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 makeshift barricade of bodies, blocking the things from opening the door wider.
“This ain’t fucking 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 assisted) 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, assholes!” Hawse whined.
“You fuckers 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 fucked 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.”
The door surged open a foot or so, moving the pile of rotting corpses enough for them to squeeze through, barely.
The four carefully spilled out the door into the dark night made bright by technology that Billy suddenly realized would probably never advance beyond its current state.
“Straggler,” whispered Billy, almost inaudibly. He brought his carbine up to high ready, mesmerized for a millisecond by the way the unholy thing
“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 makeshift barricade of bodies, blocking the things from opening the door wider.
“This ain’t fucking 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 assisted) 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, assholes!” Hawse whined.
“You fuckers 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 fucked 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.”
The door surged open a foot or so, moving the pile of rotting corpses enough for them to squeeze through, barely.
The four carefully spilled out the door into the dark night made bright by technology that Billy suddenly realized would probably never advance beyond its current state.
“Straggler,” whispered Billy, almost inaudibly. He brought his carbine up to high ready, mesmerized for a millisecond by the way the unholy thing
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