This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection)

by Craig DiLouie

  “Roger, Jim. We’ve got the front door.”

  “See you outside. Out.”

  “Let’s roll, Choi,” Andrews said. “Let’s give these goons something nice and mobile to shoot at. You ready?”

  “No, I’m not ready!” Choi said, the scorn plain in his voice. “Does that count for anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, balls. Okay, I’ve got the lead.” The younger man fired a quick burst into the darkness in one direction, then pivoted and fired off a grenade from his M320 in the other. The grenade struck a support pillar several dozen yards away and exploded with a sudden boom and a flash that cast shadows through the garage. Before the echoes had even begun to fade, Choi was on his feet, running toward the truck he and Andrews had discussed. Andrews swore and pulled his NVGs down over his eyes—the flames to his right were sputtering, so NVG effectiveness was pretty much restored—and he ran after Choi as quickly as he could. Just in time. The car the two men had been using as a fighting position was suddenly bombarded with fully-automatic rifle fire. Muzzle flashes lit up the garage far to Andrews’s right. The shooter leaned into the weapon and turned it toward him, walking the rounds toward him as he ran. Andrews juked to his right as hard as he could and shouldered up against a nearby support pillar. Bullets slammed into the stout cement post an instant later, scattering concrete chips across the floor as a small cloud of dust billowed in the air. The gunfire ended abruptly, and Andrews knew this was probably his only chance. Placing his left heel against the pillar, he turned at the waist and brought up his M416. Through the night vision goggles and the low-light scope on his rifle, he could see the man with the captured assault rifle struggling to reload it. Andrews fired two rounds and hit him directly in the center mass. The man dropped the rifle and slowly crumpled to the floor.

  “In place, Captain,” Choi said over the radio. A moment later, his rifle barked, and in the dark distance someone yelped. “I’ve got your advance covered!”

  Andrews pushed away from the pillar and sprinted toward the truck, scanning left to right. He saw flashes of movement in the green-white world revealed by his NVGs. Several scraggly survivors were closing on them, leapfrogging from decaying car to decaying car, then flitting behind the thick concrete pillars. Muzzle flashes bloomed from the darkened cab of the semi-truck as Choi opened fire on the survivors. He continued to fire on semi-automatic, rationing his ammunition as well as he could. Andrews ran to the truck and slammed into its dusty fender. The rig’s tires were gone, either having rotted away or been stripped off for another use. The big vehicle sat on its belly, which meant there was no way anyone would be able to crawl under it and use it for cover. Andrews pressed his back against the truck’s sheet metal and fiberglass body and shouldered his rifle, scanning for targets.

  “Choi, can you see movement to your left?” he asked, creeping toward the front of the truck.

  “I see ’em,” Choi replied. “They’re trying to sneak up on us. How bad of a hurting are we going to put on these guys, sir?” His voice was neutral, as if he were discussing a menu item.

  Andrews looked around the truck’s grille, weapon at ready. “As much of one as we need to, Choi. If they don’t back off, they die.”

  “Hooah. I’m engaging with a forty.” Choi fired another grenade out of the truck’s windowless cab. It arced through the air and landed in the shell of a car several survivors were hiding behind. The explosion was tremendous, made even more so by the relatively tight confines of the parking garage. Andrews’s NVGs were once again overwhelmed by the sudden flash as the high explosive round went off, fairly decimating the car and turning it into one giant shrapnel generator. The goggles cleared instantly once the flare dissipated, and he saw several shapes writhing about on the concrete floor, shrieking in agony, their bodies flayed open by the fusillade of whirling metal. Men, women, and to Andrews’s shock, children lay in the blast radius, their screams of pain echoing through the garage.

  “Oh man, are those fucking kids?” Choi said from the cab. “They brought their kids to the fight?”

  “Hold it together, Tony,” Andrews told him. “They did it to themselves; you didn’t do shit.” He shouted into the parking garage, raising his voice so it could be heard over the cries of the wounded. “Back off and no one else gets hurt! We’re not here to harm you, we just want to get out of here! You can send two people to recover your wounded—we will not fire on you!”

  In response, another Molotov cocktail came spinning through the darkness from their rear. It burst open against the rear of the truck’s cab, spewing flaming liquid across it. Choi swore as some of the flaming accelerant landed inside the cab.

  They’re behind us! As Andrews spun to face the new threat, something struck him in the chest with enough force to throw him back against the truck. He kept his grip on his rifle and looked down. A metal arrow stuck out from the body armor covering his chest, right between two pockets that contained magazines of 5.56 millimeter ammunition. That he felt no pain was little comfort—he had no idea if the projectile had penetrated the ballistic trauma plating that lay beneath the composite layers of bullet-resistant armor that covered the surface of his vest. Until he felt it, he wasn’t going to stop fighting. Realizing he was silhouetted against the ribbons of fire that raged across the back of the semi-truck’s cab, he ducked to his left. Just in time, for another arrow slashed past, and this one ripped right through the truck’s sheet metal cab without even slowing down.

  “Choi, we’re taking fire from the rear! Laird, this is Andrews—we have OPFOR to our rear, they are between you and us! Over!”

  “Roger that, Mike. We’re at the door now, start making your way toward us!” As Laird finished transmitting, a loud explosion tore through the garage as a forty-millimeter grenade did its work against the steel mesh garage door. Then two more explosions.

  Choi leapt out of the doorless truck’s cab and landed beside Andrews. He fingered the firing selector on his rifle and ripped off a quick burst at a man standing fifty meters away, a huge longbow held in one hand. Both men fired at the same time, and Choi missed being killed by the man’s steel arrow by millimeters. The attacker spun and dove away, and Andrews didn’t know if he’d been hit or not. Choi glanced over at Andrews and saw the arrow sticking out from the center of his body armor.

  “Man, that’s some shit, Captain,” he said, before returning to the task at hand.

  There were two more resounding explosions from the far end of the garage, and stroboscopic flashes of light peeled back the darkness for an instant. Andrews saw flurries of movement to their rear, and he stood up and peered through the open cab of the truck. More figures raced toward it, using its bulk to camouflage their advance. Andrews cracked off two rounds, then his weapon clicked empty. He ejected the magazine, pulled another from his vest and slapped it in, hit the bolt release switch, and was back in business. The attackers had disappeared. He knew they were crouched down on the other side of the truck, which meant he and Choi were practically within knife-fighting distance. But they weren’t outfitted for close-quarters combat; their rifles weren’t short-barreled, and they had no sidearms—those were not part of the SCEV weapons loadout. The only thing the two men could do was put some distance between them and their attackers. He slapped Choi on the arm and pointed in the direction of Laird, Kelly, and Rachel.

  “Let’s roll! When we get forty meters out, turn and drop a grenade on this thing!”

  “Roger that,” Choi said, already sliding another forty-millimeter grenade into the M320. Both men set off at a sprint from the vehicle, and just in time. With a war cry, the attackers on the other side of the rig swarmed over it, hoping to catch the two men from behind. Andrews half turned and fired a burst at the dusty wreckage, aiming as best as he could while on the run. He needn’t have worried. When the bullets rained down among them, the attackers reversed course and dove back behind the hulk of metal.

  “Laird, we’re heading your way!” Andrews
said as another explosion tore through the garage.

  “Great timing—we’re through over here! Speed it up! I’ll drop back and give you some cover!”

  “Negative—get Rachel to Five! We’ll be right behind you!” Andrews ordered. Beside him, Choi slowed and turned, raising his rifle to his shoulder. At the same time, Andrews saw a burst of movement to his left and he spun, bringing his rifle sights on a small figure as it darted toward him. The boy was ragged and thin, his long, filthy hair tied back in a ponytail that seemed to go on forever. Through the NVGs, Andrews could see his every feature: wild eyes, foam building at the corners of his mouth, pockmarks on his face, the natty tunic he wore. He carried a single blade of steel that was patinated by time and use, and his feet were wrapped in scraps of cloth. His thin arms were exposed, and a sheen of sweat stood out on them. He looked to be only six or seven years old, but given the apparent malnutrition that stole through the group of survivors that had made the shattered hulk of San Jose their home, he could have been twice that age.

  “Stop there, or I’ll shoot you!” Andrews shouted. Behind him, Choi’s grenade launcher thumped, and an instant later another explosion shook the garage. Dust rained down from the ceiling and the boy slowed, frightened by the sudden fire and fury as Choi’s grenade destroyed the semi-truck the rest of the attackers were hiding behind. More cries and screams of shock and agony reached Andrews’s ears. The boy looked at the conflagration behind Andrews, his pace slowing; then his face hardened and he accelerated toward Andrews again, blade held high. He released a keening wail as he bore down on Andrews, his eyes full of hate and fear.

  Andrews shot him once through the chest. The boy stumbled and fell, skidding and rolling across the dusty floor, his blade clattering as it slid across the concrete. The small figure came to a rest on his back, chest heaving, a bloody froth spilling from his mouth.

  Jesus …

  Andrews snapped out of it and turned to Choi. “Come on, Tony—let’s get the hell out of here!”

  The two men sprinted toward the far end of the garage, where they could see the ragged hole that had been blown through the entrance door. Choi reached it first, and he knelt beside the opening, rifle at ready. An expended forty-millimeter grenade casing rolled across the concrete ramp when he brushed against it with one of his boots, tinkling as it bumped over metallic debris. There was no sign of Laird, Kelly, Leona, or Rachel, and Andrews hoped they were well on their way to SCEV Five.

  “Go on,” Choi said. “I’ve got your back.”

  Andrews tucked his rifle close to his body and lifted up one leg. The hole was only four feet tall and just shy of that wide, so he had to step through it carefully, lest he cut himself on the ragged metal edges. The night on the other side of the hole was cool and dry, and a light breeze cooled his sweat the instant he was out of the garage. He reached back inside and tapped Choi’s shoulder and, a moment later, he stepped out as well.

  “Got one banger left. I’m going to use it to hold those bastards back,” Choi said. “Just in case they decide to come after us.”

  “Roger that, but let’s make tracks,” Andrews said. The street was deserted, filled with the detritus of passing years—shattered glass from the buildings, collapsed facades, fallen light poles, and stripped vehicles. Several hundred meters up the street, he saw Laird leading Kelly, Rachel, and Leona away. Rachel was supporting Leona, helping her navigate her way across the debris-strewn street.

  “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. “Reload
ing!” 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—”