Earthfall

by Knight, Stephen

  “Jim, we’re out of the garage and coming up behind you,” he whispered into his headset. “Keep going, we’ll keep a watch on the back door. Over.”

  “Roger,” came Laird’s quiet response.

  Andrews and Choi pressed on, gravel and glass crunching beneath their boots. Choi kept turning and looking back at the garage, but he did not fire off his last grenade. Apparently, their attackers weren’t interested in pursuing them any further. Andrews was grateful.

  Then he saw Laird stop. He turned and motioned Rachel and Leona to crouch as he and Kelly did the same thing. He brought his rifle to his shoulder and began firing bursts into the darkness.

  Shit.

  Behind him, Choi’s grenade launcher went thoomp as it ejected its round, and a moment later, the harsh crack of an exploding grenade tore through the night. Andrews turned and saw several survivors writhing amidst the rubble, screaming in pain. Several more boiled through the hole in the garage door, and Choi clipped them with precision fire.

  “Let’s get to the other street so we can get a better angle on them!” Andrews said, hustling across the street’s cracked pavement. Choi followed, walking backwards and firing a shot every second or so in an attempt to keep the rest of the enemy bottled up inside the garage. Andrews heard a scuffling noise from above, and he looked up in time to see several Molotov cocktails flying toward them, hurled by figures looking over the remaining portion of the civic center’s roof.

  “Choi, look out!” He raised his rifle and squeezed off a few rounds at the new set of attackers. They darted back behind the roofline as his bullets struck the retaining wall there, sending puffs of dust exploding into the night air. Then he and Choi were practically dancing in the streets as the bottles landed and shattered, spreading their flaming contents everywhere. From up the street, more gunfire sounded from Laird and Kelly.

  “Mike, we’ve got a problem up here!” Laird said over the radio.

  “Roger that, we’ve got goblins to the rear as well,” Andrews told him as he flattened against the pockmarked wall of the building across the wide street. “Choi, keep the pressure on them, don’t let them out of the garage!” He raised his rifle to his shoulder and targeted the roof of the civic center. He saw movement as several fighters slowly looked over the lip of the roofline, and he blew one of them away with a single shot. The heads dipped down again, and Andrews wished he had a grenade launcher of his own. He could lob a forty up there and ruin the rest of the night for several of the enemy. Beside him, Choi fired again and again, then stopped.

  “Reloading!” he said, ejecting the spent magazine from his rifle. Andrews took up his firing position and drilled a survivor right through the chest as he started to shove himself through the ragged hole in the garage door. The figure cried out and fell back through the dark maw.

  “Laird, how many combatants do you have up there?” Andrews asked. Beside him, Choi loaded a fresh mag into his rifle and resumed his position. Andrews returned to his examination of the roofline and saw someone quickly stand up to hurl another Molotov cocktail. Andrews shot him through the neck, and the figure fell away. An instant later, light blossomed as the cocktail exploded on the roof.

  “Can’t tell,” Laird said, “but it’s a lot of the bastards—we’re taking some pretty accurate arrow fire up here, and they’ve got more of those Molotov cocktails as well. Our NVGs are pretty much garbage now. Over.”

  “Roger that. We’re trying to keep the outbreak contained back here, and we’re taking Molotovs as well. Over.”

  Laird’s response was lost amidst an ululating chorus of war cries as over a dozen people stood up on the civic center’s roof, hurling Molotovs and firing arrows. Choi let out a frightened yelp as a metal arrow ricocheted off the wall beside him. Andrews flipped his rifle’s fire selector to full auto and raked the crowd overhead, sending several reeling back into the flame-lit darkness. An arrow slammed into the sidewalk between his feet, and he felt a nick of pain as something tugged at his right sleeve, above his elbow. He ignored it and kept firing, squeezing off measured bursts and trying to break up the enemy offensive.

  “Keep on the garage door!” he shouted to Choi. At the same time, he heard more automatic gunfire from Laird’s position. A quick glance up the street sent a lance of horror through his chest. More survivors were advancing on Laird’s position.

  And they had an armored truck.

  “Jim, hit that thing with grenades!” he shouted over the radio. His rifle stopped firing, the bolt locked back—it was empty. “Reloading!” He ripped the expended mag from his weapon and pulled a fresh one from his vest.

  “Fuck, me too!” Choi said as his own weapon fell silent. From Laird’s position, a grenade exploded, then another. Above the din, he heard a secondary noise, like a gunshot—but it didn’t sound like five-five-six NATO.

  “Taking fire up here!” Laird said. “They’re using the truck as a combat platform!”

  “Shoot it with a grenade!” Andrews repeated. He hit the bolt release on his rifle and cracked off two shots at the people emerging from the garage, missing them entirely.

  He stepped to his right, realizing he’d been stationary for too long. The enemy had to know his position by now. He was right. An arrow wedged itself into the concrete facade right where he’d been standing, a shot that would have hit him directly in the forehead had he not moved. Choi was operational then, and he engaged the enemy combatants emerging from the garage. He missed just as often as he hit, and sparking explosions dappled the steel door as bullets flattened against it. Another detonation sounded from up the street, but Andrews couldn’t check on the circumstances there as he fired on the enemy combatants who clung to the civic center’s roof. He fired at one, and the bullet-riddled corpse tumbled off the edge and fell headlong to street.

  “These guys are gonna get us, they’ve got the high ground!” Choi said, an edge of panic in his voice.

  “Laird, SITREP!” Andrews said.

  “We’ve hit that armored car with two grenades and we’ve managed to stop it, but the fuckers are using it for cover—we can’t shoot through it, and Kelly and I can’t take it by ourselves! We need you up here!”

  Andrews heard the crackle of gravel down the street, as if something was making its way toward them. He started to look that way, but three archers stood up on the civic center’s roof and raised their bows. He engaged them immediately.

  “Roger th—”

  “Get down!” Choi slammed into him suddenly, driving Andrews to the rubble-littered ground. An arrow slashed into the pavement only inches from his face, pelting him with concrete chips. He struggled against Choi, trying to pull his rifle out from beneath him and return fire.

  “Choi, what the—”

  The night erupted into fury as great gouts of flame seemed to arc up the street, turning night into day. A furious ripping sound cut through the air. Andrews turned, looking toward Laird’s position, and saw the armored truck facing them was being slowly demolished in great, sparking explosions that sent bits and pieces of it flying through the air. Laird and the others cowered before the tremendous fusillade, and the enemies facing them jerked and spun as arms and legs were blown off their bodies. The corpses essentially disintegrated where they stood, and Andrews wondered what kind of hell had been unleashed upon the world. The ground beneath him vibrated, the shuddering growing with each passing second as the raucous din grew louder. He heard Choi whoop suddenly, an abrupt exultation of joy that seemed misplaced. Then Andrews became aware of another noise, a mounting whine that deepened into a bellow.

  A gas turbine engine coming to life.

  SCEV Five rolled to a halt right beside them, the turreted miniguns in its slanted nose spitting bursts of 7.62 millimeter death up the street. The opponents that faced Laird and the others broke and ran, but the firing didn’t stop—the fleeing combatants were chopped down as they fled. The SCEV’s outer airlock door cycled open, and the LED lights inside snapped on. The rig’s
armored bulk shielded them from the fighters on the rooftop, rendering their arrows ineffective. As if to underscore just how the tide had changed, the missile pod on the SCEV’s back quickly extended into firing position, rotated toward the civic center, and promptly sent a projectile lancing into the structure’s side. Riding a column of fire, the missile tore through the civic center’s outer wall and exploded deep inside, causing the remains of the roof to suddenly bow upwards before it collapsed inward in a rising cloud of dust.

  “Andrews, you guys had better get in. The meter’s running, and I’m low on quarters,” a voice said over his radio. Even in the heat of battle, Command Sergeant Scott Mulligan managed to sound completely bored.

  “About time we rated door-to-door service!” Choi said as he pushed himself off of Andrews and climbed to his feet.

  ***

  “Mulligan! You’re not dead?” Andrews said as he bolted into the cockpit. Mulligan was strapped into the pilot’s seat, so he slipped into the copilot’s seat and buckled himself in. Mulligan looked like hell—he clearly represented the three Bs: battered, bloodied, and bruised.

  “That’s a matter of personal opinion,” Mulligan said. A chime sounded as the airlock indicators went from red to green, and the big man pushed the control column forward. The SCEV responded like a tiger that had just slipped out of its cage, its engines shrieking as its huge tires spun, seeking purchase on the debris-littered ground. Every now and then, a tinny tink and clunk reached Andrews’s ears. Despite the rig’s firepower, the denizens of San Jose were still trying to put up a fight, launching whatever they had at the SCEV as it barreled down the street.

  “I’ve got the guns,” Andrews said, slipping on his headset and taking over the fire control systems. A window opened up on the infrared overlay that was projected on the viewport—a digital targeting system, which allowed him to control the turreted miniguns on the rig’s nose. But there was nothing to fire on; all of Law’s people were laying low.

  “Roger, you have the guns,” Mulligan said.

  “Laird, Andrews—check your six, we’re rolling up on your position. Get everyone ready to board. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Laird responded immediately.

  Ahead, Andrews saw Laird and Kelly marshal Leona and Rachel to the other side of the street so they would be in a better position to board the rig when it came to halt.

  “Choi, override the inner airlock door! We’re going to want to board them as quickly as we can,” Andrews shouted.

  “Roger that!” Choi responded. “I’m on it!”

  “Get them aboard ASAP. We’ll be vulnerable when we come to a stop, and it’s not like we have three hundred sixty degrees of coverage,” Mulligan said as he slowed the SCEV. When it rumbled just past Laird’s position, he braked it to a shuddering halt. The huge vehicle skidded several feet across the loose debris. Andrews reached for the FLIR yoke and twisted it from right to left; the FLIR turret panned in response, and he watched the projected overlay, looking for any signs of life. Motionless bodies lay near the immolated armored truck, the figures glowing dully, still warm against the chilly night. Ghostly pools formed around them—blood, slowly cooling in the nighttime breeze. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of figures moving through the ground floor of a devastated building. He rolled the targeting bracket on them, his thumb hovering above the FIRE button.

  Do it! They want us dead, so do it to them first!

  He crushed the button beneath his thumb. The two miniguns blared, firing long streams of high-powered ammunition at the building. The infrared overlay revealed the destruction caused by the sudden salvo of 7.62 millimeter bullets as they slashed across the building’s floor. Two shapes went down, blasted into pieces by the deadly hail of steel rain. More escaped being blown into oblivion, and Andrews felt a small—but not unexpected—twinge of relief in his gut. He knew he’d reached his limit, had had his fill of killing for the moment.

  “Having an attack of the mercies, are you?” Mulligan said.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t slew the guns to the left—you could have taken the rest of them down.” His voice was neutral, revealing neither compliment nor reproach.

  “All aboard!” Choi shouted from the second compartment. “Airlock sealed!”

  Laird shoved his way into the cockpit. A big grin split his handsome, grime-covered face when he saw Mulligan.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You must have an angel in your corner, Sarmajor!” He slapped the bigger man on the shoulder.

  Mulligan winced at the contact. “The devil in my detail’s averaging everything out.”

  “Jim, get everyone squared away,” Andrews said. “We’ve still got some work to do, so we’ll decon once we secure the supports and clear the city. Sarmajor, you good to take us back to the warehouse?”

  “Absolutely, sir. I’m a hundred percent operational.” He set the SCEV back into motion, accelerating past the wrecked armored truck. “And the sooner we get there, the better … These guys’ll figure out where we’re headed soon enough, and we’d better get gone before they can corner us again.”

  “I’ll give you one great big hooah on that, Sarmajor,” Andrews said, as Laird retreated from the cockpit.

  18

  The sun was already kissing the eastern horizon by the time the SCEV made it back to the manufacturing complex, turning the sky from midnight black to cobalt blue, then to ever-brightening shades of red, orange, and yellow. As Mulligan drove the big rig across the parking lot, Andrews watched the side of the warehouse loom large in the viewports. Mulligan cranked the yoke hard to the left, and the big vehicle turned obediently, leaning hard to the right as it did so. Even Andrews was surprised by the sudden movement, and he was strapped into the copilot’s seat. He heard Laird swearing up a storm in the back as he and anyone else who wasn’t already strapped down had to scramble to find handholds before they were hurled off their feet.

  “Take it easy, Mulligan!” Andrews barked.

  “I’ll take it easy when I’m dead,” Mulligan replied. He brought the rig to a halt just shy of the door the team had entered through day before, then crawled forward until the entrance was directly across from the airlock. Laird stormed into the cockpit and glared down at Mulligan.

  “Sergeant Major, what the hell do you think you’re doing to my rig?” he snapped.

  “Just breaking it in, Captain,” Mulligan said, unperturbed. An ugly bruise was spreading across the right side of his face, and Andrews noticed his right eye was red with broken blood vessels.

  “Mulligan, you don’t look so hot,” Andrews said, suddenly concerned.

  “I’m good to go, sir. The second I start losing the edge, I’ll let you know.”

  Laird bent down and looked at Mulligan closely. “Holy shit, you really do look like hell, Sarmajor.” All traces of anger had left his voice.

  Mulligan swiveled his eyes toward Laird. “Ladies, I’m touched by your never-ending concern for my well-being, but maybe you should stop commenting on my less-than-stellar looks and get the goddamned core supports?” His voice was a harsh rasp.

  “We’re on it, Sergeant Major. You stay put and keep an eye on things,” Andrews said as he unbuckled his harness.

  “You might find this useful, sir.” Mulligan reached into one of the cargo pockets and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. Andrews took it and unfolded it. It was the manifest from the warehouse detailing the location of the core supports.

  “Great work, Sarmajor. We’ll have Eklund come forward and keep an eye on things with you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Mulligan said, turning away and looking out the viewport to his left.

  “Is there a problem with that, Mulligan?” Andrews pushed the seat back and rose to his feet, crouching slightly to avoid hitting the overhead panel.

  “Negative, Captain.” Mulligan hesitated. “But please hurry. I think Eklund has the hots for me.”

  Andrews exchanged a look with Laird, and both men s
norted. Andrews gently patted Mulligan’s beefy shoulder.

  “Well, I’m sure there are worse things in life, Mulligan.”

  “I can’t think of any, sir.”

  ***

  It wasn’t tough to find the supports, since Mulligan had saved the manifest he’d found during their earlier foray into the structure. Andrews, Laird, Rachel, Choi, and Kelly suited up and armed themselves for the extra-vehicular activity, and Andrews led the group to where the supports were supposed to be. He saw the signs of struggle from when Law’s people had taken Spencer, and he wondered how long they had until they arrived. He knew one of the survivors’ network of tunnels extended to the warehouse; it was the only way they had managed to get the drop on the SCEV Four team.

  “Yes,” Rachel said over the radio as she bent over the open shipping crate. “Yes, these are the supports. They’re in great shape, too.” She straightened and looked back at Andrews. “We should take four, at least. We only need two, but we need some safeties.”

  “How can we tell if they’re structurally sound?” Laird asked.

  “We can’t, but they’re extremely dense. It would take a significant amount of energy to deform them, and this area of the city,” she waved one arm at the warehouse, “didn’t seem to get hit by a direct nuclear strike, so it’s very unlikely their composition has been altered by ionization.”

  Laird turned to Andrews and shrugged. “Well, okay.”

  “Let’s get going,” Andrews said. “Rachel, go back to the rig. Choi, Jordello, you guys stand guard. Keep aware of what’s going on around you at all times—we’ll need you to provide security while Laird and I move some of these things to the vehicle. Questions?” No one had any, so Andrews turned to Laird and nodded toward the shipping crate. “Okay, let’s do this.”