by Steve Wands
“Hardy-har-har,” said the one with the missing teeth, as his words whistled out of his mouth.
“We ain’t bad guys—”
“Oh, no?” Dusty laughed, “Then how the fuck did you get in here? Doing good deeds? Helping grannies cross the street?”
“No, I was—” Slick was about to defend himself till Dusty cut him off.
“I don’t give a fuck. Shut up. See that mean looking mother fucker over there,” Dusty pointed to Torrent as he helped Terry onto the Blackbird, “He makes the call. So shut the fuck up and stop bleeding everywhere.”
Niko threw the man a gauze from a first aid kit on the bird and then she handed the kit to Torrent. Niko sat in the pilot’s seat and prepped the bird for flight. The massive propellers began to spin, as Torrent taped and splinted Terry’s ankle.
Once he was done with Terry he jumped off to address the prisoners, but he could see in the distance they didn’t have much time. The reanimates were staggering closer.
“SIGO, get on the mount and keep an eye on the reanimates,” he commanded.
Dusty dispatched of the reanimates in close proximity, managing to shoot one into one of the unearthed graves. He smiled at this and muttered, “Ten points.”
“I’m First Sergeant John Torrent of the United States Army and I understand you want a ride out of here?”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“Try anything stupid on my bird and I throw you both out mid-air. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” they managed to pull it off again, though John noticed the man with the missing teeth had a whistle when he spoke.
“If you have any weapons, throw them down now.”
Slick pulled out a shiv, which upon Torrent’s quick inspection looked to be a filed down toothbrush.
“Get on and buckle up.”
“Thank you, sir” said the whistler.
“Thanks man,” Slick said, nodding his head, but before he could climb into the blackbird Torrent spun him around and punched him square in the nose. Slick’s nose broke and blood ran down his face.
“That was for fucking with my pilot. Now get in.”
Slick knew well enough to keep his mouth shut. The alternative wasn’t looking very promising.
Torrent’s mission had failed miserably, but at least he wouldn’t show up empty handed. What Pymn wanted to do with these two idiots and Mr. Clean was his business. So what if they were going from the frying pan into the fire. It seemed like they’d all be going into the fire soon enough, especially with the ground rumbling beneath them as it was. He wouldn’t be surprised if hell itself spewed out. Then nothing would really matter.
Niko took them up into the air and she took the hawk around the perimeter in a circular flying pattern, giving herself some room as she was preparing to launch her full complement of Air-To-Air Stinger missiles at the facility. Even though the place was crumbling down Torrent wanted to make sure it went down with force.
She deployed the missiles, hearing that satisfying whoosh of propulsion as they rocketed into the main parts of the prison. Within moments the place was leveled. Clouds of debris took to the air and the sound of the missile explosions would be heard for miles around.
The squad rejoiced at the destruction, hooting, and clapping, the prisoners did too, though with much more gusto.
“Take us home,” Torrent said.
“Roger that, sir,” Niko said, and piloted the Black Hawk back towards the mountain.
“Hold up,” Dusty said, “Aren’t we going to wait and see what’s left once the dust settles? I mean, come on man, something was making that building crumble.”
“A curious soldier is a dead soldier,” Torrent reminded him of an old Army saying.
“Let’s call it gathering intel.”
“Niko, circle around,” Torrent yelled.
And she did. She circled around the perimeter, the smoke billowing out from the rubble as the propeller blades of the hawk pushed it aside. There was no devil clawing its way from the ground or a legion of demons spewing forth. No monster-sized worms, or ancient creatures with insatiable appetites. It was just simply ruins. The smoldering ruins of a veritable hell on earth.
But in the ruins Torrent felt a darkness, he couldn’t quite see it, but something was there. He didn’t share this feeling with his squad, although some sort of intuition already told him they could feel it too. His skin turned to gooseflesh and an icy shiver crawled down his spine and settled in his balls.
After a few moments, once the flames and smoke began to die down Torrent turned to Dusty, “We content?” He asked.
Dusty nodded, “Yeah, Sarge, I’m good.”
“Great. Now let’s get the hell home.” He turned to Niko and yelled, “Niko, get us—”
But she was already heading in that direction and cut him off, “On it, Sarge.”
***
The UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter set back down on the landing pad. Niko removed the bulbous helmet and was happy to be back at the mountain. Her eagerness to leave at the onset of the mission was now replaced with a joy to be back. For all it’s faults, it was paradise compared to what she’d narrowly escaped at the prison. She was amazed at how quickly her stance on the place had changed. Torrent patted her on the shoulder and gave her a nod. She did good. She got them back in one piece.
Torrent turned to the convicts, “step off.”
They did as such, following cautiously behind Dusty as he jumped down. Dusty directed the two to stand off to the side while the rest of the squad exited the bird.
The blades of the chopper had now completely stopped moving.
Torrent led the squad to the entrance, the convicts in tow. The two men looked at each other, wondering if they exchanged one hell for another.
“After we’re screened for re-entry head to your quarters. Get cleaned up and try to get some rest.” Torrent commanded. “I’ll take care of these clowns,” he said, motioning the convicts, “and I’ll go break the news to SecDef.”
“Sure he’ll be fucking thrilled,” Dusty scoffed.
“It wasn’t a total loss,” Niko said, “We surveyed the surrounding area, returned in one piece, and didn’t lose the bird.”
Torrent recognized the PFC standing guard at the door. The young man stood up straighter as they approached. Torrent gave him a nod, “Private,” was all he said as he passed him by and entered the mountain. Two more PFC’s stood inside the large corridor. One standing at a small workstation, the other several feet away with his weapon at the ready.
The PFC at the desk looked up, recognizing Torrent he looked down at the desk at a sheet of paper finding his name. Then noting the time via his wristwatch, he marked Torrent and company’s arrival time and said, “welcome back, sirs.”
“Good to be back,” Torrent said.
“How was it out there?” The PFC asked.
Torrent didn’t answer, but Dusty looked at the PFC and said, “it was hell on earth, kid.”
The private swallowed as the rest of the squad walked past his small desk.
At the end of the corridor was a makeshift re-entry zone. It consisted of two sawhorse barricades and two more PFC’s standing guard as well as a medic.
The medic stepped forward, “Good day Sergeant. You know the drill.”
“We’re all clean. No bites, no scrapes from the infected, Bennie.”
“Come on, John. You know—”
“You must love looking at my dick.” Torrent said as he began to unbutton his shirt.
“Yeah, I just love looking at little white dicks all day. Boosts my self esteem.”
“Okay boys, enough dick-talk. Ladies first,” Niko said as she moved to the medic in her bra and underwear. They were sweat-stained and left nothing to the imagination. Bennie tried to remain professional but gave a small smile and Niko was sure she saw a slight blush on the man’s dark skin.
She put her arms up and stared straight ahead as the medic ran a thin flashlight b
eam across her body, looking for any indication that a reanimate had bitten or scratched her. He tried not to linger on any one spot for too long and he tried not to be excited about the process but Niko was a good looking woman with a very fit body and he had no idea when he might have such a chance again.
“Looks good,” he said.
“I know,” Niko said, as she turned to get her clothes and gear.
Bennie shook his head, “let the sausage party begin.”
Niko chuckled as she pulled her pants on and walked away.
“Fuck,” Dusty huffed. I’ll save you the trouble and go see myself into quarantine. We got into it with some hostiles. Close quarter shit. And a midget took a chunk out of my ear.”
Bennie laughed. “Yeah, real funny…” he stopped smiling as he noticed his ear. “Oh, shit, yeah, you’re missing a lot of ear.
The two PFC’s took a hard stance and readied their weapons.
“Calm down guys,” Dusty said. “Hostile. Not reanimate. I just said I’ll go into quarantine. Now point those at the ground or shit’s gonna get hostile hear and now.”
Bennie gestured for them to lower their weapons and they did. He then led Dusty over to a door past the barricade. It was an office of some sort but now being used as a makeshift quarantine for possible infected. The door had a small rectangular window with a chicken wire mesh. Bennie held open the door, “welcome to your new home for the next twenty-four hours. I’ll send for some water and MRE’s.”
“Wonderful.”
Bennie closed the door and locked it. Then turned to Torrent and asked, “anymore surprises?”
After the squad and the once-convicts were screened, Terry stayed behind with the medic. There was a stretcher behind the sawhorse which he sat on. Bennie pulled over a folding chair and sat down.
“It’s broken, doc. Just give me a roll of duct tape and some oxies.”
“I’m saving all the oxy for myself, a roll of duct tape, though, that I can manage. What the hell to do about your face, I don’t know.”
***
“Damn, John…you really stink.” Acting Secretary of Defense, William T. Pymn II said, “and that means a lot in the mountain.” He gestured for Torrent to have a seat.
“I mean, this is B.O. City and you’ve got another level of stank. I hope I don’t have to burn that chair after you’ve sat in it.”
“I would probably burn it. I’m not even sure what kind of filth I’m covered in.”
“Bourbon?”
“If delivering bad news is grounds for bourbon, then sure.”
SecDef’s face took on a new demeanor, it was somewhere in the middle of annoyed and disappointed. He slid a glass over to him and Torrent caught it before it neared the edge of the desk. “I guess I should be used to bad news. Seems it’s the only kind any of us have any more, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would.”
“Give me the cliff notes version, then.”
Torrent took a sip, but what he really wanted was to take the bottle to Pymn’s side and tip it back till it was empty. “Well, it went like this…”
23 INSIDE
(back to top)
Signal Officer Grant Harburn stood in the shower with his back to the showerhead. Scalding water hit his neck and ran down his back. It was as relaxing as it was painful. The tension in his wiry shoulders was melting away and dispersing into the steam in the small room. His mind’s eye replayed everything that he had witnessed in the last few hours. The amount of carnage he’d seen in that small window was mind-shattering.
He still hadn’t felt like he’d shaken off the fog from their confrontation with Cane. He could see his face as clear as day. Details of the man began to fill his mind, things he was too far away to really notice but were now coming to him.
The hot water began to cool. Grant finished washing the grime off, grabbed a towel and found himself wiping the condensation on the small mirror above the sink.
Gazing at the mirror the details of Cane’s face began to materialize before him. He could see the thin greasy hair and how the light glinted off it. He could see how the skin stretched and wrapped over his cheekbone. He saw the freckle just under his eye. Grant shook his head, trying to snap out of it. He didn’t want to see this man anymore. He was dead and gone. Buried under the ruin of the prison. No I’m not.
Grant spun around. His heart racing. His eyes wide.
“I must be losing my shit. Do I have PTSD? Is that how it works…”
I’m not gone, I’m not dead.
I’m here…
In you…
“Oh, fuck. Oh, no. No-no-no, fuck-fuck-fuck. What the fuck is happening?!”
The King has found himself some new skin. I like you Grant. I think we’ll get along just fine. Now, move over and let me behind the wheel.
“No! No, get out! Get the fuck out!”
“Too late.” Cane giggled, “too late.”
No! You can’t do this. You can’t…
“I already have.”
No! I must be losing my mind. This can’t be real. It can’t be…
***
Niko had scrubbed herself clean and brushed her teeth twice now. She sat on the bed lotioning her legs. Her body ached and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep for a week. She rubbed some more lotion on her elbows and then she got dressed. She put on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that were a size or two too big for her.
She climbed into bed, shut off the light on the nightstand and pulled the blanket up to her neck as she twisted into place. She was in the perfect spot and knew in moments that she’d be fast asleep—
Knock knock.
—of course until someone knocked on her door. No doubt another emergency in the garage that needed to be sorted. Well fuck that, they could wait till she’s had some sleep. She threw the blankets off in frustration and made her way to the door. She opened the door partially, positioning her foot and body in such a way that she’d be able to push the door back with force. An ex-boyfriend of hers had caused her to develop this technique over the course of a few weeks towards the end of their rocky relationship. Had the doors had peep-holes she might’ve not bothered, but that wasn’t the case.
With the door open a few inches she could see it was Grant, which at first glance she didn’t recognize with all the filth wiped away. “SIGO?” She said, relaxing momentarily.
“Uh…yeah, sorry to bug you. You weren’t sleeping yet, were you?”
“Pfft, not yet, no thanks to you.”
“Sorry, I can come back later.”
“No, it’s cool, what’s up?”
“Well, I was trying to fix up an old radio I found and my battery died.” He said, waving a drill in his hand, “would you happen to have a battery, or a drill I could grab?”
She opened the door some more, her stance now relaxed. “No. But you can just go down to the garage and grab one from there. If anyone gives you any shit just tell them I said it was OK.”
“I can do that,” he said, and then pushed through the door, “but I’d rather come in and see for myself.”
“What the fuck SIGO?! Drunk or not, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Niko said and punched him in the jaw. Grant went down easy. “Now get out of here and this’ll stay between you and me.”
Grant sat there and smiled. For a moment, Niko thought his face changed. But that kind of thing isn’t possible. Must’ve been the way the shadows sat on his face, she told herself. “Grant isn’t home right now.”
Niko stared at him. She didn’t smell alcohol on him, and they hadn’t been back to the mountain for long enough for anyone to get that wasted—had they?
“But if you’d like to leave a message…”
Niko punched him again. This time square on the nose. It began to bleed almost immediately.
“…just wait…for…the beep.”
Grant, drill in hand, stepped towards Niko as she was about to swing again and punched the drill under her chin, squeezing t
he drill to life as it ripped through the bottom of her jaw and into her mouth. Niko screamed as blood filled her mouth and poured out of her wound.
She kicked Grant as hard as she could, knocking him to the ground. The force of the kick and his grip on the drill were enough to pull the drill out of her jaw. While he was still down, she kicked him again, full force in the stomach and he wheezed as the air was forced from his body.
“It’s not me!” Grant called out from the depths of his own body. “Cane is in my he—”
Niko smashed him in the head with a pan from the small kitchen. His head smacked against the wall. He whipped around, his facial features hardening as he said, “Is that what you did to your ex? Hit him with a frying pan?”
“How…”
He tapped a finger to his head. “I was inside you.”
Niko’s lip curled up in disgust. She hit him again and again and again.
By the time the MPs burst into the room Grant Harburn lay in a pool of his own blood.
END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEVE WANDS is a comic book letterer working on top titles at DC Comics, Image, Vertigo, BOOM! Studios, Random House, and Kodansha Comics (to name a few). He also designs, inks, and illustrates for those, and other, companies. He’s the author of the Stay Dead series, and is a writer of short stories. When not working he spends time with his wife and sons in New Jersey. Oh, and he drinks a lot of coffee.
Steve illustrated The Fallen for Cemetery Dance Publications, which is written by Bram Stoker Award winning writer Brian Keene, based on a story by Richard Chizmar and Jonathan Schaech, colored by Gabriel Cassata.
http://twitter.com/swands
