by Marv Wolfman
“Ready?”
Deadshot felt the hairs on his neck bristle. “We’re walking into a shooting gallery, aren’t we? You sure about this?”
Flag shook his head. “I don’t like it, either, but it’s the only way in. Let’s do it.”
He opened the door and they entered.
FORTY-FOUR
The office area was larger than he’d expected. Workstation cubicles filled nearly every open space. The lights were down, and Flag and the others, weapons ready, entered carefully. More than likely EAs were everywhere in the building. They had to be here, too.
The cubicles were designed in a clear grid, giving them a series of easy paths via which to conduct their search. Sticking close together, they started by moving up the left-most aisle, pausing before each self-contained space, their guns leading them.
Looking for the enemy. Praying none were there.
Nothing.
At the end of the aisle they turned right and started down the second row. They paused at each cubicle.
Then they heard breathing. Heavy and labored.
Something was in here with them. Whatever it was, it was too close.
“Who’s there?” Flag shouted. He wanted to add, “We’re the good guys,” but considering who was with him, he didn’t see how he could. “We’re feds,” he continued. “Navy SEALs… and others. We’re on your side.”
Close enough for government work.
No answer, but the heavy breathing became louder. Coming from straight ahead. Somewhere down this aisle.
Flag dispatched a small group of the SEALs to go back the way they came, then to circle around and come up from behind the source of the sound, effectively trapping the heavy breather between the two groups.
“Hello,” Flag said again. If there were human beings here, he wanted to give them every possible chance to get past their fears.
No response.
They’d seen how hard it was to kill the bastards, they were severely lacking ammo, and they had no idea how many of the damned things were laying in wait.
“This is gonna be a bloodbath,” Boomerang whispered nervously. Flag shot him a dirty look.
Shut up, idiot, it said. For once Boomer obeyed a direct order.
* * *
They found it crouched behind a desk in a far cubicle. Breathing ominously. It was wearing the tatters of what had once been a uniform.
A SEAL uniform.
Its eyes were red with hate and less than an hour before this monster had been one of them. Other creatures were crouched behind him. Their eyes, too, red with bloodlust and hate. All of their hundreds of eyes. Kane, Pérez, Levitz, Sprang, Winslow—GQ’s friends and teammates. People with whom he had once trusted his life. Monsters who now only wanted to kill him.
They were waiting.
They were ready.
* * *
Time seemed to slow down. Flag signaled for his crew to stop. Deadshot saw the eyes burning red. He pulled on his mask and flipped its monocle into place. Then he saw Harley staring at him, shaking her head, laughing.
“Weakling,” she said. “Not tough enough? Afraid of them? Did I tell you I took out two? All by myself.”
“Shut up,” Deadshot snapped back. “I’ll knock you out cold. I don’t care if you are a girl.”
Harley laughed again. “Promises, promises. It’s like I—”
All hell broke loose before she could even finish her sentence.
The EAs opened fire. Flag and the others jumped for cover.
“Ambush front,” Flag bellowed. “Move.”
Deadshot was overwhelmed. Three more creatures rushed in through the door. He saw Flag run toward the opposite side of the room, firing at anything that moved.
“Where the hell are you going, Flag?” Deadshot fired at the scurrying monsters. Though it was close quarters, they were damned hard to hit in the darkness.
“We’re out in the open, waiting to be picked off,” Flag replied. “We need cover. Find a corner. It’ll be easier to defend.”
Deadshot agreed. “Front. Right. Go.”
Flag ran down the rightmost aisle. He shot at the eyes of the creatures following him, then there was the sound of shattering glass. More EAs streamed in through what had been a side window, and were on his tail. The way ahead was cut off, too, sandwiching him in, leaving him no place to run.
Deadshot quickly scanned the room. The things ignored the SEALs and the Squad—they were all targeting Flag. For just a moment Deadshot laughed—the bastard deserved whatever he got—but then the instant joy he felt was gone.
“They’re after Flag,” he shouted to his Squad.
“His problem,” Boomer said. “I got my own.”
“No. They’re leaving us alone… maybe just for now. Circle up. Circle around him. We gotta save him.”
“You’re crazy,” Boomer said.
“Do what I say, dammit.”
Flag was surrounded, but he kept his ice-cold calm as he unloaded mags into the things. Suddenly Deadshot grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back. The Squad formed into a circle, and Lawton tossed him into the middle of it.
“Get in here,” he ordered.
Flag stared at him. “You crazy? Let me fight.”
“You die, I die. So you ain’t dying.” The circle closed around Flag. The convicts he hated were saving him. The world had turned upside down when he wasn’t looking.
“They’re trying to kill me,” Flag shouted.
Deadshot grinned. “They’re gonna have to get in line behind me.”
* * *
More of the things. GQ recognized too damn many of them. They swarmed through the office and rushed the circle, ready to breach it and tear apart Flag.
“Shoot!” Deadshot shouted. “Don’t stop ’til I tell you to.”
GQ raised his gun and aimed it at an approaching creature. Then he stared at it, surprised and horrified.
“Doug?” He stared at Doug Wagner’s face, instantly wondering if he had balls enough to shoot a man who for better than a decade had been his closest friend. But then Wagner charged him, and GQ fired instinctively.
It took ten rounds to explode Wagner’s head. His legs buckled under him and he collapsed. GQ stared at the body and took out a handkerchief to dry his eyes before anyone else saw him.
General William Sherman was so damn right it hurt.
War is hell.
* * *
An EA took out Dave Bolland and Brian Conway, two of the SEALs assigned to protect Flag. Three other creatures grabbed their legs and dragged them away, while still more spotted Flag and rushed toward him. There was a quiet whoosh, followed by the thud of their two heads crashing to the floor. Their bodies collapsed only a second later.
Katana stood behind them and ran her hand down her blade.
“You have already absorbed so many souls,” she whispered to it. “Sadly the day is still young.”
Another EA leapt at her, pushed her to the ground then dragged itself up to her face. Its thousand eyes stared at her.
“A thousand eyes but you see nothing,” Katana said as her blade ripped up through the creature’s chest and into its throat. She twisted and the head fell free, reluctantly joining the others she’d severed.
More streamed into the room. They ignored the SEALs and Squad and ran toward Flag. Deadshot shot him a look.
“They really only want you,” he said questioningly. “They’re ignoring the rest of us. Maybe we should let ’em have you.”
“They know who the big kahuna is,” Flag responded. “Lop off the boss, and the rest will follow.”
“You wish,” Lawton replied.
“Then I’ll see you in hell, won’t I?”
“Behind you. Shut up and duck.” Lawton opened fire. It took three full mags before their crusted, barnacled faces had been reduced to little more than mush. He stared at his gun and felt his heart jump.
He was out of ammo.
More EAs rushed him. He saw Grey, t
he huge Dutchman he had saved less than an hour earlier. He was no longer a soldier. No longer human.
Harley was right. Sometimes things just sucked.
His wrist magnums flipped into position. Each had a full mag in it. He emptied both into the big guy, but Grey refused to go down. He grabbed Flag in a tight bear hug and started to squeeze. Deadshot rushed across the room and retrieved the gun Dave Bolland had dropped when the EAs took him out.
In a practiced move he checked that the mag was fresh. He then spun and unloaded it. Simultaneously Flag pulled out his hunting knife and hammered the pommel into the thing’s face. Again and again.
Grey refused to fall. He kneed Flag in the balls and the soldier collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. The big Dutchman raised both fists to finish him off, but abruptly shuddered, then fell forward.
Croc was behind him, and he punched the EA again. Grey turned, roaring in anger and pain, and charged him. He had a new target to kill.
Croc backed away to give himself more room. He stared at his attacker and goaded him.
“Whatcha gonna do, bitch? You think you can hurt me?” He slammed his fist into the EA’s gut, dropping him to his knees. Croc rushed him, but the thing climbed back to his feet and somehow blocked the punch.
Grey was weak and trembling. He tried to throw another punch, but Croc easily ducked it, then smashed his fist through Grey’s face, burying it deep into his eyes, mashing them into pulp. The EA again fell to his knees, then shuddered and collapsed to the ground. Croc slammed his foot into Grey’s face and finished him off.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t move,” he growled with reptilian menace. “Ever again.” The EA was dead but its body was still quivering. Croc stared at it angrily. “I warned you,” he said as he raised his foot again.
Flag stopped him.
“He used to be one of us.”
“Used to be one of yours, not mine.” Croc slammed his foot down hard, watched the EA’s body spasm one last time, then stepped off him. “Now he’s nobody’s.”
Deadshot secured another rifle and several mags of ammo. In perfect form he delivered one headshot after another, dropping assailants with each clip, reducing their numbers.
An arm suddenly grabbed him from behind. Lawton saw that the flesh under its torn uniform had crusted over. He could make out a half-dozen eyes just on this one small section of the thing’s arm. He jammed the wrist magnum into the EA’s face and fired.
The thing jerked back and fell, releasing its grip. Lawton aimed his magnum to finish it off, but Harley stepped in his way. She brought her heavy wooden bat down onto the hideous face and smashed it into pieces. Then she held up the bat like it was a trophy and did a small victory dance.
“And that is how it’s done,” she chirped. “You put ’em down, I flatten ’em.”
* * *
“Not bad, Quinn,” Boomerang called to her. “You know, for a Looney Tune.”
She giggled. “Well, personally, I prefer Merrie Melodies. They were so much funnier. But hey, nice slice ’n’ dice, Down Under.”
He looked at the creature he’d just beaten, and saw it twitch.
“Not quite dead enough. Hold on a sec.” Boomer rested his foot on the thing’s chest, then raised a razor-edged boomerang over his head. As the blade plunged down, the EA jerked to the side. The blade cut a deep gash into its neck but just missed severing it from its head.
The creature pulled back and freed its hand. It was holding a knife. It thrust up and sunk it into Boomer’s chest.
With a gasp, Boomer fell back.
Harley stared at him, falling to his knees. “Oh my God. Boomer.” She shrieked, “That thing killed Boomer!”
Boomer was confused and frightened. He stared at the knife, then angrily turned back to the EA and slammed his boomerang into its neck, this time slicing through flesh and bone. Its head lobbed to the side.
Harley ran to him, staring at the knife still embedded in his chest.
“Omigod, why aren’t you dead? You should be dead.” She turned to Flag, who was also staring. “He should be dead, shouldn’t he?” Harley asked again.
Boomer pulled the knife from his chest and tossed it aside. He opened his vest and revealed underneath thick packs of money, recently appropriated from the Midway Bank. Miraculously, they had protected him from the blade. Boomer pulled out a pack of bills and kissed them. “Who said money can’t buy happiness?”
Flag stared at him, and just shook his head.
“For once I’m speechless.”
Harley looked at the bills, then glared at Harkness. “Tell me you brought enough for everyone?”
Boomer shrugged his answer.
* * *
“Get back,” GQ ordered. A grenade launcher rested on his shoulder as he got into position.
“What the hell is G.I. Joe doing?” Deadshot asked. “Nothing’s standing for you to knock down.”
“There’re still nests of EAs. Might as well thin the herd.”
Deadshot agreed. “Sounds good.” He turned to Diablo and chuckled. “They used to be people, you know. Moms, dads, kids. How does wiping out entire families sound to you, big guy?”
Diablo stared back at him, and it was clear that the words had struck home. His eyes flashed with anger, and he clenched and unclenched his fists.
“How dare you?” he shouted. His hands erupted with fire, his fingers flaming candles. “You’ve crossed the line, Lawton.”
The skin on his face reddened, and Deadshot was suddenly very afraid. In his mind he saw that old video of Diablo, taken so many years earlier. How many did he burn to death in that prison? How many had he incinerated over the years?
Lawton edged back, away from Diablo.
“Hey. I’m sorry,” he said, the uncommon fear washing over him. “I didn’t mean anything. I swear it. I went way overboard and I know it. I’m sorry.”
Diablo turned away and reclaimed his calm.
“Never again, Lawton. Never talk to me again.”
Deadshot nodded. “You got it, man. What you say. Good with me.” He turned to the others. “What the hell was I thinking?”
Flag was grim. “Just don’t repeat it.”
“No way, man. Never.”
As they backed away, GQ launched a 40mm grenade deep into the office building. They watched and waited.
“Five seconds. Four…
“Three…
“Two…”
The grenade detonated. The front windows blew out. Stone, steel, and plaster exploded in all directions. The building shook, blasting creatures off the ceiling, shredding others into pieces. Half an EA crashed close to Flag and Deadshot. It was still holding its rifle and somehow it was still alive. A SEAL picked up his gun, about to shoot it through the head, but the thing shot first, killing the SEAL.
Croc stared at the dead SEAL, then he slammed his foot down on the EA’s face, smashing it into pulp.
* * *
No additional combatants appeared, and the inmates whooped, high-fiving one another and celebrating their kills.
Flag stepped back and away, and let them have their moment. They were killers, and he still hated the idea of working with them, but when push came to shove they actually worked together. They were becoming a team. He hadn’t thought that would ever happen.
When they finally calmed down, Flag called out to them.
“It’s time,” he said. “We’re on the clock. Move it. Get off the X.” He headed for the exit, not looking back but confident they were following close behind.
Maybe there was some hope for this motley crew after all.
FORTY-FIVE
The atrium balcony circled the government complex, imposing a deep vertigo effect on anyone who saw it, from new visitors to long-term employees. Amanda Waller had worked there for years but she still had to grab the handrail when she made her way from office to office.
Waller was rooted to the ops center, monitoring the enemy as well as Flag and his soldier
s. Time was running out, she thought. Her Suicide Squad still had too many EAs to fight before they could complete their mission.
She looked to her tech. “Center on Flag,” she barked, “but give me a wide shot. I need to see exactly where he’s taking them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he reoriented the drone camera. She watched Flag and the others circle the dizzying balcony.
“They’re heading for the stairs,” she said. “That’s good. That’s exactly where I need them to go. How much further?”
The tech punched up a distance ruler and laid it over the scene.
“Approximately eight hundred fifty yards, ma’am.”
“Okay… good. He has his bases covered. Thank God.” Flag was doing his job. Waller had expected nothing less.
She’d harbored serious doubts about his temper, once upon a time, and worried if its quick burn would hamper the assignment. Flag was known to humiliate soldiers if they didn’t snap to attention and follow his orders. The man didn’t have a clue how to play with others, but he was the best tactician Waller had ever known. She’d decided long ago to put up with his quirks, as long as he achieved the desired results.
Still, she had a reason to be nervous. If he pushed the wrong way with soldiers, they were required to follow his orders. But if he tried pulling his crap with the villains, they could just as easily burn him before she could activate their detonators.
With Flag she’d traded charm for proficiency. Her rule of thumb had always been, you put the best you got on the field then let them do what they do. As far as this mission was concerned, Waller would hire Hitler himself if he’d get the job done.
Flag was a pro. He’d fought this assignment, but ultimately she’d pulled rank and made it impossible for him to turn it down.
She sat back as the tech scanned the balcony ahead of the soldiers.
Nothing on the horizon. Good.
“Ma’am,” the tech suddenly said. “See that?” He pointed at a shadow moving across the wall behind Flag.
“What is it?”
The tech scrunched his eyes and stared at the monitors. “Not sure, but I think it’s coming from the catwalk. Hold on a sec, ma’am. Let me pull focus and adjust the drone’s video range.”
