toward the sky, searching for
Echo 3.
“I’m out!” Timbo yelled. “Someone give me a rifle.” He
reached down and Ryan handed back one of the extra M16s he’d picked up.
“There has to be thousands of them!” Timbo yelled as he
pulled himself back into the turret. The crack from his rifle came a beat
later.
Beckham continued to scan the sky. There, through the
gleaming sunlight, he made the shape of a chopper. He imagined what the scene
would look like from above: a single vehicle moving at a breakneck speed
through the ashes of a burned-out city with an army of enraged monsters chasing
them. It was like something out of the movies.
He gripped one of Jinx’s limp hands, wishing desperately that
he could fire on the Variants that had killed his brother. Sitting there and
doing nothing felt like a betrayal.
The truck swerved to the left before taking a hard right.
When he looked up, they were on the pier. Both Bradleys and the other Humvees
were there, abandoned where 1 st Platoon had left them. Echo 3
hovered over the end of the platform. Valdez navigated around the vehicles and
raced toward the chopper.
The high-pitched roar of the M240 machine gun sounded as soon
as their Humvee was clear. The door gunner unloaded a barrage of 7.62 mm rounds
that whizzed overhead. Beckham twisted and watched the projectiles pound the
concrete and slam into flesh. A geyser of limbs, rock, and bone exploded into
the air.
Beckham felt a moment of relief that quickly turned into
panic as he looked back to the windshield. They were heading full-speed toward
a concrete barrier. Valdez slammed the brakes, and the truck ground to a halt
just inches from the blocks. Beckham jolted forward, Jinx’s body nearly rolling
off of his lap.
“Everybody out!” Valdez shouted.
“Chow, Timbo. You carry Jinx. I’ll get Meg,” Beckham said as
he opened the door. “Valdez, Ryan, Jensen, you lay down covering fire.”
He staggered out onto the dock. The Variant horde streamed
down Twelfth in both directions. They were changing their tactics again. With
thousands joining the chase, the individual Variants seemed to know that the
chances of getting hit by a bullet were slim.
The army surged forward.
Beckham forced himself to look away. He bolted around the
side of the vehicle to help Meg out, nearly crashing into Valdez and Ryan. The
two men took knees and laid down covering fire. Jensen was already shooting
from the other side of the truck.
“Get out of here,” Valdez grumbled.
“Help me,” Chow said. He struggled to drag Jinx’s body to the
edge of the seat, and Timbo helped pull him from the vehicle.
“Beckham, you and Chow get Meg,” Timbo said, jerking his head
toward the woman. “I’ll carry Jinx.”
Beckham leaned down, and with Chow’s help they hoisted Meg to
her feet. She glanced up at Beckham, still clutching the blade he’d given her.
“We’re really leaving?” Meg said like she didn’t believe it.
“Yeah,” Chow said. “Come on, we have to move.”
They squeezed through the gap in the barriers and hustled
toward Echo 3. Meg muttered a response Beckham couldn’t make out. He tightened
his grip on her and focused on the bulky outline of the soldier behind the
M240. The man raked the weapon back and forth, battling for every inch of the
pier.
Whipping wind from the rotors hit them then, and Beckham
squinted to see Rodriguez and Peters jump from the chopper.
“Get inside!” Rodriguez yelled as he raced past.
The ground trembled from the hammering of thousands of feet.
The ethereal screeches from all those gaping mouths reverberated through the
city. Reality seemed distant, the fog of war setting in around Beckham’s
consciousness.
Meg went limp in his arms when they were one hundred feet
from the Blackhawk. The knife slipped from her hand, hitting the concrete with
a faint clank. Beckham put everything he had left into hoisting her up, his
injured shoulder blazing. Working with Chow, they
Echo 3.
“I’m out!” Timbo yelled. “Someone give me a rifle.” He
reached down and Ryan handed back one of the extra M16s he’d picked up.
“There has to be thousands of them!” Timbo yelled as he
pulled himself back into the turret. The crack from his rifle came a beat
later.
Beckham continued to scan the sky. There, through the
gleaming sunlight, he made the shape of a chopper. He imagined what the scene
would look like from above: a single vehicle moving at a breakneck speed
through the ashes of a burned-out city with an army of enraged monsters chasing
them. It was like something out of the movies.
He gripped one of Jinx’s limp hands, wishing desperately that
he could fire on the Variants that had killed his brother. Sitting there and
doing nothing felt like a betrayal.
The truck swerved to the left before taking a hard right.
When he looked up, they were on the pier. Both Bradleys and the other Humvees
were there, abandoned where 1 st Platoon had left them. Echo 3
hovered over the end of the platform. Valdez navigated around the vehicles and
raced toward the chopper.
The high-pitched roar of the M240 machine gun sounded as soon
as their Humvee was clear. The door gunner unloaded a barrage of 7.62 mm rounds
that whizzed overhead. Beckham twisted and watched the projectiles pound the
concrete and slam into flesh. A geyser of limbs, rock, and bone exploded into
the air.
Beckham felt a moment of relief that quickly turned into
panic as he looked back to the windshield. They were heading full-speed toward
a concrete barrier. Valdez slammed the brakes, and the truck ground to a halt
just inches from the blocks. Beckham jolted forward, Jinx’s body nearly rolling
off of his lap.
“Everybody out!” Valdez shouted.
“Chow, Timbo. You carry Jinx. I’ll get Meg,” Beckham said as
he opened the door. “Valdez, Ryan, Jensen, you lay down covering fire.”
He staggered out onto the dock. The Variant horde streamed
down Twelfth in both directions. They were changing their tactics again. With
thousands joining the chase, the individual Variants seemed to know that the
chances of getting hit by a bullet were slim.
The army surged forward.
Beckham forced himself to look away. He bolted around the
side of the vehicle to help Meg out, nearly crashing into Valdez and Ryan. The
two men took knees and laid down covering fire. Jensen was already shooting
from the other side of the truck.
“Get out of here,” Valdez grumbled.
“Help me,” Chow said. He struggled to drag Jinx’s body to the
edge of the seat, and Timbo helped pull him from the vehicle.
“Beckham, you and Chow get Meg,” Timbo said, jerking his head
toward the woman. “I’ll carry Jinx.”
Beckham leaned down, and with Chow’s help they hoisted Meg to
her feet. She glanced up at Beckham, still clutching the blade he’d given her.
“We’re really leaving?” Meg said like she didn’t believe it.
“Yeah,” Chow said. “Come on, we have to move.”
They squeezed through the gap in the barriers and hustled
toward Echo 3. Meg muttered a response Beckham couldn’t make out. He tightened
his grip on her and focused on the bulky outline of the soldier behind the
M240. The man raked the weapon back and forth, battling for every inch of the
pier.
Whipping wind from the rotors hit them then, and Beckham
squinted to see Rodriguez and Peters jump from the chopper.
“Get inside!” Rodriguez yelled as he raced past.
The ground trembled from the hammering of thousands of feet.
The ethereal screeches from all those gaping mouths reverberated through the
city. Reality seemed distant, the fog of war setting in around Beckham’s
consciousness.
Meg went limp in his arms when they were one hundred feet
from the Blackhawk. The knife slipped from her hand, hitting the concrete with
a faint clank. Beckham put everything he had left into hoisting her up, his
injured shoulder blazing. Working with Chow, they
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