by John O'Brien
Metallic clinks and rustling indicated the five men getting to their feet and backpedaling away from the warehouse door. A loud slam reverberated inside as the first of the reapers plowed into the door. Grieves’s mouth was dry and he had to wet it before he was able to speak.
“Circle around…back to back. Shoot anything that comes inside,” he finally managed to utter.
In a perimeter, they moved further into the building, wanting to have as much room as they could between them and the outside walls. More slams echoed as the reapers tried to force their way through. Glancing around, they saw the warehouse was filled with rows upon rows of shelves and stacked crates. Several forklifts were parked at random intervals. The warehouse was so large that he could barely make out the far end, the dim lighting casting everything in a deep gloom.
Muted gunshots from outside momentarily rose above the shrieks.
“Watch the walls, they can come through anywhere. And it’s important that we stay together. No one makes a break for it. We either stand or fall together. Is that clear?!” Grieves ordered, alluding to the one who took off on his own.
* * * * * *
Adam looked at the reapers closing in on all sides, the screams so intense they seemed to compress the air. He saw Grieves grab the handle and pull without the door moving. Panic set in as he realized that they were trapped.
We should have pushed through them and down to the raft, he thought, looking in every direction for a ways out.
The nearby RV and vehicle caught his eye—a shelter in the storm.
“Shit! Try the rolling door…quickly!” Adam heard Grieves shout.
“We won’t have time,” Adam replied, and took off running.
He barely heard Grieves tell him no, the yell only just audible above the shrieks. He eyed the nearest reapers and judged that he’d make it.
As long as they don’t do that weird teleportation thing.
Rounding the corner of the vehicle, he grabbed the handle of the side door, jumped inside, and slammed the entrance closed.
Crouching in the middle of the kitchen/living room, he stared out through the front windows. Reapers streamed down the street to the front. Closed blinds made it impossible to see to the side where several reapers were slamming into the RV, shaking it.
“Shit, shit, shit!” he whispered.
He realized that he may not have made the best decision; he should have continued on through the trees. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, his breath in short pants. Slowly, while still crouching, he backed toward the rear bedroom. Above the screams, he heard a metallic clang and wondered if that was the others getting inside the warehouse or whether that was the sound of their demise.
Stay quiet, Adam. Not a peep and don’t move another muscle, he thought, crouching at the entrance to the bedroom.
Without shouldering his carbine, he aimed it along the length of the RV. Crouched as he was, he could still make out heads with their mysterious ghostly shadows as they moved back and forth in front of the windshield. Crashes still rocked the motor home from reapers as they attempted to gain entrance.
An opaque blur formed in the middle, followed by a more colorful one. A body materialized and looked directly at him. Pain and ferocity was in that stare, something more animalistic than he’d ever witnessed. The woman opened her mouth and screamed, starting forward with amazing speed and dexterity. Adam pulled the trigger and sent a three-round burst directly at her.
The cabin filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, spent shell casings rattling off the nearby wall. The woman was stalled by the impact of three bullets striking her chest. With her gaze still locked on Adam, she tumbled against the stove, the oven door opening. She fell atop it, breaking the hinges with a loud snap. The ghostly aura rose from her body, fading to mist.
The screams outside escalated. Another reaper appeared, a blur of motion before coalescing into a man. Adam fired, blood spraying across the furniture and kitchen counters before the man fell atop the woman. Another, then another formed. Adam sent more rounds out, knowing that he might not be able to stem the tide should it continue. He rose, his only option to make for the door and the trees beyond.
A deep chill enveloped him. One of the reapers materialized immediately in front of him. Before he could react, the attached apparition lunged and dove into his face, blurring everything else. He felt a fierce cold slide down his throat, like breathing in arctic air. His brain froze and his lungs turned to ice. It was so cold that he wasn’t able to do anything except feel. The freezing dove deeper and became more than a physical sensation.
He felt a ripping sensation that spread everywhere. It was as if someone grabbed hold of every cell in his body and began tearing. The ice tore at his brain, ripping it to shreds. He felt both full and empty. The agony continued, the noise like standing in a hurricane. The tearing sensation pulled at the front of his head. He thought hell was supposed to be hot and full of lava, but he was wrong. It was dreadfully cold and glacial; an eternity filled with ice ripping his soul apart. If he thought his transformation had been painful up to that point, well the final wrench was much worse.
As if released from his eternal torment, he fell to his knees, feeling like every muscle and every nerve was being burned by a blowtorch and ripped from his body. The agony was beyond anything he thought possible. Yet, he remained fully conscious. Finally able to move, he lifted his head and howled in agony, his M-4 falling to the floor at his side.
* * * * * *
“How’s everyone’s ammo?” Grieves asked, barely loud enough to be heard over the reverberating echo of shrieks.
“I had no idea you could burn through ammo so quickly. I’m down to five mags,” one sailor answered.
“Five here as well, plus what’s in the current one,” another said.
“Okay, so we have some. Keep your distance from the walls and set angles down the aisles. We can’t see up the rows, so keep in mind that they can come from there as well. I know it’s dim, but do your best. Pace your bursts. Our first priority is to slow them down, but the injured can crawl under your radar, so stay aware of that. Watch for them coming through the walls and communicate, but without conveying every little detail. The door we came in is our zero-bearing reference. We keep our own sectors clear, conserving ammo by not all firing at the same creatures. If you need help, call out before shit gets overwhelming. If we keep our heads and work together, we’ll get through this,” Grieves stated.
“Sir, what about Adam…I mean, Ritchie?”
“There’s nothing we can do for him at the moment. We need to see ourselves through this and see what awaits at the other end,” Grieves answered.
A barely visible wisp of white appeared at the warehouse entrance, looking as if the roller door itself was smoking.
“One at our 360,” Grieves said, waiting with his M-4 shouldered.
In the gloomy lighting, it was difficult to determine exactly when it was okay to fire. The apparition’s lunge paused and a darker object materialized. Two carbines fired at once, six rounds rapidly transiting the intervening space. Solid meaty thumps indicated rounds finding a target, but several metallic pings signified misses that hit the rolling door. Several thin beams of light streamed inside from bullets going through the door. A dark shadow fell, hitting the concrete floor with a smack. The apparition faded.
“Another at our 90,” one called, followed by gunfire.
More entered, coming from all angles. The warehouse interior reverberated from gunfire and screams. A few morphed just after entering, causing shots to go right through the blurring bodies. More holes appeared in the door. Having to look through the pencil beams of light streaming in made it more difficult to see. Cartridge shells tinkled across the hard surface and shouts of new reapers entering blended into the cacophony. The smell of gunpowder and a faint cloud of gray smoke hovered around the five men fighting for their lives.
Grieves did his best to find and aim at new targets against a background of light beams. L
ooking quickly to the side, he saw that it was a little easier to see ones entering there. Some transported through the wall, then immediately teleported back outside, only to reappear a moment later. He turned back and concentrated on keeping the reapers at a distance. There were so many that he just fired at movement, barely able to clearly see individual bodies. Several were crawling across the ground, leaving red smears along the concrete.
“Watch out for the wounded ones. They’re still just as deadly and can slip under the radar,” he shouted.
* * * * * *
Lawrence stood atop the conning tower, looking landside and trying to pierce through the trees obscuring the sight of the complex. The gunshots and resultant screams had him anxious for those he’d sent ashore. If he sent others to help, that would put more of the crew at risk. The fact that he could still hear weapons being fired was both heartening and disconcerting. The shrieks emanating from over the top of the trees sounded like the entire eastern seaboard had descended on the place.
Reapers appeared along the shoreline, some running out onto the long jetty extending into the river downstream. Many didn’t even hesitate once they reached the waterline and continued into the waters, the current carrying them away. Lawrence glanced at the line of sailors on the deck, all holding sidearms. He had put them there just in case any reapers managed to actually draw close to the boat. He’d rather have them armed with carbines, but all of those were ashore. More reapers appeared along the shore.
Those upstream splashed their way into the river, some wading far into the current before succumbing. He watched one as it teleported while in the water, then the apparition lunged forward again just as the body materialized. The action continued, the reaper making a beeline for the Washington.
“Watch for that one on the port forward flank,” Lawrence broadcast over a loudspeaker.
All eyes below turned and watched the progress, several sailors bringing their hand guns to bear. The reaper continued, flashing forward, materializing, then again lunged forward. When it was fifty yards from the sub, the first shot was fired. The bullet struck the surface of the river and splashed near where the reaper appeared.
This served as a command for the others to begin firing. Along the deck, rounds left barrels and streaked across the water. All around the reaper, splashes appeared from near misses. Some bullets struck where the body was, but traveled through the blurred figure. The reaper continued to close in.
The amount of gunfire increased. The river was a flurry of bullets striking, but the reaper didn’t stay solid long enough for any to hit. Lawrence watched with increased concern; the time to do something different had already passed. He had no idea they could keep teleporting like this one. The apparition lunged forward, vanishing inside the forward hull section, the body following.
Lawrence sounded the collision alarm. That would seal the watertight hatches, hopefully buying them a little time. A reaper inside the sub could be catastrophic within a matter of minutes, if not seconds. He ordered the deck cleared and for two crewmen with sidearms to meet him at the torpedo room hatch, and then he scrambled down the ladder. The blaring claxon was accompanied by flashing red lights.
“Sir, the hatches are sealed,” the chief reported.
“Very well. Shut that thing off,” Lawrence ordered. “And the two I requested?”
“On the way to the torpedo room. As of yet, there isn’t any sign of the reaper.”
“Very well. How many were in there?” Lawrence asked.
“Five, sir.”
“I’ll be up front with the two. Bring us closer to the far shore near an unpopulated area and prepare to beach the boat. If we don’t contain the reaper, your orders are to beach it and abandon ship. Keep the crew together as best you can,” Lawrence ordered.
“What about you, sir?”
“If the reaper gets loose past the torpedo room, I won’t be around,” Lawrence answered.
Shoving his way through the cramped control room, Lawrence made his way forward until he found two of the crew near the torpedo room hatch. They were holding their handguns aimed at the hatch, the barrels shaking.
“Steady, lads,” Lawrence said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Is there any sign of it?”
“No, sir. There was some screaming when we arrived, but it’s been quiet since.”
“Let’s back away a couple paces…give us a little leeway if it tries to come through,” Lawrence said.
A loud clang emanated from within the room beyond, a face suddenly appearing in the hatch’s small window. Red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes looked out at the three in the hall. Deep lines were etched in the peering face, the expression a pleading one.
“Help me…please help me. It hurts so bad,” the man in the windows said, his voice muted by the thick steel hatch.
The man grabbed the sides of his head, pain filling his eyes.
“Oh God…please no!”
The man vanished below sight, a shriek so loud it vibrated the metal fixtures. The face reappeared, the pleading expression replaced with a pain-filled and hungry one. The apparition was barely visible, wavering in the air. The man began beating his hands and head against the glass, his forehead splitting and bleeding.
On his side of the hatch, Lawrence saw an opaque figure appear, thrusting through the steel. The streak of mist coalesced, a colored blur forming behind it.
“Keep your cool. When it begins to form, fire and don’t stop until it’s down or you run out of ammo,” Lawrence ordered.
The colored blur became firmer, streaking toward where the apparition wavered back and forth. The gunshot within the enclosed space caused Lawrence’s ears to ring. More rang out, but the sound was muffled as if coming from underwater. Sparks flew from behind the coalescing body as the rounds traveled through it and struck the metal surfaces.
The body formed, a round hitting it immediately afterward. The Navy work shirt the man was wearing puffed outward, blood flowering where the bullet slammed into his chest. The crewman, obviously taken by a reaper, was thrown backward into the closed hatch. More rounds struck, the body twitching as it was pummeled.
“Okay, gentlemen,” Lawrence shouted, barely heard.
The man slid down the hatch and slumped to the floor, the spirit drifting upward and vanishing. Smoke wafted from the barrels, the smell of gunpowder acrid. The two crew started forward but Lawrence held them back with his hands.
“Wait a moment,” he cautioned, anticipating another to appear.
Nothing showed, either through the hatch or the glass. Lawrence edged up and looked inside, seeing five bodies twisted on the deck. With the one outside, that made six bodies, which accounted for everyone.
Grabbing a nearby handset, he had the crew stand down and returned to the control room. The torpedo room would remain as it was until they were clear of the current operation, then they’d conduct the appropriate ceremonies. Right now, he still had things to handle. In a flash, they had lost five crew members, and he hoped that those ashore wouldn’t add to the number.
With what had just happened, Lawrence was concerned about remaining in the vicinity. If another one skipped across the water and entered the control room, the entire crew could be vanquished in a heartbeat. Although they had lost five, Lawrence felt lucky that they hadn’t lost more. Whatever the reason was that the reaper had stalled in the torpedo room, he was thankful for it.
“Turn us around, raise the periscope, and back us into a position where we can directly observe the complex,” Lawrence ordered.
He contemplated submerging, but wanted the extra height that remaining on the surface would give him. The trees and small bluff along the shoreline presented a tall obstacle to see over and he wanted every bit of height that he could get.
The Washington surged forward as the lookouts climbed back to the bridge and other armed sailors clambered up to line the decks. The risk of staying on the surface bothered Lawrence, but the worry about those he sent ashore concerned
him even more. If they spotted another one like the last, he’d order full speed downriver and try to outrun the reaper.
Backing upstream, he found a place where he could observe some of the annex through the periscope. His heart caught as he saw hundreds of reapers surrounding one end of a warehouse. Many were slamming into a large rolling door and he observed several teleport through it. Others along the side also vanished through the walls. With the reapers in such a frenzy, he could only assume that the shore team was trapped inside and fighting for their lives.
The warehouses look to be composed of thick concrete walls, which should shield those inside, Lawrence contemplated, staring at a magnified view of the scene.
“I want the coordinates of that ramp where the reapers are congregated. Prepare two cluster munition missiles to fire on that position, target run of three-three-five degrees, fifteen second separation,” Lawrence ordered.
“Aye, aye, sir,” a sailor answered, reading back the order.
Lawrence knew that they hadn’t had an update from the GPS satellites in some time, potentially messing up the accuracy of the missiles. If they were off by thirty feet, the cluster munitions could either strike the trees, effectively doing nothing to the gathered horde, hit the warehouse—which wasn’t desirable—or hit too far up or down the street.
“Calculate our current position and manually update the GPS system. I want a correct firing solution in the computer inside of five minutes. Clear the decks and get this tub underwater,” Lawrence instructed.
Being submerged might not stop any reapers from teleporting aboard. The last instance showed him how little he understood what they were up against. But, they’d be hidden from sight, and he hoped that would be enough. As the Washington quietly slid under, Lawrence noticed the reapers leaving the shorelines and pier, running in the direction of their screaming kin outside of the warehouse.
Four minutes later, the surface of the York River bulged upward, followed a split second later by a tall column of spraying water. A white cylinder forcefully rose at an angle inside the pillar. A loud roar rolled across the waterway as the solid-fuel booster was ignited. Flame shot out of the tail end, turning the surrounding water into steam. The missile was propelled upward, trailing white smoke. Seconds later, fins deployed as the missile achieved flight. The rocket motor then cut out, the turbofan engine taking over. The missile leveled off and continued on its preprogrammed path. The white trail from the solid-fuel booster was carried across the water in the breeze, dissipating as it reached the far shore. Fifteen seconds later, another pillar of water, steam, and smoke marked the departure of a second cruise missile.
