by A. J. Sikes
They’re prisoners! Shit!
Four people were piled in the truck bed, all bound and with hoods over their heads. And they all wore uniforms. The second truck came to a stop and the driver got out. The man posted behind the first truck went over with his weapon at the ready. They exchanged some words but a wind gusted over the rooftop and Jed couldn’t hear what was said. The men shook hands, then stood still, like they were waiting for someone else to show up.
The next thing he knew, Jed was rubbing his eyes to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing.
Can’t be. Can’t fucking be real. No way.
On the street below, while the men by the trucks stood guard, a small group of the monsters crawled from where they’d been hiding behind piles of rubble. The whole block had been leveled by bombs. Somewhere in that mess of ruins and destruction, the monsters had an entrance to their underground hive. Jed hadn’t noticed them coming out because he’d been focused on the men in the trucks, hoping to identify Tucker.
Whoever the men were, they clearly weren’t afraid of the monsters. They kept their distance, but they didn’t shoot the things. From his high position, Jed couldn’t see them as clearly as he had before, but he could make out their pasty white skin, and their joints clicked loudly in the quiet ruined street.
They’re the kind that didn’t die when the Air Force dropped those chemical bombs. They’re the really bad ones. The ones that got Meg.
The monsters crawled across the roadway to the second truck where they clambered into the bed and grabbed the prisoners. One by one the people were yanked from the truck by clawed hands. Jed didn’t hear any screams, and guessed the prisoners were gagged under their hoods.
Or just scared to death.
The monsters collected the prisoners and made their retreat, still not making a single move toward the men with the weapons. Jed wondered what it would take before the monsters would turn on the human collaborators. Would they have to be starving somehow? Is that why the men were trading prisoners away like this?
They’re keeping the monsters fed, so they’ll leave Tucker and his crew alone.
Then Jed slapped a hand across his own mouth and held in a scream of terror, because he saw the big one. The one that Mahton had told him about. It lumbered out from the mess of rubble that used to be apartment buildings across Lexington Avenue. The smaller monsters crawled and skittered just like others Jed had seen. But this one walked upright, and it was huge. How the hell had it survived, and why was it so much bigger than the others?
The giant stepped out from the debris and crossed to the middle of Lexington Avenue while the smaller monsters carried the prisoners and ran across the street, disappearing into the rubble.
Jed caught sight of where they went only because one of the prisoners finally tried to fight back. The person was being carried on a monster’s shoulder and tried to lash out with a foot at another monster nearby. That earned him a clawed hand across his throat. The prisoner relaxed instantly. Jed could still see the person moving. He cursed himself a coward. He should be taking out the col-labs and the monsters right now.
Before he knew he had even done it, Jed had lifted his weapon and sighted on the big fucker. It stood in the middle of the street with its arms out to the sides. It made scooping motions, like a wizard trying to cast a spell.
Then it grunted something and Jed ducked back down behind the railing. He’d heard it speak. He’d heard what it said.
“Eat . . . Hungry! More!”
Taking a breath and blowing it out, Jed spun back around and sighted onto the street again. The big monster was stomping back into its hiding place. The two men on the street stayed put, watching the thing leave. Jed drew a bead on the driver of the second truck, the one that had carried the prisoners.
You first, then the other guy. If you’re Tucker, then this shit ends right here, right now.
Out of nowhere, Mahton’s hand sliced swift and sharp, knocking Jed’s hand away from the trigger. In a flash, Mahton had him down on his back and pinned against the roof.
“Do not, under any circumstances, fuck this up, Welch. You let those motherfuckers know we’re here and any chance we have of getting our people back goes straight to hell. That’s where you’re going if you pull some shit like that again. You are not cleared hot. Not until Sergeant G gives the word.”
Jed wrestled against Mahton’s weight, but the other man was bigger and stronger, and he had the upper advantage. After one last try at getting his arms free to shove Mahton off him, Jed gave up.
“Fuck man, I wasn’t going to fire. Just—if we can see those fuckers, why can’t we take ‘em out? That’s gotta be Tucker down there.”
“We don’t know who it is,” Mahton said. He slid aside and let Jed come to a crouch again in the shadow of the railing. “More importantly, we don’t know their strength level yet. That could be half of what we’re faced with.”
“Or it could be all they got.”
“Could be, but we don’t know for sure. Until we do, we don’t take a shot.”
On the street below, the men were climbing back into their trucks. Jed fought the urge to snap his weapon up and lay into the departing vehicles. By the time he had himself squared away, the trucks were taking the corner at 102nd Street. He watched them crawl up the street, pull through the breezeway, and emerge into the lot behind the stronghold.
Did I just let them get away after they gave prisoners to the monsters?
Jed looked Mahton in the eye. “I saw it, man. The big one.”
“Yeah? So you’re a true believer now. Good for you. What was it doing? Did you hear it talk?”
Jed paused, afraid to say the words he heard in his mind. He went back to watching the stronghold.
“They gave it four prisoners. They were all wearing digies, man. All of them. We have to get down there. No way, no how, am I letting those fuckers get away with this.”
Mahton’s radio crackled and he moved aside to listen to the transmission. He grunted a reply and came back next to Jed in a crouch.
“Good timing, Welch,” Mahton said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Sergeant G just told me the same thing. She was watching it go down from inside. We move on their stronghold tomorrow morning.”
Jed stretched and yawned, shaking himself awake. He’d woken up every hour it seemed, but when he had slept, he’d dreamed about being safe and with his best friends from school.
Mahton and Reeve were already up, with Reeve pulling the last watch of the night. Mahton was cleaning his weapon on his bunk in the corner. Reeve stood by the doorway with his weapon at the ready, eyeing Jed but without the suspicion of the previous day. Instead, it was like he expected Jed to do something and was waiting for him to figure it out. When Jed didn’t move except to stretch his neck, Reeve spoke up.
“Square away your bunk, Welch. And get your cover on. Sergeant G is on her way down.”
Jed looked at Reeve and Mahton’s bunks and saw they’d been straightened up. He shrugged into his vest, then set his helmet on his head before squaring away his AO.
When he was done, it didn’t look much different from when he’d got up, but he had to admit the ritual made him feel a little better. He was more alert at least. Reeve nodded at him and lowered his muzzle another inch or two, almost relaxing his stance enough for Jed to think Reeve had finally decided to trust him.
Sergeant Gallegos stepped into the room and Reeve greeted her.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” he said.
Mahton set his still disassembled weapon on the floor and stood up. Jed found his body moving on auto-pilot as he took up a position next to his bunk.
Back straight, eyes front. Hands at the small of my back, feet shoulder-width apart.
It had been a long damn time since Jed had moved that fast for anyone, but when Reeve greeted the sergeant, his words put Jed in a different head space. He snapped to without a second thought and waite
d for his orders.
☣
Gallegos slung her M4 and checked she had a full magazine in her sidearm. Extra ammo, what little she had left, was stowed in the pouches on her vest. The weight of all the gear was familiar, and comforting.
Like a blanket you don’t dare take off, no matter how hot it gets.
She would have traded some of her ammo for an IFAK, but her entire squad had used up what little first aid gear they’d had during the first two hours of Operation Reaper. Shrugging away the memories of that mission gone to hell, Gallegos stepped into the room and suppressed the urge to grin when Reeve said Good morning. Welch immediately stood at parade rest. She entered with a quiet step, just like Gunny Pacau would do when he inspected them. She scanned the room just like Gunny Pacau would do, and didn’t miss noticing that Welch’s bunk space was squared away, just like Reeve’s and Mahton’s were.
They’re looking out for him. That’s good. We might actually make it through this.
Gallegos went up to Reeve and gave him a once over. He was good to go. Same old Reeve. Cheeks all cut up from him dry shaving with his ka-bar, and probably enough funk under his fingernails to fill a fart sack. But he was good to go. Even though she’d had her doubts the day before, this morning Reeve was a US Marine, nose to toes.
She slapped his shoulder and nodded, then walked across the room to Mahton. She gave him the same quick inspection, noticing he’d tried to comb the wiry curls of his beard into shape. It almost worked. She gave him a nod and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Get your weapon squared away. Locked and loaded, ready to rock.”
“Errr,” he said and immediately dropped down to the mat he slept on. He scooped up the rifle, clicked the upper receiver into place, and reached for a magazine. Gallegos left him to it and walked back across the room to stand in front of Welch. She gave his bunk area a quick check, letting him sweat it before she met his eyes again.
“Looking good, Welch. You ready for this? You ready to be a Marine?”
“Oorah, Sergeant,” he said, not missing a beat.
“I like to hear it louder, Welch.”
“Oorah, Sergeant!”
“That’s better.” She thought about giving him a dose of Gunny Pacau’s best medicine, a little dressing down just to help the man stand up straighter, but Welch’s voice and attitude said enough. He was good to go just like the rest of them.
“As you were, men.”
Reeve was always relaxed, and Mahton was more or less the same. He stood a little straighter than Reeve, though, and with his weapon slung and ready. Welch, though . . . the dude just stuck at parade rest, like maybe he broke something because he moved too fast when she’d walked into the room.
“I said ‘as you were’, Welch. At ease.”
Gallegos relaxed herself when Welch softened his stance and let his arms hang a little more loose. He seemed ready. But her doubts resurfaced. She still had to know for sure he could be trusted. If nothing else she did today went right, she had to at least start on a good foot. That meant knowing she could trust the men under her command, and knowing that they trusted each other as well. Gallegos didn’t miss the shifty look Reeve kept throwing in Welch’s direction.
He’s still not convinced Welch is cool, and if I’m being honest, neither am I. Gotta get things right before we move out.
“You said you were Army before this, rah?”
“No, Sergeant. I—they picked me up, kinda drafted me I guess. When it all started, it was everybody on deck, you know?”
“Assholes and elbows, yeah. Was the same with us.”
She paused for a beat, remembering what it had been like when they got to New York City in the early light of May 4th. The room stayed silent while she dragged herself out of her memories for the second time that morning.
“I’m from New York, you know? Grew up here. Like you. But we all used to be out of Camp Lejeune. Reeve and Mahton and me. Motor Transport 2/2. The Workhorse. Before that it was Afghanistan. We were on deck to deploy again when they called us up for Reaper.”
“Reaper? What’s that?”
“Just some shithead’s idea of taking back a city that was already too far gone. We were supposed to clear the streets, make sure the suckers were all dead. Confirm what parts of New York were good for recapture. Joint forces would move in. Secure the city block by block. Except that didn’t happen.”
She let him take it in, watching to see if he flinched or showed any sign of being part of the clusterfuck that was Operation Reaper. Thousands died within the first few minutes of the effort to take back New York, and the few that remained either split off by platoon or squad, trying desperately to survive, or they turned tail and hid out somewhere, hoping it would all be over when they poked their chickenshit heads out again.
Was he one of them?
Welch met her gaze, but quickly moved his sight picture to a distant point in the room.
He’s guilty about something. Was he a deserter?
She, Reeve, and Mahton found a guy playing possum, hiding in the bathrooms in the ruins of the art museum. His squad was wiped out in seconds, and he’d only survived by being the point man. Sucker faces had taken down the rest of his unit and were too busy eating to see him running full tilt into the MOMA.
Then he’d tried to run from us, and Reeve lit him up for being a coward. The gunfire drew the monsters to our location and we lost almost everyone we had left. Now we’ve been given this man to help us.
“We did what we could, Welch. But we lost our unit. We lost our mission. Then this Tucker asshole comes around and we have a mission again. We had each other before. And now we got you. Welcome aboard, Marine.”
She extended a hand, and he grasped it, giving her a firm shake. She slapped a hand on his shoulder and looked him square in the eye before releasing him and stepping back.
“This is the game plan,” she said, standing in front of them with her arms framing her slung M4. “We know the col-labs move out after first light to scout for hostages. We know they go out again in the early evening, before dusk, so they can avoid the other sucker crews in the area. We’ve seen them hunting during twilight mostly. Tucker’s agreement with them must be to stay buttoned up until the hunt is over.
“His team is small, maybe a squad at best. They have two vehicles. My guess is it’s Tucker who always drives the black truck. Whoever is in it, he takes a spotter with him when he goes out.
“It’s the same with the other truck. Always a two-man team, at least as far as we’ve seen. That means our best chance will come when both trucks are gone. We missed our chance yesterday because we were busy saving Welch’s ass and getting him up to speed. That’s okay, though, because now we have two teams ourselves.”
Gallegos relaxed and leaned back against the desk behind her, waiting for the men to ask their questions.
“Who’s with who?” Reeve asked, giving Welch a look out the corner of his eye.
“You and Welch, me and Mahton,” she answered. Reeve huffed once, blowing his breath out. Gallegos was in his face before he had time to blink.
“You and Welch. Me and Mahton. Those are the teams. Rah?”
“Rah. Oh, yeah,” Reeve said, stepping back once to put space between them. She didn’t close it up, and Reeve seemed to take that as permission to keep his mouth running.
“Oo-double-rah. Me and Private Fucking Schmuckatelli here. Been nice knowing you, Sergeant. You too, Mahton. Make me the fucking fall guy, I get it. Don’t rush on my account, but when they finally get you, I’ll be holding the door to hell wide open so you can come and join us.”
Gallegos stepped forward like she might kick Reeve in his junk. Then she laughed, a short little bark that ended with her putting her hands on her hips and sending Reeve a shit-eating grin to end all shit-eating grins.
“That’s why I like you, Reeve. You never back down from a fight. Maybe now you get why I want you with Welch? He doesn’t know this building like you do, or thos
e streets outside. I seen his kind before, back on the block. He’s from Brooklyn or Queens. Ain’t you, Welch?” she asked, turning to look him in the face.
“Yeah. Yes, Sergeant. I grew up in Corona and Elmhurst. Never saw Manhattan before all this really. Might have been here once.”
“So, Reeve,” Gallegos said. “I need Mahton at my six and Welch needs you at his.”
“He’s point man? Fuck, I’m toast. Ate up like—”
“Ain’t nothing ate up except what Tucker’n them are doing,” Welch said.
Mahton chuckled. “See, Reeve. Welch knows the score. He’s ready to bring the pain to Tucker’s operation.”
“Okay,” Reeve said, putting his hands up, palms out. “Fuck it. I give. What’s the plan again?”
“Already covered that part,” Gallegos said. “Need me to break it down Barney style?”
Reeve chuckled, licked a finger, and marked a ‘1’ in the air. “Point goes to you, Sergeant. I’ve been voluntold.”
Gallegos let him laugh it off, but she left room in the back of her mind to keep as close an eye on Reeve as she had on Welch. Before the day was through, she’d know if either of them were truly good to go.
But that’s only if we all make it back alive.
Jed waited for Sergeant Gallegos to lay into Reeve, but she kept it cool. If she did have anything else she wanted to say to him, she did a good job of keeping it hidden. A beat after Reeve stopped talking, she pulled a map out of her pocket and spread it across the desk.
Jed and the others stepped up to flank her while she oriented the map and detailed her plans.
“We approach the stronghold from the northwest, here at the corner of Lexington and 102nd. That’s where a gas station used to be. The fuel tanks underground made a crater when they went up. We have some rough terrain to navigate, but the apartments behind the gas station shielded Tucker’s stronghold. And there’s plenty of shit to hide behind over there. They shouldn’t see us coming.”
