Part 23 (2/2)
He had no choice-he had to take the shot at close range. He felt a sharp, painful pinch on his forearm the moment before he awkwardly positioned the barrel on the creature's head and squeezed. Brains sprayed across Rex's mask, obscuring his vision. He dropped to the ground, wiping his mask with his sleeve. Rex cleaned his NODs with his gloved fingers to get a better look at his arm. Luckily, his suit wasn't breached. It would leave a nasty bruise though.
”I'm on the ground, four tangos down,” Rex said.
”Roger that. Commie's on the way down, Rico will follow,” Huck responded.
Rico watched their back while Huck babysat Commie on the rope. Rex might kill Huck if Commie fell. A metal clanging sound emanated from the maintenance shack. Both Huck and Rico could hear it clearly.
Commie was on his way down and stopped. ”What's that?” he asked Huck, who stood at the top.
”Don't worry about it, keep moving!” After making sure that Commie was making safe progress, he joined Rico near the shed. ”Man, those f.u.c.king things can climb ladders? Not good,” Rico whispered.
”Yeah, not good except that I closed the f.u.c.king hatch. One or two of them might be able to climb but that don't mean they can do algebra or open up hatches while standing on a ladder. It's your turn, get on the rope.”
”My pleasure, b.u.mpkin. Good luck, Hick.”
”Right back at you, Mexican.”
Huck remained at the top, watching Rico and Commie disappear over the cliff. The sound coming from the shack was louder now.
”Huck, get on the rope, we're all down. The jungle is moving all around us! Hurry up!”
Huck sped down the rope.
”Should I try to bring the rope?” Huck asked Rex.
”Leave it, no time.”
Rope was one of those things that you didn't need when you had it and needed badly when you didn't. Especially now.
With boots on the ground, they trekked north. They were all too young to have ever fought in Vietnam, but now were experiencing the same terrors of jungle warfare against a silent enemy.
The creatures on the jungle floor were largely silent except for the terrifying hissing sounds-an audible warning meaning you were close enough for hand-to-hand combat.
Commie stepped on a piece of debris, probably thrown from the blast event. It snapped like a firecracker in the darkness, inviting the hiss of pit ghouls from all sides. Rex reluctantly gave the order to engage. Camera flashes of their suppressed M-4 muzzles lit their surroundings, revealing the details of demons to the operators' artificial vision.
Most heads exploded or fell apart, and corpses thumped to the ground for some time. Faint steam issued from their scorched suppressors and M-4 upper a.s.semblies.
They reloaded and pressed on through the dense jungles, eventually punching out of the tree line and onto a road, where Rex stopped the group.
”Okay, I'm gonna make radio contact and revector the UAV to our posit for support. Huck, you and Rico set up a perimeter. Commie, stay close and alive.”
”Virginia, Hourgla.s.s, we are out of the jungle and on a road. Disoriented but we know we are somewhere north of the cave, two miles maybe. I'm going to turn on IR-please snap to me and advise, over.”
Kil was on watch and on headset when the transmission came in. ”We heard you, Hourgla.s.s. We're flying in a circle north of the cave. Lost you under the foliage, leak IR at your discretion.”
”Good to hear you, Kil, IR on.”
Kil studied the Scan Eagle control screen. One of the operators panned and tilted the camera. Kil could see the IR flashes, near a highway about a mile from the UAV's track.
”Adjust orbit and get on top,” Kil ordered.
”Yes, sir.”
”Hourgla.s.s, we have you marked and are heading for your posit. We'll be there in one minute. We have you alongside Trimble Road. Set your compa.s.s heading due north two miles, until rendezvous State Highway 803, repeat three six zero heading, two miles. Our maps say the terrain is relatively flat.”
”Okay, Virginia, we're Oscar Mike due north to Highway 803. Hourgla.s.s is standing by for any tippers. We're lookin' for undead locs, bearings, and strength along our way.”
”We're on it, Hourgla.s.s,” Kil confirmed, sipping some warm instant coffee from an old MRE, feeling some guilt about not being on the ground.
He was careful not to show it.
The team moved relatively slowly but steadily across the tropical fields through the darkness, careful with noise discipline, weapons at low ready. The Virginia supplied regular radio updates and course adjustments to put them at the highway as planned. A gentle Pacific winter breeze rolled over the field, making the gra.s.s dance, reflecting the moonlight brightly into their optics. Nothing moved inside the gra.s.s, no legless creature dragging its own corpse, no ankle-snapping animal burrows.
They were at Highway 803 in a short amount of time.
Rex looked over to Huck. ”Make the call.”
”Roger. Virginia, this is Hourgla.s.s. We're here, what's our next best vector, over?”
After a full minute of silence the radio keyed and Kil replied. ”Okay, we've sent the UAV north a ways to scout ahead. So far it's looking okay, so follow the road to the north. In four miles, you'll get to a fork: from there, we'll talk you onto the RHIB. Fair warning, the beach is pretty busy right now. Captain La.r.s.en just came from topside and says that you're all in for a fight.”
”Copy all, Virginia,” Huck acknowledged gravely.
”Chin up, Huck. We'll make it,” Rex a.s.sured the men. ”If we have to, we'll hit the beach half a mile from the boats and swim to them. The North Sh.o.r.e sharks probably keep the water pretty clean with all that smelly s.h.i.+t seeping from those rotting meat bags. Shark jerky.”
They slogged north to the intersection. Cresting a hill, the team observed a gaggle of creatures surrounding a dead tree full of exotic birds that had somehow escaped nuclear annihilation. The moon was bright and the team was upwind. Undead attention s.h.i.+fted away from the tree toward them. The creatures approached in the darkness, noses high as if tracking the team's scent. They stalked like a pack of wolves, moving quickly. The team engaged the creatures early, dropping three instantly; the remaining twenty undead homed in on the commotion and sprinted to the thumps and flashes of the team's M-4 carbines.
In a catch-22, the team intensified their shots, killing more creatures, but also quickening the undead pace in their direction. The creatures were fast and focused. The last corpse came so close to Huck, he was forced to pull his leather handled Arkansas Toothpick knife to stab it through the eye socket. Congealed blood and eye jelly splattered his blade before the creature hit the radiated ground. Eventually the team arrived at the fork.
The beeping sync of the radio indicated another transmission was inbound from Virginia: ”We have you at the fork, move three two five degrees and I'll fine-tune you as you get closer to the RHIB. Less than two miles to go.”
”Roger that, Kil. How's it looking?” Rex inquired.
”Not good, undead strength . . . heavy.”
”How many?”
”Hundreds or more along your path.”
Just as Kil had said in his briefing before the mission, the undead had spread to the outer belt of the island a long time before the team's arrival. They would encounter the highest concentration from this point forward. Rex once more called a quick field meeting.
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