by Jake Bible
“Not so great,” Lowell replies around a mouthful of food. “You should just find a nice bucket.”
“I can hold it,” Kyle says.
“Forever? Good luck with that,” Lowell chuckles.
“Forever?” Lu asks. “What does that mean? Did you guys find a way out?”
“There’s a way out,” Bolton frowns as he tosses a second empty pouch aside, “just not one we can use. It’s nothing but straight down for a couple hundred feet.”
“Any sign of Taylor?” Lu asks, then grabs at her belly. “Oh, man. Chicken Alfredo from a pouch is not sitting well.”
“I’ll find that bucket,” Kyle sighs. “You can go first.”
“It’s like lockdown all over again,” Lowell says. “Good times. Toss me one more, Sergeant Slaughter.”
“Stop calling me that, please,” Bolton sighs as he throws Lowell another pouch.
“If we live through this, then I promise to stop,” Lowell says. “Until then, think of it as motivation.”
“I can think of a few ways to motivate you to stop right now,” Bolton says.
“None that will work,” Lowell replies. “Trust me. You have nothing in your bully arsenal that can break me, man.”
“Really? You may think again once…”
“Connor, stop,” Lu says, her eyes going to Lowell. “Leave the guy alone. We’re the good guys.”
“Does that make me the bad guy?” Lowell asks.
“It doesn’t make you anything,” Lu says. “But we have more important shit to worry about.”
“Like where to find a bucket,” Kyle says as he holds his belly. “And fast.”
“Come on,” Lowell says. “I know where some are. I saw them earlier. We can grab TP from the bathroom. Just hold your nose before going in. I may have had an accident.”
“I can’t smell anything but ammonia and sulfur,” Kyle says.
“Lucky you,” Lowell says, then glances at Bolton and Lu. “Are the parental units cool with this not good guy being alone with their son?”
“Just go find a bucket,” Bolton says. “Get back here ASAP.”
“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” Lowell sneers as he lights a candle and hands it to Kyle. “Follow me, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid,” Kyle snaps as he steps through the doorway.
“Kid, kid, kid, kid,” Lowell mocks.
***
Full face mask on and Biscuit trotting next alongside, Terrie sits in a wheelchair as a nurse wheels her quickly from the infirmary. The sky is nothing but ash clouds and undulating stingrays.
“Quite the abominations,” Terrie says. “God is playing a serious joke on us now, isn’t He?”
“Ma’am?” the nurse asks, her voice muffled by her own mask.
“Never mind,” Terrie says. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Linda,” the nurse replies.
“Well, Linda, where are you taking me?” Terrie asks.
“There’s a secure bunker past these buildings,” Linda says. “All wounded are being taken there until these things stop falling from the sky.”
With her words, several black and green eggs plummet from above and crash into the metal roofs of three buildings off to their right. They both look over and see the eggs split open and the green ooze start to eat away at the metal.
“This bunker have a solid roof?” Terrie asks.
“Very,” Linda answers, picking up the pace. “That’s why we’re going there.”
They get a few more yards when they hear shouting and the sound of dozens of boots slapping against the pavement. Linda pulls up short as they come to the end of a building, and close to three dozen soldiers sprint by, their M4s up and aimed and pointing to the far end of the base. Once they pass, Terrie reaches up and grips Linda’s hand.
“Follow them,” Terrie says.
“Ma’am, I can’t,” Linda replies. “I’m supposed to get you to the secure…”
“Sweetie, nowhere is secure anymore,” Terrie says.
“But we could be heading towards danger,” Linda says.
Terrie points up at the sky. “Already there, dear. Now follow those men. I’d much rather be in danger and see what’s happening than be in danger and sitting in some dank, dark bunker.”
“There’s food in the bunker,” Linda pleads.
“I’ve been on the road for days with barely anything to eat,” Terrie replies. “I can handle a few more minutes without eating whatever you folks have hoarded.”
Linda hesitates.
“Just follow them,” Terrie prods. “If it gets dangerous, then we can turn around and go to the bunker. But humor an old woman for a few minutes, will you?”
“I’d really rather not,” Linda says.
“Then leave me,” Terrie responds, grabbing the wheels herself. “I can do this on my own.”
“You’ll tear your stitches!” Linda cries.
“Oh, well,” Terrie says. “Not the first time in my life I’ve done that.”
“Jesus Christ,” Linda swears. “No wonder you survived and made it here.”
“I’ll let the blasphemy slide since that’s exactly the reason I made it,” Terrie says. “The good Lord watched over me all those miles. I think He’ll watch over me a few more yards.”
“Okay,” Linda says, shaking her head. “But we turn and come back the second it gets bad.”
“That works for me,” Terrie says as Linda turns and pushes her in the direction the soldiers went. “But put a little effort into it, will you? I don’t want to miss the fun.”
“Insane,” Linda mutters.
“What was that?” Terrie asks.
“Nothing,” Linda replies as she starts to jog. “Just let me know if you get too jostled and your wounds start hurting.”
“You’ll be the first to know,” Terrie says as they race across the pavement, passing building after building until they come to an open area that looks out on several docks with large Naval ships moored and bobbing in the water.
“That’s a lot of motion for ships that size,” Terrie says as Linda brings them to a halt quite a ways from the first dock. “Get us closer, Linda.”
“No, I think we’re fine here,” Linda says. “We’ll just get in the way.”
Terrie doesn’t argue as she watches the soldiers rush about the docks and take up positions behind quickly constructed barricades. Some kneel and rest their carbines on the barricades, while others busy themselves with setting up heavy weapons such as .50 caliber machine guns and RPG launchers. All eyes are pointed towards the water and the open expanse of Puget Sound.
“They see something we don’t?” Terrie asks, and then she sees a familiar face. “Lieutenant Houlihan! Lieutenant! Over here!”
A man turns and frowns, his eyes scanning the area until he sees Terrie and Linda. He shakes his head, slings his carbine, and sprints over to them.
“Ms. Morgan? Is that you?” Houlihan asks.
“Good ear,” Terrie says.
“It’s your dog,” Houlihan says.
“Right. He is a bit of a giveaway,” Terrie says. “What’s going on, Lieutenant?”
“Ma’am, you really should not be here,” he grumbles, then looks at Linda. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“She doesn’t take no for an answer,” Linda says.
“True,” Terrie says. “But I promise to leave once I know the scoop.”
Houlihan looks over his shoulder, then back at Terrie. “We aren’t sure. There’re some major waves coming this way.”
“And you planning on killing these waves with RPGs?” Terrie asks.
“We have spotters up in the ships’ crow’s nests,” Houlihan says. “They are seeing shapes in the waves.”
“We should go,” Linda says quickly.
“Hold on,” Terrie replies. “What kind of shapes?”
“Big shapes,” Houlihan says. “One spotter thinks they’re orcas, but another disagrees. We’re ready just in case.”
/> “Here they come!” someone yells.
“Get her out of here!” Houlihan barks at Linda as he turns and runs back to his men.
“Don’t you dare,” Terrie says.
“Ma’am, I’d really like to,” Linda says. “Please.”
Biscuit begins to growl, and his hackles raise as quite a few large waves start to slam into the massive ships. The waves die down, but it becomes apparent they aren’t the last, as men shout and point. Biscuit barks over and over, then backs up a few steps and looks at Terrie. He barks and snarls at her.
“Okay, maybe we should go,” Terrie says.
“You won’t listen to me, but you’ll listen to a dog?” Linda snaps.
“I trust the dog,” Terrie says as a massive wave gets closer to the dock. In seconds it’s obvious the wave is much, much bigger than anyone thought as it continues to climb up into the air. “Move!”
Linda doesn’t hesitate and turns the wheelchair around. She runs as fast as she can without slipping on the ash coated pavement. They are one building length away from the docks when the gunfire starts.
Terrie leans to the side and looks back the way they came.
“Oh my God…” she says.
Linda risks a glance back and screams at what she sees.
“What are those things?” Linda shrieks. “What are they?”
Terrie faces forward again, not wanting to stare at the monstrosities that came out of the wave as it hit the docks. Biscuit is snarling and barking his head off, sending out loud warnings to any that can hear him.
“What are they?” Linda cries again.
“I think they were orcas,” Terrie says. “At one time. Maybe. Oh, dear Lord. I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.”
Four
Lungs burning, legs burning, pistol empty, Alvarez sprints around the corner of a ramshackle Cape Cod style house and into the backyard. His eyes instantly scan the area, looking for all possible escape routes, as well as anything he can use as a weapon. He still has two magazines for his pistol, as well as the .38 on his ankle, but so far bullets have done nothing against the creatures that pursue him.
He takes one of his magazines and switches it out for the empty one, then holsters his pistol as he spots something that may be more useful. A shovel.
The shovel leans up against the railing of the steps to the house’s back porch. Alvarez grabs it and glances quickly at the house, instantly wishing he hadn’t. Even with the dim light of the ash clouded day, he can see inside through the sliding glass door. Seated around a small dining table are three people, two of them slumped over the table, and one leaning back in a chair. The one in the chair is missing half of her head.
Alvarez turns away, trying to shove the image from his mind, yet he can’t help but speculate. Were they attacked? Was it a murder-suicide? Or maybe just a suicide pact? He doesn’t really want to know; he has more important issues to deal with.
His mind is still locked onto the various possibilities that caused the fate of those around the table when a noise from the side of the house pulls him back into the here and now. Alvarez grips the shovel’s handle, choking up halfway so he has a solid hold and so he can get more force when he swings. He carefully backs towards the short chain link fence that rings the backyard, his intention to hop the fence and use the empty service alley behind the house to travel by.
Unfortunately, when he gets to the fence, he sees his plan has some flaws.
“Shit,” he mutters. But even that slight noise grabs the attention of the creatures that fill the service alley.
Their “heads” turn and spot him instantly. Made of the green ooze, the creatures are roughly human shaped, but their movements are far from human. They slide and creep along, the ooze almost shaping and reshaping as it goes. The ground in their wake hisses and smokes as parts of it dissolve on contact with the ooze.
Alvarez looks to the yards of the houses on either side of him, but decides against those since they are both blocked by six-foot wooden privacy fences. Without being able to see what’s on the other sides of the fences, he could end up in worse trouble. Best to stick with the evil he knows.
And that evil is the creatures that originally pursued him and are sliding along the dead grass from around the side of the house. Six of them in all, Alvarez weighs the odds of attacking with the shovel and getting past them. He considers going around the other side of the house, but as he takes a step in that direction, his way is blocked by four more creatures.
Then another option presents itself as he looks at the sliding glass door.
“Shit,” he mutters again, not relishing the thought of disturbing the crypt the house has become.
But he has no choice. Shooting the creatures has proven fruitless, and he hasn’t tried melee combat, so he has no idea if that will work or just get him killed. Avoidance is the best option, and that means going through the house.
“Great,” he says, then sprints across the backyard and up the porch steps.
He doesn’t hesitate as he swings the shovel and shatters the sliding glass door. He’s through it and past the grotesque dinnertime scene before the smell hits him. It’s almost a welcome change to the ammonia stench of the street, but not by much. The fetid stench of rotting meat and empty bowels assaults his burning lungs and taxes his already scorched sinuses.
Alvarez gags and coughs as he runs through the dining room, into the living room, and down the entry hall to the front door. He slides to a halt as he sees the boards nailed to the front door. Every curse he knows spews from his mouth. Why in hell would they nail the front door shut when there is an unguarded sliding glass door that anyone could get through?
He can hear the hiss and slither of the creatures as they get to the wood planks of the back porch. The structure groans, and the distinct sound of planks cracking and popping echoes through the house. Alvarez shakes off his frustration with the deceased homeowners at their less than intelligent barricade choices, and works the blade of the shovel under the first board. With some twisting and the proper leverage, Alvarez pops the board off then starts on the next.
It takes him longer than he’d like, but he finally gets the boards off and yanks open the front door just as several shadows begin to fill the entry hall.
He races out onto the front porch and stops.
The street is full of the creatures, but not just human shaped ones. Squirrels, dogs, cats, raccoons, and even birds—all move along the asphalt, their focus on Alvarez.
“What the fuck are you?” he screams.
Half of the creatures open green and gooey mouths and scream back at him, the sounds stabbing at Alvarez’s brain like a trillion needles. Alvarez wants to cover his ears at the horrendous cacophony, but he doesn’t dare risk dropping the shovel. Instead, he grips the handle with both hands, takes a deep breath, coughs hard, then jumps down from the front porch, and charges the closest group of creatures.
Swinging with all his strength, he slams the blade of the shovel into the first creature and rips its head right off. The severed ooze flies through the air and splats against a telephone pole, sizzling a chunk from the tarred wood before falling into the dirt. Alvarez dodges the still moving body and swings at the next creature. Then the next. And the next.
But all his efforts are for nothing as the things’ heads just reform. Alvarez is shocked by this, as well as shocked to see the severed heads start to shake and move on their own, becoming new creatures.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he slams the shovel into one then another creature, making enough room to get some space to move and dash past the group.
He swings again and hacks a creature in half at the waist. The two halves trip up three other creatures, and they become a tangled pile of ooze. Alvarez quickly recognizes the new strategy and starts slicing every creature in his way in half. For the smaller creatures, he brings the shovel down flat, crushing them into the asphalt. Their bodies smolder and burn the pavement, but they don’t regroup fa
st enough to keep attacking.
Alvarez steps past the piles of ooze and looks up and down the street. He’s been running blindly for so long, he’s not 100% sure where he’s at. The street sign is too far away to see, and the houses look like a hundred others that line the streets of the Northern Virginia neighborhoods.
He picks a direction and goes for it, holding the shovel with both hands across his chest, ready to cut down some more creatures. He gets to the corner and sees he’s at the junction of East Curtis Ave and Dewitt Ave. He curses himself for getting so far off track. He is heading away from the White House when he needs to be heading towards it.
He gets his bearings and starts running east on Curtis, knowing he only has a few blocks before he hits Washington. He hopes he can catch up with Zakarian’s team if they haven’t been taken down by the falling eggs and ooze creatures already.
Alvarez risks a glance behind him and sees some of the creatures still in pursuit, but he is quickly leaving them behind. He wonders if any of the things he cut in half were once his men— or possibly Zakarian and his men. More thoughts he tries to shove away, just like the dining room corpses. But as he keeps running, the two thoughts loopsmeld together, so all he can see in his mind is the body of Zakarian, half of his head gone, slumped in a chair around that lonely, lonely dining table, ooze dripping from his mouth.
“Keep it together,” he mutters. “Keep it together.”
***
None of the men are too pleased with what they find as they stand on the edge of the mountainside and look towards the wide open and thoroughly destroyed main entrance to the bunker.
“That’s going to be a climb,” Holt says. “Do we have enough cams?”
“Yeah,” Toloski replies. “But do we have enough rope is the question.”
“Just enough,” Kreigel says. “We’ll need to go one at a time, but we can get over there.”
“With the entrance wide open, then that means the ammonia gas has pretty much filled this section of the bunker,” Taylor says as he turns and looks at his men. “Even if we get inside, none of them may still be alive. And if they are, then how do we get them from in there to out here and back around to the second entrance? The air is getting worse by the minute, and we have those fucking woodland nightmares to deal with.”
