Threnody (Book 1) (37 page)

While the pilot’s effort to avoid getting the man tangled in the aircraft’s landing gear was successful, it placed him on course for a direct impact with the plane’s right engine.  Sucking air and roaring loudly, the monstrous turbine violently yanked the dark figure off the ground, forcing it through the merciless, cheese grater blades of the engine’s fan with the ease of a child squishing Play-Doh through a mold.  The sound of the thing being morselized was fairly lost beneath the cacophonous roar of the engine save for the brief shrill, keening sound as the turbine momentarily strained under the effort.

Every member of General Montes’ group winced at the horrific sight as one soldier said, “Bloody Hell! It’s like a human meat grinder!”

With her nausea returning in newfound waves, Lin shook her head in disgust as she stared at the viscous cloud of crimson mist spewing out of the turbine, where it hung in the air like fine particles of red dust before lazily settling onto the ground below. 
Meat grinder doesn’t begin to cover it; more like a human aerosolizer.

Taking notice of the group of infected closing in on them, General Montes broke the group’s reverie, saying, “All right people, we need to move.  That mob is closing on us, and I don’t think they’re just looking to make us feel welcome. Let’s head to that vehicle hangar and try to procure some transportation.”

At that moment a sharp, resonant, metallic ping came from the direction of the departing jet.  In the darkness of night, amidst the veritable shit-storm raging all around them, neither the pilot nor the copilot recognized the tail of the C-130 parked just off the left side of the runway.  Seemingly recovered from the incident with the right turbine, the plane’s left wing now clipped the C-130’s tail just as it achieved lift-off.  Before the jet managed to climb to one thousand feet, a large plume of smoke erupted from the right engine, causing the already unstable plane to spiral violently down to earth.  Leaking from the impact with the C-130’s tail, the auxiliary fuel tank located under the KC-390’s left wing instantly burst into flames upon contact with the ground just beyond the airfield—the blaze like an enormous funeral pyre for the plane’s final departure.

Thoroughly rapt, Lin stared at the carnage and mayhem all around her wondering with genuine desperation – both desolate and hopeful – if there was anyone or any reason left to keep fighting. 
How can anything ever be normal again?
  Not giving her a second to reflect on the rhetorical question, the six soldiers vehemently trying to keep her alive nudged her into action.

As they raced across the runway toward the vehicle hangar on the opposite side of the airfield, a tall, wiry soldier who seemed barely out of his teenage years slipped on the slurry of pulpy human puree left in the wake of the KC-390.  His lanky form crashed down hard onto the tarmac.  Dazed from the fall, the infected were on him before he had a chance to regain his footing.  As horrid as it was to see anyone die like that, the General knew the soldier’s death would likely afford the rest of them enough time to make it to the relative safety of the hangar.

When Lin and the five remaining soldiers reached the structure’s heavy metal door, Corporal Rocha immediately moved inside to secure transportation, while the three enlisted soldiers provided security near the entrance to the expansive, metal building.  General Montes hovered over Lin like a mother hen over a newborn chick.  She could see that the grizzled yet distinguished man would die a thousand horrible deaths before allowing any malice to befall her, and she felt simultaneously comforted, humbled, and burdened by the pressure his unwavering confidence placed on her.

“I’ve got it!” shouted Rocha from the center of the hangar that housed over two-dozen military vehicles of all makes and sizes.  Standing next to an imposing desert tan truck shrouded with thick, armor plating and equipped with a Browning M2 .50 caliber heavy machine gun mounted in a turret on top, the large soldier looked like a proud father standing next to his firstborn child.  The powerful 300 horsepower diesel engine under the hood of the stalwart vehicle purred like a kitten, giving off remarkably little noise considering its size. “Come on, get in! We’re getting the hell out of Dodge!” said Rocha with a gleaming smile and an awestruck glimmer in his eyes.

Upon reaching the heavy door of the colossal armored Joint Light Tactical Vehicle prototype, a sense of relative nugacity settled into the pit of Lin’s churning stomach as she gazed up at the imposing chariot before her.  She felt exceptionally frail by comparison.

With Dr. San safely inside the JLTV, General Montes climbed in after ordering the three soldiers near the hangar door to fall back and regroup at the vehicle.  The soldiers readily complied as the slow, undulating horde following them from the other side of the base was drawing near.  One by one the soldiers retreated deeper into the hangar before converging on the armor-clad truck.  As the last soldier was about to abandon his position, a strident cry erupted over the din of depraved caterwauls coming from the immense group of encroaching things.  It sounded like a wounded puppy trapped in the path of a steamroller relentlessly bearing down upon it.

Frantically scanning the sea of deplorable faces for the source of the desperate cry, the soldier spotted a middle-aged woman cornered by a smaller contingent of the preternatural creatures in an alcove next to the adjacent building.  Weaponless, the woman leaned helplessly against the concrete façade clutching her blood-soaked right arm.  Not wasting a moment, the young soldier darted toward the endangered woman.  With the speed and agility of an NFL running back, he spun and dodged the reaching arms of the infected closing in all around him.  Against all odds, he managed to weave a circuitous path through the plague-ridden thicket of human forms to reach the injured woman. 

“Are you okay?” said the breathless soldier before considering the stupidity of the question.  The sobbing woman merely shook her head, looking somewhat crestfallen at the young soldier.  Between hysterical sobs she managed a single, sorrowful word.

“Why?”

Confused by her lugubrious question, the soldier took pause and sensed the pack behind him was closing in on their position.  Racking the charging handle and raising his assault rifle, the soldier spun and aimed at the closest of the infected.  Its cranium exploded with a cerise plume of blood mist admixed with chunks of ruined grey matter and jagged shards of destroyed bone, before the thing slumped to the ground in a defunct heap.  Shifting to engage the next closest target, the soldier steadied himself, and gently depressed the weapon’s trigger.  Perplexed, the soldier expected to hear the loud report of the shot, and to see the deadly destruction of the 55-grain projectile as it ruthlessly punched through the thing’s skull.  But his brain registered none of that. Instead, he glanced down at his weapon and saw the cause of the discrepancy.

To his horror, he saw a live round jammed against the spent case still firmly lodged in the rifle’s chamber.  Working feverishly, the soldier tried to clear the jam unsuccessfully before transitioning to his sidearm just as the closest thing lunged for him.  He wedged the pistol’s barrel firmly under its chin and managed to squeeze off a shot that sent a .45 caliber bullet exploding through its brainstem, nearly decapitating the infected man as they collapsed hard on the ground.  The thing’s dead weight crushed down upon the young soldier forcing all of the air out of his lungs as his pistol skittered away across the pavement.

Dizzy from the impact and pinned to the ground, he felt a sharp, burning pang in both of his lower legs.  It seemed to march up his legs like the relentless advance of fire ants, stinging and destroying everything along the way.  As his mind cleared and the air trickled back into his lungs, he became aware of the tremendous weight on top of him.  Craning his neck to investigate, what he saw made his body stiffen and his feeble resolve go limp.  At least four of the infected were busy tearing his legs apart while the one he just killed still pressed down upon his chest.  Inexplicably, the pain of the attack had not yet reached his concussed brain.  As suddenly as a water pipe bursting, a violent torrent of vermillion eructed from his punctured femoral artery, tagging the wall with graffiti as if the dying soldier wanted to say, ‘I was here.’ 

Despite his chivalrous intentions, the young soldier was woefully unaware of the reality of the plague, and thus never realized the futility of his attempt to save the already doomed woman.

Helpless and injured, she watched in despair as the young soldier was mauled by the same monstrous abominations that had condemned her to death.  The anguish she felt knowing the man died trying to save her when she herself already knew she was beyond saving was far worse than the agony she currently felt as the infected tore into her flesh.  Again, she managed to utter a single word just before her larynx was rived from her throat.

“Why?”

Through the open door of the hangar, the remaining survivors watched the horrible scene unfold a hundred yards away.  None of them could bring themselves to turn away from the grisly scene as they stared in stunned silence.  Only when the dark cloud of infected obscured the scene from view did any of them snap out of their stupor.  The horde flooded into view with the relentless intensity of water pouring through a broken dam.  Their numbers were so great that they nearly occluded the hangar’s opening as they viciously tried to get to the people inside the expansive building.

Pale faced and wide-eyed, Corporal Rocha turned to the other survivors in the vehicle and said in a strained voice, “Hang on!  I’m going to punch through!”

Staring at the wall of infected nearly ten rows deep in some places, Dr. Lin San was about to question the Corporal’s sanity when she was unceremoniously pulled back into her seat as the diesel engine roared to life, and the truck accelerated headlong into the veritable sea of certain death before them.  As if the entire event was being played from a hopelessly scratched DVD that stuttered and skipped, the next several moments flittered through Lin’s mind in a chaotic, disorganized jumble. 

A scream.  A face smashing into glass.  Moaning.  Diesel exhaust. The 4
th
of July.  Burning rubber.  Crunching.  Monstrous faces gawking at her with gluttonous intent. Arms and legs heaped akimbo.  A distant voice.  The dark of night.  And red—lots and lots of red. 

The End

Read on for a free sample of Four by Kirk Withrow

Prologue

The five-man fire team advanced under the cloak of darkness.  Each member of Romeo squad was tasked with a specific role and the success of every mission depended on each of them fulfilling the responsibilities of that role with flawless precision.  The deceptively simple yet extremely efficient organization of their fire team was what made them the ‘go to’ squad when even the slightest chance of failure was unacceptable.  While their services were rarely invoked, they were always ready to go on a moment’s notice when they received the call.  Their employer, known only as ‘Mother’ by those who worked for her, was inflexible and unforgiving; nothing less than that consistent level of success was acceptable.

Operating together as a unit for countless missions through the years, Romeo squad always completed their objective with unparalleled skill and unrivaled lethality.  Few enemies offered much resistance and those that did generally recognized the futility of doing so in short order.  While the locations and targets varied with each mission, the objectives always remained the same:

1.              Infiltrate the target area

2.              Evade enemy detection

3.              Disable/commandeer enemy infrastructure

4.              Neutralize the enemy

Their routine was spectacular in its execution without being overly flashy.  As soon as the clandestine unit arrived at a target area, they quickly established a forward operating base and began observing the enemy in preparation for their eventual assault.  Romeo did not operate using blitzkrieg tactics, but rather they always bided their time.  After patiently awaiting the perfect moment to launch their surprise attack, they emerged from the shadows with specialists Mike and Golf on point.  As always, the squad leader, November, followed closely behind, flanked on each side by Papa and Lima.  They never used their real names or even personal nicknames on missions, preferring instead to use call signs derived from the universal phonetic alphabet to maintain maximum ambiguity.

Despite their extensive history of operations, Romeo squad maintained an unprecedented record of 100% successful completion of its missions making it by far the most lethal unit under Mother’s command.  Such a success rate was even more remarkable given the significant length of time they had been in operation.  As is the case, in all things, there were naysayers who pointed to one mission or another as less than a complete success.    

While occasionally, an assignment would take longer, most missions were completed in an average of only ten days from the start of an assault to neutralization of their objective.  In most cases, the target never knew who was behind the attack.  Even in the rare instances when Romeo’s identity was compromised, it hardly mattered.  One thing was certain, if Romeo squad was sent in, it was a good time to make peace with one’s demons and get right with the Lord.