by Stark, Ken
And she was right about the other thing too, the thing she didn't have the breath to say. They were no good to the others dead.
As much as it pained him to admit, their only way out of this mess was forward. It was their only chance. Because it helped him to turn his back on his only friends on Earth, he told himself that they weren't abandoning them. That they were fighting for their own lives to save them all. And with that acknowledgement stuck in the back of his throat like so much rancid vomitus, he committed himself to keeping the three of them alive, no matter what.
He swept at a slender pair of legs, brought his weapon up in an arc that caught a young male under the chin hard enough to send its Giants baseball cap flying. Then, he brought the rebar down again, splitting a child-alpha's skull wide open. With every swing, he took a half-step forward. And then another half-step. And then another, and another, and another. Over his left shoulder, Hansen was matching him blow for blow, and sticking to his side like glue. Over his right shoulder, Sarah was keeping up too, but her strength was clearly waning. With a few clipped words, Mason had all three of them take to spinning slowly about on their mutual axis, swinging and clubbing and stabbing at everything that moved, and all the while inching farther and farther away from their loved ones.
The scariest moment came when Mason’s knife became lodged in a particularly robust ribcage. With its handle slick with blood, he lost his grip as the creature crumpled to the ground. He made a desperate grab for the knife, but the swarm chose that moment to surge forward at just the wrong spot. As hard as he fought to clear a space, he was forced to back off. Then, he heard a shout from behind, and he forgot all about the lost knife.
“Mace!” Sarah howled. “Up here!”
They were at the big old boat of a Pontiac parked smack in the middle of the parking lot. Parisienne, by the look of it. Fifty years old, at least. A throwback to the good old days of gas-guzzling land-yachts that filled a driving lane from curb to dotted line.
He gave one last swing at an ugly pock-marked face, and drove his fist into a random throat. Then, he spun around and bounded onto the car's hood and up to the roof to join Sarah.
“Gary!” he shouted down, spearing one alpha through the top of its pointy little head and golfing two more aside to open up a few square inches of space. “Gary!”
Hansen reached up, and with his feet fighting for purchase and Mason hauling from above, he finally slid onto the roof like a mackerel.
It was a momentary respite at best, but from Mason's perspective, that old Pontiac was an island of calm in a storm-tossed sea. At better than five feet high and just as wide, the three of them huddled together in the middle of that island, wheezing and panting and gasping for breath, and let the storm rage on. Gnarled claws raked close to their feet and pounded away on all sides of the car, but with that brief interlude, they could all catch their breath. Better yet, from this new vantage point, Mason could finally get a clear look at what was happening back at the loading bay.
Barely a minute had passed since everything went to shit, and it was every bit as bad as he had thought. If Beverly could have picked a worse time to let off a nuclear blast, he couldn’t imagine it. With him and Sarah and Hansen already deep into the swarm, all seven of the others had waded in to do what they could to ease the pressure. Even now, he could see Addison’s Nut-Buster flying and Alejandra’s machete hacking away, but it wasn’t at all clear if they’d be able to fight their way back to the stronghold. Then, he spotted a battle axe and massive war-scythe arcing over the crowd. He knew that Christopher and Donn were still in the fight, but they were deeper in the swarm and having a devil of a time. At last, Sarah pointed to where a path was appearing as if by magic through the swarm, and they both breathed a sigh of relief. It was the war chariot, cleaving its way back to the loading dock. They couldn't see Mackenzie, but Clancy wouldn't leave that little girl for all the world. If the big, faithful hound was still going strong, so was Mack.
“She'll be okay,” Mason panted to Sarah.
“I know,” Sarah panted back, unable to say more.
Mason tried to make out Becks among the throng, but he couldn't.
As if on cue, Hansen stabbed a finger into the air, shouting, “There!”
Sure enough, there she was – but it didn't look good. Becks being Becks, she had gone to Beverly's aid. A dozen more alphas lay dead around them, so she had obviously been putting the javelin to good use. But as she struggled to haul Beverly back toward the stairs, sobbing like a baby and cradling her bloody wrist against her chest, the swarm closed in.
Mason caught Richie's attention in the second floor window and flashed him a hand signal. But even with all four snipers concentrating their fire precisely there, it would only buy Becks and Beverly a few more seconds.
“Leave her!” Hansen bellowed against the roar. “Rebecca! Leave her and run!”
Mason added his own voice, shouting, “Becks! Leave her! Go!”
But he knew that even if she could hear them, she'd never listen. This was Becks, after all. She wouldn't leave Beverly behind any more than she'd leave behind a stray cat or a wounded bird.
“Becks!” he tried again. “Becks!” But all his shouting did was excite the swarm even more.
Becks had managed to drag Beverly to the bottom of the steps, but then she lost her footing and both of them dropped to their backsides. Even with the withering fire from the snipers above, the solid wall of teeth and claws and rage rapidly closed the distance.
Hansen hushed one last, futile, “Rebecca...” Then, all he or Mason or Sarah could do was watch her die.
But then, the unthinkable happened. Just when death seemed imminent, Donn emerged from the swarm a full thirty feet away. The three exhausted warriors clustered together on the hood of that half-century-old island in the middle of a raging sea, had the distinct honor of witnessing the most heroic display of bravery and sacrifice any of them had ever seen before.
Donn sized up the situation in a heartbeat, and he immediately pulled his pistol, howling, “Over here! Come and get it, you sunszabitches!” He fired until his gun ran dry, dropping a dozen or more creatures. Then, he turned to his war-scythe, and through it all, he kept up the verbal attack. “Come on, assholes! This way! Over here, you ugly motherfuckers!”
The man was intentionally drawing the swarm to him, and away from Beverly and Becks. It was heroism on a scale Mason couldn't even begin to imagine. Suddenly, all grew silent on the hood of the old Pontiac as three pairs of eyes watched a young man throw his life away. But even as Hansen drew his own pistol and took aim at the swarm closing in around their friend, Sarah laid a gentle hand on his arm to stop him.
It was over a second later. There was nothing anyone could have done. There was one last mighty swing of the war-scythe, then Donn was swallowed up the swarm, and there wasn't the slightest hint of a scream to mark his passing.
Mason looked back to where Becks was still struggling to get Beverly up the stairs. Donn's sacrifice had bought her time, but not enough. She reeled in a sobbing Beverly and backed up one more step on her rump, and that was when the swarm shifted again. Momentarily distracted, it now came at them in a surge, flooding toward the stairs. But just before it reached them, the rat-a-tat-a-tat of a machine gun split the air and a dozen bodies spiraled backwards, temporarily stemming the tide.
The diminutive form of Alejandra appeared out of the swarm and leaped onto the loading dock platform, and she turned her Tommy gun loose on the swarm. As she mowed the creatures down like grass, Christopher emerged, and then Addison, and they both swung high-powered rifles from their backs and added their own fire to Alejandra's.
Just then, Christopher pointed into the swarm and they all redirected their firepower to cover Diego, just emerging into the daylight. Then he pointed again, and Clancy tore free from the swarm, just inches ahead of Mackenzie. Clancy bounded effortlessly up onto the platform, but Mackenzie was too small and was forced to take the stairs.
When she reached Becks, still struggling to haul Beverly up the last two steps, she didn't hesitate for a second. She pulled her revolver, pressed it directly against Beverly's temple, and before anyone could do anything to stop her, she calmly pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER XVIII
By now, the swarm was beginning to lap at the hood and trunk of the old Pontiac. As hard as Mason and Sarah and Hansen worked to bat them away, it was only a matter of time. The last image Mason had of Becks was of Addison and Alejandra grabbing her under the arms, and all three retreating back into the stronghold with the others close behind. Then, he saw no more.
The gunfire from the loading dock was another double-edged sword. It created a veritable crush of alphas at the back of building six. But to the three on the roof of the old Pontiac, it was a godsend. As the swarm shifted, a gap opened up between the Pontiac and building five. Mason hurled himself down and proceeded to widen the gap with rebar and knife.
Still, it was no walk in the park. They formed up back-to-back-to-back again and fought for all they were worth. There were several anxious moments when Mason seriously doubted whether or not they'd make it. But as their energy flagged, the big overhead door came into view behind the swarm, and all three of them redoubled their efforts.
They spun and they pivoted, they hammered and they stabbed, and through it all, they acted as a single entity. At last, Mason hopped onto the platform, hauling Sarah up after him. As he batted at heads and Sarah kicked at anything within reach, Hansen strode casually up the stairs, even managing to throw them both a snide grin. Mason ignored the taunt, golfing a big bald head aside, and clubbing a smaller one hard enough to drive the poor creature into the ground. Then, Hansen at last arrived to join Sarah in beating back the swarm, and he turned his attention to the door.
The latch plate was designed to keep burglars out, but the designers could never have envisioned a seven-foot length of solid steel with enough brains and muscle behind it to move mountains. Mason produced a tiny block of wood from out of nowhere and lodged an inch of rebar under the metal plate. Using the wooden block as a fulcrum and fifty pounds of steel as the lever, he leaned all his weight into it and felt the door move a fraction of an inch.
“Now would be a good time!” Hansen growled.
He reset the wooden block, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and tried again. He pushed on the rebar for all he was worth, and though the door creaked and groaned and threatened to give way, he had to stop when the wooden block began to crush under the weight.
“C'mon, put your back into it! Open the fucking door, asshole!” Hansen taunted him again. “Just think of it as my neck, tough guy! Maybe that'll do it!”
Mason reset the block and strained his muscles to the breaking point. Whether or not the image of his big hands wrapped around Hansen's neck gave him that extra bit of strength, at last, there was a creaking and popping from deep inside the metal doorframe. He gave one last, hard shove and felt something give way, and the door finally cracked open to a petulant, “Ha!” from Hansen.
All was blackness inside, but even before the door was fully open, a pair of horrible dead eyes and a gnashing set of teeth appeared out of the darkness. It was all Mason could do to plant a hand against the creature's throat to hold it at bay. He tried to bring his rebar into the fight, but there wasn't room, and with Hansen and Sarah both busy trying to hold back the swarm, and no other help coming, all he could do was squeeze that throat for all he was worth.
Cartilage snapped as his fingers dug deep into the sides of the thing's neck, and still it fought, snapping its ugly teeth and raking at him with a pair of bloody, gnarled claws. At last, he felt something come apart and his hand closed around a solid chunk of flesh. He instinctively grabbed that handful of meat even tighter, and pulled with all of his might, tearing the entire throat away and tossing it to the ground with a horrible, wet splat!
Still, the creature fought on – and it was only then that Mason realized his error. This was another echo. Even with its windpipe torn away and nothing more than a ragged, bloody hole between chin and chest, the creature kept snapping its jaws and clawing at the air. He dropped his rebar to the ground and grabbed the creature by the ragged stump of its neck, while using his other hand to alternatively bat its claws away and deliver sledgehammer blows to the creature's face.
It was a game he could never win. He was holding the creature off, but only barely. No amount of damage his massive fist could do would have any effect. The echo's nose shattered, its cheek collapsed into a concave mess – and still it fought.
And now, he could see other shapes forming out of the darkness beyond.
More creatures. Alphas. Echoes. Dozens of them, pressing up behind that one bloodied and torn creature blocking the doorway.
He went for his gun, but firing a gun now would only bring the entire swarm down on them. So, he went for his knife instead, only to have his hand close around an empty scabbard. Damn! In the immediacy of the moment, he'd forgotten that he'd lost it. With no other weapon at his disposal, he reached all the way back to the rear pocket of his jeans, wrapped his fingers around a most familiar shape, and in one quick motion, he bowed the creature's head to its knees and drove the sharpened tines of a stainless steel fork between its first and second vertebrae, piercing its spine like an olive.
Immediately, a dozen claws came through the opening, raking the air inches from Mason’s face. Despite Sarah and Hansen's best efforts, the swarm was already halfway up the steps behind.
With fire all around and not a frying pan in sight, Mason took the only course of action left open to him. He hurled the paralyzed echo down the steps and grabbed his rebar. Then, he barged his way into building five, stabbing and hammering and kicking at anything that moved.
He opened up a few feet of space and soon found Sarah and Hansen on either side. When they finally beat back the swarm enough to make room, Hansen kicked the door shut behind them and flipped the deadbolt. From then on, all three of them fought as they'd never fought before.
There wasn’t a second to spare for digging out flashlights. They fought in the dark, and with no way of knowing just what they hitting or where, they kept up a running dialogue so the others would know where they were.
“I have the left side!” Mason called out above the roar.
“I'm on the right!” Sarah panted.
“I guess that leaves the middle for yours truly!” Hansen gruffed, and Mason swore he heard a spiked bat whistle past, inches from his ear.
“No wild swings! Keep your strikes vertical!”
“Up close and personal. Just how I like it. Come and get it, you godawful motherfuckers!”
For several anxious minutes, it could easily have gone either way. More than once, Mason thought he'd felt his rebar crush a skull, only to have the creature rear back up and howl bloody murder, and there were times when he only became aware of how close the next alpha was when a clawed hand tore at his shirt. He stumbled over bodies and parts of bodies, nearly losing his footing several times. With every awkward step, he imagined one of those corpses coming suddenly to life and tearing at his ankle with teeth and claws. And through it all, he fought on with a ferocity he hadn't known he possessed.
Hansen suddenly let out a sharp grunt of pain. For one horrible moment, he thought one of the creatures must have gotten to him.
Sarah called out, “Hansen, are you okay?”
But there was no way either of them could help the man. Even now, Mason could feel hot breath on his face and claws tearing the air, inches away.
“I'm alright!” Hansen huffed at last. “Just watch your footing. This floor's slicker'n chicken snot!”
The man was three feet away and one step back, but the voice came from lower down than it should have. So, Hansen was on his knees, then. Or maybe he'd fallen on his ass. Either way, that momentary faltering had given the swarm an advantage, and he could hear them surging forward, straight down the middle.
> “Hansen, stay down!” he shouted, and without waiting for an answer, he swung his rebar like a baseball bat, unleashing the full power of that seven feet of tempered steel.
Over and over he swung, feeling the weapon shudder with every strike.
At last, Hansen huffed, “Hey, save some for me!”
So, Mason pivoted the rebar up and over his head, calling out, “Clear!” Then, he returned to clubbing downward with all of his might, as if he were chopping wood.
With one last grunt, Hansen was back on his feet, pounding away with that spiked bat of his like a crazy man. “C'mon, you motherfuckers!” he howled between blows. “Come and get it! I'm your goddam huckleberry!”
Mason allowed the briefest of grins as he felt his rebar sink deep into a skull.
At last, the wave dwindled to a trickle, and a flashlight finally clicked on. It was Sarah, not ten feet away. She played the light from one corner of the room to the other. After spearing one more alpha through the throat and clubbing another into pulp, Mason could finally see what they'd been up against.
The loading bay was barely fifteen feet to a side. Two hundred square feet, give or take. And in those two hundred square feet, perhaps thirty creatures lay dead or dying. One made a last grab for Mason's boot, but a quick stab from the rebar ended it in a splash. One other creature started to rise, but a surgical strike with a kukri shut it down for good. Only seven alphas remained upright. But now that there was light to see them by, seven new bodies were quickly added to the total.
They stood there... three blood-spattered warriors, gasping and panting away their exhaustion and their terror.
But this was no time for celebration. This was just the first rush.
Schools didn't have a lot of locked doors, and battles weren't fought in a vacuum. Whatever was upstairs would have heard... and was sure to come down. And it wouldn't take them long.
Hansen took the time to end one of the corpses as it struggled to its knees, and Mason dispatched two more twitching bodies with a jab through the cranium. Then, they gathered together at the mouth of the hallway leading to the main stairs.
