Obliteration

by James S. Murray

  The main body of creatures stalled their attack once more. They could not break through the line, no matter what tactic they tried. They slowly withdrew, hissing at their failure, and backed away toward the distant neighborhood. They were still close, but the lightning assault had lost all momentum. The Caffertys and Munoz appeared lost for words. Bowcut attempted to understand what she’d just witnessed.

  Five hundred—no, 499 supersoldiers, rebuffing an assault. Aboveground. Against thousands. First unarmed, then with lasers. The result was undeniable.

  But against millions? We’re still only a force of five thousand.

  Every minute the planes refueled felt like hours. After some time had passed, one of the Foundation team members sprinted over to Van Ness and informed him that the planes had sufficient fuel to reach San Diego.

  Bowcut didn’t look back at the planes. She’d heard the pumps working until the creatures had drowned out their low, rhythmic hums. All she wanted right now was to board and get the hell out of here. A much larger and more ferocious attack could come at any second, and she hadn’t seen enough yet to convince her that being overwhelmed wasn’t still a distinct possibility.

  Van Ness wheeled over to the group. “My friends, don’t think we’ve got the upper hand for a second. We can’t stay in Lima to finish this fight. It’ll allow them to learn from us.”

  “Good with me,” Munoz replied, then pointed toward the flattened fence, still shrouded by the orange haze. “But I don’t see any of these motherfuckers reaching San Fran before we do.”

  “You of all people must know they have a vast communications network that we still do not understand, Mr. Munoz,” Van Ness replied. “I suspect our element of surprise in San Francisco died when we crossed swords with their southern forces.”

  “When we try to take off, what’s to keep them from tearing the planes to pieces before we hit the air?” Bowcut asked.

  “The soldiers from our vessel will stay here to ensure our smooth departure,” Van Ness replied.

  Cafferty stepped toward the wheelchair. “Don’t we need them for California? For this supposed queen?”

  “The majority is still coming with us. But these will stay here to expand my foothold in South America—”

  “Your foothold?” Ellen snapped.

  Van Ness gave her a wolfish smile. “Our foothold, my dear. Our foothold.”

  Ellen and Tom looked at each other then back to Van Ness. Bowcut knew what they were thinking, but if it saved humanity, the time to deal with Van Ness’ ambitions would come later.

  Van Ness wouldn’t be the first in history, and probably not the last, to try to exploit war and societal unrest for his own gain.

  The C-130s’ engines roared to a louder pitch as their propellers spun to a blur. Every plane turned in the tight defensive circle, and the pilots skillfully lined them up on the runway for takeoff.

  The creatures remained distant.

  Sweat poured down Bowcut’s forehead. She gulped in the stale air while searching for any signs of attack. From here, she expected the creatures to fall silent at any moment. Their telekinesis was a typical strategy deployed from afar. She briefly wondered if their collective power could pull a plane from the sky, or if the supersoldiers were immune, or if the creatures could drag everyone from inside the line to their deaths.

  The last idea made her shudder. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind as she scanned the ground in front of the defensive ring.

  A minute passed and still nothing came.

  “Let’s load up,” a voice yelled from the runway.

  Van Ness spun his wheelchair toward the back of the first C-130. “Ladies and gentlemen, while this has been a lovely layover, I’m afraid we have to continue on our journey. If you’d care to join me?”

  Tom, Ellen, and Diego didn’t need a second invitation. All followed.

  Bowcut hung back for a second. She considered how to say good-bye to Roux as he headed over. Flecks of creature blood had spattered on his face and shirt. He appeared cool and composed, completely in command of the situation as he purposefully strode toward her.

  “Impressed?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” she said. “That was incredible. But you’ll be under attack again in no time.”

  “I’m coming with you all,” he said.

  “You’re not staying to command?” Bowcut asked.

  “Of course not,” he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—he must have learned that from his boss. “The supersoldiers know their mission. They won’t need my command to execute it.”

  Roux’s statement haunted her.

  If we win the day . . .

  If we stop these creatures . . .

  Who’s going to stop these supersoldiers?

  “Stand by,” one of Roux’s cohorts yelled. Hundreds of black figures rocketed through the haze toward the defensive ring.

  No, not hundreds. Thousands. From all directions. Heading straight for the runway toward the departing planes.

  The supersoldiers quickly lined the runway and took up hunched positions, preparing to fight once again.

  “Time to go,” Roux said.

  Both jogged toward the back of the C-130, ascended the ramp, and entered the body of the now empty cargo hold. The ramp immediately swung shut with a mechanical grind.

  Seconds later, the plane jerked forward, picking up speed as it raced along the runway.

  Bowcut glanced out the window. A seemingly endless swarm of creatures frantically attacked the supersoldiers, trying desperately to get to the planes.

  It was no use.

  The supersoldiers dispatched every one in a similar fashion, snapping creatures’ necks, impaling them with their own serrated tails, slicing them to pieces with lasers. The creatures were fast. The soldiers were faster.

  Tom, Ellen, and Diego had strapped themselves in the seats at the front of the plane. The edge of Van Ness’ wheelchair was visible in the cockpit, between the two pilots. A sense of relief washed over her as she headed toward her team. Events had been hard, if not impossible, to process, but they had survived.

  The plane’s nose rose and they took to the sky, on their way to San Diego to meet the USS Nimitz. Bowcut continued to peer out the window at the battle raging below.

  The lines of supersoldiers remained in position on the runway, surrounded by a huge black mass. The creatures’ numbers grew by the second as more raced to join the fight. Before she could see if the supersoldiers were capable of holding out against what now appeared like impossible odds, the C-130 entered the clouds, shrouding the air base from view.

  Bowcut let out a deep breath and crouched against the wall.

  Was it relief she felt? She wasn’t so sure.

  Maybe it was the disappointment of not being able to see how the battle played out below.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Karen lay supine on a sleeping bag, hands behind her head, staring upward at the tent’s pitched canvas ceiling. The flaps were partially open to let in the cool breeze coming off the coast. Natural light was fading, though she was no longer scared of the dark. This island provided enough comfort to sleep because of these creature-free hours. Regardless, she’d tossed and turned without managing to drop off for more than a few minutes. Events continued to stay indelibly forged in her mind like a mental manacle.

  Danny. Dead. Butchered.

  Possibly all of our families.

  By creatures that rose from the deep.

  The more time she had to think about the monsters, the more her current situation staggered her. Karen puffed her cheeks. The life she knew merely two days ago was long gone and would never ever return. The enormity of that fact had finally forced its way through her numbness. Only now did she finally accept the cold reality. She didn’t have any other choice.

  Joey slept soundly by her side. His face looked so pure and innocent, showing no visible scars from the last twenty-four hours. At least for now, h
e was safe. She wasn’t sure what the future would bring—for his physical well-being or his mental health—but she would take this image for as long as fate willed it. He, at least, was a touch of beauty in the now ugly world.

  Footsteps approached outside.

  She tensed.

  A woman around Karen’s age, dressed in a tracksuit and with short peroxide-blond hair, crouched in front of the entrance.

  “Can I help you?” Karen asked.

  “Sorry. Didn’t know if you were asleep. Jim said I’d find you here.”

  “You’re from the next tent over?”

  “Yep. I’m Stacy, and this is . . .” She waved an encouraging hand to her left. A little girl, maybe a year older than her son, stepped across and shyly peered inside. “Taylor. We were lucky enough to get here yesterday, which is more than I can say for you.”

  “Tell me about it.” Karen groaned to a sitting position. “We were—”

  “I know you’ve been through a lot, and there’s no need to explain. All we can do is make the best of it here until help arrives.”

  “So help is coming?”

  “I meant if, not when. Who knows what’s going on out there.”

  Karen gave a solemn nod in acknowledgment. All she knew was that this wasn’t confined to California, but Joey and she remained alive. That was good enough for now. Good enough for the foreseeable future if they could stay out of the creatures’ path of destruction.

  The quiet conversation must’ve disturbed Joey. He rolled toward her and stared at the woman and her daughter. “Mommy, are these our friends?”

  “Of course. Meet Stacy and Taylor.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Joey,” Stacy said.

  Joey shook both their hands. His politeness, even after everything they’d been through, made Karen proud.

  “Lemme guess, you’re thirty-eight years old?” Stacy continued.

  Joey let out a huge laugh.

  “I’m four!” he shouted.

  “Ahh, I knew you were either thirty-eight or four.”

  The grin on Joey’s face made Karen well up with tears. His laughter was the best thing she’d heard in a long time.

  The sound of an approaching chopper, thudding through the darkened sky, cut through that laugh, catching both Stacy’s and Karen’s attention. It slowly lowered and landed near the hundreds of tents. The side door rumbled open.

  Two of the crew, dressed in olive coveralls, carried a stretcher out. A woman lay on it, a bloodstained bandage tightly wrapped around her right leg. Then another stretcher was carried out holding a man. His arm had been cut off at biceps level. A leather belt was wrapped just below his armpit, acting as a makeshift tourniquet.

  Karen’s instincts kicked in. She guessed the crew had run out of supplies or perhaps didn’t have the training to realize that the belt wouldn’t be effective enough to stem the flow of blood.

  “Do you mind keeping an eye on Joey?” she asked Stacy.

  “Sure, where are you going?”

  “I’m a paramedic.”

  “Go for it. Your son is safe here.”

  Karen turned her attention to her son. “Baby, Mommy’s gonna go help those people, okay? I’ll be back in no time.”

  Joey nodded, understanding.

  “We’ve got some toys in our tent,” Stacy said to the boy. “Wanna go play?”

  Joey scrambled to his knees and crawled toward the entrance. Taylor led her son into the neighboring tent.

  “Taylor’s good with other kids,” Stacy said. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  Karen headed quickly in the direction of the helicopter. The crew carried the two stretchers past the admin tent, toward a road that ran the length of the island. Karen glanced down at the tents. Part of her didn’t want to leave her son after what they’d been through. But she had to trust Stacy. There weren’t enough people left in the world to start getting paranoid, especially as her assistance might help some survive.

  We all have to help each other. If nothing else, that’s what makes us human.

  Karen rushed over to the road as both of the injured were loaded onto the back of a flatbed truck. Now closer, she stared at the injuries, trying to ascertain which one needed treating first. Both the man and woman were conscious, pale faced, eyes full of terror. The woman had no visible wounds apart from the single bandage, though she looked like she had gone into shock.

  “Can I help you?” one of the crew asked, a serious-faced man with the stress of the situation etched all over his face.

  “I can help you,” Karen said authoritatively. “I’m a paramedic. Where are you taking them?”

  He pointed toward a grim-looking warehouse nearby. “We’ve set up a field hospital right there. Listen, we need to head straight back out. There’re a few more people holding out in the same place as these two. Hopefully we reach them in time.”

  “No problem,” Karen responded.

  “The driver knows where he’s going. Are you good?”

  “I’ve got this.”

  The four crew members jumped off the flatbed and sprinted back to the chopper.

  The truck’s engine growled and it steadily made its way along the road.

  Karen crouched between the two stretchers. The man’s tourniquet gave her the greatest concern. Blood still seeped from the bandage, and the leather belt likely wasn’t wide or tight enough to effectively stem the flow. She could change it now or wait for the short journey to the field hospital.

  Experience told her that she had to act now. Every second was crucial in order to stop this man from bleeding out. She flipped open a green plastic box at the back of the truck. It contained basic medical supplies, including, crucially, a bandage and a pair of scissors.

  Karen leaned over the man. He was in his forties, with salt-and-pepper stubble and a shaven head. Blood stained his pink polo shirt and cream shorts. Claws had gouged chunks of skin from his legs.

  The man stared up at her. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  Karen smiled at him. She guessed the attempt to sound casual was for his own benefit as well as hers. He was probably relieved to have reached relative safety but scared shitless because of his missing arm and the consequences of his injuries.

  “Hi, I’m Karen, a paramedic. I need to apply a new tourniquet; we’ve gotta whip you into shape here.”

  “Lemme guess, it’s gonna hurt?”

  She smiled again at him.

  “Do your worst,” he blustered.

  Karen unwrapped the bandage and folded it to the proper width. The man hissed through gritted teeth as she raised his stump and wrapped the bandage in the space above the belt. Once snug, she attached the scissors as a mainsail and started to tighten.

  The man’s eyes squeezed shut, and he let out several gasps.

  Going slow wasn’t an option. She had no morphine.

  Karen grabbed another wrapped bandage and placed it close to his mouth. “Bite down on this. It won’t take long.”

  The man crushed his teeth around the wrapper.

  She twisted, harder and harder, until she couldn’t turn the scissors anymore, then tied off the bandage and released the leather belt.

  That would do for now.

  The man’s face finally relaxed.

  “I thought you said that was gonna hurt,” he said, fighting back tears.

  “See? You got this,” Karen replied, winking at him.

  Karen turned her attention to the woman and elevated her legs while reassuring her that she was safe and that treatment was coming. Her words seemingly mostly fell on deaf ears as the woman simply stared skyward.

  Her reaction was understandable.

  The truck turned off the road and headed toward a huge set of open roller doors. Karen sharply inhaled at the sight beyond.

  Rows and rows of camp beds filled up the large, brightly lit interior space. Hundreds of injured lay in various states of distress, with too few doctors helping. It looked like a scene f
rom a World War I photograph. She thought they likely had more supplies back then compared with the situation in front of her now.

  The truck hissed to halt.

  A uniformed officer looked up from a chart. He placed it on a desk and headed straight over. “What’ve we got?”

  “I haven’t had much time with them. One possibly going into shock. Another missing an arm with laceration on his legs.”

  “Okay, let’s get them to triage.” The officer looked down at the tourniquet. “Your work?”

  “Did it on the truck coming over. I’m a paramedic, name’s Karen. Arrived a couple of hours ago with my son.”

  He nodded. “We’re shorthanded around here. I’m Scott Kohler, the camp commander.”

  “And doctor?”

  “Not quite, but we’re all wearing several hats these days. I’m glad you’re here. Let’s take the man first.”

  Karen jumped off the flatbed. She and Kohler slid the first stretcher off the truck. He took the lead and headed over to a room at the side of the warehouse. Two more of his team rushed over and grabbed the woman on the other stretcher.

  Focused on her patients, it was easy to forget there were creatures out there. She had a job to do, and she put her all into it, happy for the opportunity to forget the monsters for a while.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The engines of the C-130 lowered in pitch as the plane descended toward the Naval Air Station North Island in San Diego harbor. Cafferty looked out the plane window at the small military base, which was nestled in the bay directly across from San Diego International Airport and the Gaslamp Quarter. The island was mercifully protected from the creatures’ mainland onslaught by over two miles of water. Two massive aircraft carriers were docked at the east side of the island. One, Cafferty assumed, was the USS Nimitz, ready to depart for San Francisco with the supersoldiers once they landed.

  The bridge that connected North Island to the mainland had been destroyed at its center, protecting the military base from the carnage unfolding nearby. To the south of the island, a thin sliver of land that connected another road to the air station was also no longer usable for the creatures. Cafferty guessed the armed forces must’ve used a bunker buster–type bomb to create a huge crater that flooded the access road with seawater.