Part 5 (1/2)
The man slowly pulled off his mask and remained in the fetal position moaning in pain.
Embarra.s.sed, the little boy said, ”Sorry, mister, I didn't know. Thought you were dead.”
The woman walked up to the man on the floor and helped him to his feet. ”What is this about? Do you spend all your time scaring children or just while on duty?”
Struggling and still dazed by the pain the man replied, ”Ma'am, I'm sorry. The kids were being loud and driving us crazy and I thought it'd be funny to . . .”
”Funny until someone accidentally shoots you in the head! Give me that thing, I'm going to throw it overboard this instant. Consider yourself lucky I don't speak to the admiral about this.”
The man quickly handed over the mask. Dean s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hand like a striking snake.
”You better get used to the kids, too. I'm teaching cla.s.s up the hall and they'll be coming through here on the way to and from.”
”Yes, ma'am. Sorry.”
”While we're on the subject of apologies, Danny, care to say anything?”
”Sorry for kicking you in the nu . . . I mean, between the legs. You scared me good.”
”Sorry, kid.”
”S'okay,” Danny said regretfully.
Dean boomed again with authority, ”Danny, gather up the kids and get them back to cla.s.s. One of the doctors will be teaching first aid in fifteen minutes.”
She didn't have time to explain to Danny the difference between a hospital corpsman and a medical doctor.
”Okay, Granny. Just like hide and seek. Bet I can find Laura first!”
A little girl's voice echoed, ”No way!” from behind a fire hose down the pa.s.sageway, and the chase was on.
Dean shot a disapproving look past the radar operators and followed Danny to the cla.s.sroom.
”Youth is truly wasted on the young,” she said.
9.
Disco tugged the rope tied securely to the door. Nothing happened.
”Hawse, the door opens outward. You're gonna have to kick it.”
”All right, stand back, I'll . . .”
The door began to rattle and creak on its heavy hinges. It opened slowly; white bony fingers rounded the dark steel edges like hermit crab claws protruding from a sh.e.l.l.
”f.u.c.k, get ready, get on the radio!” Hawse said frantically.
While Disco relayed the situation to the control room he brought his carbine to his shoulder-one hand on the weapon, the other grabbing for another full magazine.
The door opened wider and wicked faces appeared in the darkness just beyond the cold steel door.
”I'm shooting,” Hawse proclaimed.
”Kill 'em.”
”They're already dead!”
Hawse began blasting the undead, aiming above the eyes. Disco knew the plan as they'd practiced it before. Hawse intended to drop the creatures quickly to construct a makes.h.i.+ft barricade of bodies, blocking the things from opening the door wider.
”This ain't f.u.c.king worth it, man!” Hawse screamed.
The report of the suppressed carbines temporarily deafened both of them, ringing their bells in the confines of the steel hallway. Suppressors don't actually work like they do in movies. Hawse pulled the trigger in controlled fire until he ran out of rounds; instinctively Disco stepped in front of him and handed him his full mag. Hawse slapped the mag in and pulled another one from his pouch to hand to Disco when they had to change over again.
The system seemed to work well. Disco had cut his teeth on tactics like this, seeing action during Operation Enduring Freedom in the Philippines. Based out of Camp Greybeard on Jolo Island, he had advised (and a.s.sisted) in his share of gunfights against the Abu-Sayaf Group terrorist organization. Often they'd change mags like this after firing all twenty-eight rounds at ghosts in the jungle just outside the wire. These creatures were no Abu-Sayaf terrorist group, but they were just as deadly.
The team's fear of running out of rifle ammunition was ever present. Without ammo to feed their carbines, they'd be limited to shorter-range pistol calibers. When that ran dry, they'd be forced to go hand to hand. Every man knew what that likely meant.
Disco counted fifteen rounds before the creatures no longer presented their rotting faces through the partially open door. They waited, guns at high ready, ears still ringing from confined shooting. Disco used up a few seconds of time on a tactical reload, topping off his gun with a fresh magazine.
They both nearly jumped out of their boots when Doc and Billy exploded into the room from behind with guns and knives drawn, ready to fight.
”Nice timing, a.s.sholes!” Hawse whined.
”You f.u.c.kers called us crying like a bunch of babies, so here we are. What's the problem?”
”I think we got 'em all,” Disco said.
”It was pretty f.u.c.ked up . . . I saw lots of fingers grip around that door,” Hawse said nervously. He jerked his weapon about the room as if the area were crawling with manhole-sized spiders.
”Okay, well since we're all down here, lets get the comm gear set up. Billy, take your mirror and have a look out the door.”
A faint rustling noise came through the small gap from outside, causing all of them to grip their rifles a little tighter.
Billy reached into his pack and pulled out a small signal mirror, attaching it to the end of his suppressor with a thick rubber band. Walking slowly and quietly to the door, he extended the mirror out into the blackness. His goggles were constantly and electronically adapting to the darkness. Through the small mirror he observed at least three dozen bodies scattered about outside. One creature still twitched on the ground. Billy had seen this happen more than once before.
”I don't see nothin', Doc. A twitcher a few meters out and lots of rotters piled up against the door. Gonna need a couple shoulders to push it open.”
”Okay, let's put our backs into it. Billy, you stand behind us in case you missed one in the pile.”
”Roger.”
”Okay, on my mark . . . one, two, push.”