by John O'Brien
With my knife buried in its heart, I saw back and forth, moving the blade wildly inside its chest. Whatever it has for blood pours over my soaking hand. Separated by mere inches, our eyes lock as I continue cutting. This is pretty much a do or die. I sense its shoulder begin a movement and bring my other hand to block any attempt toward my throat. Grabbing a wrist and feeling the hard talons scrape against the soft tissue of my neck, drawing blood, I put every effort into holding it at bay.
The eyes, gleaming a fiery silver now, stare back into mine. The rest of the world fades from thought, both of us locked in this struggle in our own little space. It opens its mouth, showing jagged teeth and longer fangs stained red.
What the fuck?!
I almost lost my grip, it was so startling. In the greenish glow of my goggles, its eyes widen and the blaze in them dims, then extinguishes. My understanding of the world is gone. Normally, I’d pull back and call it a day. But this thing has continued despite devastating injuries, and I’m not about to give it any space. I continue cutting through the tissue inside its chest cavity, even after I feel the entire weight of its body slump against my blade. The body falls backward off my knife.
Breathing heavily, I continue staring at this thing, wondering what in the hell just happened. I’m fully anticipating watching this thing rise from the floor and continue attacking. For a moment, I wonder if some chemical of this processing facility has caused a hallucination. There’s honestly no way this just happened. Dark smoke begins rising from the body, like mist rising from hot pavement after a rain shower. It thickens and I step back, not wanting to inhale any of it. There’s no heat emanating from the body, but the smoke grows so dense that I lose sight of the body. I step further back, raising my carbine. Then, a sudden puff as if a wind blew from the body, and the smoke clears. Where the corpse was, there’s only a long dusting of gray ash.
Dumbfounded, I head toward Mitchell while turning frequently to see if the body has moved. One glance shows that any action I might take to save Mitchell is too late.
“Baker, meet me at the entrance,” I radio, looking at my medic staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes and a surprised, scared expression.
“Baker, respond!” I yell, but there’s no answer.
I know the cave may block some comms, but he should be able to hear me, especially considering I can hear my voice very faintly coming from Mitchell’s ear buds.
“Taylor, Burkhart.”
I clean my blade and sheath it, grasping my carbine. The lack of response is disconcerting. Scanning the room, I search for more of these creatures, but unless this was some kind of ritualistic single combat, I know they would have joined the fight that had been in progress. However, outside is a different matter. And, I’m having a very difficult time coming to terms with what I’ve stumbled into. What happened in the town makes more sense now, but that understanding doesn’t make this whole thing less surreal.
I listen closely, trying to see if there are any sounds of a battle taking place outside. If they are in the midst of what I just went through, they wouldn’t have time to respond. Jogging over to the exit, I quickly check on Freeman and find that he’s also beyond help. I feel sick at losing them, not only because they were teammates, but because they were friends as well. They had hopes and dreams with loved ones waiting for their return. Instead, they’re lying in this dirty cave in the middle of nowhere. I’m not even going to go into the guilt of agreeing to come back.
Outside, I hear a faint growling hiss from near the entrance. Then another.
Oh, fuck!
I barely made it through one. How in the hell can I fight multiple whatevers? The thought crosses my mind that this is where it’s all going to end, in a cave like the others. In a way, that actually kind of sounds poetic, and feels right. We’ll meet in the beyond and laugh about the mistake we made agreeing to continue the mission when we should have just left. Glasses will be raised and clashed against each other, the suds sloshing out from full beers.
Images of my kids flash through my head, their heads bowed at a funeral. Their laughing and smiling faces when we were out on our last adventure.
I’m not dead yet, motherfuckers! I think, looking down the tunnel toward the exit.
That thought, however, rings fairly hollow in my mind. I’ll give it my all, but this party may be short-lived. The sounds of more creatures pretty much tells me that the other three are done for. There’s no way they’d let anyone near the tunnel while we were inside. The thought of that is deflating. But in that knowledge, there emerges a burning rage in the pit of my stomach that flows outward to consume my entire body. I’m angry that these things took down my friends and may not let me see my kids again.
I pull the radio from Freeman’s back, replacing my own with it. I check to see if I have mags readily available. They might not do shit against these things, but they did stagger the assailant. Keeping them at a distance is the optimal solution, but with that thing they do, that may prove to be impossible. However, blood loss did seem to slow the one down, and the sooner I can start causing that, the better. I pull a few grenades from my pack and clip them to my vest. For shits and giggles, I pull out two claymores that we use to set up camp perimeters, along with timed fuses, and stuff them into the sides of the pack.
“Raven zero one, Badger six, over,” I radio.
“Badger six, Raven zero one, go.”
”I’d like to order a ride for one. I believe you mentioned ten minutes,” I say.
“Badger six, copy. You said for one?”
“Yes, for one. We have two confirmed KIA with three MIA and suspected KIA,” I reply.
“It’s on the way. Pickup will be on button six.”
“Copy button six. Is there any way you can turn that ten minutes into something shorter?”
“I’ll see what I can do, Raven zero one, out.”
I put away the handset, turning the dial to channel six in order to exchange prearranged codes for pickup. Can’t have just anyone calling in an extraction and ambushing them.
Okay, Jack. You’re an eight-minute run from the pickup zone. That means it’s time to go.
Plucking two grenades from my vest, I lay them on the ground beside me at the edge of the tunnel entrance. Poking the signal mirror around the corner, I see a few figures at the far exit. They’re not the rest of the team, unless they’ve magically developed a silver gleam to their eyes. I don’t know why they haven’t entered as of yet, just milling around the cave’s entrance, but I’ll take it. It’s a pretty far throw, especially without having an open overhead to lob them high.
Okay, you can do this. Stay alive for ten minutes and you’re home, I think, taking in a deep breath and gathering myself.
With a last look at Freeman and Mitchell, I gather both grenades and step to the side of the opening. I feel like I should find out what happened to my teammates who were outside, but know that will only lead to certain death. I underhand one grenade with all of my strength and a little luck, immediately grabbing the second and doing the same thing. Grabbing my M-4 in one hand, I take off running.
With the length of the tunnel, everything would have subsided if I’d waited for the explosions and then run. Given that these things don’t easily die, they would have recovered by the time I made it to the exit. I mentally perform a countdown, diving to the ground when I reach two.
I slide along the slick surface of the clay, throwing my hands over my head. Two nearly simultaneous explosions reverberate through the tunnel and my head reels from the concussion and noise. I sense more than hear the shrapnel embedding itself into the nearby clay walls. Without hesitation, I jump up and continue my sprint, hoping to make it past those who had gathered before they can respond.
Racing out of the entrance, I see a few staggering figures, dark spots peppering their shredded clothing. One lies unmoving on the ground near the exit, its head no longer recognizable, severed from its body.
So, that’s how you kil
l them.
However, I’m not carrying much that can sever heads from bodies with any degree of reliability.
And, I have a bird to catch.
Before the creatures have a chance to recover, I’m past them and running for all I’m worth through the lot. At the end, where the road begins its descent into the village, I turn and scramble up an incline covered in shrubs, pushing for level ground above. Before I make it to the top, I hear sounds of pursuit behind.
While still running, I toss a grenade over my shoulder, my pace slowing because I have to do shit instead of merely pumping my arms and legs. I’m not trying to kill the things I know are behind me, just slow them enough to be able to get aboard the inbound helicopter. Sprinting around bushes and trying to find the clearest lanes of travel, I hear the explosion behind me, the trees at the edge of the clearing and the clumps of bushes by my side flashing white for a split-second.
My hope is that these things aren’t scattered throughout the area and I’m not just running into another lot of them. Not only will I die an ugly death, but I’ll do it tired. My breaths are quick and deepening as this isn’t about pacing for the long distance, but an all-out sprint for the finish line. Branches slap against my legs and vest, the occasional tall one whipping across my cheeks and leaving a burning sensation.
To one side, I see a dark shadow as it streaks into my vision. Then another. It looks as though they’re trying to get ahead and pinch me in. When I see one materialize, I fire a quick burst toward it and am rewarded by seeing it stagger slightly. I’m no hero who can hit every shot on the run, so I don’t pretend that every round sailed through its heart. If I’m lucky, one or two connected, but it slowed it a touch and that’s my goal. If I’m right, every drop of blood spilled slows them to some degree.
I fire at the second one when the blur stops. However, I can’t afford to slow down to take better aim. If those things have caught up and even pulled a little ahead, then this thing they can do makes them faster than me on the run. And I’ve seen how quickly they can move when they turn into those shadows.
The bushes end and I’m plunging through a thick landscape of trees. I hurdle over roots arcing out of the ground, duck under low hanging branches, and twist around vine-covered trunks. My entire being wants to turn and look over my shoulder, but that will slow me and possibly freeze my heart at what might be behind.
I feel a slight tug on my pack, a scratch of a hand behind trying to grab me. Leaping over a gathering of roots, I plant my foot and launch myself to the side, turning around in mid-air and firing. The pale face turns to look at me, a gleaming pair of silver eyes marking my abrupt jump. Rounds hammer into its shoulder, neck, and head; a spray of dark liquid spills into the night. Before calculating the damage, I’m off again, wondering if the thick jungle of trees is helping or hindering.
I sail out of the trees, my thighs burning and my panting breath threatening to bring a halt to my flight. The narrow ledge of a clearing is the same one where we originally set up, with the steep drop-off just to my side and trees lining the perimeter. There’s no sign of those that were flanking, but I feel a sudden sensation of cold against my left arm and cheek and see a black blur in my peripheral to the side. Planting a foot to arrest my run, I duck and the shadow passes by. I feel the brush of a taloned hand across the top of my head as a figure materializes just to the side. Pushing off with my legs, I launch and slam my shoulder into the pale-skinned figure, knocking it backward. With silver eyes, it registers surprise as it sails into the night, its feet no longer on solid ground. The glow of its eyes grows smaller as it plummets downward.
Okay, so they can’t fly…that’s a fucking relief, I think, forcing my legs into motion once more.
“Badger six, Cider one, we’re your ride and inbound. Standing by for code Walrus,” I hear on the radio.
Grabbing the handset, I pant,” Cider one, can we please…dispense with…the codes…no time…and please…fucking hurry.”
“Is the zone hot?” Cider one inquires.
“Yes and no,” I breathlessly pant, making for the middle of the clearing near the drop off.
“Care to clarify that?”
“Not really…just please get your ass here.”
I slide to a stop in the clearing, seeing dark shapes blur out of the trees in all directions. The faint beating of heavy rotors echoes through the night air. From the sound of it, Cider won’t get here before those things are upon me. I toss a couple of grenades into the clearing near the largest clumps of rushing shadows, trying to guess where they’ll materialize. There’s no doubt as to where they’re heading, and I need to slow them for the next minute or all the exfil crew will find is my mutilated body.
Flashes of light accompany explosions that lift bushes and clumps of soil into the air, smoke billowing from each one. Quickly grabbing the claymores, I stake them in a semi-circle around my position and set speed records for wiring them. Looking over the edge, I see the old slide is near vertical with several root branches protruding from the soil. One extends outward and then loops to go back into the bank.
That’ll have to do.
With the shadows rapidly morphing in on my position, and hoping the looping branch will hold my weight, I grab hold of it as I swing my legs over, still holding the clacker.
I repeatedly squeeze the device. A vast series of concussive explosions shakes the hillside, and the night sky illuminates in a bright flash of light. The back blast sends gouts of flame and smoke rocketing over the ledge. Shredded leaves, branches, and dirt are pushed along with it. I’m barely able to hang onto the branch as the entire hillside seems to sway and chunks of the upper hill fall onto my head and shoulders.
I agonizingly pull myself to the top. My ears are ringing from the blast, but I’m able to hear the steady thump of rotors getting closer. Around my position, the bushes have been cleared to ground level in sweeping arcs, the jagged ends of several thicker stumps poking above the soil. Blurred shadows are still active beyond the blast zone, rapidly closing in. I pull out an IR flasher, toss it on the ground, and remove the Velcroed cover of my personal IR identifier. I then toss the last couple of grenades into the field.
The explosions shake the ground as smoke billows upward. I’m down to my carbine, then knife, then teeth. I aim at each blurred shadow, firing a burst into forms that suddenly manifest themselves. It seems that there is a delay between the times each can perform that zooming streak of darkness, and it seems to be determined by the distance traveled. My rounds do nothing but stagger them for a moment. If there were fewer, I might be able to bloody them enough to slow them down and actually have a chance. But, there are too many. And by too many, I mean more than one. I can’t imagine having to fight even two beings that can teleport almost faster than my eye can track, and damn near invulnerable too.
All across the field, silver eyes flash in the darkness, suddenly appearing only to vanish a second or two later. I have only a moment before the lot of them are onto me as I eject a spent mag and slam a fresh one home. If they arrive before my ride, I’m just going to jump over the ledge and take my chances with the fall.
“Flasher and ID in sight. Confirm again a solo pickup and no other friendlies,” I hear on the radio.
“Confirmed,” I reply.
“Copy that.”
A buzzing noise mixes with the sound of rotors as a stream of red light streaks across the field from behind me. Branches, leaves, and clumps of dirt are chewed as rounds slam into the ground. Again and again, bursts from the chain gun plow into the clearing. Rising from within each devastated zone, bullet-ridden figures slowly climb to their feet and continue closing in. The buzz saw bursts and streaks of red light continue unabated.
The thump of rotors takes on a physical presence, my body vibrating in tune with each rotation of the blades. A gust of wind blows against my fatigues, the downdraft blowing dirt and the remains of twigs into my back, neck, and hair. Looking over my shoulder, I see the dark shape
of a helicopter settle a skid on the edge of the clearing, the rest of it hovering over empty space. Without a moment’s hesitation, I turn and run, making sure to keep clear of the swiveling machine gun, a helmeted crew member with lowered NVGs behind. I leap across the edge and through the open door, slamming shoulder first and sliding across the metal floor.
“Are you it?” a crewmember yells.
I want to yell that I’ve already answered that like a million times, but I’m out of breath. Not to mention that my system is overloaded with adrenaline and I’m still in shock. I nod as I feel the helicopter go light as it lifts and moves away from the ledge. Looking out of the door as we draw away from the clearing, I see figures gathering along the edge. One blurs, a darkened streak heading toward the open door. Short of the chopper, it materializes, its bullet-ridden body dropping out of sight below.
Seeing the torn remains of the clearing, I feel sick knowing that my teammates are still out there. The second-guessing begins, wondering how I could have done things differently so that they could be sitting next to me. The aspect that most tortures me is that I didn’t check on Baker and the other two, and don’t know what happened to them. I should have figured out a way to do that; I feel guilty that I only thought of saving my own skin. At the time, it was a process of optimizing the options available, and I knew that I would die if I tried, thus adding one more body to the count. Now, safely entombed inside the helicopter, my mind is filled with doubts. Rotating ninety degrees, the nose of the helicopter lowers, diving at the ground to pick up speed.
“What were those things?” a crewmember yells.
