellie.

One of the children whimpered in the back, only to be shushed by one of the adults. Greer put it out of her mind and focused forward, pausing for only an instant to finger the bandages that Dr. Kaufman had wound around her head. “Just like old times,” she said quietly. So long as she focused on the moment, on the here and now, she knew she could keep going.

“Yeppers,” Jenny said from the gunner’s position, sounding cheerful. She hadn’t asked Greer about the baby, or about her father, or the rest of it. When they’d gotten in, she’d paused only long enough to grasp Greer’s hand and whisper, “No rush, tell me what you’re ready to tell when you’re ready.” For some reason that simple gesture had almost brought tears to Greer’s eyes.

The door slid open revealing the sunlight, and also hundreds of revenants. Greer’s eyes snapped to the front as Jenny triggered a long burst. For some reason Greer felt light headed but in a good way. As she brought the rifle up to her shoulder, preparing to fire it out the open window, and felt the Humvee lurch into motion, she realized that she had never felt more alive.

“I feel like I’m half dead,” Tanner said, yawning. He wasn’t sure it was sleeping in the tree that had done him in, or if it was from staying alert waiting for more motorized noises.

“I’m not sure which way them sounds was headed any more,” Dale had said before they’d tried to get what sleep they could.

Tanner had had to admit that he wasn’t sure either, what he did know was that he felt lousy. “I hope we don’t have to sleep out in the rain much more,” he said morosely.

“We’d best get started,” Dale said, shimmying down the tree. He waited for Tanner at the bottom, his shotgun at the ready. Despite their limited amount of remaining ammunition, neither of them planned to go down without a fight.

Tanner carefully dropped the last few inches to the earth, it was still wet from the rain, but at least the temperature was up a bit. He tugged a somewhat damp cigarette loose from in back of his ear. At least they’d managed to save most of the cigarettes.

“What do you is so important about those books and papers we’re supposed to find?” Dale asked, voicing the question not for the first time.

“Guess maybe some people just want bits and pieces of their old lives back,” Tanner said, fidgeting with his hat and glasses a bit more.

“Seems a lot of trouble, but I guess so long as we get paid,” Dale said, “You think they can help us get a new truck?”

“I don’t know,” Tanner admitted, “I suppose they’ll say it was our fault for wrecking it, cause we was high and such.”

“Their fault for hiring us, bro, I mean folks ought know we get high,” Dale reasoned.

“True enough,” Tanner said, “Six of one half dozen of another,” he said cryptically. “What I think is this, we go down there and find what they told us to, then see how grateful they are. If we don’t bring anything back, or don’t come back, we don’t get anything anyway.”

“Shit, are we having fun yet?” Dale muttered.

“Whee,” Larry said, “I love this ride, Mac,” he said, beaming.

“Thanks kid,” Mac said, adjusting his goggles and turning his head to the sidecar slightly. “Just hang on tight, okay?”

Larry nodded, and contentedly kept a watch on the woods around the road.

Molly held on tight to Mac, she had the Smith and Wesson Model 3000 strapped over his back. Her hair was whipping around wildly behind her, despite the fact that she was wearing Mac’s skater helmet. “This is fun,” she admitted, yelling into Mac’s ear to be heard.

Mac had his sombrero and goggles on, and he liked to imagine that he cut a dashing figure. For once, he felt his cycle jacket was back in its element. The bike had been an odd find; they’d found it in back of the post office of all places, hidden behind a pile of empty mailing container and an overturned mail jeep. It had had a full tank of gas and still started on the first try.

Mac had been going to the post office periodically to siphon propane off of a large tank they had to run his stove. He’d never noticed it before, and they probably wouldn’t have unless Larry had seen the spangles attached to an antenna on the bike. The bike’s CB got nothing but static of course, but it still ran.

The plan, such as Mac had come up with on the fly, was to circle around the worst of the revenants and get to the helicopter and recover the thermate charges. After that, they could either cut out on the bike, or maybe try to find a Jeep or truck. Getting around the revenants had proven to be a bit of a problem though, as they’d discovered stragglers to the column were stretched out for quite some distance along the road. Mac was happy just to have avoided any serious fights, but he had his Tommy gun along just in case.

They’d passed a newly wrecked truck that was loaded down with supplies on their way. To Mac, it looked as though all the vehicle might need were four new tires and some other minor work. He’d made a note of its location. If they had a trailer for it, they could even carry the bike.

He mentally berated himself for getting too far ahead of the plan. Still, he had a better feeling than he had for some time. Who knows, he thought, if he and Molly could find some parts and tires, and get that truck started again, they might be able to find some place up in the mountains somewhere, or even find their way to a port and get on a boat. Most of Mac’s anger at Molly was now repressed, if not altogether forgotten. She was right about one thing, as far as Mac was concerned, and that was that they at least had each other.

“We might just be okay after all,” Mac yelled back to Molly. Before them, on the far horizon, Mac could see the remains of a few skyscrapers. A larger city must have been up ahead, he thought. He wasn’t even sure which one it was, or whether it mattered in the end. “We’re on the return portion of the loop now,” Mac said. “If those things are thin enough, we might even be able to beeline it right back to the apartment.”

“Whichever is fine with me,” Molly yelled back, “It just feels good to be out and about.”

Mac knew what she meant; it was a powerful sense of freedom to be on the road again. Even to be outside of the cramped four walls of their apartment cum fortress was proving to be a treat. The bike was giving them mobility enough that Mac didn’t feel the need to keep looking over his shoulder. On foot, every tangle of bushes or pile of wreckage might be a death trap. Even with the sidecar, the bike was maneuverable enough to avoid most of the wrecks still littering the roads.

“This is how it used to be,” Molly yelled. “Being able to go places.”

Mac thought he could hear a trace of sadness in her voice, “Almost as free as flying,” he yelled back.

“Will we get to ride in the helicopter, Mac?” Larry asked hopefully. “I’d like that a lot.”

“We’ll see,” Mac said. “Tell you what, at least you can climb on it. I’ll let you sit in the front seat and you can play with all the controls.”

Larry beamed and went back to staring at the countryside wide eyed. Mac wondered had happened to the boy’s parents. He’d never asked, and Molly claimed not to know either. Larry never talked about them, except for alluding that his father had given him the GI Joe figures, and his mother the Teddy bear. Mac wondered if the boy’s father had been a soldier. That might explain why he’d survived and his parents hadn’t. When the Army finally came apart, some dependents were the last ones left still being defended in the rescue centers.

“We could get away on this, couldn’t we Mac?” Molly asked, pulling her arms tighter around Mac.

“Maybe,” Mac agreed. In fact, that’s not a bad idea, Mac thought to himself. “The problem is where to we go,” he admitted.

“Go, go, go,” Hardigan yelled into the mic of the PRC-77 as he jumped back into the Blazer. The door was up, allowing the vehicles access to the ramp, but allowing the thousands of revenants to mill towards this sudden new opening. To make things even more interesting, some revenants already inside were now swarming up behind them. “Gun it,” he yelled, slamming the door and tapping Jerry on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me twice Sarge,” Jerry said, pulling on a pair of Oakley’s and turning his garrison cap backwards.

Suddenly Hardigan’s ears were ringing from the muzzle blast of his own carbine going off, being fired by Kaufman. “Roll down the rest of the windows!” he yelled, feeling the concussion of the blast reverberate.

Jerry toggled the power windows down as the Blazer shot forward, assuming rear slot in the convoy, right behind the number four Humvee that was entirely full of refugees and was the only one lacking a gun mount.

Kaufman was riding shotgun in a very literal sense, as she was firing Hardigan’s Remington Model Seven, letting the shell casings bounce off the dash as she cycled the action. Hardigan looked out the rear window and realized that she was shooting at revenants coming up behind them. He thought he caught a glimpse of some larger, darker shape, but he couldn’t be sure.

The rear window suddenly spider webbed as one of the revenants rammed himself into it, a spray of half congealed blood and yellowed teeth running along the glass as the Chevy picked up speed.

Hardigan grabbed Jerry’s M4 carbine and flicked the safety to semiautomatic. He leveled the muzzle and fired it out through the window, his ears ringing even worse afterwards. The glass shattered, pebbles of safety glass flying around the interior.

“Son of a bitch,” Kaufman yelled, jumping slightly and slapping at her chest.

Hardigan fired several more shots at the revenants closest to their tailgate before he could turn his head. His first thought was that a stray round had somehow hit Kaufman. “You hit?” he yelled.

“No, God damn it,” Kaufman said. She’d apparently shot the carbine dry as she now pulled the Sig and leaned partially out the window, firing it first behind them, and then in front.

“What happened?” Hardigan yelled, yanking back the bolt on Jerry’s carbine to clear a jam. The weapon didn’t appear to be well maintained.

“Hot brass down my cleavage,” Kaufman yelled back between shots.

“Ouch,” Hardigan agreed as he shoved the forward bolt assist to finish chambering a new round. He was able to fire another shot, and the weapon promptly jammed again. “Fuck,” Hardigan cursed, dropping it to the side. He pulled his Kimber from his shoulder rig.

Looking back forward, Hardigan saw the daylight wash over them as they spilled out into the courtyard. The M113 was in the lead, Whitey behind the .50 caliber, pumping out rounds. No one seemed to be worried about the barrels of their weapons burning out. “I hope you can cut a path Whitey,” Hardigan thought.

At that very moment, Whitey was thinking much the same thing, as the APC lurched over the bodies of several revenants that had become caught in the tracks. He wondered how many bodies it would take to foul the treads. Replacing the treads if they came off was a difficult and time consuming process, one that he didn’t really want to attempt in the midst of the current swarm.

Whitey swung his heavy machine gun and trigged another long burst. The ammo box had a 1:1:1 mix of tracer, ball, and armor piercing, so he was aiming only coarsely and using the tracers to visually correct his fire. The .50 caliber had been designed after the First World War as an anti-tank weapon; advances in armor negated its value as such. But it still made a hell of a weapon against all things living, or dead, or quasi-dead, Whitey thought as he watched a ricochet bound up from the dirt and tear open the chest of a revenant wearing a disco medallion.

“Disco Stu is disco dead,” he intoned solemnly, tracking fresh targets. “Can this beast go any faster?” Whitey yelled into the intercom.

“This isn’t a sports car,” Abernathy replied from the driver’s seat. “And I can’t see much through these vision blocks to be begin with.”

The bow of the APC hit another revenant, severing her neatly in half. The bottom half of her body was ground to a pulp under the treads, the strap on a Gucci shoe catching and sucking the rest of her under. A dull reddish-black smear fouled the ground behind them. The upper portion of her body remained hanging on to the front bow, banging a bloodied fist on the hatch.

“Shit,” Whitey muttered, the .50 caliber wouldn’t depress enough to let him shoot her off.

“Damn it, shoot that bitch,” Abernathy screamed over the intercom, “I can’t see with her blocking the ports!” Almost as if to illustrate the point, their right side clipped through a milling crowd of over a dozen revenants, greasing their treads with still more entrails.

“I’m on it,” Whitey replied tersely. He was glad that he’d secured a tanker rig like Hardigan’s for his own .45, as he’d never have been able to reach the Browning Hi Power hanging from his hip in time. As it was, the moving and swerving vehicle delayed him briefly in pulling his Springfield Armory 1911A1 and brining into bear. “Say bye bye,” Whitey muttered as he shot the revenant in the head, splitting her skull. Her torso soon fell beneath the tracks.

“We having fun yet?” he asked the intercom.

“Looks like someone else died with their best clothes on too,” Alice commented dryly between squeezing off rounds from her M1 carbine. She’d just seen a woman in a Chanel dress and Gucci shoes, or what had once been a woman rather, cut in half by the APC, and then shot in the head. What was left of her was just a smear on the ground now.

“It did seem like a valid theory,” Baldwin said, gritting his teeth as he jerked the wheel hard, pulling them towards the remaining gun tower.

“Shit, shit, shit, going to die, going to die, going to die, shit, shit, shit,” Frenchy kept repeating from his seat behind their .50 caliber.

“Shut up!” Stavros yelled, emptying her M4 out the window and reaching for a Mossberg Model 590 shotgun. She snapped the rubber recoil pad of the shotgun to her shoulder tight as she could, but still winced as she pulled the trigger. “Who loaded this with magnum shells?” she yelled, followed by a string of Serbo -Croatian curses.

“Going to die, going to die,” Frenchy kept yelling, holding down the butterfly triggers of his .50 caliber the entire time.

“You sound like me,” Finley yelled cheerfully as he fired his snub nose .38 out the window, covering his own sector.

There was more Serbo-Croatian cursing as Stavros fired the shotgun again. “There’s so many of them!” she yelled, switching to English.

Alice wondered what Stavros had been saying, but thought that Frenchy was probably far too busy to want to translate. Instead she concentrated on sighting down the barrel of her own weapon, wanting to make each shot count. “I even wore my last remaining set of good underwear,” she muttered, pulling the trigger again.

“Yeah?” Baldwin grunted, twisting the wheel again and sideswiping a man in a rotting UPS uniform. There were hundreds more swarming towards them, but he slowed the vehicle temporarily, to help provide cover for the other vehicles to rescue the gun tower crew. He pulled his own pistol from his hip holster and began firing out the window.

“Victoria’s Secret,” Alice said, firing again, not even able to take a moment to look at Baldwin. “Purple, matching French cut…” she dropped her empty magazine and slammed a fresh one home. “I was on a trip when all this started…” she fired again. “Silly me, there was this guy I had the hots for, we were going to meet up and head to…” She fired again, a long string as fast as she could pull the trigger.

“What happened?” Baldwin yelled, dropping his own empty magazine and clawing out a fresh one.

“We never met up,” Alice yelled, pulling the trigger again. “I still had those and this suit in my carry on case this whole time.”

“Maybe you can show me some time,” Baldwin said, meeting her gaze for just an instant before swinging his pistol back up. It was just long enough for Alice to see his smirk.

“I might just do that,” she whispered back, continuing to track the incoming revenants.

“What is this, a match making service?” Frenchy yelled down from the gunner’s seat. “Shit, we’re all going to die,” he added, before the .50 drowned him out again.

“Don’t feel bad, you’re a good looking guy-,” Finley started to say.

“Eww,” Stavros said, “You’re so going to get it later.”

“What, it was your idea to-“

There was more Serbo-Croatian cursing as Stavro’s shotgun slammed into her shoulder again.

“There’s hundreds of them,” Alice said, looking at the surging mass.

“They’d better get those people out of the tower soon,” Baldwin agreed.

“Christ, watch where you’re going,” Jenny yelled down at Nellie, who as they pulled to a temporary stop near the tower. Jenny’s M240 didn’t recoil as much as one of the .50 calibers, nor was it as loud. This was allowing her to plant more precise, short bursts, into the surging crowd. Even so she doubted that they could hold back the tide for long.

“I’m sorry,” Nellie yelled back, feeling rattled. She’d come within six inches of hitting one of the 2-½ ton trucks.

Next to her, Greer was doing her best to continue to concentrate only on the moment. She did hope that Nellie wouldn’t start crying again, she wasn’t sure that her nerves would be able to take it. She cast a concerned glance at the two adults and two children in the troop compartment. They seemed to be doing their best to huddle down and avoid the hot brass falling from Jenny’s M240. “It’s going to be okay,” Greer yelled, smiling and trying to be encouraging. She didn’t realize it, but one of the masonry cuts on her cheek had reopened and there was not a trail of blood down her chin.

“I hope they hurry,” Nellie whispered, and then suddenly she floored the gas and swerved them violently to the side.

Greer barely had time to brace herself, and even so, she dropped the spare magazine she had been pulling free to the floorboards where it joined several empties. “Damn,” Greer muttered, leaning to the floor to retrieve it, and wondering what was going on.

“What the hell?” Jenny exclaimed, the sudden evasive maneuver had caused her to momentarily turn the M240 into an anti-aircraft gun as she painted the sky with tracers.

“I didn’t want to get hit by the tank,” Nellie said calmly.

Greer and Jenny both focused at about the same time to see the M113 skidding half out of control, and hit one leg of the gun tower. It had nearly hit them on its way past.

“That was some good driving after all,” Jenny whispered in appreciation.

Whitey had less kind words for his own driver. “Jesus H. Christ Tripod, are you trying to kill us all?” he asked as the impacted one leg of the gun tower. He had been thrown forward in the cupola, but only his pride was bruised. A quick glance into the troop compartment showed that it was in disarray, but that everyone seemed to be moving around okay.

“I told you I couldn’t see,” Abernathy said. He cracked the hatch and stuck his head out for a moment. Seeing the mass of revenants already in the courtyard, he did his best turtle impression and promptly ducked back in.

Two ropes landed on the deck of the M113 almost simultaneously with the roar of the charges blowing paths through the wire. Whitey looked up to see two people, a man and a woman descending on the ropes, rifles strapped to their backs. The gun tower was already starting to sway and seemed likely to collapse. “Get ready to back us the hell up,” Whitey yelled.

“I’m on it,” Abernathy replied, as the APC started to reverse.

The two occupants of the gun tower landed on the deck of the M113. “Better hang on,” Whitey yelled at them.

Both threw themselves flat, the woman, Nikki if Whitey right, flashed him a smile and a thumbs up. “I always was partial to redheads,” he muttered as he swung the big .50 forward again.

“We need some tunes,” he heard Tripod say on the intercom, before the exterior speakers keyed on. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a yell and a bullwhip as the Rawhide theme song filled the air.

The M113 had been used by a civil affairs unit to assist in the evacuation of neighborhoods during the early days of the crisis. The PA and sound system was still in place, and somehow Abernathy had found a CD to insert.

“Don’t try to understand them,” Whitey sang along, raking a line of revenants with gunfire as they began to lead their small convoy towards the newly formed gaps in the wire.

“Just rope, throw, and brand them,” Baldwin and Alice sang in duet in their own Humvee.

“Through rain and wind and weather,” Jenny screamed at the top of her lungs as she swung her M240 in a wild arc to starboard.

“Hell bent for leather,” Kaufman screamed hoarsely, firing her Sig out the winter.

The convoy sped forward, running down and shooting revenants as they shot through the opening in the wire. Abernathy had the song on a loop, and it seemed to invigorate everyone’s efforts, the occupants of each vehicle screaming along at the top of their lungs. As the loop continued and they sped past the obstacles, Greer stole a glance at the battered Blazer in the rear of the column and hoarsely sang, “My sweetheart is at the end of this ride…” a single tear dripped down her cheek, lost amidst the blood trail.

“Looks like we’re at the end of our ride,” Tanner said as he and Dale warily approached the house.

“Bout damn time too,” Dale said bitterly. “There better be some pants in there.”

Tanner simply nodded and kept the barrel of his M16 pointed towards the house. Things had been quiet so far, perhaps too quiet. They hadn’t seen any movement, or any revenants since they’d come down from the nearby hillock.“Just keep your eyes and ears open, okay bro?” Tanner cautioned. He’d taken the time to clean his glasses, in case there was more shooting to be done.

Dale grunted in acknowledgement and slung his shotgun, pulling his Colt instead. “I got the hog leg out,” he said, “We run into anything, they’ll know they been bit.”

Tanner took the lead as they approached, passing several other abandoned houses. He noticed that there was still a white pillowcase blowing in the breeze along the shattered front window. “Something chewed this yard up,” Tanner commented as they stepped over some ruts in the lawn that had never been overgrown. He remembered being told something about a vehicle hitting the house.

Dale walked up to the door and tried the knob, “It’s open,” he said simply
.
Tanner pulled a flashlight from his pocket and turned it on, moving past Dale and into the living room. Water damage from rain as well as small animals had left the living room a mess. Hearing something move, Tanner swung the barrel of his M16 one handed towards the corner mantle. A picture fell to the ground and a squirrel ran past, headed back to his burrow under the couch.

Dale, who’d been tracking it as well, lowered his Colt. “Want squirrel for supper?” he asked, smiling.

Tanner ignored him for a moment and picked up the picture that had fallen. It showed a young and fairly attractive woman standing in front of the same house they were now in. There were two older men, and a middle-aged woman standing with her. Written in silver marker on the back was the legend “Nora (mom), Lisa, Dad, Uncle Emil.” There was no date.

“That her mom?” Dale asked, looking at the photo.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tanner said, removing the picture from the frame and dropping it into a trash bag he noisily pulled out.

“Her mom was hot dude,” Dale said.

“Yeah, I guess so, but we got business, here take the bag, we’ll grab all the pictures and stuff, cause I don’t know what all they wanted,” Tanner said.

Dale grunted and simply followed along, “They said upstairs, that her shit would be upstairs,” he said.

“Don’t mean we can’t look for us,” Tanner said, smiling. “All they said to bring back was that tub with pictures and such.”

“All cause Hardigan’s girlfriend said this would clear some shit up,” Dale said, scratching at his beard.

Tanner shrugged and entered the kitchen. The cupboards were mostly open and looked bare. There was enough light coming in through the windows that he didn’t even need his flashlight. All of the windows were still intact. “Looks like she was out of food, or someone came and took it later,” Tanner said, frowning at the growl in his belly.

“Could be either way,” Dale said, nudging some empty cans. “We could look in the fridge,” he suggested.

“Nah, that shit’ll be all moldy,” Tanner said. Then he saw a door leading to a set of stairs leading downward. “Let’s look in the basement though dawg, this was a nice house, maybe they got a wine cellar or some shit.”

“Sweet, I could use a good drunk,” Dale said.

Tanner switched his light back on and they made their way down the stairs. Shining his light around, he saw mostly tools, a weight bench, and washing machine. There was also an electric train set, some children’s toys which had obviously been put away for years, and two half open cabinets. Tanner pulled one open, and saw only paper products. He grabbed two rolls of toilet paper and dropped them into Dale’s bag. “Here, we’ll need these later.”

Dale grimaced, “Yeah, my poor suffering ass, my poo hole is festering something awful,” he agreed. He nodded towards another door, “What do you suppose is in there?”

“Only one way to find out,” Tanner said, prodding the door open with the barrel of his rifle.

“What stinks?” Dale asked, “And don’t say my poo hole, I already know that stinks.”

Tanner shined his light around the room. Dozens of yellowing newspaper clippings were tacked to a corkboard on the wall. “Headless Prospector Bodies Found in Amazon”, “Boy 12 Kills Girl 8”, “Solar Flares Disrupt Satellites”, “Militants Kill Forty in Disputed Zone, Hundreds Missing”, and more of a similar nature.

“What is all this?” Dale asked, wrinkling his nose as he looked around.

“Some kind of office, this stuff might be important, we probably ought grab some of it,” Tanner said. He looked at an open book on the desk. Sitting next to it were computer printouts covered in charts and graphs. “Solar Cycles” one was labeled, and another read “Cellular Mutation Rates in Test Subjects”. Puzzling at the colors for a moment, Tanner looked at the open book instead. He flipped through a few pages.

“That got any pictures?” Dale asked, hopefully, “Maybe this guy being a scientist, some naked pictures?”

Tanner shook his head, “No, looks like someone’s diary,” he said.

Dale frowned, but then brightened, “Are there any sex parts?” he asked hopefully.

“I dunno, lots of stuff about seeing something coming, and a bunch of sci fi shit I don’t get. Tremors on the moon this, satellite that,” Tanner said, furrowing his brow. He flipped more pages. “Something about not being able to save someone, his wife maybe.”

“Just throw it in the bag then dude, and let’s get going, this place is starting to give me the heeby jeebies,” Dale said. He turned away and moved aside a blanket covering the top of a box near him. “What the hell?” Dale said, gasping, “I know what stinks.” He pointed down at a shape lying in a box that had been obscured by the blanket.

Tanner looked down and saw the decomposing body of a woman. There was a bracelet on her arm. He moved it with a pencil to avoid touching the flesh, “To Nora, Best Luck Always, E.L..” it read. Tanner thought the bracelet looked like gold, so he grabbed a sheet of paper and removed it, dropping it in the bag. “They might pay extra for that,” he said to Dale.

“I don’t know dawg, robbing the dead is bad luck,” Dale replied hesitantly. “You think those things got to her?”

“No way dude,” Tanner said pointing, he remembered all the crime scene programs that he used to watch on TV. “She’s been shot, see the hole in her forehead?”

“That explains what stinks then,” Dale agreed. Then he pointed to the box, “Looks like someone lined the box with space blankets to make it like a cooler and put in dry ice. You can still see the containers.”

“Weird shit,” Tanner surmised. “Come on, let’s look upstairs.”

The upstairs yielded little of interest, though they added a few more pictures, these of a smiling and happy couple, to the bag from the master bedroom. The hallway and bathrooms were also empty of anything of interest. Then they came to the last bedroom upstairs. “Son of a bitch,” Dale said, “What is this place, a morgue?” He pointed his shotgun at two bodies lying on the floor, near some torn clothing in front of the closet.

“Looks that way, don’t it?” Tanner said. Both of the bodies were wearing cover alls. They still had “NASA” emblazoned on them. One of them still had a torn piece of T-shirt in his hands.

“That’s some crazy shit,” Dale said. He reached down and picked up a pistol from the floor, where it had fallen almost under the bed. “This is a silenced .22, like on TV.” He ejected the magazine and inspected it, and then pulled the slide back, catching the live round that popped out. “Still loaded too, must have dropped under the bed when one of these dudes got popped.”

Tanner nodded as he looked in the closet, there was a pair of jeans on the floor and a pile of food wrappers as well as a still half full bottle of Evian. “Someone was hiding in the closet it looks like,” he said.

“I found that tub,” Dale said, pulling a small purple tub off a desk near the bed. “It’s got a photo album, some papers, and other junk in it. It’ll probably all smell like dead guy though.”

“Bag it, then it won’t stink,” Tanner said absently as he picked up another book from the floor. It was already open, and scrawled across the page was a single word, written in flowing bold ink “Betrayal.”

Mac fervently hoped that Molly wouldn’t feel let down when they reached the helicopter. It had taken them only a small chunk out of the afternoon to reach it’s resting place near the on ramp. The nearby Wendy’s had burnt down in the interim, though the helicopter was still there, resting on it’s partially deflated wheels and with the windshield now pock marked with bullet holes.

“Looks like someone used it for target practice,” Mac said, stepping off the bike and drawing unslinging his Thompson. “Best be sharp, there might still be some raiders out and about,” he warned.

“If there were, they’re probably long gone by now,” Molly reasoned, but she unslung her shotgun all the same.

“Wow, a real live helicopter,” Larry said, he started to move towards it, but then hung back, waiting for Mac to check it out first.

Mac smiled, seeing how Larry had restrained himself. “Just let me have a look, then you can climb up inside for as long as you want.” He dug out a WSJ cigarette that he already had rolled from his shirt pocket and lit it. There was nothing more fun than smoking around thermate charges, he reflected grimly.

He pulled open the door to the cockpit and saw that the insides were pretty well torn up. Someone had gone through and smashed the console and the radio fairly thoroughly. “Shit, someone trashed it,” Mac muttered.

Molly looked over his shoulder, “Maybe they needed parts?” she asked.

A glimmer of movement caught Mac’s attention and drew his eyes towards the passenger compartment. He saw an olive drab painted wooden crate still lying right behind the co-pilot’s seat. “There’s the thermate grenades at least,” he said. Behind them, what he saw made his blood run cold.

“What is it?” Molly asked, seeing Mac tense up and freeze.

Mac ran his eyes over the pile of bones in the cargo compartment, and the small, black, furry forms beginning to move around under them. “Reavers,” he whispered, “It’s a nest.”

“Oh God,” Molly said, shielding Larry behind her with one hand and moving the shotgun level along her hip. “Stay behind me Larry,” she ordered.

Larry immediately grasped her knees and hugged them tight, showing every inclination to do just that. He buried his head and began to back away with Molly.

Mac didn’t’ really blame him, reavers tended to be nasty business. They’d first shown up around the same time as the plagues and the revenants, and he wasn’t sure which had been worse. Carefully, Mac exhaled his pipe tobacco cigarette. One nice thing about smoking was that reavers seemed to have a potent sense of smell, but tobacco smoke seemed to throw it for a loop.

“Easy does it,” Mac whispered as he carefully crawled into the cockpit.

“Mac…” Molly hissed.

Feeling no choice but to ignore her for the moment, Mac simply motioned with his arm for Molly to get back, as he climbed inside the cockpit and carefully grabbed one of the straps on the case of thermate grenades. The case weighed over thirty pounds, but with his adrenaline now flowing, Mac hardly noticed.

A hideously bloated and half rotted skull fell from amidst the pile of bones, causing one of the eyes to pop out and burst. A small black tongue shot out and began licking at the ichor. The babies are alive and awake Mac though, now I just wonder where Mama is. Slowly he backed out of the cockpit, inhaling and exhaling as rapidly as possible to spread the smoke behind him. “Don’t fail me now Swedes,” he whispered, hoping the pipe tobacco burned long enough. Even immature reavers could swarm up and be a real threat.

Molly was all the way back by the bike, partially shielded behind it and was training her shotgun on the copter. She relaxed only slightly as Mac approached. “Are you okay?” she whispered, “you didn’t get bitten or anything did you?” She eyed him warily.

“Nada,” Mac said, slinging his Thompson and sighing in relief. “That’s a hell of a next in there though, and we’d better beat feet before Mom comes back to feed the little ones,” he added as he pulled loose his mini crow bar and tore open the packing straps on the crate.

“Are those the thermite grenades?” Molly asked, wide eyed as Mac pulled the box open.

“Thermate,” Mac corrected, “But yeah, one case of them was still there. Whoever smashed the rest of the shit up must have grabbed the other case.”

“Why would they leave one?” Molly asked, opening the saddlebags on the bike to allow Mac to dump in the grenades
.
“They might not have had time, or maybe meant to come back,” Mac said. He quickly put most of the two dozen grenades into the motorcycle’s saddlebags. He then handed two to Molly, “Here, take these and put them in your pack,” he said, shoving one into the side pocket of his BDU pants as he did so.

Molly hastily complied and looked up as Mac pulled the pin on the remaining grenade. “Burn them Mac, burn them all,” she said fiercely.

“That’s the plan,” Mac said. “Larry, get in your side car and keep your head down, try not to look at the flash.” He waited for Larry to nod and climb inside before continuing. “Molly, start pushing the bike down the hill, don’t kick it on yet, those things don’t hear too good, but they’d hear that for sure.”

Molly nodded numbly and climbed onto the cycle, kicking it into neutral and pushing it back towards the ramp. “Be careful,” she whispered, her face gaunt and colorless.

“I was born careful,” Mac said giving her a smile and a thumb up. He waited until Molly had pushed the bike a bit farther away, wanting to make sure that she was clear. “Time to instigate something,” Mac said, releasing the grenades safety spoon, letting a jet of hot exhaust from the fuse spray out. “Fire in the hole,” he muttered, tossing the grenade so that it landed against the cargo bay doors, and then running. “Hot time in the old town tonight,” Mac said, laughing hysterically for some reason.

Hardigan looked at the burning wreckage of the number four Humvee as Jerry sped past it in the Blazer. He wondered if they should have let only refugees pack into it. Now it was on its side in an embankment, with a handful of revenants still crawling on it, flames licking at them.

“They must have burned themselves before-“ Kaufman started to say, but then she noticed the look Hardigan gave her and paused. “It’s not your fault, you’ve done as well organizing this on the fly as any one could have,” Kaufman said. She had her hat cocked back on her head again and was smoking a cigarette.

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Hardigan said. They’d fallen behind the rest of the convoy when trying to get through the wire. A Blazer simply wasn’t designed to get through the same obstacles as an M113 or a Humvee. Now they were struggling to play catch up as the rest of the vehicles made their way to the airstrip.

“I hope they don’t fly off and leave us,” Jerry said, worried, as he squinted through the cracked windshield.

“Doctor Kaufman is a pilot, so don’t worry,” Hardigan said.

“Actually,” Kaufman said, smiling sardonically, “Tom knows how to fly too, he’s ex-Navy.”

“Great, just great,” Jerry muttered.

“Just once, you could try to be reassuring,” Hardigan said, running his hands through his hair. He reached forward and lifted one of Kaufman’s cigarettes from her hatband. She leaned forward and let his light it off of hers.

“You’re charming when you want to be Hardigan, enough for both of us,” Kaufman said.

“I feel real charming right now too,” Hardigan said. He adjusted the straps on his gas mask bag, having strapped it back on and regaining possession of his Remington Carbine. He hadn’t had a chance to inventory the contents to see how much ammo was left, but it still felt hefty.

“Let’s hope no one else at the airstrip decided to fly off into the wild blue yonder yet,” Kaufman said.

“Remind me to buy you a beer when this is all over,” Hardigan said, rubbing his eyes.

“Careful, or the deadly Ms. Greer might be jealous,” Kaufman warned.

Hardigan nodded as they began to pull even with the back of the convoy, which seemed to be mercifully intact aside from the number four Humvee. A blonde head was visible behind the gun of one of the vehicles, firing intermittent short bursts into the nearby fields. The M113 was still taking point, though it was slowest overall, it had the mass to barrel any wrecked vehicles aside. Two figures were lying on the deck, firing rifles, and the .50 caliber was occasionally thumping more authoritively. The speakers were now blaring the William Tell Overture, better known as the Lone Ranger Theme song.

“Quite the picture, isn’t it?” Kaufman said, admiring the view for a moment.

“I just wish that there were more of us left,” Hardigan said. Listening to his own voice, he wondered if he was as spent as he felt.

“Couple hours and we’ll be in Norfolk, maybe you can get me that beer then,” Kaufman said cheerily. She picked her Sig up from the dash and pointed it casually out the window, squeezing off a shot at a one legged revenant dragging itself along the road. “Never could hit much from a moving vehicle,” she commented as the bullet missed and simply showered the revenant with dirt.

“I’ll get him,” Jerry said, swerving the vehicle abruptly.

“No, don’t!” Hardigan started to say, but even he wasn’t sure if he finished his though as the vehicle began to spin out of control. As they careened toward the ditch, Hardigan thought about how good that beer would have tasted.

“We just lost the Chevy,” Alice said, watching the vehicle swerve off the road and into the ditch. The broken side mirror still painted all too clear a picture as the Blazer’s driver over corrected from the impact of hitting the body. The front tires promptly hit a rut and spun the vehicle sideways before it rolled once and settled.

“I see it,” Baldwin said, starting to turn the wheel.

“Negative,” Stavros said, reaching forward and grabbing his arm. “You’re the only other one who can fly, if Kaufman is wasted, we’re all be counting on you to get us off the ground.”

“I can’t just leave them,” Baldwin said, slamming his hands into the wheel in frustration.

Alice reached out and laid a hand on Baldwin’s shoulder, “She’s right Tom, and we need you.”

“This is bullshit, they’re toast if we don’t swing back,” Baldwin swore.

Frenchy keyed a long burst of .50 caliber fire back to cover the sector near where the Blazer went into the ditch. “Listen to the ladies Doc,” he yelled down.

Baldwin gritted his teeth but kept them going forward.

Just ahead of them, Nellie was seized by a similar impulse. “Laura needs us, we need to go back,” she said, already starting to sob.

Greer shared Nellie’s feelings, but as she looked back at the refugees in the troop compartment, she felt a sense of dread mixed with responsibility. After the number four Humvee had also crashed, they’d stopped briefly to pull about the three survivors who’d made a run for it. Now they had three adult women, one man, and three children aboard

Graunch Solution Part 10

“Alright,” Hardigan said, “But I don’t want to have to run back around this complex a third time.”

Kaufman laughed bitterly, “Does get old, doesn’t it? I never really liked this place,” she said, her voice becoming distant. “I always felt like it was a tomb waiting to happen.”

“Let’s just hope that’s one prophecy that doesn’t get fulfilled Doc,” Hardigan said, leaning forward and stretching. He didn’t remember being this tired when he was 19 and doing a tour of duty in Iraq. “I’m getting old,” Hardigan said softly.

“We all are,” Kaufman agreed. “And let’s hope that we can get a little bit older, shall we?”

Hardigan nodded, “Sounds like a good plan to me.” He looked at his watch again, “Tell me what the hell is going on.” He finally said, meeting Kaufman’s gaze and holding it.

Kaufman sighed and twisted a loose strand of hair, which had fallen out from under her hat, curling it around her finger. “I don’t know all of it,” she cautioned.

“You know enough,” Hardigan said. He twisted his watch on his wrist, feeling the metal dig in. The minor jolt of pain helped him to focus. “About time you filled me in on a few more of the missing pieces, don’t you think?”

Kaufman nodded and tilted her hat back on her head, “I don’t think the Germans came here intending to cause us any harm.”

“You said something escaped, from whatever they were working on,” Hardigan said.

Kaufman nodded, “Apparently your friend Greer’s father is tied up with Dr. Lang and his bunch. I’m not sure, but I don’t think he and Lang were getting along anymore. Lang was trying something, it had to do with the reavers and it got out of hand. That’s what got loose.”

“If there’s only one thing loose in here, that doesn’t explain what’s going on topside,” Hardigan said, pointing towards the static on the CCTV monitor.

Kaufman snorted, “I don’t know that Lang had a complete explanation to that, but he had a theory that those things were going to start converging. It had to do with the solar cycle, as well as their mutation rate. Frankly a lot of his ‘proofs’ for his theories are beyond me.”

“Solar cycle, you mean all the sun spot activity?” Hardigan asked.

“That’s part of it, but Lang thought that the Revenants were related to the reavers and that it wasn’t disparate phenomena.”

“How? Revenants are dead people come back to life, and reavers are those God knows what that rip you and put an ovipositor in you.”

“I don’t know all the details,” Kaufman said, raising a hand to still Hardigan’s objections. “I just know that these things have been converging, apparently it happened in Europe, and now it’s happening here too.”

“So what does that mean for us, for any of us?”

“It means that there seems to be an intelligence behind it, and revenants aren’t just dead people coming back to life, that’s too simplistic. They’re…. Enthralled might be the word,” Kaufman said, becoming animated.

“Enthralled?” Hardigan asked dubiously.

“It means enslaved –“

“I know what it means Doctor,” Hardigan said, cutting her off, “But how does it explain what’s going on here? You know what, forget about that for a moment, what did Lang up to accomplish here?”

“I think, and I stress think, that he wanted to find a way to lead the Revenants to one place independent of whatever cycle he feels is controlling them. He felt they were on a natural cycle, almost like Cicadas, and that we could find a way to use that.”

“Use that how? And what about the dogs and even other animals I’ve seen –“

“Use that group them in one place and destroy them,” Kaufman said. “Think about it, we’re one of the few bunkers in the Midwest, maybe the only one, a nice central location…”

“A nice central location for what?”

“For firing off a nuclear missile from that submarine the Germans originally came in on Jack,” Kaufman said, her face draining of color.

“That’s just twisted enough to be right,” Hardigan said, “Only they wouldn’t even need the submarine.”

Steiner reached up and felt the launch keys still around his neck with his left hand. His right side was number, and he couldn’t move his arm at all. His first thought had been that that bitch Greer in the running shorts had shot him. But then he’d looked up from the floor and saw that it had been the other one, the one in scrubs who’d pulled the trigger. Steiner knew enough to play dead after that, but he reflected, he hadn’t had to play very hard. Doctor Kaufman’s bitch of a nurse had hit him dead center. He wasn’t a doctor, but Steiner figured that being partially paralyzed wasn’t a good sign. So he’d lain there and watched to see what would happen next, half expecting Greer to come and finish him off.

Instead, she’d kicked his pistol away, and rushed towards her father. Steiner really wished he’d had the time to put the coup de grace to that man. Then he could have finished off Lang and been done with all those scientists and their theories. The one thing they’d been right about had been the nukes…

Greer had rushed over to her father and taken him in her arms. Steiner remembered seeing a froth of blood on the man’s lips. Nellie had knelt down as well, trying to apply a bandage, but the old man had pushed them away. Steiner didn’t blame him, he’d put three .45 slugs into that son of a bitch’s chest. He ought to have been bleeding out.

From where he was lying on the floor, Steiner had found himself fading in and out of conscious, but he’d caught bits and pieces of a hushed conversation between Greer and her father. He thought it was a bunch of puerile bullshit. Something about how the old man had wanted to tell his daughter something sooner, but had to protect her, and then didn’t know she was alive. It was enough to make Steiner wish that he could get his pistol and finish them all off.

Unfortunately, that bitch Nellie had been standing outside the room, probably to give the others privacy. She’d also picked up Steiner’s pistol. He’d had to remain extra still when she’d pulled the spare mags from his belt pouch. Steiner knew that one twitch from him, and she’d see that he wasn’t quite dead.

After that, he’d started to fade out of consciousness again, but he’d heard something about them trying to get to the motor pool. Good luck there, he’d thought, all those doors are sealed and you pukes haven’t got the codes. Then things had faded to black for a bit.
Now though, now everyone was gone. Steiner fought through a wave of pain and pulled himself upright into a sitting position, where he could see the monitors in the C&C room. Vaguely, he wondered where everyone else was. Either run off or dead, he surmised. Well it was the fault of all the quitters that they were in this Goddamn mess anyway. He gritted his teeth together, fighting through a wave of pain. Yes, he reflected, that damn nurse had shot him through, dead center. Lousy dyke bitch, what a way to be laid low. Slowly, he was able to rise to a sitting position, finding that if he willed it, he could get his right leg to work through the pain.

Steiner cast another quick glance at the CCTV panels in the C&C room. A number of the cameras were down now, showing nothing but static. He could see that the topside was pretty well overrun; only one or two of the gun towers were still firing. Out the airstrip, they didn’t look to have been hit very hard yet. He could see the few men assigned to it still milling about, pointing towards the smoke and sounds of battle they were likely hearing coming from the complex. Another monitor showed a group of people, there must have been fifty, heading down towards the motor pool. Lousy deserters and cowards, Steiner thought. Let them get eaten, or become egg sacks. Then in a bit, they’d all get theirs anyway. Steiner laughed and then tasted blood in the back of his throat. “Shit,” he coughed.

A first aid kit was mounted on a panel alongside the entry door. Steiner toggled the door shut, locking and sealing it, and then tore the kit loose from the wall. Its contents spilt as he tore it open, but it did contain what he’d hoped for. Steiner tore the metallic foil wrapper off the morphine ampoule with his teeth and jabbed it into his arm. “That’s the stuff,” he whispered, feeling the pain begin to deaden.

He felt a bulge along his back as he looked for the exit wound. It seemed to have drilled clean through his shoulder. Just like a 9mm to do that, he thought, grimacing with the pain. They tended to simply make neat and clean holes through a person. Not like a .45, that was like having the blunt end of a spear rammed through you… Using his good arm, Steiner freed a scalpel from its over wrap and cut his shirt off, and then slit his OD Green t-shirt as well.

“Fuck me, this hurts,” he grunted as he cut at a bulge on his back, slitting the skin. Then he squeezed it like an over ripe pimple, gasping and releasing a feral moan as the bullet popped out and pinged on the floor. Hastily, Steiner packed his wound with cause. “Must have been pressing on something,” he muttered, as he felt able to move his right arm again, though it still hurt like hell to do so.

Steiner squirted his wound with disinfectant from a bottle, which also stung like hell. “Lousy bitches,” he muttered. Again using his teeth, he tore open a pair of field dressings and wrapped them over his wounds. He still tasted blood in his mouth, but feeling around with his tongue, it felt as though he’d bit the inside of his cheek when he fell.

Steiner cast a glace at one of the corpses lying near him on the floor. Its eyes were shut and the hands neatly folded across its chest. “Your fault this happened,” he muttered, and then he coughed and spit out a mixture of saliva and blood onto the corpse. “Fucker,” he muttered, taking satisfaction with seeing his blood and saliva drip off the dead body’s face. “That’s what you get, you hear me?”

Steiner turned to the monitors again and watched as a shuffling mass of revenants began to work their way down one of the corridors, barely being opposed now. Turning his eyes slightly, he saw some sort of hideously malformed and burnt looking shape shuffle past one of the cameras near the old auxiliary garage before it snapped out into white noise static. “Compromised, this position is COMPROMISED!” Steiner yelled.
With great effort, he rose again to his feet and then dropped with little ceremony into a command counsel chair. Reaching with his good left hand, Steiner began to pull down a series of binders from a nearby shelf, finally stopping and selecting a small orange one. The cover was labeled “Authorized Commander’s Guide to Release of Nuclear Weapons in Absence of Presidential Authority.”

Steiner flipped it open and pulled the key off of his neck, “Fuck them all,” he muttered through blood-smeared lips.

“I think we’re fucked,” Whitey mumbled as he yanked an empty magazine from his M14 and thrust it into an empty side pocket. Immediately, he tore a fresh one from his chest pouch and began to lock it into place. “That hallway is crawling with them!”

“Quit your bitching and keep shooting,” Jenny said, her shotgun bucking into her shoulder.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” Frenchy muttered, shoving fresh .30-30 cartridges in through the side gate of his Winchester Trapper.

“What’s that Frenchy?” Whitey yelled, obtaining a quick sight picture and aiming his M14 down the corridor. He squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession and watched as two revenants had their heads explode.

“Just saying how happy I am to be here Boss!” Frenchy yelled back as he threw his rifle up to his shoulder and fired it, hitting an obese revenant in its distended belly. The stomach burst open and a mess of intestinal loops along with half digested hunks of flesh hit the floor. Frenchy levered a fresh round in and tapped the same revenant in the head before adding “So very happy to be here!”

“That’s the spirit!” Whitey yelled back, he had his pipe cocked to an angle so as not to interfere with his cheek weld on the stock of his rifle. He pulled the trigger again, putting the round through the eye socket of a corpse wearing a Burger King Polo shirt and hat. “That was a whopper of a good shot,” he laughed.

“You’re a crazy sick SOB,” Jenny said, sharing his grin as she cycled a fresh round into her shotgun.

“Someone has to do it,” Whitey said, firing three more rounds in rapid succession.

“I hate my life,” Frenchy muttered again, but he kept shooting Whitey noted with approval.

“We’re almost to the security office, just keep plugging away!” Jenny said, shoving two fresh rounds into the magazine tube of her shotgun.

They were now close enough to hear shots coming from the office, as well as from another intersection of the T corridor nearest them. “Fuck, now which way?” Whitey exclaimed. “They could be down there still, or maybe up that way,” he said, nodding towards the sound of additional shooting.

“Think fast,” Jenny said, firing again and hitting a shirtless teen boy still wearing a baseball helmet.

The shooting coming form the security office flared up again, and the corridor was briefly clear. Jenny swung her shotgun towards movement and almost shot what she realized was a fedora being held out on the end of a chair leg. “Hey in the security office, three coming forward!” she yelled.
“Don’t come to us, we’ll come to you!” a voice that was immediately recognizable as Hardigan’s yelled back

“Come on out Lefty, we’ve got the hall covered for now, but I don’t know long that will last!” Whitey yelled.

Jenny exhaled an audible sigh of relief as she saw Hardigan and Kaufman emerge from the security office. Hardigan had his .45 still in his hand and was eyeing the corridor carefully. Jenny noticed that he had the PRC-77 they’d left behind strapped to his back. Kaufman had her fedora back on and was thumbing fresh 9mm rounds into a pistol magazine. She had a backpack on and had another bag slung over her shoulder. “You two all packed and ready to leave?” she asked.

“And how,” Hardigan affirmed. “Who’s the new guy?” he asked looking at Frenchy, who was still wearing his beret in puzzlement.

“I’m Ronald-“ Frenchy started to say.

“That’s Frenchy,” White cut in, blowing a smoke ring from his pipe. “We drafted him, now let’s hurry up and get the hell out of here.”

“I’m all for that,” Frenchy admitted after sparing a moment to glower at Whitey.

“Where’s Greer?” Hardigan asked, concern plain in his voice.

“I don’t know, I thought she was with you,” Whitey said.

“Fuck, you mean she isn’t at the motor pool?” Hardigan asked.

“I don’t know, she wasn’t with us when we left,” Whitey admitted.

“We sent Stavros and Finley down with some of the civs, what we could round up anyway, to head there. Maybe they linked up with her,” Jenny said hopefully.

“We need to get to medical and find out!” Hardigan said, starting forward.

Whitey and Kaufman both grabbed for his shoulders, “Don’t be a fool!” Kaufman said harshly, “I’m a worried about Nellie as you are about Greer, but getting yourself killed won’t do anyone any good.”

Hardigan glared at her for a moment, but then Whitey interjected “She’s right Lefty, this place is crawling with those things, we’ve got to get the hell out of Dodge and now, or none of us are going to get away!”

They heard more shots coming from down the corridor near them. Hardigan turned towards them, “Someone else is still alive, and they’re close. Let’s get them out of here,” he said, clicking the safety off on his Kimber.

Kaufman slammed the now replenished magazine home into her Sig Sauer. “You know, that could be Steiner and his goons shooting their way clear down there.”

“I know, but I don’t care. Right now we need all the help we can get,” Hardigan said, he thrust his head forward and started towards the sound of the shots.

As Jenny moved to follow she whispered to Kaufman, “He gets stubborn like this sometimes.”

“I can tell, you’ll have to let me help you break him later,” Kaufman whispered conspiratorially as she fell in.

“Will do,” Jenny said with a sly smile.

“What are you two whispering?” Whitey asked, his ears still ringing from the muzzle blast of the powerful .308 rounds his M14 fired.

“Nothing,” Jenny and Kaufman both purred innocently.

“They’re going to get me killed, I just know it, I’m going to die,” Frenchy muttered.

“What’s that kid?” Whitey asked, almost being drowned out by fresh pistol shots coming from in front of them.

“I was just admiring your stalwart leadership Boss,” Frenchy muttered back.

Whitey grinned and gave him a thumbs up, then snapped his rifle to his shoulder, “We’re almost there,” he said, getting ready to turn the corner.

“Just a little farther,” Greer said, dumping the empty magazine from the Mk23 and slamming a fresh one home.

Nellie was crying as she bought the Beretta up again and fired at one of the Revenants pursuing them. Her aim was off, but she did manage to hit in the knee, shattering the kneecap and sending it sprawling, where it promptly began to crawl after them. “Laura is going to be so pissed, she’s not going to give me any lube first, “ Nellie muttered.

“What?” Greer asked, looking over at Nellie and quickly swinging the Mk23 to bear past the other woman. The SOCOM Mk23 was a large pistol, and Greer had only average size hands for a woman. Still, she held it as steady as possible in a two handed grip. Even with a polymer grip frame, the weapon was still a bit heavy for her, but this same weight also soaked up the recoil of the .45 cartridges that the pistol held 13 to a magazine. Greer didn’t know it, but the pistol she was using, the one that was Nellie had recovered from Steiner, was loaded with 185 grain +P+ jacketed hollow point ammunition. It was loaded to pressure levels far in excess of what normal commercial ammunition would have been loaded to in order to increase the weapon’s long range punch. Not that Greer needed long range ammo, as the closest of the revenants, which she now shot twice in the chest, was only about twelve feet away.

“Oh, I’ve been so bad,” Nellie gasped, pausing and firing the Beretta one handed, hitting another of the Revenants and succeeding in making the headshot this time. “I should have just taken you to the –“ her next words were drowned out by her firing another round “- or else waited with you. Now we’re going to get eaten and Laura will be so pissed!” Nellie continued to sob.

Greer wondered what sort of relationship the two women had, but decided better than to pry into the details. Instead she concentrated on running and shooting and very much deliberately tried not to think about the feeling of her father dying in her arms. Greer half thought that she was probably in a prolonged state of shock and wondered if somehow it all might be a bad dream. Her headache, which was being aggravated by the constant gunfire, told her that she was probably awake however.

“Come on, just around this corner, then we’re almost home free,” Greer said turning the corner at a run.

“Here they come,” she heard someone say, as she threw herself to the side, just in time to avoid a gunshot. Scraps of masonry stung her cheek, and she could feel blood.

“Jesus Christ Frenchy,” a voice Greer knew as Jenny’s yelled, “You almost shot Greer!”

Nellie rounded the corner and ran into Greer, and they almost fell over. Before Greer could even register joy at seeing Hardigan there, relief at seeing Jenny, curiosity at seeing Kaufman and wondering what she’d do to Nellie, or even wonder who French was and if he was the one in the beret… Before she could do any of that, Whitey reached out and yanked them both the rest of the way around the corner. He leveled his M14 from his hip and started firing into the revenants just behind them.

“Don’t just stand there! Run!” he yelled, pushing them forward.

Greer started forward again, being carried by sheer momentum. She found herself standing next to Jenny, whom she noticed was wearing a set of scrub like Nellie’s. “Nice clothes,” Greer panted.

“Thanks, you too,” Jenny grunted back, looking at Greer’s running shorts and the way she too was bouncing under her shirt. “Next time we have to run, I don’t know about you,” Jenny said, “But I want a sports bra.”

Despite herself Greer laughed. As the paused at another intersection, Jenny slid off the Mini-14 she still had slung and handed it to Greer, accepting the Mk23 in trade. “This might come in just as handy though,” Jenny said.

Greer nodded and chambered a round, seeing that that there was a thirty round magazine in place. Now that Jenny had mentioned it, her breasts did hurt, and she would have liked a sports bra. She wondered if Jenny had any duct tape in her pack. Before she could think of anything else, she saw that that revenants were still closing the gap, so she threw her Ruger up to her shoulder and started shooting.

“You can’t shoot them all.”

Mac turned around and looked at Molly, pausing for only a moment as he continued to drop fresh cartridges into the tubular magazine of his Marlin squirrel gun. “Maybe not, but no harm in trying,” he grunted back. Over a hundred empty .22 shell casings now littered the floor around his feet. Mac raised the rifle to his should and squeezed off another round. .22 ammunition had been cheap and come in 500 round bricks. The previous occupants of the apartment had left behind four bricks and the Marlin. Mac had had two more bricks with him when he’d arrived, having carried them as trade goods. Molly might be right about it being pointless in the long run to shoot the revenants, but in the present short term, he found that it was making him feel quite a bit better.

Molly’s eyes were still puffy was crying, after their argument, and her finally admitting to the real reasons she had wanted to leave, Mac hadn’t said much to her. He’d eventually grabbed a couple of beers, some shells, his sombrero and the Marlin. Then he’d headed up the roof. Now, he noticed that Molly seemed to want to say something. Finally she croaked out, “Please don’t be mad at me any more Mac, you’re all I’ve got.”

Mac bit more deeply into the butt of his sole remaining Nicaraguan cigar, he hadn’t lit it yet, having forgotten to bring matches up to the roof with him. “I’m not mad,” he said, grimacing around the cigar. “I don’t know what I am,” Mac admitted, “I’m not exactly thrilled with you right now, but I’m not made any more either.” He threw the rifle up to his shoulder with a viciousness that surprised even him and lined the cross hairs up on a nude female revenant. The hair on her head reminded him of Molly for some reason. Mac squeezed the trigger and sent a .22 caliber bullet rattling around in her skull. Smiling softly again, he turned over his should to Molly, and finally his voice softened as well, “Look, it’s cool, you have the kid to think of too.”

“Mac… you know Larry thinks the world of you, he looks at you…” Molly paused “… like a father Mac. He didn’t want to lie to you, it was my idea. I just didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“Am I taking it about like you’d expect me to?” Mac asked, chuckling softly and firing again.

“Sadly, yes,” Molly admitted. She sighed, “I do love you Mac, and if you still want me after all of this is done with, I will marry you Mac.” Her voice broke. “Hit me or something Mac, please, just don’t shut me out, you’re all I’ve got.” She started to sob again.

Mac set his rifle aside for a moment and took her in his arms. He wiped her tears away with his palm and leaned in, kissing her hard. “Enough with the tears,” he whispered. “Okay?” When she nodded, he released her with a pat on the butt and straightened himself back up. He picked up the rifle again and worked the bolt, drawing slow and careful aim on a revenant that reminded him of his ex-wife. Hell he thought, maybe it was her, hard to tell with both her breasts chewed away, her abdomen ripped open and half her face gone. He pulled the trigger again. “Sometimes you just have to make your own therapy,” he muttered.

“What?” Molly asked, looking up at him, tears still staining her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mac said. “Look, I’ll admit I was half-assing it with copter, I doubt that bird will ever fly. I was mostly going through the motions to make you happy.”

Molly nodded numbly, “How do we get out of here Mac?”

“Maybe we don’t,” Mac said, shrugging. He opened the tube of his rifle again and began dropping in fresh cartridges. “One thing I did want to get from the copter, if it is still there, is we had a box of thermate charges.”

“You mean thermite, like in the monster movies?” Molly asked, looking up again, some hope glimmering in her eyes now.

“Yeah, it burns stuff. Only it’s called thermate now, it replaced thermite. Same basic shit, just burns hotter and better. Towards the end we had a shitload of it dropped off, I guess the theory was that we were supposed to use it to destroy equipment rather than letting it fall into the wrong hands. Makes a certain sort of logic in a way,” Mac admitted, “Only I haven’t seen any of those damn things flying a helicopter or driving a tank, have you?”

Molly chuckled and let herself smile slightly, “No, I haven’t.” Then she paused and quietly added, “Not to say they can’t…”

“Don’t even start,” Mac warned half sincerely. “Anyway,” he went on, “we had about fifty thermate charges on the helicopter. I don’t even know why, we should have dumped them, or maybe tried bombing those things from the air with them, but we didn’t. So there still should be there, assuming nothing has happened.”

“But all those things are between us and the helicopter Mac, you saw them all, we couldn’t shoot our way past.”

“If what you heard on the radio about these things converging at places and overrunning bunkers is true-“

“It’s what they said Mac,” Molly said defensively

“I’m not doubting you love,” Mac said soothingly, “But the radio has been wrong before, hasn’t it?”

Molly nodded, chewing her lip. They both knew all too well how true that was, Mac thought. “Yes, lots of time, but I believe it this time, I mean look at those things.”

“Well then,” Mac said, “the way I see it, that changes things to a whole new ball game in a couple different ways. You got a light by the way?” He held out his cigar.

“I was hoping you’d ask, I was going to use that as an excuse for coming up here,” Molly said, flicking a lighter to light and holding it out to Mac.

“Thanks,” Mac said, leaning in and lighting his cigar. “Where was I?” he asked, puffing it to light.

“Whole new ball game,” Molly said, smiling hopefully again.

“Yeah, that,” Mac said, looking serious, “The way I see it, that means those things down there aren’t just dead bags of skin. That means they’re either smart or some other thing is smart and controlling them. At least smart enough or controlled enough to swarm.”

“But bugs will swarm too Mac,” Molly said.

“I know, and bugs aren’t all that dumb sometimes,” Mac said. “Cockroaches are still around even through all this shit, aren’t they?”

Molly cocked an eyebrow, and then nodded, “I see your point, or part of it I suppose.”

“Consider this too, if they’re swarming, it doesn’t seem to be at us. You said the radio said they did it to take out bunkers, but that some still held out, right?”

Molly nodded, “In Switzerland, there’s all kinds of bunkers, but they were saying something about evacuating them all the same.”

Mac inhaled from his cigar, “If the folks who make cuckoo clocks can pull through, maybe we can too. Guess those little knives of theirs must help too, huh?” He chuckled trying to cut the tension.

It seemed to work, as Molly laughed as well, her body and posture relaxing noticeably. “What do you expect when there’s a spoon and fork on there along with a knife?” She smiled easily now.

“We’ll have to see if we can find a KFC and scrounge up a spork, kick all their asses then with American know how,” Mac opined, then he continued, “But what I was getting at, maybe we can sneak around, loop behind them and get to the chopper. Then we get those charges and either torch them if they rush this place, or even try to scrounge up a vehicle and head for new digs. Either way we’ll have a powerful distraction. They don’t seem to swarming at us, so there must be a bunker nearby. Either they’ll hold their own and send these things packing, for a bit anyway, of they’ll get scragged. Either way it will keep these bastards busy and buy us some time.” Even as he said it, Mac had an image of what the poor bastards in the bunker must be going through. God, I’m glad I’m not them he thought.

“This sucks, big time Pee Wee Herman circus tent sucks,” Dale said as the rain began to land on them.

“True enough, bro,” Tanner said, scrunching lower under the tree they were sheltering behind. They had decided to wait for morning and a full day of daylight before making their way down into the subdivision. For now they had climbed into one of the rather spacious limbs of an oak tree and belted themselves in. “Just imagine how Whitey and them folks are doing in the complex, they’re probably living it up, bro.”

“Yeah,” Dale muttered, sneezing, “And here we are sleeping in a tree, and I haven’t even got new pants yet.” He added, reaching down and scratching at his buttocks.

“How come we don’t go live inside then bro?” Tanner asked, pulling out a cigarette from behind his ear and flaring it to life with the six-inch flame of his Bic. He then pulled his trusty Game Boy out from his pocket and switched it on, deciding to try to run up a new high score on Galaga.

“I don’t know dawg, all them rules and stuff, like maybe they’d draft us and put us on a search team, then we’d have to go out and stuff,” Dale said, scratching his crotch now.

“Man, what’s that stink, did you pee and poo yourself?” Tanner asked, pausing his game.

“Shaddup, I got scared okay,” Dale muttered.

“Filth pig,” Tanner insisted.

“You’re the filth pig,” Dale retorted.

Tanner merely grunted and idly scratched at his own stained trousers. He reflected that that was nice thing about Real Tree camouflage; it hid a man well and hid his stains when he soiled himself. “Anyway, back to what we was talking about bro, we have to go out anyway. Like we are now.”

“But we get paid now,” Dale insisted.

“Whitey must get paid too, he’s the one paying us, and he gets store, which means he gets cigarettes and candy,” Tanner said. “Hey, maybe they even got Butterfinger bars down in that joint man,” he licked his lips. “I ain’t had one of them in like forever dawg.”

Dale scratched his goatee and seemed to ponder it, “Yeah, but they said we’d have to be deloused and all. Not to mention we’d have to follow their rules, like no more weed man.”

Tanner paused over his game, but then nodded sagely, accepting his brother’s wisdom. “Can’t be doing that then, wouldn’t be righteous,” he agreed.

“Exactly,” Dale said. He pulled out a small plastic bag and a scrap of paper and began to roll something up. “Speaking of which, I found us a bit more in my pocket. It’s got some stems and such, but beats when this shit all first started and we couldn’t get no weed no how.”

“Shit dawg, I remember those days,” Tanner said, repressing a shudder. “When those reaver things first showed up out in Kansas and all them folks turned up dead and what, with shit growing out their chests and bellies and out their ass dawg and all that evil shit…” Tanner mumbled, making gestures with his Game Boy hand to simulate things flying out of various bodily parts and orifices. “Suddenly no body claimed to have nothing man, and them folks what did wouldn’t even want to take good U.S. Dollars no more.”

“Scandalous dawg,” Dale said, licking the gummed edge of one of the last of their Zig Zags. “Dude, we couldn’t get a damn thing, I remember smoking the resin in my pipe for a month.”

“Shit fire yeah,” Tanner said, repressing a shudder. “Then we tried to smoke them pine needles cause you said they might get us high. All that shit did was burn my lungs dawg.”

“But you got sort of dizzy from all that smoke you inhaled, that was sort of like getting high no weren’t it?” Dale said. He stuck his joint in his mouth. Despite his protestations about it being from the dregs of his pocket, it was still as long as thick as his pinky. He removed his own modified Bic from his pocket and flared it to life.

“Damn boy, you done rolled yourself a Marley-sized spliff there,” Tanner said approvingly.

“Oooo yeah,” Dale said, coughing. “Damn, even with stems, this is still some killer shit.”

“Dude, you were right, growing stuff using the outhouse dregs did work,” Tanner admitted.

“Told you I had a green thumb,” Dale said, passing the spliff to Tanner. “Still tastes a little funny though. Hey, you hear that?”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Tanner asked. He still took time to reach out and stick the dooby in his mouth, but now he looked down. It sounded like engines and a lot of them. It was too dark to see, but looked like they might have company.

“Wonder who that is?” Dale asked, peering into the darkness.

“Dunno,” Tanner said, “Highway’s up that way, sounds like it might be coming from up there. Whoever it is will probably hit them SOBs we ran into.” He inhaled deeply off the spliff and then coughed. He wondered for a moment if drug use would rub him of his night vision, then he inhaled again and realized that he just didn’t care. He coughed again as he passed the joint back to Dale, “You was right though, that does taste funny,” he said.

Steiner coughed and paged through the book, taking a sip of coffee from an abandoned mug. He wrinkled his nose, as the brackish and cold liquid tasted funny. He looked down into the cup and realized that someone had put a cigarette out into it. He gagged momentarily and then spit it out, tossing the cup to the side where it shattered.

Steiner moved his fingers along a paragraph that he’d highlighted. It began with the words; “In the absence of competent national command authority, an authorized commander or his designee may detonate nuclear weapons in cases of extreme emergency. These cases include situations in which the President, Vice-President, or other members of the executive branch are presumed to have been either destroyed or are unable to communicate orders… The authorized commander may deploy nuclear weapons of his own authority only in cases of direct and extreme peril to the United States of America…” Steiner paused in his reading and watched as a group of revenants tore the armor off a soldier and ripped his stomach open, leaning their gaping maws in to feast. Looking at other monitors, only one gun tower seemed to be firing still, and it was surrounded outside.

Steiner removed an envelope from the back of the binder and tore it open. Inside was a sealed red plastic wafer. He snapped this open and removed a sheet. It was labeled “Operator Activation Codes. Requires secondary Authorization codes.” Then he carefully used his good hand and removed another envelope from his pants pocket. It was sealed on the back in way, with the seal of the President of the United States. Steiner tore it open. A letter on Presidential stationary fell to the floor, it named him as designated commander. He ignored it and instead removed another sealed plastic wafer, this one green. He snapped it open and removed a sheet of paper. At the top it read “Primary Activation Codes.” Steiner smiled and looked again at the monitors, “Won’t be long now you fuckers,” he smiled with blood staining his teeth.

“Won’t be long now, and they’ll be on us,” Finley said, looking back worried at the corridor leading to the motor pool.

“At least we’re all together again,” Stavros said, looking over her shoulder at the other vehicles. They’d found three deuce and a half trucks, four armored Humvees, and a Chevy Blazer sitting gassed up and ready. They’d also found one truly surprising prize, an M113 armored personnel carrier. They’d the forty odd civilians they’d accumulated loaded on the vehicles, along with some of the food and ammunition they’d found stacked around the motor pool. The 2-½ ton trucks had originally had open rear beds, but had since had sheet metal covers with gun slits welded in place. The two soldiers who had been assigned to guard the motor pool had also joined them. The trucks comfortably seated a dozen each other civilians, with the remainder being distributed among the Humvees.

“Now if they can just get the door open,” Frenchy called from the topside gunner’s position. He’d volunteered for gunner rather than having to be drafted again. Under his breath he’d said something about it being superior to sharing a cab with “that white haired asshole.” When pressed he’d corrected himself, stating that he just couldn’t wait to do his part.

“They’ll get it open,” Baldwin said. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, his radio and back now stashed in the crew compartment of the number two Humvee, along with the personal effects of the others and the shopping cart full of MREs.

The woman wearing the business suit was now sitting next to Tom. She’d introduced herself as Alice, and she had been a lawyer once. “If I’m going to die, might as well wear my best clothes,” she’d said philosophically. She was now armed with an M1 carbine which they’d found sitting in one of the trucks. She claimed to know how to use it. “They’d better do it soon, “ Alice said, “I’m still not sure if I’ve got the sights set right on this thing.”

“You’ve shot a gun before, right?” Stavros asked, concerned.

“If I hadn’t, I’d never have lived to make it here,” Alice said, smiling with a lot of teeth showing.

Stravros grinned back and elbowed Finley, “I like the new people, they fit right in,” she said.

“Yeah, now stop hitting me,” Finley said. He was armed with an M4 carbine to match Stavros. “Nothing gives you that right,” he added solemnly.

“I give me that right,” Stavros said, sticking her tongue out.

“Are they always like this?” Alice whispered to Baldwin, narrowing her gaze at them.

“I wouldn’t know,” he whispered back, “I just met them today, but I think so, they’re in love I think.”

Alice smiled, “Must be nice. I think. Though she does keep hitting him.”

“They’re crazy, all of them,” Frenchy put in from the turret.

“Who are you again?” Alice asked.

“I’m Ronald-“ Frenchy started to say, but then he paused and said, “Hell with it, I’m Frenchy. I’m the gunner, and I’m happy to be here.”

“That’s the spirit,” Baldwin said, patting Frenchy’s leg.

“Don’t you start too,” Frenchy grumbled.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Alice said, laughing all the same.

“Don’t worry about, you’ll be up to speed soon,” Finley put in from the back.

“Welcome to the pirate crew,” Stavros said, followed by a comment in Serbo-Croatian.

“What did she say?” Alice asked.

“Beats me,” Finley said, and Baldwin shrugged as well.

“She said that if Doc Baldwin and you didn’t get together, she might want you for herself,” Frenchy said from the turret.

Everyone paused and stared at his legs, as it became a toss up whether Baldwin, Alice, or Stavros was blushing more deeply.

“You, you can speak-“ Stavros started to stammer.

“You can actually understand her?” Finley asked.

“What did I get myself into?” Alice said, as all their comments overlapped.

“I did my stint in supply corps, running beans and bullets to the Marines in Yugoslavia. Of course I can speak a little Serbo-Croatian,” Frenchy said indignantly.

Stavros started to mutter something else, but then caught herself.

Alice found herself studying Baldwin and then whispered, “So, a doctor huh?”

“Guilty as charged,” the man in the driver’s seat of the M113 said through the intercom. The nametape on his Nomex anti blast coveralls read “Abernathy”.

“Christ, six of them though?” Whitey said through the intercom as he stood in the open hatch, manning the fifty caliber. He looked down into the troop compartment to see the six young women Abernathy had managed to fit inside along with their belongings. “Isn’t that a bit much even for you Tripod?” he asked, whistling in admiration.

“Hey, a man can be ambitious, can’t he?” Tripod replied, chuckling.

Whitey looked into the troop compartment again and had to admit that Tripod might have a point, as all the women were attractive. They were also armed he noticed. Counting four M16A2s, an elderly M3 grease gun, and an M249 Squad Automatic weapon, they might well be the best-armed bunch present. And was that an M79 grenade launcher lying on the bench? “Starting a well armed harem?”

“Hey, them goils needed saving,” Tripod said, still chuckling.

“Did you know them before this or was this a spur of the moment thing?” Whitey asked again into the intercom, curious.

“We’ve all sort of know each other before,” Tripod admitted. “Melinda down there, she thinks you’re cute though.”

“Which one is Melinda?” Whitey asked

“The red head,” Tripod replied.

“Which redhead, there were two.”

“The one with the D cups,” Tripod replied.

“Oh, that one,” Whitey said. He put his pipe in his mouth and lit it. And then pulled back the charging handle of the .50 caliber, readying it for action. “What did she say about me?”

“Just that you’re cute, she thinks white hair looks good on a man, and that you hide your age well,” Tripod said. Whitey could almost hear him smirking through the intercom.

Whitey bit back the comments he was about to make and settled for grumbling instead. “You ready for when Lefty gives the word?” he asked instead.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, and he’d better give it soon, otherwise we’ll die of carbon monoxide poisoning down here. Assuming those fuckers don’t come find us first,” he intoned.

“Hardigan knows what he’s doing,” Whitey said. Then he peaked down at Melinda, and noticed her smiling back. He also noticed that her Nomex coveralls weren’t quite zipped all the way and that it made for an interesting sight. “You’d better know what you’re doing Lefty,” he muttered.

“You sure this will work, Sarge,” one of the two soldiers assigned to guard the motor pool had asked. Hardigan seemed to recall that his name was Jerry.

“Pretty damn sure,” Hardigan said.

“I hope so,” Jerry said. His partner, who went by the name of Ike, was already in the number one Humvee along with several of the civilians. Greer, Nellie, and Jenny were in the number three Humvee along with the last of the civilians. The more competent looking among them had already been given guns and placed in the three trucks which were to tail the Humvees, which would in turn tail the M113. Which left Hardigan, Jerry, and Kaufman, who had simply said “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” in the Blazer.

“Being sure is his business,” Kaufman said, blowing smoke out the open window and tucking a replacement cigarette into the band of her hat.

“I hope so,” Jerry said, not sounding overly convinced.

Hardigan reflected that Steiner probably had not assigned his two best men to guard the motor pool while the base was being overrun. It also occurred to him that perhaps Jerry and Ike ought have resisted when they had shown up to commandeer the vehicles. But whatever else was going on rather superceded those worries in Hardigan’s mind.

It had been Jerry after all who had shown him the field telephone that still had them in contact with the single remaining gun tower. Apparently the two remaining occupants of that tower were still holding out, but anxious to get out as well. Steiner, being paranoid, had the wire fenced rigged with claymores, these had already been detonated to slow the attacking way of revenants. But he also – and Hardigan knew this because Whitey had helped set it up it – had the wire rigged with explosives to blow clear secondary escape routes from the complex.

Thus the main body of revenants had the primary road out clogged, but they also had control of the detonator triggers to blow another path out. Now the only problem was that they had to get the damn door open. Once they did that, they’d ram and shoot their way out, stopping just long enough to pick up the two hold outs (someone named Eric and a woman named Nikki) out of the gun tower and aboard the number one Humvee. Then the lot of them would head out towards the airport and hope that they could find a plane still there. Which plane either Kaufman or Baldwin would fly. Hence the two were in separate Humvees.

The one rough spot was that Steiner had put all the doors in lock down. The motor pool door was part of an annex, and it could be opened manually. A simple counter weight system was holding it in place. The plan now was that when he gave the word, the gun tower would direct their .50 caliber to fire and destroy the exterior mechanism from the outside. Then, they’d use the winch on the Blazer to get the door open from their end. Even then though the Humvees also had winches, the Blazer would be faster and accelerate better, making it more likely to catch up.

“You ready?” Kaufman asked, pulling her hat down. She had Hardigan’s Remington Carbine resting in her lap and had strapped on his gas mask bag full of ammo.

He gave the winch one last look and then checked his watch, he’d given the gun tower an exact time to open fire before abandoning the field phone. “Right about… now!” Hardigan said. He looked up as they could hear the sounds of heavy caliber machine gun fire hitting the door outside. “Gun the winch!” Hardigan ordered.

He turned to look and saw the door begging to creep open. “Now let’s hope I knew what I was talking about,” he said as he watched the door pulling slowly upward.

Graunch Solution Part 9

“Alright,” Hardigan said, “But I don’t want to have to run back around this complex a third time.”

Kaufman laughed bitterly, “Does get old, doesn’t it? I never really liked this place,” she said, her voice becoming distant. “I always felt like it was a tomb waiting to happen.”

“Let’s just hope that’s one prophecy that doesn’t get fulfilled Doc,” Hardigan said, leaning forward and stretching. He didn’t remember being this tired when he was 19 and doing a tour of duty in Iraq. “I’m getting old,” Hardigan said softly.

“We all are,” Kaufman agreed. “And let’s hope that we can get a little bit older, shall we?”

Hardigan nodded, “Sounds like a good plan to me.” He looked at his watch again, “Tell me what the hell is going on.” He finally said, meeting Kaufman’s gaze and holding it.

Kaufman sighed and twisted a loose strand of hair, which had fallen out from under her hat, curling it around her finger. “I don’t know all of it,” she cautioned.

“You know enough,” Hardigan said. He twisted his watch on his wrist, feeling the metal dig in. The minor jolt of pain helped him to focus. “About time you filled me in on a few more of the missing pieces, don’t you think?”

Kaufman nodded and tilted her hat back on her head, “I don’t think the Germans came here intending to cause us any harm.”

“You said something escaped, from whatever they were working on,” Hardigan said.

Kaufman nodded, “Apparently your friend Greer’s father is tied up with Dr. Lang and his bunch. I’m not sure, but I don’t think he and Lang were getting along anymore. Lang was trying something, it had to do with the reavers and it got out of hand. That’s what got loose.”

“If there’s only one thing loose in here, that doesn’t explain what’s going on topside,” Hardigan said, pointing towards the static on the CCTV monitor.

Kaufman snorted, “I don’t know that Lang had a complete explanation to that, but he had a theory that those things were going to start converging. It had to do with the solar cycle, as well as their mutation rate. Frankly a lot of his ‘proofs’ for his theories are beyond me.”

“Solar cycle, you mean all the sun spot activity?” Hardigan asked.

“That’s part of it, but Lang thought that the Revenants were related to the reavers and that it wasn’t disparate phenomena.”

“How? Revenants are dead people come back to life, and reavers are those God knows what that rip you and put an ovipositor in you.”

“I don’t know all the details,” Kaufman said, raising a hand to still Hardigan’s objections. “I just know that these things have been converging, apparently it happened in Europe, and now it’s happening here too.”

“So what does that mean for us, for any of us?”

“It means that there seems to be an intelligence behind it, and revenants aren’t just dead people coming back to life, that’s too simplistic. They’re…. Enthralled might be the word,” Kaufman said, becoming animated.

“Enthralled?” Hardigan asked dubiously.

“It means enslaved –“

“I know what it means Doctor,” Hardigan said, cutting her off, “But how does it explain what’s going on here? You know what, forget about that for a moment, what did Lang up to accomplish here?”

“I think, and I stress think, that he wanted to find a way to lead the Revenants to one place independent of whatever cycle he feels is controlling them. He felt they were on a natural cycle, almost like Cicadas, and that we could find a way to use that.”

“Use that how? And what about the dogs and even other animals I’ve seen –“

“Use that group them in one place and destroy them,” Kaufman said. “Think about it, we’re one of the few bunkers in the Midwest, maybe the only one, a nice central location…”

“A nice central location for what?”

“For firing off a nuclear missile from that submarine the Germans originally came in on Jack,” Kaufman said, her face draining of color.

“That’s just twisted enough to be right,” Hardigan said, “Only they wouldn’t even need the submarine.”

Steiner reached up and felt the launch keys still around his neck with his left hand. His right side was number, and he couldn’t move his arm at all. His first thought had been that that bitch Greer in the running shorts had shot him. But then he’d looked up from the floor and saw that it had been the other one, the one in scrubs who’d pulled the trigger. Steiner knew enough to play dead after that, but he reflected, he hadn’t had to play very hard. Doctor Kaufman’s bitch of a nurse had hit him dead center. He wasn’t a doctor, but Steiner figured that being partially paralyzed wasn’t a good sign. So he’d lain there and watched to see what would happen next, half expecting Greer to come and finish him off.

Instead, she’d kicked his pistol away, and rushed towards her father. Steiner really wished he’d had the time to put the coup de grace to that man. Then he could have finished off Lang and been done with all those scientists and their theories. The one thing they’d been right about had been the nukes…

Greer had rushed over to her father and taken him in her arms. Steiner remembered seeing a froth of blood on the man’s lips. Nellie had knelt down as well, trying to apply a bandage, but the old man had pushed them away. Steiner didn’t blame him, he’d put three .45 slugs into that son of a bitch’s chest. He ought to have been bleeding out.

From where he was lying on the floor, Steiner had found himself fading in and out of conscious, but he’d caught bits and pieces of a hushed conversation between Greer and her father. He thought it was a bunch of puerile bullshit. Something about how the old man had wanted to tell his daughter something sooner, but had to protect her, and then didn’t know she was alive. It was enough to make Steiner wish that he could get his pistol and finish them all off.

Unfortunately, that bitch Nellie had been standing outside the room, probably to give the others privacy. She’d also picked up Steiner’s pistol. He’d had to remain extra still when she’d pulled the spare mags from his belt pouch. Steiner knew that one twitch from him, and she’d see that he wasn’t quite dead.

After that, he’d started to fade out of consciousness again, but he’d heard something about them trying to get to the motor pool. Good luck there, he’d thought, all those doors are sealed and you pukes haven’t got the codes. Then things had faded to black for a bit.
Now though, now everyone was gone. Steiner fought through a wave of pain and pulled himself upright into a sitting position, where he could see the monitors in the C&C room. Vaguely, he wondered where everyone else was. Either run off or dead, he surmised. Well it was the fault of all the quitters that they were in this Goddamn mess anyway. He gritted his teeth together, fighting through a wave of pain. Yes, he reflected, that damn nurse had shot him through, dead center. Lousy dyke bitch, what a way to be laid low. Slowly, he was able to rise to a sitting position, finding that if he willed it, he could get his right leg to work through the pain.

Steiner cast another quick glance at the CCTV panels in the C&C room. A number of the cameras were down now, showing nothing but static. He could see that the topside was pretty well overrun; only one or two of the gun towers were still firing. Out the airstrip, they didn’t look to have been hit very hard yet. He could see the few men assigned to it still milling about, pointing towards the smoke and sounds of battle they were likely hearing coming from the complex. Another monitor showed a group of people, there must have been fifty, heading down towards the motor pool. Lousy deserters and cowards, Steiner thought. Let them get eaten, or become egg sacks. Then in a bit, they’d all get theirs anyway. Steiner laughed and then tasted blood in the back of his throat. “Shit,” he coughed.

A first aid kit was mounted on a panel alongside the entry door. Steiner toggled the door shut, locking and sealing it, and then tore the kit loose from the wall. Its contents spilt as he tore it open, but it did contain what he’d hoped for. Steiner tore the metallic foil wrapper off the morphine ampoule with his teeth and jabbed it into his arm. “That’s the stuff,” he whispered, feeling the pain begin to deaden.

He felt a bulge along his back as he looked for the exit wound. It seemed to have drilled clean through his shoulder. Just like a 9mm to do that, he thought, grimacing with the pain. They tended to simply make neat and clean holes through a person. Not like a .45, that was like having the blunt end of a spear rammed through you… Using his good arm, Steiner freed a scalpel from its over wrap and cut his shirt off, and then slit his OD Green t-shirt as well.

“Fuck me, this hurts,” he grunted as he cut at a bulge on his back, slitting the skin. Then he squeezed it like an over ripe pimple, gasping and releasing a feral moan as the bullet popped out and pinged on the floor. Hastily, Steiner packed his wound with cause. “Must have been pressing on something,” he muttered, as he felt able to move his right arm again, though it still hurt like hell to do so.

Steiner squirted his wound with disinfectant from a bottle, which also stung like hell. “Lousy bitches,” he muttered. Again using his teeth, he tore open a pair of field dressings and wrapped them over his wounds. He still tasted blood in his mouth, but feeling around with his tongue, it felt as though he’d bit the inside of his cheek when he fell.

Steiner cast a glace at one of the corpses lying near him on the floor. Its eyes were shut and the hands neatly folded across its chest. “Your fault this happened,” he muttered, and then he coughed and spit out a mixture of saliva and blood onto the corpse. “Fucker,” he muttered, taking satisfaction with seeing his blood and saliva drip off the dead body’s face. “That’s what you get, you hear me?”

Steiner turned to the monitors again and watched as a shuffling mass of revenants began to work their way down one of the corridors, barely being opposed now. Turning his eyes slightly, he saw some sort of hideously malformed and burnt looking shape shuffle past one of the cameras near the old auxiliary garage before it snapped out into white noise static. “Compromised, this position is COMPROMISED!” Steiner yelled.
With great effort, he rose again to his feet and then dropped with little ceremony into a command counsel chair. Reaching with his good left hand, Steiner began to pull down a series of binders from a nearby shelf, finally stopping and selecting a small orange one. The cover was labeled “Authorized Commander’s Guide to Release of Nuclear Weapons in Absence of Presidential Authority.”

Steiner flipped it open and pulled the key off of his neck, “Fuck them all,” he muttered through blood-smeared lips.

“I think we’re fucked,” Whitey mumbled as he yanked an empty magazine from his M14 and thrust it into an empty side pocket. Immediately, he tore a fresh one from his chest pouch and began to lock it into place. “That hallway is crawling with them!”

“Quit your bitching and keep shooting,” Jenny said, her shotgun bucking into her shoulder.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” Frenchy muttered, shoving fresh .30-30 cartridges in through the side gate of his Winchester Trapper.

“What’s that Frenchy?” Whitey yelled, obtaining a quick sight picture and aiming his M14 down the corridor. He squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession and watched as two revenants had their heads explode.

“Just saying how happy I am to be here Boss!” Frenchy yelled back as he threw his rifle up to his shoulder and fired it, hitting an obese revenant in its distended belly. The stomach burst open and a mess of intestinal loops along with half digested hunks of flesh hit the floor. Frenchy levered a fresh round in and tapped the same revenant in the head before adding “So very happy to be here!”

“That’s the spirit!” Whitey yelled back, he had his pipe cocked to an angle so as not to interfere with his cheek weld on the stock of his rifle. He pulled the trigger again, putting the round through the eye socket of a corpse wearing a Burger King Polo shirt and hat. “That was a whopper of a good shot,” he laughed.

“You’re a crazy sick SOB,” Jenny said, sharing his grin as she cycled a fresh round into her shotgun.

“Someone has to do it,” Whitey said, firing three more rounds in rapid succession.

“I hate my life,” Frenchy muttered again, but he kept shooting Whitey noted with approval.

“We’re almost to the security office, just keep plugging away!” Jenny said, shoving two fresh rounds into the magazine tube of her shotgun.

They were now close enough to hear shots coming from the office, as well as from another intersection of the T corridor nearest them. “Fuck, now which way?” Whitey exclaimed. “They could be down there still, or maybe up that way,” he said, nodding towards the sound of additional shooting.

“Think fast,” Jenny said, firing again and hitting a shirtless teen boy still wearing a baseball helmet.

The shooting coming form the security office flared up again, and the corridor was briefly clear. Jenny swung her shotgun towards movement and almost shot what she realized was a fedora being held out on the end of a chair leg. “Hey in the security office, three coming forward!” she yelled.
“Don’t come to us, we’ll come to you!” a voice that was immediately recognizable as Hardigan’s yelled back

“Come on out Lefty, we’ve got the hall covered for now, but I don’t know long that will last!” Whitey yelled.

Jenny exhaled an audible sigh of relief as she saw Hardigan and Kaufman emerge from the security office. Hardigan had his .45 still in his hand and was eyeing the corridor carefully. Jenny noticed that he had the PRC-77 they’d left behind strapped to his back. Kaufman had her fedora back on and was thumbing fresh 9mm rounds into a pistol magazine. She had a backpack on and had another bag slung over her shoulder. “You two all packed and ready to leave?” she asked.

“And how,” Hardigan affirmed. “Who’s the new guy?” he asked looking at Frenchy, who was still wearing his beret in puzzlement.

“I’m Ronald-“ Frenchy started to say.

“That’s Frenchy,” White cut in, blowing a smoke ring from his pipe. “We drafted him, now let’s hurry up and get the hell out of here.”

“I’m all for that,” Frenchy admitted after sparing a moment to glower at Whitey.

“Where’s Greer?” Hardigan asked, concern plain in his voice.

“I don’t know, I thought she was with you,” Whitey said.

“Fuck, you mean she isn’t at the motor pool?” Hardigan asked.

“I don’t know, she wasn’t with us when we left,” Whitey admitted.

“We sent Stavros and Finley down with some of the civs, what we could round up anyway, to head there. Maybe they linked up with her,” Jenny said hopefully.

“We need to get to medical and find out!” Hardigan said, starting forward.

Whitey and Kaufman both grabbed for his shoulders, “Don’t be a fool!” Kaufman said harshly, “I’m a worried about Nellie as you are about Greer, but getting yourself killed won’t do anyone any good.”

Hardigan glared at her for a moment, but then Whitey interjected “She’s right Lefty, this place is crawling with those things, we’ve got to get the hell out of Dodge and now, or none of us are going to get away!”

They heard more shots coming from down the corridor near them. Hardigan turned towards them, “Someone else is still alive, and they’re close. Let’s get them out of here,” he said, clicking the safety off on his Kimber.

Kaufman slammed the now replenished magazine home into her Sig Sauer. “You know, that could be Steiner and his goons shooting their way clear down there.”

“I know, but I don’t care. Right now we need all the help we can get,” Hardigan said, he thrust his head forward and started towards the sound of the shots.

As Jenny moved to follow she whispered to Kaufman, “He gets stubborn like this sometimes.”

“I can tell, you’ll have to let me help you break him later,” Kaufman whispered conspiratorially as she fell in.

“Will do,” Jenny said with a sly smile.

“What are you two whispering?” Whitey asked, his ears still ringing from the muzzle blast of the powerful .308 rounds his M14 fired.

“Nothing,” Jenny and Kaufman both purred innocently.

“They’re going to get me killed, I just know it, I’m going to die,” Frenchy muttered.

“What’s that kid?” Whitey asked, almost being drowned out by fresh pistol shots coming from in front of them.

“I was just admiring your stalwart leadership Boss,” Frenchy muttered back.

Whitey grinned and gave him a thumbs up, then snapped his rifle to his shoulder, “We’re almost there,” he said, getting ready to turn the corner.

“Just a little farther,” Greer said, dumping the empty magazine from the Mk23 and slamming a fresh one home.

Nellie was crying as she bought the Beretta up again and fired at one of the Revenants pursuing them. Her aim was off, but she did manage to hit in the knee, shattering the kneecap and sending it sprawling, where it promptly began to crawl after them. “Laura is going to be so pissed, she’s not going to give me any lube first, “ Nellie muttered.

“What?” Greer asked, looking over at Nellie and quickly swinging the Mk23 to bear past the other woman. The SOCOM Mk23 was a large pistol, and Greer had only average size hands for a woman. Still, she held it as steady as possible in a two handed grip. Even with a polymer grip frame, the weapon was still a bit heavy for her, but this same weight also soaked up the recoil of the .45 cartridges that the pistol held 13 to a magazine. Greer didn’t know it, but the pistol she was using, the one that was Nellie had recovered from Steiner, was loaded with 185 grain +P+ jacketed hollow point ammunition. It was loaded to pressure levels far in excess of what normal commercial ammunition would have been loaded to in order to increase the weapon’s long range punch. Not that Greer needed long range ammo, as the closest of the revenants, which she now shot twice in the chest, was only about twelve feet away.

“Oh, I’ve been so bad,” Nellie gasped, pausing and firing the Beretta one handed, hitting another of the Revenants and succeeding in making the headshot this time. “I should have just taken you to the –“ her next words were drowned out by her firing another round “- or else waited with you. Now we’re going to get eaten and Laura will be so pissed!” Nellie continued to sob.

Greer wondered what sort of relationship the two women had, but decided better than to pry into the details. Instead she concentrated on running and shooting and very much deliberately tried not to think about the feeling of her father dying in her arms. Greer half thought that she was probably in a prolonged state of shock and wondered if somehow it all might be a bad dream. Her headache, which was being aggravated by the constant gunfire, told her that she was probably awake however.

“Come on, just around this corner, then we’re almost home free,” Greer said turning the corner at a run.

“Here they come,” she heard someone say, as she threw herself to the side, just in time to avoid a gunshot. Scraps of masonry stung her cheek, and she could feel blood.

“Jesus Christ Frenchy,” a voice Greer knew as Jenny’s yelled, “You almost shot Greer!”

Nellie rounded the corner and ran into Greer, and they almost fell over. Before Greer could even register joy at seeing Hardigan there, relief at seeing Jenny, curiosity at seeing Kaufman and wondering what she’d do to Nellie, or even wonder who French was and if he was the one in the beret… Before she could do any of that, Whitey reached out and yanked them both the rest of the way around the corner. He leveled his M14 from his hip and started firing into the revenants just behind them.

“Don’t just stand there! Run!” he yelled, pushing them forward.

Greer started forward again, being carried by sheer momentum. She found herself standing next to Jenny, whom she noticed was wearing a set of scrub like Nellie’s. “Nice clothes,” Greer panted.

“Thanks, you too,” Jenny grunted back, looking at Greer’s running shorts and the way she too was bouncing under her shirt. “Next time we have to run, I don’t know about you,” Jenny said, “But I want a sports bra.”

Despite herself Greer laughed. As the paused at another intersection, Jenny slid off the Mini-14 she still had slung and handed it to Greer, accepting the Mk23 in trade. “This might come in just as handy though,” Jenny said.

Greer nodded and chambered a round, seeing that that there was a thirty round magazine in place. Now that Jenny had mentioned it, her breasts did hurt, and she would have liked a sports bra. She wondered if Jenny had any duct tape in her pack. Before she could think of anything else, she saw that that revenants were still closing the gap, so she threw her Ruger up to her shoulder and started shooting.

“You can’t shoot them all.”

Mac turned around and looked at Molly, pausing for only a moment as he continued to drop fresh cartridges into the tubular magazine of his Marlin squirrel gun. “Maybe not, but no harm in trying,” he grunted back. Over a hundred empty .22 shell casings now littered the floor around his feet. Mac raised the rifle to his should and squeezed off another round. .22 ammunition had been cheap and come in 500 round bricks. The previous occupants of the apartment had left behind four bricks and the Marlin. Mac had had two more bricks with him when he’d arrived, having carried them as trade goods. Molly might be right about it being pointless in the long run to shoot the revenants, but in the present short term, he found that it was making him feel quite a bit better.

Molly’s eyes were still puffy was crying, after their argument, and her finally admitting to the real reasons she had wanted to leave, Mac hadn’t said much to her. He’d eventually grabbed a couple of beers, some shells, his sombrero and the Marlin. Then he’d headed up the roof. Now, he noticed that Molly seemed to want to say something. Finally she croaked out, “Please don’t be mad at me any more Mac, you’re all I’ve got.”

Mac bit more deeply into the butt of his sole remaining Nicaraguan cigar, he hadn’t lit it yet, having forgotten to bring matches up to the roof with him. “I’m not mad,” he said, grimacing around the cigar. “I don’t know what I am,” Mac admitted, “I’m not exactly thrilled with you right now, but I’m not made any more either.” He threw the rifle up to his shoulder with a viciousness that surprised even him and lined the cross hairs up on a nude female revenant. The hair on her head reminded him of Molly for some reason. Mac squeezed the trigger and sent a .22 caliber bullet rattling around in her skull. Smiling softly again, he turned over his should to Molly, and finally his voice softened as well, “Look, it’s cool, you have the kid to think of too.”

“Mac… you know Larry thinks the world of you, he looks at you…” Molly paused “… like a father Mac. He didn’t want to lie to you, it was my idea. I just didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“Am I taking it about like you’d expect me to?” Mac asked, chuckling softly and firing again.

“Sadly, yes,” Molly admitted. She sighed, “I do love you Mac, and if you still want me after all of this is done with, I will marry you Mac.” Her voice broke. “Hit me or something Mac, please, just don’t shut me out, you’re all I’ve got.” She started to sob again.

Mac set his rifle aside for a moment and took her in his arms. He wiped her tears away with his palm and leaned in, kissing her hard. “Enough with the tears,” he whispered. “Okay?” When she nodded, he released her with a pat on the butt and straightened himself back up. He picked up the rifle again and worked the bolt, drawing slow and careful aim on a revenant that reminded him of his ex-wife. Hell he thought, maybe it was her, hard to tell with both her breasts chewed away, her abdomen ripped open and half her face gone. He pulled the trigger again. “Sometimes you just have to make your own therapy,” he muttered.

“What?” Molly asked, looking up at him, tears still staining her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mac said. “Look, I’ll admit I was half-assing it with copter, I doubt that bird will ever fly. I was mostly going through the motions to make you happy.”

Molly nodded numbly, “How do we get out of here Mac?”

“Maybe we don’t,” Mac said, shrugging. He opened the tube of his rifle again and began dropping in fresh cartridges. “One thing I did want to get from the copter, if it is still there, is we had a box of thermate charges.”

“You mean thermite, like in the monster movies?” Molly asked, looking up again, some hope glimmering in her eyes now.

“Yeah, it burns stuff. Only it’s called thermate now, it replaced thermite. Same basic shit, just burns hotter and better. Towards the end we had a shitload of it dropped off, I guess the theory was that we were supposed to use it to destroy equipment rather than letting it fall into the wrong hands. Makes a certain sort of logic in a way,” Mac admitted, “Only I haven’t seen any of those damn things flying a helicopter or driving a tank, have you?”

Molly chuckled and let herself smile slightly, “No, I haven’t.” Then she paused and quietly added, “Not to say they can’t…”

“Don’t even start,” Mac warned half sincerely. “Anyway,” he went on, “we had about fifty thermate charges on the helicopter. I don’t even know why, we should have dumped them, or maybe tried bombing those things from the air with them, but we didn’t. So there still should be there, assuming nothing has happened.”

“But all those things are between us and the helicopter Mac, you saw them all, we couldn’t shoot our way past.”

“If what you heard on the radio about these things converging at places and overrunning bunkers is true-“

“It’s what they said Mac,” Molly said defensively

“I’m not doubting you love,” Mac said soothingly, “But the radio has been wrong before, hasn’t it?”

Molly nodded, chewing her lip. They both knew all too well how true that was, Mac thought. “Yes, lots of time, but I believe it this time, I mean look at those things.”

“Well then,” Mac said, “the way I see it, that changes things to a whole new ball game in a couple different ways. You got a light by the way?” He held out his cigar.

“I was hoping you’d ask, I was going to use that as an excuse for coming up here,” Molly said, flicking a lighter to light and holding it out to Mac.

“Thanks,” Mac said, leaning in and lighting his cigar. “Where was I?” he asked, puffing it to light.

“Whole new ball game,” Molly said, smiling hopefully again.

“Yeah, that,” Mac said, looking serious, “The way I see it, that means those things down there aren’t just dead bags of skin. That means they’re either smart or some other thing is smart and controlling them. At least smart enough or controlled enough to swarm.”

“But bugs will swarm too Mac,” Molly said.

“I know, and bugs aren’t all that dumb sometimes,” Mac said. “Cockroaches are still around even through all this shit, aren’t they?”

Molly cocked an eyebrow, and then nodded, “I see your point, or part of it I suppose.”

“Consider this too, if they’re swarming, it doesn’t seem to be at us. You said the radio said they did it to take out bunkers, but that some still held out, right?”

Molly nodded, “In Switzerland, there’s all kinds of bunkers, but they were saying something about evacuating them all the same.”

Mac inhaled from his cigar, “If the folks who make cuckoo clocks can pull through, maybe we can too. Guess those little knives of theirs must help too, huh?” He chuckled trying to cut the tension.

It seemed to work, as Molly laughed as well, her body and posture relaxing noticeably. “What do you expect when there’s a spoon and fork on there along with a knife?” She smiled easily now.

“We’ll have to see if we can find a KFC and scrounge up a spork, kick all their asses then with American know how,” Mac opined, then he continued, “But what I was getting at, maybe we can sneak around, loop behind them and get to the chopper. Then we get those charges and either torch them if they rush this place, or even try to scrounge up a vehicle and head for new digs. Either way we’ll have a powerful distraction. They don’t seem to swarming at us, so there must be a bunker nearby. Either they’ll hold their own and send these things packing, for a bit anyway, of they’ll get scragged. Either way it will keep these bastards busy and buy us some time.” Even as he said it, Mac had an image of what the poor bastards in the bunker must be going through. God, I’m glad I’m not them he thought.

“This sucks, big time Pee Wee Herman circus tent sucks,” Dale said as the rain began to land on them.

“True enough, bro,” Tanner said, scrunching lower under the tree they were sheltering behind. They had decided to wait for morning and a full day of daylight before making their way down into the subdivision. For now they had climbed into one of the rather spacious limbs of an oak tree and belted themselves in. “Just imagine how Whitey and them folks are doing in the complex, they’re probably living it up, bro.”

“Yeah,” Dale muttered, sneezing, “And here we are sleeping in a tree, and I haven’t even got new pants yet.” He added, reaching down and scratching at his buttocks.

“How come we don’t go live inside then bro?” Tanner asked, pulling out a cigarette from behind his ear and flaring it to life with the six-inch flame of his Bic. He then pulled his trusty Game Boy out from his pocket and switched it on, deciding to try to run up a new high score on Galaga.

“I don’t know dawg, all them rules and stuff, like maybe they’d draft us and put us on a search team, then we’d have to go out and stuff,” Dale said, scratching his crotch now.

“Man, what’s that stink, did you pee and poo yourself?” Tanner asked, pausing his game.

“Shaddup, I got scared okay,” Dale muttered.

“Filth pig,” Tanner insisted.

“You’re the filth pig,” Dale retorted.

Tanner merely grunted and idly scratched at his own stained trousers. He reflected that that was nice thing about Real Tree camouflage; it hid a man well and hid his stains when he soiled himself. “Anyway, back to what we was talking about bro, we have to go out anyway. Like we are now.”

“But we get paid now,” Dale insisted.

“Whitey must get paid too, he’s the one paying us, and he gets store, which means he gets cigarettes and candy,” Tanner said. “Hey, maybe they even got Butterfinger bars down in that joint man,” he licked his lips. “I ain’t had one of them in like forever dawg.”

Dale scratched his goatee and seemed to ponder it, “Yeah, but they said we’d have to be deloused and all. Not to mention we’d have to follow their rules, like no more weed man.”

Tanner paused over his game, but then nodded sagely, accepting his brother’s wisdom. “Can’t be doing that then, wouldn’t be righteous,” he agreed.

“Exactly,” Dale said. He pulled out a small plastic bag and a scrap of paper and began to roll something up. “Speaking of which, I found us a bit more in my pocket. It’s got some stems and such, but beats when this shit all first started and we couldn’t get no weed no how.”

“Shit dawg, I remember those days,” Tanner said, repressing a shudder. “When those reaver things first showed up out in Kansas and all them folks turned up dead and what, with shit growing out their chests and bellies and out their ass dawg and all that evil shit…” Tanner mumbled, making gestures with his Game Boy hand to simulate things flying out of various bodily parts and orifices. “Suddenly no body claimed to have nothing man, and them folks what did wouldn’t even want to take good U.S. Dollars no more.”

“Scandalous dawg,” Dale said, licking the gummed edge of one of the last of their Zig Zags. “Dude, we couldn’t get a damn thing, I remember smoking the resin in my pipe for a month.”

“Shit fire yeah,” Tanner said, repressing a shudder. “Then we tried to smoke them pine needles cause you said they might get us high. All that shit did was burn my lungs dawg.”

“But you got sort of dizzy from all that smoke you inhaled, that was sort of like getting high no weren’t it?” Dale said. He stuck his joint in his mouth. Despite his protestations about it being from the dregs of his pocket, it was still as long as thick as his pinky. He removed his own modified Bic from his pocket and flared it to life.

“Damn boy, you done rolled yourself a Marley-sized spliff there,” Tanner said approvingly.

“Oooo yeah,” Dale said, coughing. “Damn, even with stems, this is still some killer shit.”

“Dude, you were right, growing stuff using the outhouse dregs did work,” Tanner admitted.

“Told you I had a green thumb,” Dale said, passing the spliff to Tanner. “Still tastes a little funny though. Hey, you hear that?”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Tanner asked. He still took time to reach out and stick the dooby in his mouth, but now he looked down. It sounded like engines and a lot of them. It was too dark to see, but looked like they might have company.

“Wonder who that is?” Dale asked, peering into the darkness.

“Dunno,” Tanner said, “Highway’s up that way, sounds like it might be coming from up there. Whoever it is will probably hit them SOBs we ran into.” He inhaled deeply off the spliff and then coughed. He wondered for a moment if drug use would rub him of his night vision, then he inhaled again and realized that he just didn’t care. He coughed again as he passed the joint back to Dale, “You was right though, that does taste funny,” he said.

Steiner coughed and paged through the book, taking a sip of coffee from an abandoned mug. He wrinkled his nose, as the brackish and cold liquid tasted funny. He looked down into the cup and realized that someone had put a cigarette out into it. He gagged momentarily and then spit it out, tossing the cup to the side where it shattered.

Steiner moved his fingers along a paragraph that he’d highlighted. It began with the words; “In the absence of competent national command authority, an authorized commander or his designee may detonate nuclear weapons in cases of extreme emergency. These cases include situations in which the President, Vice-President, or other members of the executive branch are presumed to have been either destroyed or are unable to communicate orders… The authorized commander may deploy nuclear weapons of his own authority only in cases of direct and extreme peril to the United States of America…” Steiner paused in his reading and watched as a group of revenants tore the armor off a soldier and ripped his stomach open, leaning their gaping maws in to feast. Looking at other monitors, only one gun tower seemed to be firing still, and it was surrounded outside.

Steiner removed an envelope from the back of the binder and tore it open. Inside was a sealed red plastic wafer. He snapped this open and removed a sheet. It was labeled “Operator Activation Codes. Requires secondary Authorization codes.” Then he carefully used his good hand and removed another envelope from his pants pocket. It was sealed on the back in way, with the seal of the President of the United States. Steiner tore it open. A letter on Presidential stationary fell to the floor, it named him as designated commander. He ignored it and instead removed another sealed plastic wafer, this one green. He snapped it open and removed a sheet of paper. At the top it read “Primary Activation Codes.” Steiner smiled and looked again at the monitors, “Won’t be long now you fuckers,” he smiled with blood staining his teeth.

“Won’t be long now, and they’ll be on us,” Finley said, looking back worried at the corridor leading to the motor pool.

“At least we’re all together again,” Stavros said, looking over her shoulder at the other vehicles. They’d found three deuce and a half trucks, four armored Humvees, and a Chevy Blazer sitting gassed up and ready. They’d also found one truly surprising prize, an M113 armored personnel carrier. They’d the forty odd civilians they’d accumulated loaded on the vehicles, along with some of the food and ammunition they’d found stacked around the motor pool. The 2-½ ton trucks had originally had open rear beds, but had since had sheet metal covers with gun slits welded in place. The two soldiers who had been assigned to guard the motor pool had also joined them. The trucks comfortably seated a dozen each other civilians, with the remainder being distributed among the Humvees.

“Now if they can just get the door open,” Frenchy called from the topside gunner’s position. He’d volunteered for gunner rather than having to be drafted again. Under his breath he’d said something about it being superior to sharing a cab with “that white haired asshole.” When pressed he’d corrected himself, stating that he just couldn’t wait to do his part.

“They’ll get it open,” Baldwin said. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, his radio and back now stashed in the crew compartment of the number two Humvee, along with the personal effects of the others and the shopping cart full of MREs.

The woman wearing the business suit was now sitting next to Tom. She’d introduced herself as Alice, and she had been a lawyer once. “If I’m going to die, might as well wear my best clothes,” she’d said philosophically. She was now armed with an M1 carbine which they’d found sitting in one of the trucks. She claimed to know how to use it. “They’d better do it soon, “ Alice said, “I’m still not sure if I’ve got the sights set right on this thing.”

“You’ve shot a gun before, right?” Stavros asked, concerned.

“If I hadn’t, I’d never have lived to make it here,” Alice said, smiling with a lot of teeth showing.

Stravros grinned back and elbowed Finley, “I like the new people, they fit right in,” she said.

“Yeah, now stop hitting me,” Finley said. He was armed with an M4 carbine to match Stavros. “Nothing gives you that right,” he added solemnly.

“I give me that right,” Stavros said, sticking her tongue out.

“Are they always like this?” Alice whispered to Baldwin, narrowing her gaze at them.

“I wouldn’t know,” he whispered back, “I just met them today, but I think so, they’re in love I think.”

Alice smiled, “Must be nice. I think. Though she does keep hitting him.”

“They’re crazy, all of them,” Frenchy put in from the turret.

“Who are you again?” Alice asked.

“I’m Ronald-“ Frenchy started to say, but then he paused and said, “Hell with it, I’m Frenchy. I’m the gunner, and I’m happy to be here.”

“That’s the spirit,” Baldwin said, patting Frenchy’s leg.

“Don’t you start too,” Frenchy grumbled.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Alice said, laughing all the same.

“Don’t worry about, you’ll be up to speed soon,” Finley put in from the back.

“Welcome to the pirate crew,” Stavros said, followed by a comment in Serbo-Croatian.

“What did she say?” Alice asked.

“Beats me,” Finley said, and Baldwin shrugged as well.

“She said that if Doc Baldwin and you didn’t get together, she might want you for herself,” Frenchy said from the turret.

Everyone paused and stared at his legs, as it became a toss up whether Baldwin, Alice, or Stavros was blushing more deeply.

“You, you can speak-“ Stavros started to stammer.

“You can actually understand her?” Finley asked.

“What did I get myself into?” Alice said, as all their comments overlapped.

“I did my stint in supply corps, running beans and bullets to the Marines in Yugoslavia. Of course I can speak a little Serbo-Croatian,” Frenchy said indignantly.

Stavros started to mutter something else, but then caught herself.

Alice found herself studying Baldwin and then whispered, “So, a doctor huh?”

“Guilty as charged,” the man in the driver’s seat of the M113 said through the intercom. The nametape on his Nomex anti blast coveralls read “Abernathy”.

“Christ, six of them though?” Whitey said through the intercom as he stood in the open hatch, manning the fifty caliber. He looked down into the troop compartment to see the six young women Abernathy had managed to fit inside along with their belongings. “Isn’t that a bit much even for you Tripod?” he asked, whistling in admiration.

“Hey, a man can be ambitious, can’t he?” Tripod replied, chuckling.

Whitey looked into the troop compartment again and had to admit that Tripod might have a point, as all the women were attractive. They were also armed he noticed. Counting four M16A2s, an elderly M3 grease gun, and an M249 Squad Automatic weapon, they might well be the best-armed bunch present. And was that an M79 grenade launcher lying on the bench? “Starting a well armed harem?”

“Hey, them goils needed saving,” Tripod said, still chuckling.

“Did you know them before this or was this a spur of the moment thing?” Whitey asked again into the intercom, curious.

“We’ve all sort of know each other before,” Tripod admitted. “Melinda down there, she thinks you’re cute though.”

“Which one is Melinda?” Whitey asked

“The red head,” Tripod replied.

“Which redhead, there were two.”

“The one with the D cups,” Tripod replied.

“Oh, that one,” Whitey said. He put his pipe in his mouth and lit it. And then pulled back the charging handle of the .50 caliber, readying it for action. “What did she say about me?”

“Just that you’re cute, she thinks white hair looks good on a man, and that you hide your age well,” Tripod said. Whitey could almost hear him smirking through the intercom.

Whitey bit back the comments he was about to make and settled for grumbling instead. “You ready for when Lefty gives the word?” he asked instead.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, and he’d better give it soon, otherwise we’ll die of carbon monoxide poisoning down here. Assuming those fuckers don’t come find us first,” he intoned.

“Hardigan knows what he’s doing,” Whitey said. Then he peaked down at Melinda, and noticed her smiling back. He also noticed that her Nomex coveralls weren’t quite zipped all the way and that it made for an interesting sight. “You’d better know what you’re doing Lefty,” he muttered.

“You sure this will work, Sarge,” one of the two soldiers assigned to guard the motor pool had asked. Hardigan seemed to recall that his name was Jerry.

“Pretty damn sure,” Hardigan said.

“I hope so,” Jerry said. His partner, who went by the name of Ike, was already in the number one Humvee along with several of the civilians. Greer, Nellie, and Jenny were in the number three Humvee along with the last of the civilians. The more competent looking among them had already been given guns and placed in the three trucks which were to tail the Humvees, which would in turn tail the M113. Which left Hardigan, Jerry, and Kaufman, who had simply said “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” in the Blazer.

“Being sure is his business,” Kaufman said, blowing smoke out the open window and tucking a replacement cigarette into the band of her hat.

“I hope so,” Jerry said, not sounding overly convinced.

Hardigan reflected that Steiner probably had not assigned his two best men to guard the motor pool while the base was being overrun. It also occurred to him that perhaps Jerry and Ike ought have resisted when they had shown up to commandeer the vehicles. But whatever else was going on rather superceded those worries in Hardigan’s mind.

It had been Jerry after all who had shown him the field telephone that still had them in contact with the single remaining gun tower. Apparently the two remaining occupants of that tower were still holding out, but anxious to get out as well. Steiner, being paranoid, had the wire fenced rigged with claymores, these had already been detonated to slow the attacking way of revenants. But he also – and Hardigan knew this because Whitey had helped set it up it – had the wire rigged with explosives to blow clear secondary escape routes from the complex.

Thus the main body of revenants had the primary road out clogged, but they also had control of the detonator triggers to blow another path out. Now the only problem was that they had to get the damn door open. Once they did that, they’d ram and shoot their way out, stopping just long enough to pick up the two hold outs (someone named Eric and a woman named Nikki) out of the gun tower and aboard the number one Humvee. Then the lot of them would head out towards the airport and hope that they could find a plane still there. Which plane either Kaufman or Baldwin would fly. Hence the two were in separate Humvees.

The one rough spot was that Steiner had put all the doors in lock down. The motor pool door was part of an annex, and it could be opened manually. A simple counter weight system was holding it in place. The plan now was that when he gave the word, the gun tower would direct their .50 caliber to fire and destroy the exterior mechanism from the outside. Then, they’d use the winch on the Blazer to get the door open from their end. Even then though the Humvees also had winches, the Blazer would be faster and accelerate better, making it more likely to catch up.

“You ready?” Kaufman asked, pulling her hat down. She had Hardigan’s Remington Carbine resting in her lap and had strapped on his gas mask bag full of ammo.

He gave the winch one last look and then checked his watch, he’d given the gun tower an exact time to open fire before abandoning the field phone. “Right about… now!” Hardigan said. He looked up as they could hear the sounds of heavy caliber machine gun fire hitting the door outside. “Gun the winch!” Hardigan ordered.

He turned to look and saw the door begging to creep open. “Now let’s hope I knew what I was talking about,” he said as he watched the door pulling slowly upward.

Graunch Solution Part 8

“You sure that they’ll take us on board, or that they’ll even help, I thought they sent Dr. Lang, and he’s what got us into this mess.”

“When your friend wakes up,” Kaufman said, “She’ll be able to explain some things that I can’t right now, so you’ll just have to trust me. Lang seems to have good intentions, he just underestimated what he was dealing with.”

“And what are we dealing with Doc – Laura,” Hardigan corrected himself, “What the hell are we dealing with?”

Kaufman laughed again, and Hardigan noticed that she was staring past him again, or rather almost through him. He recognized the look as one of shell shock; it was often called the thousand-yard stare. If Kaufman had seen it on herself in the mirror, she wouldn’t have been surprised. “Don’t you know that yet? It’s the end of the world.”

“That already happened,” Hardigan said.

“Then it’s the end of our world too,” she said sadly.

“It’s the end of the world out there,” Whitey said, gasping as he watched the security monitor. There were sandbagged machine gun posts set up outside along the perimeter along with a number of gun towers mounting searchlights as well as guns. All of these were now pouring fire along the perimeter.

The base that had formed the nucleus of the complex had been so well hidden in order to avoid the Russians finding it, that an office park had been constructed over it. The maintenance garage to the park was actually simply sheet metal, meant to be collapsed in minutes so that the missiles could fire. Meanwhile, hidden subbasements to a nearby auto service center and garage had allowed access. As the chaos swelled around, supplied and equipment had been shuttled to the old base. Many of the surrounding buildings had been razed to clear a field of fire. The surviving topside buildings had been connected with pressure sealed walkways and used to add living space to the bunkers beneath. Around this was a series of barbed wire fences. A municipal airport five miles to the north had also been kept partially secured, at least a few hangers worth and one of the airstrips. Altogether this formed the complex.

A complex now under siege, Whitey reflected. When they had finally made their way back, they had found that Steiner was not available to report to, as the outside was now awash in revenants. An aide had promised them that he’d be apprised, and they seemed glad that they had killed whatever was lose inside. Just in case they hadn’t, Whitey had personally helped nail the door to the old garages shut. Whether it held or not, he didn’t know.

“Some are already inside, or something is,” the aide had said. “So it doesn’t matter, we have to hold what we have.”

Whitey soon discovered that his team had already been sent out to the airstrip. Meanwhile he was told to take the people with him, rearm, reload, and prepare to go outside. Watching the security cameras, Whitey had his doubts as to what good they’d do. That all the guns, and a good portion of the ammo were already gone from the security room didn’t help matters any.

“Here’s everything we could find,” Jenny said, hefting a large plastic tub onto the table. She had her shotgun slung over one shoulder and Greer’s Mini-14 slung over the other, along with Hardigan’s M4 carbine. “I grabbed the most useful looking of what I had stashed, in case we end up running with.”

Stavros and Finley walked in behind her, holding more boxes. The weapons of the search teams, with the exception of any heavier ordinance, were treated as privately owned, and weren’t kept in the security rooms.

“I’m surprised they haven’t starting locking down the corridors yet,” Stavros muttered, looking up at the screen.

“They will, soon too,” Whitey said, distractedly. “And if Steiner already made extra sure to secure the airstrip, he might be thinking what I’m thinking, and that’s that we need a plan B.”

“So what are you saying,” Jenny asked, reaching into one of the boxes and laying out 20 rd Ruger magazines. “That we ought to cut and run ourselves? Where the hell would be go with all those things out there?”

“I don’t know,” Whitey admitted, “But right now I’m feeling like the tuna that’s in the can, waiting to be eaten.” He began to sort through a box, looking for shotgun shells. “Why didn’t you change?” he asked, noticing Jenny was still wearing scrubs.

“Because I’m not leaving Greer behind, and if we have to bust her out of the hospital, I thought it might help if it looked Iike I belonged,” Jenny said, smiling evilly.

“Good thinking,” Whitey agreed. He took his pipe out and began stuffing the bowl with tobacco from his pouch. He fished out a kitchen match and struck it against the table, ignoring the scorch marks left in the cheap wooden surface. “We all have to die sometime,” he said under his breath, “but I sure didn’t think today was my day.”

“They must have sent out my SAW,” Finley said bitterly, “But we got your M14 from your room, and I’ve still got Hardigan’s carbine, and he had an ass load of ammo stashed for that. We’ve also got two M4 carbines and over twenty loaded mags,” he said, looking over the boxes.

“Plus I’ve got a Glock,” Stavros added tapping a holster she was now wearing strapped to her thigh. “And Finley has a snubby .38.”

“I’ve still got my .45 and a shotgun,” Whitey said. “Did you grab my Browning Hi Power when you were at my room?”

“Yeah,” Jenny said, sliding a silver plastic box along the table. “And I’ve got my Smith, my bolo, the 870, and Greer’s Ruger.”

Whitey looked at the growing pile of ammunition being stacked on the counter, “Seems we’ve got enough to go around then,” he agreed. “Now we just need to go get Greer and Hardigan, and find a way out of here.”

“Why don’t they have the alarms ringing yet?” Stavros asked, watching the revenants outside begin to climb over the bodies of those who had fallen before them. “I mean there’s people living here, families, and such. What about them?”

“I don’t know,” Whitey admitted.

“I don’t’ feel quite right just cutting out again,” Finley said, frowning deeply.

“You see any other way?” Whitey asked. He removed a holster from one of the boxes and began to attach it to his pistol belt so that he could carry his Browning slung along his leg. “If so, I’m ready to hear it.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jenny said, she worked the action of her Remington 870 and chambered a round. “I say we grab as many people as are still running around, and try to load them into whatever will run, and that we make a bee line for the airport. That we grab whatever will fly and head the hell out of here.” She then drew back the bolt of Greer’s rifle, chambering a round in it as well.

“It’ll be hard enough just us,” Whitey countered, “And we don’t know what we’ll find at the airstrip, or where the hell we’d go.”

“What about going out through the garages?” Jenny asked.

“I don’t want to go back down there, I’m not sure we killed that thing, and even if we did, what about the rats it had up and moving around again?” Finley put in.

“Well, we better think of something fast,” Stavros said, looking up at the CCTV screen mounted above them. “Because I don’t think that wire is going to hold long.”

Mac credited some quick thinking with saving their lives. He’d been out of Scotch, but he’d still had a bottle of bourbon left. Nasty stuff bourbon, he reflected, certainly not a civilized man’s drink. That was probably why he’d kept the bottle in reserve, unopened. Still, he’d put in his pack, just in case. A bottle of bourbon, with a bit of rag stuffed in it, still made for an okay Molotov cocktail though, even if it didn’t make for many other very good cocktails. Enough of a Molotov to set off some gas still in tank of an abandoned Toyota and buy them enough time to get back to the apartment.

Not that doing so truly solved their problems, Mac reflected, as he heard the revenants outside. There must have been a handful of not-dogs with him, as he heard a howling. They were pounding on the boards securing the first floor, and would soon be back inside that far at least, he reflected. Fortunately, they were safely back upstairs.

“Are we going to be okay?” Larry asked. He was hugging his teddy bear, which he’d pulled lose from his pack.

“It’ll be fine Larry, we’re safe now,” Molly said, running her fingers through his hair and holding him in turn.

Mac set the butt of his Thompson between his feet and took a seat on the futon. He’d pulled over a .50 caliber ammo can full of .45 ammo, and was busily reloading one of the Thompson drums. “What did you mean by convergence?” he asked Molly, keeping his eyes on his fingers.

“What do you mean, Mac?” Molly asked, not looking up either.

“Something you said out there, about convergence,” he said, winding the drum’s spinner and locking it back into place.

“Maybe you should tell him now Molly,” Larry said quietly, looking first at Mac, then at Molly.

“Shh,” Molly said abruptly, “Don’t-“

“Tell me what?” Mac asked, pulling back the bolt of the Thompson and letting it fly forward, chambering a round.

Molly sobbed, “Oh Mac, I’m sorry.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Mac asked, feeling himself anger.

“Don’t yell at Molly!” Larry said, crying himself now.

Mac took a deep breath and reminded himself to be calm. “I’m not angry Larry, at you or Molly. I just need to know what you aren’t tell me.”

“We didn’t want you to know,” Larry said quietly

“Know what?” Mac demanded.

“That we’re all going to die,” Larry said softly.

“Oh man, I think I’m going to die if I don’t stop shitting,” Dale moaned as he set his back against a tree. He’d only barely managed to get his pants down in time. “Aargh, my ass keeps exploding.”

Tanner put his hat back on as he rose unsteadily back to his feet, the pool of vomit he’d left on the other side of a felled log was still steaming. He wiped the last of the vomit off of his chin with his sleeve. “I told you those were some good shrooms, didn’t I? Oh God,” suddenly he doubled up and bent over the log again, wracked by dry heaves.

“Bro, I can’t stop shitting,” Dale moaned falling onto his side. “Oh shit, here it comes again,” there was a gurgling sound and Dale blushed. “My ass just exploded again.”

“Dude,” Tanner moaned, “you just painted that tree with turds!” He started to choke out a laugh, but then doubled back up in pain.

“Bro, we did some homicidal shit back there though,” Dale exclaimed through his pained grimace as he continued to lie on his side.

“Sure did,” Tanner said, still coughing, “Man, wish we had more of them shrooms.”

“I don’t know if I could take that,” Dale said, “Yeah, we shot our way through, but I’m about out of ammo. And then I saw those little leprechauns dancing around with gas cans telling me start fires.”

“They weren’t leprechauns,” Tanner said, then coughed again, “I told you, they was squirrels. Arson squirrels, they’re the ones who set the woods on fire.” He slowly brought himself back up to his knees and looked back at the woods behind them. There was a cloud of smoke billowing towards the sky and fire on the horizon.

“I still say it was the leprechauns,” Dale said, “Oh no, there it goes again, aargh –“ there was another gurgling sound – “my tum tums don’t feel so good.”

“Don’t be crazy, bro,” Tanner said, digging a cigarette out from behind his ear and sparking it to life. As he watched the flame, his eyes lost focus for a moment as he visualized an army of brown squirrels, all of them singing a happy song, and carrying five-gallon gas cans on their head. For some reason the squirrels made him think of opening a spigot on a gas storage tank and throwing a flare. As he turned from the lighter flame to watch the woods burn, Tanner thought that it would be really cool to do that sometime.

“Leprechauns I still say,” Dale said, followed by a plaintive, “Ow, my ass hurts…”

“I still hurt all over,” Greer said as she pulled on a t-shirt. She noticed the other woman in the room peaking at her breasts as she did so, but was too distracted to care.

“I know, but Laura said you had to be ready to move,” the other woman said. She’d introduced herself as Nellie, Doctor Kaufman’s nurse. She was about Greer’s build, but with brown blonde hair, and a larger chest. The latter was why Greer had discarded the bra Nellie had brought along as well. “I’m sorry not all my clothes fit, but I didn’t have a lot of time,” Nellie said, casting a nervous glace towards the hallway.

“Don’t worry about it,” Greer said, standing up, and pulling her hospital gown the rest of the way off from around her feet. She didn’t care any more if Nellie was looking or not, as she pulled on a pair of panties and the grey running shorts which Nellie had pulled from her bag.

“All I had was my spare clothes, I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have any,” Nellie said, blushing as Greer did in fact catch her looking. “Laura did get your gun back though,” Nellie added cheerfully, sliding a cloth wrapped package onto the bed Greer had formally occupied.

Greer took it and opened the cylinder, noticing it was empty, as she slid on a pair of loafers, which Nellie had also pulled from her bag. “I don’t suppose she thought to give you some ammunition for it too, did she?” Greer asked.

“No,” Nellie admitted, blushing again. “She’d just pulled it out of the locker. Will the ones for this work?” she asked, pointing at a holstered pistol on her gun belt. Nellie was still wearing her scrubs, with a lab coat pulled on over them. Underneath she’d put on a man’s work belt with a green nylon holster attached to it.

Greer had learned to be pretty good about recognizing guns and saw that Nellie was carrying a stainless full size Beretta automatic, though whether it was a .40 or a 9mm, Greer couldn’t tell without examining it. “No,” she said gently, “I need .38 special ammunition. You’re not real familiar with guns are you?” Greer asked.

“No, I’m not,” Nellie admitted, blushing deeper now, “Laura taught me to shoot with this one though, I can work it.”

“Good, you might need it,” Greer cautioned. “The rest of the stuff I had when they wheeled me in, do you know where it is?”

“Your clothes were ruined, we had to cut those off,” Nellie said, not blushing for once now that she in a professional mode of thought Greer noticed. “The only other thing there was these,” she said, pulling a manila envelope from her apparently bottomless bag and emptying on the bed. A set of keys, Greer’s address book, and small brown plastic case fell out. “It’s just your wallet and keys and stuff,” she said.

“That isn’t a wallet,” Greer said, snapping open the plastic case revealing a dozen .38 hollow points. “At least not a normal one,” she said, chuckling slightly. “It’s called an ammo wallet.” Greer was glad her fingernails were cut short as she tore half of the rounds loose from the plastic fingers holding them in place and loaded them into her Colt. “Where do we go from here?”

“Laura said she’d meet us here if she could, but to meet her at receiving in half an hour. She went to get your boyfriend and try to find your other friend’s,” Nellie said, chewing her lip, and still keeping an eye on the hall. After an initial rush of people and gurneys, it had been empty for a few moments. The information exchange network on the TV had stopped its rerun of Gilligan’s Island and now said “PLEASE STAND BY”.

“He’s not my –“ Greer started to say, and then realized that that wasn’t true, she wasn’t sure what Hardigan really was anymore, but she knew that he mattered. “What about my father?” she asked instead.

“The man who came in with Doctor Lang and you?” Nellie asked.

“Yes, a little taller than me, graying black hair, glasses,” Greer said, impatient.

“I don’t know, Steiner came and took him away, and I last saw them headed down to the command center.”

“Then that’s where I need to go,” Greer said, swinging her legs off the bed and standing. She started to swoon.

Nellie quickly caught her with a steadying hand, “But you can’t, Laura – Dr. Kaufman – said she’d meet us here. We need to all go together, not split up.”

“I’m not leaving without my father,” Greer said.

“But-“ Nellie said, releasing her grip as Greer caught her balance “-we can’t split up, it’s too dangerous.”

“Look,” Greer said, trying to be reasonable, and also trying to fight through the pain in her head. “I need to talk to my father, its just that simple,” she said, placing the .38 down her shorts and ignoring the feel of cold metal. There was a single mesh pocket on them as well, so she inserted the ammo wallet, her address book, and keys. “You can either come with me, or wait here for Doctor Kauf – for Laura – and my friends to come get you. I don’t care which, but I am going down there,” Greer insisted.

“Oh, Laura won’t like this,” Nellie said, chewing on a finger. Greer wondered why Nellie was rubbing her own buttocks while she did that.

“I don’t like this,” Kaufman said, peering out into the hallway. The lights had snapped down to emergency power a few moments before, “They must be diverting power from the generators to the fences.”

“That means it must be getting dicey out there,” Hardigan said, easing his .45 from its holster. “It could also mean that they’re already inside,” he added, wiping his brow for a moment. “It’s getting hot in here too, that must mean the ventilators are on emergency power too.”

“Vunderbar,” Kaufman muttered.

“I didn’t know you spoke German,” Hardigan whispered, as they crept along.

“Like you said earlier, I’ve got all sorts of talents,” Kaufman said, touching the brim of her hat.

“You sure that they’re down here?” Hardigan asked. The corridor had been deserted so far, most people, at least those who must be aware of what was happening outside, having apparently locked themselves into their rooms.

“I overheard one of Steiner’s goon squad send your friends down here, whether they stayed put or not, I can’t say,” Kaufman said.

“Great,” Hardigan muttered. “And if they already bugged out?”

“Then we’re in the same boat as before, and the same plan, i.e. steal anything that runs, shoot our way to the airport, and head out on anything that can fly,” Kaufman said, forcing a smile.

“That’s not the best plan,” Hardigan said simply. “But you’re right, and either way we still need to double back and grab Greer and your friend Nellie. I wish we had them with us now,” Hardigan admitted.

“Too risky, but believe me I thought of it,” Kaufman said. “I put ten stitches in your girlfriend’s head, she needs to run around as little as possible.”

“She’s not my-“ Hardigan started to say, but then he paused, wondering just what to call Greer now. “Will your friend Nellie be there waiting for us? I don’t want to have to go looking for them.”

“She’d better be if she knows what’s good for her,” Kaufman said darkly, “Otherwise I still have my hairbrush,” she added in a menacing tone.

Hardigan shot her a glance and wondered just what Kaufman’s relationship with Nellie was, but decided not to pry. Instead he motioned ahead of them, “There’s the security room for this floor.”

Kaufman nodded and eased her M11 from it’s holster and took a two handed grip. She noticed Hardigan looking at her and whispered, “Just in case it’s not your friends in there, but rather someone who doesn’t want us to just cut and run.”

“Yeah, good point,” Hardigan nodded.

The door was ajar so he yelled, “Two coming forward!” deciding to sacrifice the element of surprise in favor of avoiding a friendly fire incident.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. The room was empty and quiet save for a PRC-77 set up on one of the tables. It was crackling at low volume with the sounds of the fighting going. There was a sign taped to it that said, “Lefty, call me.”

“Lefty?” Kaufman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s what Whitey Harrison calls me,” Hardigan said, turning over the sign, there was a frequency written on it in grease pencil.

“How did they know you’d find it, and why does he call you that, you aren’t left handed?” Kaufman asked raising an eyebrow and tugging her hat back down.

“I’m ambidextrous actually,” Hardigan replied and he raised both hands and wriggled his fingers. “And Whitey thinks everyone needs a nickname, probably because he has one.”

“Lucky you,” Kaufman said, “But how did he know you’d find the radio?”

“He probably didn’t,” Hardigan said, frowning, “But like you said, a slim chance is better than no chance, now isn’t it?”

Kaufman grimaced but then smirked, “Always turning things around me, I might have to keep an eye you,” she said, and Hardigan wondered if that was a wink he noticed.

There was a burst of static from the radio, and more sounds from the battle upstairs, there was a panicked voice that suddenly cut through the static and the sound of an explosion. “Christ, something is coming out of the garage annex, they’re on this end too!”

Another voice then cut in ordering, “No screaming on the tack net, DO NOT YELL ON THE TAC NET!” the voice yelled.

“Steiner,” Kaufman and Hardigan both said at once, exchanged a glance.

There was another burst of static, and then sounds of explosions and more gunfire, “We can’t hold them!” someone yelled, then there was more static.

Hardigan cocked his eyes and glanced at the CCTV security display, it was entirely static. “Camera’s are out,” he muttered.

“Guess we’d better use that radio then,” Kaufman said simply, pulling a cigarette loose from her hatband and lighting it.

“How long have you been listening to the radio?” Mac asked quietly, staring at Molly and Larry.

“We didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Larry said plaintively.

“How long,” Mac repeated, sounding tired.

“Only the last little bit, since it starting coming in again,” Molly admitted, drying her eyes.

“So that’s why you were so anxious to get out of here,” Mac said bitterly, “Not the marriage shit you were laying on me.” He slapped himself across the cheek, “Wake up and smell the napalm Mac,” he said to himself, “you were just using me!”

Molly sobbed harder, “No, it’s not like that, you don’t understand…. Everything I told you about that was true Mac, I do love you, and I do want to marry you, I just want it to be special!”

“Special my ass,” Mac snarled. He violently twisted the cap off of one of his beers and drained it. “You don’t give a shit about me, you just want a ticket out of here, before those freaks all ‘converge’ and do whatever the hell it is that they’re out there doing!”

“No!” Larry said, “It isn’t like that Mac,” he said, hugging his bear tighter. “I don’t like lies, but Molly said you might just drink more and get discouraged if we told you the truth!”

“So you were in there listening to the radio this whole time while Molly and I were in here fu-“

“Stop it Mac!” Molly said, her face flushed now. “If you think I was using you, maybe you’re right in a way. I was keeping you from falling into a depression again. I was wanting to see you stay alive because I do love you Mac. But if you don’t trust me, then just shoot me now!” Molly said, raising her chin. “Go ahead and do it Mac,” she repeated, meeting his stare.

“No Mac, don’t!” Larry said, crying.

Mac reached towards his hip as Molly shut her eyes. But instead of pulling his Smith and Wesson, he pulled out a metal cigar tube and removed the plug with his teeth. He then bit off the end of the cigar and spit it out, finally striking a match off the wall. The smoke tasted good, Mac thought, as he inhaled it deeply. A man really shouldn’t inhale a cigar of course, he chided himself, but then it didn’t really seem like it mattered any more. “Where’d you learn German anyway kid?” he finally asked Larry.

“You’re not mad any more?” Larry asked, wiping his eyes on his teddy bear.

Mac shrugged and picked up his sombrero and tugged it on, pausing for a moment. “I’m not exactly thrilled, but no, I’m not mad any more kid,” he finally said.

“Thank you, Mac,” Molly whispered.

“In school,” Larry said, “I learned some in school, then Molly helped with the books.”

Mac nodded, realizing that partly explained why Molly spent so much time teaching Larry to read. He remembered her gathering the translation dictionaries, but he hadn’t thought any more about it. “Tell me what the radio said,” Mac said, dropping his ash onto the carpet.

Molly gave the really worried nose wrinkle and said, “It said that we’re in deep, deep trouble Mac.”

“And that maybe we’re all going to die if we don’t get away,” Larry whispered, “And I’m scared to die Mac.”

Mac nodded and wondered where “away” was and how to get there. “Hard to get someplace if you don’t know where you’re going kid,” he offered.

“Well, looks like we got here, bro,” Tanner said, wiping his glasses off on his shirt. “Such as ‘here’ is at least,” he added, nodding towards the subdivision stretched out in front of them.

There were still a surprising number of the houses intact, though a few had been burned, or showed other obvious visual signs of distress. At least two out of three seemed to still be in good repair though, at least from their vantage point on top of a nearby hill, where the woods ended and the road began.

“There’s that bigger city up ahead,” Dale said absently as he put a cigarette in his mouth. “Maybe most of the things stayed up in there, better hunting.” He flicked his BIC and lit the cigarette.

“Maybe we can find you some new pants down there,” Tanner said hopefully.

“Stop it, I can’t help that I shit myself,” Dale muttered, kicking the dirt and looking at his feet. “What did you want me to do, cut the ass out of my pants and walk around bare ass like we was back in Uncle Mark’s basement?”

Tanner shuddered at the shared childhood reference and flashed back, “No, don’t touch me there Uncle Mark, no, it’s wrong!” he blurted.
Dale stepped forward and slapped him, “Hey bro, back to reality!”

Tanner shook himself visibly, and then straightened his hat and glasses. “Yeah, anyway, you gotta do something dawg. I mean you was the one complaining about my stench pile earlier, now you’re the one who smells like he fell down the shitter hole.”

“Shut up already!” Dale said, his face reddening, “It was those damn killer shrooms man, not only did they call the fire leprechauns, but they turned my poo hole spigot wide!”

“How much shit did you have in you? I mean damn, you painted those trees, let alone the inside of your drawers,” Tanner said, barely stifling a laugh.

“Shaddup,” Dale muttered. The changing the subject, he patted down his pockets and withdrew a handful of shotgun shells. “I’ve only got seven left dawg,” he said, holding up the four blue hulls for Tanner to see.

“You dumb ass, there’s only four there,” Tanner said, counting them off on his fingers.

“You’re the dumb ass, dumb ass,” Dale retorted, “I’ve got two more in my shotgun still,” he said, tapping his sawed off duck gun. Neither of them was sure what had happened to the pump action, it had vanished somewhere in the woods. Dale thought the leprechauns might have taken it.

Tanner counted off on his fingers again, “Wait a minute bro, that’s only six, not seven.”

Dale paused and ground his teeth for a minute, then frowned and said, “Oh.”

“Yeah dumb ass,” Tanner said, poking Dale in the belly.

“Ow, don’t poke me butt munch,” Dale complained
.
“You’re the butt munch, butt munch,” Tanner said.

“No, you’re the butt munch,” Dale insisted.

“You wish I’d munch your butt you homo, but it’s too festering and shit stained,” Tanner retorted.

“You are the shit stains on my ass,” Dale said loudly.

Both of them paused and Tanner nodded, “Wow, good one dude.”

“Thanks bro,” Dale acknowledge, removing his pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”

“Thanks,” Tanner said, accepting a light as well. “How much .38 you got left?” he asked after taking his first drag.

“Twenty one rounds, including six in the Colt,” Dale said.

“You get naked to count them?” Tanner asked.

“Shut up,” Dale muttered.

“I saw you pulling down your drawers dawg,” Tanner insisted.

“Shut up,” Dale muttered again.

“You sure you counted right?” Tanner said.

Dale nodded, and then pointed at Tanner, “What about you dude, how much you got left.”

“I got five left in the Ruger and three more on my belt,” Tanner said. “Plus I still have five for my gauge and two full mags for the sweet sixteen, “ he added, slapping the butt of his slung rifle affectionately.

“That ain’t a lot bro,” Dale cautioned.

“Don’t I know it,” Tanner said sourly, “But sometimes you just have to make do.”

“Why can’t we take more?” the severe looking woman demanded of Jenny. She looked to be about forty and looked as though she had woken up on the wrong side of the bed for a month straight.

“Only take what you can carry,” Jenny said, “and don’t take so much that you’ll slow us down!”

“But-“ the woman started to object, but she was cut off.

“Just listen to my friend bitch, that is if you want to get out of here alive,” Stavros said, stepping forward. She chambered a round in her M4 carbine to emphasize the point.

“Well I never!” the woman exclaimed, but then she dutifully stepped back and began to throw items out of the suitcase she’d bought with her.

“You sure it’s worth saving these fucks?” Stavros whispered to Jenny after mumbling something else in Serbo-Croatian. She motioned towards the crowd gathering around them. Despite their best luck pounding on doors, and yelling, a lot of people seemed to be staying put.

“We didn’t gather that many,” Jenny said sourly, eyeing the crowd. There were only about fifty people by her count. Just over a dozen men, and the rest women and children. The lot of them seemed to be tagging along mainly for the sake of having someone to follow. “Everyone that’s here almost, ended up here because they were running away,” Jenny said, maybe they just got tired of running.” She adjusted the backpack she was wearing. Despite her advice to everyone else, she and Stavros were fairly loaded down with ammo and food. She was also carrying Greer’s Mini-14 as well as her own shotgun, while Stavros was now carrying Hardigan’s carbine in addition to her M4.

Jenny looked past the group they had milling in the hallway to see Whitey and Finley approaching. They had another guy with them, who was wearing khakis, but without any insignia that they could see. She noticed that he was wearing a pistol belt with a 1911A1 in an old black leather flap holster, a first aid pouch, and two canteens. “Just like in a war movie,” Jenny muttered. She also noticed that they’d apparently drafted him to carry their PRC-77 radio, which he was laboring with, strapped to his back along with carrying a bag of his own slung over his shoulder.

“Who did you corral into joining are little band?” Jenny piped up as soon as they were within earshot.

“He found us,” Whitey said.

“I’m Tom Baldwin,” the newcomer said extending a hand.

Jenny took it, noticing that he looked familiar, “Aren’t you one of the doctors from the hospital annex?” she asked, placing the face.

“None other,” he said. “And you’re just the people I was hoping to find,” he added.

“Oh really?” Jenny asked, dubious.

“Really,” Whitey said, “That Doctor Kaufman you told me about sent him.”

“Oh?” Jenny said, “We were just about to head up that way, to try to find Greer.”

Baldwin nodded, “Laura – Doctor Kaufman – told me to be on the look out for you all. She’s with your friend Hardigan and they were going to try to find you first, then link up and go back for Greer and Nellie – that’s Laura’s nurse.”

Jenny nodded, “The more the merrier, so you’re jumping ship too, huh?”

“I don’t see much choice but to,” Baldwin admitted. “But like I was telling Harrison here, if we’re going to do anything we’d better do it soon-“

“Integrity of this place is violated all to hell, they’re streaming in through at least three breaches topside, plus whatever the hell that was in the garage did something, and that’s compromised too,” Whitey interjected.

Baldwin nodded, “Those things will be streaming in all over the place, if they aren’t already.”

“Shit,” Jenny said succinctly.

“You can say that again,” Stavros muttered, repeating the same basic sentiment in Serbo-Croatian.

“We need to start getting everyone to the motor pool,” Whitey said. “And we’d better get there before everyone else decides to cut out too.”

“And if they have?” Jenny asked.

“Then we either join them, they join us, we shoot them, or we shoot them,” Whitey said.

“Or we can all find ourselves eaten or used as egg carriers,” Baldwin added, smiling ruefully, “All sorts of options aren’t there?”

Stavros and Jenny exchanged a knowing look and then Stavros patted Baldwin’s shoulder, “I like you, you’ll fit right in.”

“Thanks,” Baldwin said, then he paused and added “I think anyway.”

“What about Hardigan and Greer? We need to find them,” Jenny insisted.

“I left a radio back at security, with luck Lefty will find it and we can guide him in,” Whitey said, dodging to the side quickly to let two more half panicked civilians join their milling crowd. Finley was following close behind, helping a woman in a business suit push a shopping cart laden with MRE cases. “What the hell are we going to do with those?”

“Throw them on a truck,” Finley said, “We’ll need the food.”

“Assuming we find a truck,” Stavros said sourly. “And assuming we aren’t the food.”

“Enough,” Whitey said. “Stavros, you and Finley take everyone down to the motor pool. See what the hell you can commandeer to get everyone loaded up as best you can. Anyone who wants to ride along that you think we can trust, let them. Doc Baldwin, you’d better go with them. Keep that radio on and see if you can raise Hardigan on that.”

“Where are you going to be?” Stavros asked.

“Don’t you mean where are ‘we’ going to be,” Jenny said, “I’m going with you if you’re going where I think you’re going.”

“I figured as much Jenny,” Whitey said, removing his pipe from his pocket and chewing it. “Jenny and I are going to backtrack and try to find Hardigan and Kaufman.”

“What about Greer?” Jenny asked.

“Fine, after we find Lefty and the other Doc,” Whitey said. He scratched a match along the wall; the “No Smoking” sign had just enough friction. “One disaster at a time,” he muttered as he pulled the bolt back on his M14, chambering a round.

“What about all the civs?” Finley asked, motioning to the people crowding the hallway.

“Hell, we’ve got a few extra guns, any of them that aren’t armed… If you think they know which end the bullets come out, then arm them,” Whitey said. “Oh, and see if any of them has any pipe tobacco,” he added as an after thought.

He spotted a tall, thin man wearing a woman’s wool over coat and wearing a floppy beret, smoking a cigarette. He seemed calmer than most, and had a Winchester lever action slung along his back. “Hey you, Frenchy,” Whitey said.

“Who me?” The man in the beret asked, pointing at himself.

“Yeah you, Frenchy. I remember you, you did a stint the Navy didn’t you?” Whitey asked.

“Yeah, but my name isn’t Frenchy, it’s Ronal-“

“Doesn’t matter,” Whitey said dismissively, “It’s Frenchy now, and everyone needs a nickname. You just got drafted Frenchy.”

“What is this, Full Metal Jacket?” Frenchy mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” Whitey asked, tapping the flash hider on his M14 with his index finger.

“Nothing,” Frenchy said, “Just happy to be here and do my bit is all.”

“Ain’t we all,” Jenny muttered.

“Saddle up with that cowboy gun Frenchy, we’ve got shit to do, places to go, and things to kill,” Whitey said enthusiastically.

“I hate my life,” Frenchy muttered.

“What’s that?” Whitey asked.

“Just saying how great it’ll be to kick some ass,” Frenchy said, smiling with what looked to Whitey to be his best fake enthusiasm.

“That’s the spirit,” Whitey said.

“Where’s your spirit of adventure?” Greer whispered to Nellie as they made their way carefully down a darkened stairwell. She could hear the other woman’s teeth chattering, and hoped that it wouldn’t give away their position.

“I’m just scared is all, and Laura is going to be so mad that we weren’t there waiting for them,” Nellie said meekly.

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Greer commented absently. She held her Colt low and ready along her side. Periodically the cold metal of the cylinder would rub against the bar skin of her leg below the hem of her running shorts, giving her goose bumps along her leg. “We just need to get to command and control, then we can get out.” Greer turned and smiled, “Just stay with me, okay?”

Nellie smiled wanly in return, but nodded. “The lights are out again, I don’t like that,” she whispered.

“I’m not thrilled by it either,” Greer admitted.

They had already covered what Greer estimated to be half the distance to the deepest sanctum of the bunker. The command and control center was located at the center of the installation, and predated all of the assorted annexes. It was part of the original missile installation, and as such was buried deep enough to give it a chance to resist a nuclear detonation. Greer hoped that Steiner would be there and that her father would be down there with him. If they weren’t, she wasn’t sure what to do next.

She did wish that the pain in her head would subside a bit. Nellie had offered her some pain pills earlier, but Greer had refused, wanted to stay sharp. Now she was starting to wonder if she had made the right decision. “It won’t be much further,” she whispered to Nellie.

“I hear something,” Nellie said, “Down there,” she pointed towards the foot of the stairs, and then gasped quietly, “Someone is coming.”

“Flat, go flat,” Greer said tersely, bringing her revolver up and pushing Nellie flat against the wall with her free hand.

A second later they heard the voices coming towards them before pausing, it sounded as though they were arguing Greer thought, even before she could make out what was being said. “This is insane, what is he trying to accomplish down there?” the first voice exclaimed, sounding tense.

“Who the hell knows, nobody is telling a God damn thing, and now we’ve got those freaks coming in up stairs,” the second said. “I’m sick of this shit man, I think we’re fucked if we stay down here.”

“What the hell are we supposed to? Steiner’s sealed all the doors, we can’t run unless we fight our way through one of the holes those things made,” the first said.

“So what? I say that’s better than waiting down here like meat in a can,” the second said harshly.

“Maybe Steiner knows what he’s doing, he’s got those scientists down there with him,” the first said thoughtfully.

“Those bastards? Man, that one SOB had some kind of freak lab and it’s his fault that thing got loose. I think it’s probably his fault those things are getting in here in the first place.”

“I ain’t going to run,” the first voice insisted.

“Then stay here and die sucker, cause I’m leaving!”

“Wait! Damn it Marcus!” the first voice yelled.

There was the sound of running as someone started up the stairs, followed the loud echoing crash of a pistol shot.

“THE PENALTY FOR DESSERTION IN THE FACE OF THE ENEMY IS DEATH SOLDIER!”, a third voice yelled, followed by a second pistol shot. Greer recognized that yell, it had to be Steiner.

“Sir, we weren’t…” the first voice said, sounding like it was pleading.

The pleading was cut short by a third pistol shot, “NOBODY GETS OUT OF HERE ALIVE!” Steiner yelled, followed by more pistol shots.

“Come on,” Greer whispered, pulling a stunned Nellie by the hand and bounding down the steps.

They found Steiner standing at the foot of the steps, the door to the C&C bunker open in front of him. Two of his soldiers, one white and one black were already lying dead on the floor. Barely visible just inside the door were two other shapes, these in lab coats. “NO!” Greer said, launching herself forward. “What have you done?” she screamed at Steiner.

“You!” Steiner said, “You’re the one who started this! Your father is the one that helped bring that thing in here!” Steiner started to raise his pistol. Greer noticed that it was a large, ugly black automatic, one of the handful of SOCOM Mk23 pistols at the complex. Designed specifically as an offensive handgun, they were meant to be used by Special Forces troops to silence sentries.

Greer knew that her own revolver wasn’t quite so advanced, but could still be deadly, as she raised it towards Steiner. She knew that she’d never be able to make the shot, but she felt that she still had to try. In the time it took Steiner to raise his gun, and for her to try to bring her own to bear, Greer thought briefly of her father laying their dying, of the baby she had inside of her, and most of all of Hardigan and that she’d never gotten to say good bye.

The sound of the shot going off interrupted any further thoughts.

The sound of gunfire was intense and was all that could be heard on several of the channels Hardigan tried. Finally he had dialed in the one Whitey had indicated on his note, “Lefty to Whitey, come in over,” Hardigan said. There was a moment of silence, and then Hardigan repeated his message, “Damn it Whitey, are you there? It’s Hardigan, come in over, over.”

A squawk and a burst of static answered, and then “This is Baldwin, is Laura Kaufman there with you? What’s your position, over.”

Hardigan released the mic and looked up at Kaufman, “Who’s Baldwin?”

Kaufman was leaning back on one of the tables, smoking a cigarette and digging through one of compartments of her bag. She paused and held up a fresh pack of cigarettes as she replied “He’s one of the other Doctors, I sent him down to try to find your friends. See if he did.”

“This Hardigan, yes, Kaufman and I are together, we’re located at security office four.”

“Affirm that, hold your position, Whitey is on the way. The rest of us are heading towards the motor pool,” Baldwin said, his voice somewhat distorted by static.

“The rest?” Hardigan asked, looking up at Kaufman, but she simply shrugged. Hardigan keyed the mic again “Is Greer there with you? Lisa Greer?”

There was a pause and another burst of static, “Negative, Whitey is on his way to your position, hold there. Be on your toes, those things are inside. I repeat those things are inside,” there was another burst of static. “We’re heading down now, will await, Baldwin out.” The radio faded into more static.

“The motor pool area is underground and insulated, radio reception is shit there,” Hardigan said, turning to Kaufman.

“Sounds like we’re on our own until your friend Whitey gets here,” Kaufman said, grinding out her cigarette butt and lighting a new one.

“You smoke too much,” Hardigan said tiredly.

“If these end up being what kills me, I’ll die happy,” Kaufman said, stashing two cigarettes in the hatband of her fedora. “Seems we’re running all over this damn place, what now, wait for your friends?”

Hardigan nodded and sank into a chair, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, or even had something to eat. “I just wanted a nice quiet day when I woke up this morning,” he said, massaging his temples.

“I haven’t had one of those since all this started,” Kaufman said, crossing her arms.

Hardigan looked at his watch, he’d found it earlier stuffed in his pants pockets, though he didn’t remember putting it there. “I’ll give Whitey ten more minutes, then we’d better try to make our own way to find Greer.”

“We might as well just go to the motor pool,” Kaufman said, “Nellie will take Greer there anyway.”

Graunch Solution Part 7

Ow, my head hurts,” Dale said, rubbing a gash on his temple.

“I’ll make your head hurt more, you dumb ass,” Tanner said, taping his glasses back together. “Now the truck is busted, what’re we going to do now?”

“It’s not my fault, you shouldn’t have poured piss on me!” Dale said, rubbing his head.

“I wouldn’t have upended the pee jug on your dumb ass if you hadn’t been sleeping at the wheel!” Tanner fumed. He pushed his glasses back on and adjusted his duck-hunting hat, pulling down the flaps to cover his ears.

“I’m not the dumb ass, you’re the dumb ass, and besides, I wouldn’t have been falling asleep if you’d taken your turn driving when you were supposed to!” Dale kicked at the front of their Ford, which now had steam coming from it, as the front was tangled around the back of the abandoned Humvee. “Ow,” he yelled, grabbing his foot and then promptly managing to fall over.

Tanner narrowly resisted a sudden urge to kick Dale while he was down, “I couldn’t very well take my turn, and I was doing one of the side quests. How do you expect Link to get where he’s going if I don’t do the side quests?” Tanner asked indignantly.

“God forbid,” Dale muttered, dusting himself off and rising to his feet. “What the hell do we do now?”

“I dunno,” Tanner said, recovering his Game Boy and shoving it into one of the side pockets of his pants. “Keep going I guess,” he added, removing his Ruger Blackhawk from the quick draw holster he carried it in. The gun was actually in .357 Magnum, but like all .357s, it was capable of firing the less powerful .38 Special cartridges as well. Tanner opened the loading gate and checked the load in his cylinder. “I hate to go on foot, but I don’t see us walking back,” he muttered.

“We’re closer to where we’re supposed to go than back I reckon,” Dale said, “But then we lied about how long we needed to get extra food…” he scratched his head. “If we do a hard day’s walk, we’ll be right there, but how we going to get back to get the rest of our payment?”

“Don’t know,” Tanner admitted. He tugged his M16 from the cab and checked the magazine, pulling out a green cotton bandolier containing seven additional 20 round magazines and slinging it over his chest. He also grabbed two loose 30 round mags and jammed them into his side pockets. “Better grab some iron,” he suggested.

Dale pulled out the last of their spliffs and fired it up with one of their modified BIC lighters. “Need to dull the pain,” he explained, leaning in and picking up two of the shotguns, one of the sawed off doubles and a Mossberg pump. “You going to take a gauge too?” he asked.

“Yeah, guess I’d better,” Tanner said, slinging his M16. He picked up a double handful of the loose shells now scattered around the cab and selected the other sawed off double barrel duck gun. “That gives us three scatter guns and my sweet sixteen, think we’re set?”

“Hell no,” Dale said, taking a long drag, “This was some good reefer though.”

“No shit dawg, no shit,” Tanner agreed, reaching over and taking a hit. “We going to burn the truck or leave it?” He gestured towards the several partial cans of diesel still attached to the back.

“Not like we can call triple A,” Dale said sourly. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the toolbox, and selecting a reasonably clean looking rag, taped it over the cut on his head.

“No, but if we find another truck, maybe we can come back and get our stuff,” Tanner said. He made a face, coughed, and handed the spliff back to Dale. Tanner cocked his head and held a hand to his ear. “It’ll be light soon, but sounds like something is coming up from behind us.”

“We did pass a lot of houses that weren’t burnt, getting nearer the burbs and running out of farm country, could be a lot of nests hid out here,” Dale said. He popped open his duck gun and dropped in two shells, beginning to fill one pocket with .38 shells and another with shotgun shells. “I’m glad I’ve got deep pockets,” he said, patting his Browing hunting coat.

“We’d better move,” Tanner said, clicking off the safety on his own shotgun. “This could get messy bro,” he added.

“Count on it,” Dale agreed.

“Man, I’m glad I’m high,” Tanner said sagely.

“You and me both bro,” Dale said.

“Guess we’d better start wearing out these boots,” Tanner said.

“If you’re gonna die,” Dale sang, using one hand to play an imaginary guitar on his shotgun.

“D-d-die,” Tanner echoed.

“Die with your boots on,” Dale continued as they walked forward toward the still darkened tree line.

“I hate getting up early,” Mac said, rubbing his nose and wishing he had a drink.

As if reading his mind, Molly handed him one of the bottles of Budweiser. “Here, better get drinking, you might have to do some shooting today,” she said. Then she leaned in and rubbed Mac’s head.

Mac grimaced, but opened the beer and took a drink. “Maybe we can find some hard liquor while we’re out,” he said hopefully as he took a long drink.

Molly shrugged, “Could be,” she said with a smile.

Much to Mac’s chagrin, Molly was already up and dressed. She was wearing a pair of black denim jeans, a grey sweater, and already had the Ruger stuffed through her belt. She even had her .30-06 sitting against the top of the futon.

“Aren’t you the chipper one this morning,” Mac grunted, as he eyed Molly’s preparations. “It isn’t even first light yet,” he protested.

Molly shot him a look and drawled, “Come on now Mac, you promised. And we’d best get an early start.”

Mac nodded. He’d promised Molly that they’d go out and see what kind of condition the helicopter was in. Despite his earlier assurances to Molly, Mac was no longer so sure that leaving was the best idea. Leaving the chopper sit out there for months, with no maintenance, he had some serious doubts as to what sort of shape it would be in. Let alone how to find gas to fly it out. Still, he reflected, a promise is a promise. Thinking back on it, there was also at least one item on the helicopter that he thought they could use, assuming that it was still there.

The truck speeding by previously had gelled Mac’s thoughts to other potential means of escape and evasion which might present themselves. A vehicle capable of going cross-country might allow them some mobility, the problem was that what little knowledge he had of the surrounding area was months out of date. The numbers of revenants, single or in groups, that he and Molly had either seen from the windows, or had to shoot while moving around the curtilage, had seemed to be increasing again.

“I cleaned and oiled the Thompson last night,” Mac said. He’d used up the last of his Scotch burning the midnight oil while doing it. “I’ve still got two full drums, and a half dozen twenty rounders. After that, I’ve still got another two hundred rounds loose.” Mac had had the chopper loaded with two .50 caliber ammo cans full of loose .45 ammo. Originally they had an ancient M3 Grease gun on board, scavenged from one or another armored vehicle. They’d lost the Grease gun and it’s operator along the way, but Mac had held on to the ammo. When the rest of his group had split up, no one else had bothered to take it.

“I’m going to take your shotgun too,” Molly said. Already she had the stove going, which was driving out some of the chill, which had crept into the room. She was warming a skillet full of beef stew. “I see you don’t have many shells left for it though.”

Mac had a long out of production Smith and Wesson Model 3000 police riot gun, which had been left behind by some of the sheriff’s posse that had once been guarding the Army Reserve Aviation Depot where Mac had worked. Mac had used the machinery he had available at his disposal to do a rather professional job of cutting the barrel down to lay flush with the magazine tube, reducing the barrel length to around a foot. This resulted in some loss of velocity, but made the weapon easier to swing onto target. Of course, the recoil and muzzle blast were also much more punishing now. The weapon did still have it’s stock, and a canvas sling Mac had scrounged from a broken M16.

Molly now had the shotgun lying across her knees, and was thumbing rounds into the magazine tube. “Watch the stew for me, will you dear?” she asked, as she reached back into a silver colored Winchester box, and removed two more red-hulled rounds.

“Got it,” Mac said, still finding some of the things that they did domestically to be a bit odd.

“How many does this hold, by the way?” she asked.

“Four,” Mac said, “plus you can keep another in the chamber,” he added nonchalantly as he stirred the stew with a wooden spoon. “Breakfast is on, Larry,” he called.

“Coming,” Larry said, looking up from his backpack. He’d already placed his four favorite Joes, a handful of the green army men Mac had gotten him, and his teddy bear into his backpack. Larry never went anywhere without them, and refused to not go out with Mac and Molly this time. His .22 was already leaning against his bag.

Mac nodded and listened to Molly chamber a round in the shotgun. “Ah, mornings,” he whispered.

“Here it comes,” Whitey whispered, adjusting his grip on a bucket. They’d found an old Ford Astro Van up on blocks down in the garage, painted a commercial white and still bearing US Government plates. It had been up on blocks, but the tank had still yielded enough gasoline to fill two buckets when drained.

“I’m ready,” Stavros said, holding the other bucket. They’d both kneeled down on opposite sides of the abandoned van, using it for concealment. Stavros had her hair tied back with a sweatband across her head. Whitey noticed a light sheen of sweat on her.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“I’ll be okay,” she answered.

“Just in case we are all about to die, I have to ask, why were you and Finley stripping down with me in the room?” Whitey whispered.

Much to his surprise Stavros winked and said, “If we survive this, maybe you’ll find out, and we’ll show you,” she said flirtatiously.

Whitey chewed on his pipe stem and considered what the logistics of the “we” part of Stavros’ statement might involve, and looked over to see if Finley had heard, and whether he’d winked too. “So long as I don’t get it in the end,” he muttered. He wished that he could light his pipe, but given that he was holding a bucket full of gasoline, he had to admit, it was probably best to just chew on it for the time being.

“What are you two talking about?” Jenny whispered. She had one of Whitey’s remaining road flares in her hands, the cap already unscrewed. All she’d have to do was wait for Stavros and Whitey to douse the creature with their buckets, then the plan was to light the flare and throw it.

Whitey hoped that when the creature went up, that he and Stavros didn’t go up with it. “How about you kid?” he asked Finley.

“I’m ready, ready as I’ll ever be,” Finley whispered. He was perched behind the engine block of the fan, ready to take a shot over the hood with Hardigan’s rifle if the creature gave him a target.

No one wanted to tax the generators of the complex by keeping the access corridors lit at more than a basic level, so they had to deal with only dim emergency lights. An orange haze seemed to linger as a scraping noise announced the arrival of their pursuer.

Whitey studied it for an instant in the light, wondering just what the hell he was dealing with. The form no longer looked as human as before, and most of its clothing was now gone. Despite the massive trauma that they’d inflicted on it, it was able to half crawl towards them, making a surprising pace. It paused for a moment at the entry to the garage, it’s tongue flicking out, seeming to taste the air.

“On three again,” Whitey whispered, quickly removing his pipe and stashing it in his shirt pocket.

“One,” Stavros counted.

“Two,” Jenny muttered.

“Two and a half,” Finley croaked.

“Three,” Greer said, “I see three fingers, does that mean my headache will go away?” she added, rubbing her temples gently.

Doctor Kaufman smiled slightly, and put her hand down. “I’m afraid that might last a bit longer, but by keeping you under sedation, you should be mostly out of the woods now.”

“Mostly, eh?” Greer asked. She was sitting up in her bed, and was well enough to wish that she had more than a hospital gown to wear. She wondered what had happened to her clothes. “How is…” she paused, her hand unconsciously going to her abdomen.

“It’ll be fine,” Kaufman reassured. She was unwilling to smoke around Greer, both because of the baby and the presence of oxygen bottles in the room. “We were careful in what we administered as soon as your father told us about your condition,” she reassured.

Greer nodded, “And where is my father?” she asked, looking around. He’d been there earlier, she was sure of it.

Kaufman grimaced, “I’m afraid Steiner is monopolizing his company right now,” she said. “But I’m sure he’ll be back here as soon as he’s able.”

“And Hardigan?” Greer asked, whispering.

Again Kaufman grimaced, “I’m afraid Steiner has him cooling his heels right now.” Kaufman paused and squeezed Greer’s hand, “but I think I can arrange something along that end soon.”

Greer blinked, her vision still blurry, and tried to nod, but the pains made her grimace and say a simple “Thank you.”

“How much do you remember about what happened?” Kaufman asked.

Greer sighed and drew reassurance was Kaufman’s squeezing her palm, “Some things that I would prefer I didn’t,” she admitted, squeezing back.

“Why did bypass the security codes to get into the German’s quarters?” Kaufman asked.

“I didn’t bypass anything,” Greer said tiredly, “I had a pretty good idea what code they’d use and I was right.”

“You knew the code?” Kaufman asked, surprise evident in her voice.

“I didn’t know it, but I suspected I knew what it was,” Greer corrected, “I just punched in the digits of Dr. Lang’s old phone number.”

“Why did you have that?” Kaufman asked.

“My father knew him, a long time ago,” Greer said simply, “They used to work together.”

“I see,” Kaufman said, chewing on her lip.

“Is something wrong doctor?” Greer asked.

“No, it’s nothing,” Kaufman said, shaking her head. “Why did you shoot –“ Kaufman looked at a chart – “one, Dieter Auerbach? Who happened to be wearing Dr. Lang’s coat and ID badge. You shot him in the face and the stomach.”

“Because of what I found when I walked through those doors,” Greer said.

“Did you know that there was an egg sack gestating in Auerbach’s stomach?” Kaufman asked.

“Are you asking for yourself, or for Steiner?” Greer asked. Steiner would have been yelling by now, Greer reflected, so it was a mercy that he wasn’t the one asking the questions.

“Both,” Kaufman said. “Do you know why the Germans were here?”

“No, and I don’t want to know,” Greer said. “I just knew I had to stop them.”

“And what convinced you to do that?” Kaufman asked, her curiosity being obvious.

“You didn’t see what was in that cage, Doctor,” Greer said, her eyes focusing on Kaufman’s and locking. “I did. I also saw what it was doing to Auerbach, if that was his name.”

“And what was it doing?” Kaufman asked.

“It had… it had a tentacle or a feeler…. And it was going inside of him… You’ve got to tell Steiner about it, make him believe you. Something isn’t right around here.”

“Shhh, I’ll tell him, I’ll get him now,” Kaufman said soothingly. “You just rest now,” she added, as she withdrew a syringe and medicine bottle.

Greer saw Kaufman inject something into her IV line out of the corner of her eye. “What’s that?” She asked.

“Just something to help you sleep a bit more,” Kaufman said. “It’s nothing to worry about, nothing at all.”

“They said there’d be nothing to worry about,” Mac said conversationally as he slowly looked around the corner of an abandoned bank building. A few loose bills were still scattered about the parking lot. It looked as though someone had wrenched the ATM machine on the side of the building out, as a large vacant spot now sat where it once had. A wrecked Camaro was steered into the drive up lane; the windshield pockmarked with what looked like bullet holes. Mac saw rust colored stains on the interior as he passed it.

“People lie,” Larry said simply. He was staying close to Mac, with Molly just behind. He had his .22 rifle slung over his shoulder, along with his backpack. “They say things they know won’t come true,” he added, frowning.

“Sometimes people don’t mean to lie, Larry,” Molly said, sweeping the area behind them cautiously with the barrel of her shotgun. “They don’t understand what might happen is all, so they end up being wrong.”

“Or sometimes they don’t want to face facts,” Mac said, briefly covering a movement behind an overturned cab with the muzzle of his Thompson. It proved to be just a loose piece of plastic sheeting blowing in the wind.

Mac was wearing his skater helmet, favorite pistol belt and rig, and the Thompson, along with all the spare magazines he had. His boots crunched on the remnants of a Styrofoam food container. The sun was just coming up, burning off the fog from the night. The chopper was going to take the better part of the morning to reach, especially because they had to be more careful now than ever. Mac had landed it in the parking lot of a Wendy’s up by the express way on-ramp, he’d never bothered to check on it, as he hadn’t had any plans to move it. Maybe not even to move in general, as he’d actually gone out of his way to avoid thinking about any potential future.

“Did someone rob the bank?” Molly asked quietly, looking over at the damage.

“Wouldn’t surprise me any,” Mac admitted. “Not sure what good the money would have done them.” He’d been giving Larry real hundred dollar bills to play with. Otherwise they made okay kindling and lousy toilet paper. Even lighting cigars off of bills had lost its appeal, and the ink might burn toxic for all Mac knew.

“Maybe it made them feel better,” Molly said. “You know, like a security blanket.”

Mac tapped his index finger along the grip of his Thompson. “I have mine right here,” he said.

“I had a blanket, when I was littler,” Larry said, incongruously, and then he became quiet again, removing a lollipop from his shirt pocket and beginning to suck on it.

“I hate this part,” Molly said, “walking around out here. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. The not knowing of it all.”

“Wish I could say that you got used to it,” Mac said. He’d been lucky during a large part of the crisis he supposed. Working on helicopters had given him a skill set much in demand. So much so, that he’d been spared the rigors of being turned out to control the swirling riots, crowds of refugees, and general mayhem. “The first time I had to shoot one, I was pulling guard outside one of the aviation hangers. I think they were more worried about people stealing the parts or even an entire aircraft by then,” Mac continued. “There were sheriff’s deputies, part of a posse really, that were supposed to be helping secure the perimeter. A lot weren’t hanging out any more by then. About a dozen revenants got through, fortunately I’d picked up that shotgun from one that ran off-“ Mac paused and motioned for everyone to stop as they rounded another corner.

“What is it?’ Molly whispered tersely, sinking down to a crouch behind Mac. “What’s out there?” she edged up a bit, trying to get a view.

“Quiet,” Mac warned, holding a finger up to his lips.

Standing and milling about in the intersection just in front of the bank was a living mass, packed with revenants, all heading east. Some were still dressed and looked almost alive, except for their hollow eyes and vacant expressions. Others were half rotted, scarred and half burnt, nearly or completely naked. There were children, adults, men and women, old and young, tall and short. Bumping against each other, and marching with a type of unison, they swayed and advanced.

“What the hell is going on?” Mac whispered, backing away slowly.

Larry shuddered and carefully hid behind Mac, “Scary,” he said simply.

“Convergence,” Molly muttered.

“What?” Mac said, surprised.

“Convergence,” Doctor Lang said, speaking in English now, precise and unaccented. He was lying on back, still sweating a bit, but seeming otherwise little the worse for wear. Despite his calm voice, his hands were fumbling nervously with a gold cigarette case on top of the sheets. He removed one and tapped it, settling the tobacco.

“You need to start making more sense Lang,” Steiner warned. “I’ve already been down to your freak show of a lab that you’d set up.”

“Everything we did was necessary,” Lang said solemnly.

“Just what have you been doing Doctor Lang?” Kaufman asked, her arms were crossed and she was wearing her fedora. She’d pulled a blue USAF sweater on over her long sleeved t-shirt, complete with a nametape and her captain’s bars.

“I was told you were here to help Doctor Lang, that you’d have an answer,” Steiner said, running his hand along his scalp. “I never would have let you and your people on sight if I’d known what you were bringing in here.”

“We had no way of knowing how far it had progressed,” Lang said, staring past them. “Doctor Auerbach was a friend of mine, I never would have risked his life were it not necessary.” He placed the cigarette up to his lips and reached for a Bic lighter lying next to it.

“You have an odd way of deciding what is and isn’t necessary,” Kaufman said sourly. “And there’s no smoking in here,” she added, grabbing away Lang’s cigarette. “None at all,” she added, taking away his cigarette case as well, dropping it into her pocket, she hoped that whatever Lang smoked was better than the Victory cigarettes.

“Your world is a small one,” Lang sneered, “you know nothing of what goes on outside these walls.” He wrung his hands now that he was deprived of his cigarettes.

“That might be the case,” Steiner said, making a deliberate effort to control his voice. “But I do know that I have the responsibility for the lives of these people here. They are what I know about Doctor Lang, and you’ve put them in danger. I can’t have that.”

Kaufman let her hand drift along the edge of the holster she’d belted on before coming to Lang’s room. She wasn’t sure if Steiner wanted her to play good cop or bad cop, she’d stopped at her living quarters to pick up the M11 pistol she’d been issued. The same pistol had been sold commercially as the Sig Sauer P228, and the 13rds of 9mm full metal jacket ammunition she had in the magazine might or might not prove useful.
What she did know was that she wasn’t taking any more chances on the good grace of others. “You still haven’t told us anything Lang,” she said.

“I’m still in contact with Cheyenne Mountain Lang, as soon as I can get a clear channel, you can be assured that I’ll be informing them of your activities here,” Steiner said, leaning forward. “Look at me Doctor, what did you bring onto my compound, it certainly wasn’t the medical supplies you had manifested, or I’d never have let you off the plane.”

Lang smiled and said calmly, “I don’t think you’re going to find your superiors to be much help.”

“And why’s that Lang?” Steiner asked.

“Unless I’m horribly wrong, and I assure you that I hope I am, I don’t know if they are still there for you to talk to,” Lang said, dropping the smile.

“WHAT?” Steiner blurted. “THAT’S BULLSHIT, WE TALK TO THEM ALL THE FU-“

Kaufman reached over and pinched Steiner’s lips, pointing towards her ears with her free hand. “Why are you really here Doctor Lang?”
“I’ve said too much already, if you can still reach your precious Cheyenne Mountain, they might have your answers,” Lang said.

“WHY YOU SANCTIMONIUS SON OF A BITCH, THE LAST BULLET I PUT IN YOU WAS AN ACCIDENT, BUT I-“

“Swear to God that thing better damn well be dead now,” Whitey said, coughing, as he felt his way up the stairs.

“Just be glad the sprinklers apparently don’t work any more,” Jenny said, coughing as well. “And hope that we don’t die of smoke inhalation.”

“I swear it was still moving,” Finley said, still covering the stair well behind them with the carbine. “I popped it once in the head, but I don’t know if even that did any good.”

“What, you wanted to wait around and find out? Maybe go back and poke it with a stick?” Stavros cut in, pausing for a moment to wipe her face.

Whitey remembered an old monster movie that used to play around Halloween each year, where the crew of an arctic outpost was fighting some kind of alien. They’d tossed buckets of flammables on it and tried to light it up as well. For all the good it had done them, Whitey couldn’t remember how the movie ended, but he remembered being scared by it as a kid. “We burned the place up pretty good down there, that ought to have someone coming down here to check things out, but where the hell is everyone?”

“I don’t know, I was just wondering that myself,” Jenny said, “We’ve been down here for hours.”

“Steiner had pulled the rest of my team before any of this even happened, maybe something is going on outside,” Whitey said, securing a door behind them as they entered another level.

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Finley asked.

“I had, when I came down to the rec room before the lights went out,” he said, “Remember, when you and Stavros were going whatever the hell you were doing and I was doing the puzzle?”

“No, but I was distracted,” Finley admitted.

“Keep that up and you might not be distracted again for a while,” Stavros warned.

“Did Steiner tell you anything at all?” Jenny asked.

“Nothing, just pulled my people plus a couple of his goons, and said he was sending them out to do a perimeter check, which he does from time to time. I was scheduled for down time, so sent word that I can stay back. I didn’t think anything of it until now,” Whitey admitted.

“Great, this just gets better by the minute,” Jenny said sourly, “And I’m starting to run out of shotgun shells.”

“I’m starting to run low here, bro,” Dale said as he snapped open the breech of his duck gun and ejected the two spent hulls. He started rummaging around in one of his pockets and added “Real low.”

They’d run into over forty revenants in the woods so far, either singly or in groups. So far they’d been lucky, and had avoiding getting themselves pinned down, but they seemed to be marching against the tide. The trees gave them concealment, but also made it harder to see where the revenants were as well.

Tanner triggered a three round burst into the chest of a bald fat man who was crouching near a tree stump. The revenant staggered and fell further forward, allowing Tanner a clearer head shot as he stitched a second burst into the revenant’s head and neck. “I hear ya, bro, and I can feel your pain,” he said, dropping the spent magazine and tearing another one free from his now half empty bandolier.

“I’m feeling mighty small in the face of these bad boys- ON YOUR LEFT!” Dale warned, cutting loose both barrels into a group of four women still wearing torn cheerleader outfits and an octogenarian wearing a stained hospital gown. The wide swath of pellets flew in a donut pattern because of the way the shotgun had been sawn off. A round of double ought buckshot normally contains nine pellets, each of .33 caliber. Dale had just let fly a total of 18 of these projectiles. Unfortunately, pain wouldn’t slow deadened nerves, and only one of the cheerleaders was felled, a single flyer going up through the roof of her mouth and into her brain.

Tanner spun and pulled the trigger of his rifle as fast as he could, triggering a series of bursts. As the recoil made his rifle’s muzzle rise, his shots moved from belt level to head level, with rounds impacting both in the advancing bodies and in the trees. The elderly revenant fell, a round clipping off the side of his skull. One of the cheerleaders slowed, her intestines now dropping out from her skirt.

“Die already,” Dale yelled, drawing his Colt Diamondback and thumb cocking the hammer. The Colt was a slightly less expensive version of the famed Colt Python, only chambered in .38 special. It was a weapon famed for its accuracy, and Dale didn’t plan on missing. He drilled the remaining revenants through before he clicked empty.

“She-it, that was a close one,” Tanner admitted as he dropped another spent magazine. “What was that you said about feeling small, bro?”

Dale dumped the spent shell casings from the cylinder of his Colt. If he’d had more time, he might have picked them up in order to be able to reload them. “I was just thinking that I feel like how Mario must have felt in the first Super Mario Brothers, like in the beginning, before he gets all powered up and can stomp some ass,” Dale said, dropping live rounds from his pocket into the charge holes.

“Well, it’s funny you ought mention that,” Tanner said, smiling. He slammed his palm on his rifles receiver and the bolt snapped forward. “Remember how Mario used to power up?”

Dale holstered his Colt and snapped his duck gun open, reloading it as well, “You used to have to hit those funky blocks and the big ass magic shrooms would pop out, then you could power up and stomp those evil turtles.” He nodded, pleased at the recollection.

Tanner smiled even more broadly and adjusted his glasses momentarily, then removed his hat and pulled out a medium sized plastic baggy. “I got just the thing then, bro.”

“That what I think it is?” Dale exclaimed, his eyes going wide.

“Sure is, the last of Uncle Mark’s special blend magic shrooms,” Tanner beamed proudly.

“The ones just like he took before he wet ape shit and killed and at the mail man after cornholing him?” Dale asked, his voice atwitter in anticipation.

“The same,” Tanner said solemnly. “You down with a power up?”

“Them poor dead things ain’t going to know what him them,” Dale said, holding out his hand to receive the sacrament. “I feel a whole powerful load of killing coming on.”

“Christ, how many do I have to kill?” Mac asked, cutting loose another burst from his Thompson.

“They just keep coming,” Molly said, pulling the bolt back on her Remington and forcing it forward again.

“They must smell us,” Mac said, climbing over the hood a car blocking their way, and snapping off two rounds into the nearest of their pursuers.

“I’m scared Mac,” Larry said, his voice unusually quiet, as he scurried quickly to the rear, pausing only for an instant to take a shot himself.

“We’re all scared kid,” Mac said, letting loose a long burst, draining the last of his first 50 round drum. “Just keep shooting, you’re doing fine.”

Molly slid a fresh round off of her the nylon web cartridge belt she wore around her waist, and forced it into the chamber, there was no longer time to top up the magazine. “There’s so damn many of them,” she cursed as she brought the rifle up to her shoulder and sighted down the barrel, snapping off a quick head shot on what had been a paramedic, now only a few yards away. Immediately she threw back the bolt with the back of her hand and repeated the maneuver, hitting a priest the jaw and blowing out the back of his head. He’d been wearing only shirt and collar; his trousers were long since gone, revealing him to be priapic in death.

“Some big cock on that priest,” Mac commented, locking his reserve fifty round drum in place. They made the weapon heavy, but also kept the muzzle rise down. “Come get some,” he mouthed, triggering a long burst at chest level, sending several revenants down. The heavy .45 slugs, especially when fired from the Thompson’s longer barrel, worked well at breaking bones and penetrated deeply enough to sever and damage spines. They also worked wonderfully well at ripping through the already rotting and damaged organs of the revenants. That produced less immediate, though sometimes spectacular results, as the heart blowing out the back of a now topless soccer mom revealed. “Yeah, that’s it,” Mac mouthed, swinging the Thompson on an arc, forcing the closest of their pursuers to dance like marionettes on a string. “Come to papa Mac,” he said.

Molly hustled Larry around in front of her and propelled him forward as they picked up a near job, leapfrogging their way across debris, heading ever closer to their apartment fortress. She had the bolt of her rifle open, thumbing in fresh shells as quickly as possible while she ran. The scope mount made it a bit harder to access the magazine, and the rifle had been designed for shooting deer, not for combat. Still, for all that, the Marines had once used the same basic rifle as a sniper weapon. Molly certainly wasn’t a trained sniper, but she’d been on the run long enough, and survived long enough, to have learned enough of rough and ready close quarters shooting to have done many a veteran proud.

Molly wound the sling along her forearm for better support and began firing as rapidly as she could work the bolt, covering Mac while he ran forward, reloading the Thompson while he ran. After the firing the last round in the magazine, Molly slung the rifle and unslung her Smith and Wesson Model 3000. It still had a round in the chamber, and she flicked the safety off with her index finger and fired. The recoil was punishing, worse even than her .30-06, especially since Molly was a slight woman to begin with. She knew that her shoulder would likely be bruised the next day, but right then she didn’t care. Instead, she was intent on emptying the magazine as fast as she could pull the trigger.

Mac joined in again, firing single shots now, a 20 round magazine locked into his receiver. “Move,” he yelled at Molly over the din as he covered her. He watched Molly run along, the butt of her .30-06 slapping against her side as she ran, loading rounds into the tube of her shotgun at the same time. Suddenly, a hand shot out from under an abandoned car and tripped her. “NO!” Mac yelled, and Molly fell to the pavement.

How Molly did it, Mac wasn’t sure, but she broke her fall with the butt of her shotgun, just like they’d shown how to do in basic training. She rolled to the side as not one, but two revenants scurried out from under the abandoned Lexus. One of them grabbed at Molly, missing her but grasping the barrel of her rifle. She rolled to the side again, avoiding the lunge of the second, but losing her rifle in the process.

Mac swung his Thompson, tracking but afraid to take the shot. “Get clear damn it!” he yelled.

“No, Molly!” Larry yelled and started to run toward her.

“Larry! Wait!” Mac yelled, then seeing that Larry wasn’t stopping, he yelled “God damn it!” And ran forward himself.

Molly meanwhile smacked the revenant that was now standing over her across the shins with her barrel of her shotgun, knocking it off balance. She pulled her Ruger lose with her other hand and swung it to the side, pulling the trigger as she lined it up. Four rounds went into the chest of one of her assailants, and a fight into the head, dropping it back to the pavement. She quickly scampered back from the other, noticing even as she did so that the rest of their pursuers were closing fast. She pointed the Ruger at her other attacker and focused on the front sight, getting the head with the first shot.

“Molly!” Larry yelled, throwing himself into arms.

“We need to move!” Mac yelled, arriving an instant later. He immediately engaged the crowd rushing towards them.

Molly nodded and scooped Larry up in her arms, slinging her shotgun and replacing the Ruger in her waistband. “Come on, it’ll be okay,” she said, soothing Larry. She cast one brief look back for her rifle, but saw that it was now wedged under the Lexus, the scope broken, and that the remaining revenants were too close. Abandoning it she began running again.

“That was close,” Mac yelled, reloading as they paused by gutted Burger King.

“Too close,” Molly admitted, setting Larry down and changing the magazine in her Ruger. The knee was torn out of her jeans, but otherwise she looked to be unharmed. “How much farther do you figure it is?”

“Not much farther,” Mac said, hopefully, as he fired another burst. “Let’s just hope we get there before we run out of ammo.”

“There’s thousands of them, how can we kill them all?” someone whispered in the hallway outside of Kaufman’s office.

“I don’t know, some are already inside aren’t they?”

“Why don’t they set off the alarms?”

“How long with that wire hold?”

Hardigan heard the voices, and realized that whatever was taking place, that it seemed to have resulted in him being forgotten. He slid the 9mm Beretta pistol he’d found in the drawer into the back of his pants and pulled his shirt out to cover it. There had been a spare 15 rd magazine in the box with the pistol, it was a rather nice stainless Beretta Model 92, almost identical to the army issue M9 Hardigan had first used as an MP. After loading both magazines, Hardigan had simply poured the remaining rounds lose into his pockets. He remembered what he had told Dale earlier, and hoped he wouldn’t have to be reminded himself of how slow it was to reload with loose rounds from a pocket.

He flattened himself against the door and then slowly eased it open, using Kaufman’s keys to unlock the door. Leaning his head out, he saw that the guard was gone, but he heard more footsteps, so he ducked back inside. Suddenly conscious of what one of the voices in the hallway had said about some of the revenants being inside, he flicked the safety off on his pistol and brought it to his side.

The door swung open, and he brought the pistol up, only to find that he was pointing it at a fedora and a familiar face.

Kaufman froze as she entered the door, staring at the pistol barrel. “Well, hello to you to,” she said finally. She inhaled from the cigarette in her mouth.

Hardigan slowly released his breath and lowered the pistol. He noticed that Kaufman was wearing her USAF sweater, her hat, and also had a pistol belt on. She was also wearing a backpack and had a large black bag in her left hand. “Packing?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Kaufman admitted, setting the bag down. “I need my keys back.”

“What’s going on?” Hardigan said, “I’ve heard people talking in the hall, are we under attack?”

Kaufman nodded, “There’s thousands of those things out there now.”

“There were always thousands of them milling around out there, outside the fences they threw up,” Hardigan said, doubtfully, “So what’s changed?”

“What’s changed,” Kaufman said, shaking out a fresh cigarette, “Is that now those things out there are charging the wire, and lots more are coming from all over.”

“Jesus,” Hardigan exclaimed, replacing the Beretta behind his back. “Will it hold?”

“I don’t know,” Kaufman admitted, “But even if it does, we might have other troubles, which is the other reason I came back for you.”

“Other troubles?” Hardigan asked, suddenly worried about what else could possibly go wrong, “What other troubles, what can be worse than being over run?”

“I’ll tell you what’s worse,” Kaufman said, her face growing dark, “We think that Cheyenne Mountain might not be there to call any more. And what’s more, one of Dr. Lang’s experiments got away from him, and it’s loose. Inside the complex.”

“What experiment, who’s Dr. Lang? The guy who flew in? And Cheyenne’s gone? How?” Hardigan blurted, his thoughts coming in a rush.

“Look,” Kaufman said, “you said you could get manage out there, if I help you, can we get out of here?”

“We’d need supplies, and I’d need my team. Do you know where my people are? And Lisa, how is she?” Hardigan asked, his thoughts still racing.

“Greer is going to be fine, I doped her up so that she could rest,” Kaufman reassured. “As for your team, I don’t know where they are, but we can try to find them. I think we need to hurry though. I really don’t think we’re safe here.” She opened her black bag and reached in, producing a black tanker rig holster with a .45 still in it. “I think this is yours,” she said, handing it over to Hardigan.

“Thanks,” he muttered, slipping it back on. “Steiner know about any of this?”

“Steiner is trying to keep this ship from sinking so to speak,” Kaufman said.

“How bad is it?” Hardigan asked, adjusting the straps on his holster.

“Bad, very bad,” Kaufman said. “I need my Beretta back,” she added, waiting while Hardigan handed it and the spare magazine over. Kaufman clicked the safety back on and pushed both into her bag. “I’m going to give that to Nellie, we’re taking her with us.”

“Who’s Nellie?” Hardigan asked, “And where do you plan on us going?”

“Nellie is my nurse, and my… friend.” Kaufman paused for a moment, then adjusted the brim of her hat, “And to answer your second question: Anywhere but here, the plane the Germans flew in on is still out at the airstrip.”

“The airstrip is five miles from here,” Hardigan said, dubiously. “Even assuming no one else has taken off in it, how do you plan on getting us there, and where are we going to go? Not to mention the little matter of who’s going to fly it.”

“I really wish you’d learn to ask one thing at a time,” Kaufman said, grinning slightly.

“Sorry,” Hardigan admitted, “But you’ve thrown rather a lot at me.”

“We can steal a truck, shoot out way there, hell, I don’t know,” Kaufman said. “Would you rather a slim chance or no chance?”

“I’ll take slim over none any day,” Hardigan said, starting to warm up to Kaufman. “I like your style Doc, and nice hat by the way,” he added.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a mock bow. “As to who’s going to fly it, you’re looking at her.”

Hardigan felt his eyes widen a bit, “I thought you were a Doctor for the Air Force, where did you learn how to fly a plane?”

“Correction,” Kaufman said, “I’m a Doctor who was IN the Air Force. I used to fly C130s. I went to medical school after I got out, and still flew on weekends for the Reserves.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Hardigan laughed, “You’re full of talents aren’t you Doc?”

“Call me Laura,” Kaufman said. “And yes, I am.”

“Okay then Laura,” Hardigan said, “I’m almost starting to believe this might work, but where do we fly to?”

“Norfolk, if we can land there, the German’s still have a submarine and a ship off the coast. There was still an airstrip and a bunker like ours there, working, at least as recently as a week ago. If we can make it to that sub, we might just have a shot