Bloodboots: A Breadcrumbs For The Nasties Short (3 page)

No one was sure how it got inside. We all knew when it arrived. The wall of a barrack fifty yards away bent under the weight of something massive, rivets popping, steel moaning. Glass shattered. Someone screamed. I saw the bodies before the beast. A woman—what was left of her—smashed through a window on the far side. When she hit the ground she bounced, limbs flailing, blood crisscrossing the moon. Another body crashed through the door and hit the dirt with a thud, flopped and bent. It didn’t have a head. The howler spit that out a second later. 

Jackson had already forgotten about me. “Stay right fucking here! Don’t any of you fucking move!” 

Most of us dropped to our knees and watched as he charged the barracks. He was twenty feet away when the monster emerged. It blasted through the front door, too thick to fit. Its body splintered the frame and split the wall in two, wood transformed to splinters. It was massive, legs like iron, layers of muscle covered in coarse gray fur. I’d never seen anything so big. Before Jackson could get off a shot it was on him, all over him, mouth so wide it engulfed his midsection. When it snapped back, it tore him in half. I didn’t look away. I might have smiled.

I’m not proud of it.

Instead of screaming Jackson gurgled, choking on his own blood. I could hear his bones crunching between the creature’s teeth, its snout dripping blood. When it had its fill of Jackson’s belly, the howler turned its attention to us. 

Its eyes were incredible, horrifying, deep crimson, improbably red. It growled, low and steady, upper lip quivering, moonlight glistening off gargantuan teeth. Instead of howling, it roared. There was something human about that sound, half a word, so much rage. I recognized it. Some of us ran. The rest froze. I stumbled, tripped over what remained of David, narrowly avoided the feasting gimps. The monster was already charging, huffing with every step, feet like car tires, kicking dirt. It was ten feet away when a bullet hit its side. Another hit its leg and the creature slid to a stop, snarling at the gunfire. The ground around it erupted, a maelstrom of lead, bullets piercing flesh, blood like falling rain. On the opposite end of the base a contingent of soldiers was approaching, dark shadows and flashing muzzles. Instead of charging, the howler sprinted toward the barracks to its right, into the shadows, using them as cover. 

It was smart. It wasn’t just a mindless eating machine, barely aware of its own existence. It wasn’t like the gimps, wasn’t even like us. It was something new. 

The soldiers were unorganized and spread out, barking orders they had no intention of following. The insanity of the situation caught them off guard. They forgot their training. As they approached the buildings they continued to fire, no idea what they were shooting at. It didn’t matter. Bullets ricocheted off steel, exploded in dirt, shattered windows. They were aiming at anything, hitting everything, tearing the poor bastards inside to pieces.

They didn’t care. 

Taking aim at the ground, they forgot to watch the sky. If it hadn’t been for its eyes I never would have spotted it. The howler was on the roof of a building to the left, keeping low, watching. It waited for the soldiers to move into the space between the bullet-riddled barracks. It wanted them huddled together, shoulder-to-shoulder, unable to defend themselves. When it leapt into the shadows I couldn’t see much of anything. The darkness ate them all, left only screams. I heard two distinct voices before the gunfire began, listened as two men died. The area erupted in flashes and noise, gunfire and yelps. Something vaguely resembling a body was tossed from the shadows, face sunken, bones like shattered glass. Another body followed, and one after that. The forth was tossed so high it landed on a nearby roof. When it bounced the arm popped off, headed in the opposite direction. Something exploded. A fireball spread from between the structures, blasted outward, bits of steel taking to the air, everything on fire. The force of the explosion caught me off guard; I felt it on my face, unbearable heat. It punched my chest, turned my legs to rubber, and knocked me to my ass. Something popped in my ears. The world went away, replaced by a steady hum, so sharp I felt it in my brain. 

Less than three minutes and a single howler, that’s all it took.  

In less than three minutes our base, with our well-trained soldiers, had become a warzone.  

I tried to stand; my legs wouldn’t work and the humming in my ears did a number on my balance. Forward became backward, up was down, and legs and brain were no longer communicating. I was on my knees when the howler emerged from the flames, half its body missing, exposed ribcage reflecting the glow of the fire. Three of the monster’s legs were working, forth a twisted stump of mangled bone and mush. The creature shuffled from the inferno awkwardly, smoke pouring from its nose, breathing fire. I was almost on my feet when it stopped, wailed, and snarled at the moon. The sound dropped me back to my ass. The howler’s backside was up, cooked tail waiving like a torch in the night, throwing flames. When it finished screaming it stopped again, sniffing the air with its blackened snout. 

It looked in my direction.

Suddenly its gnarled leg didn’t matter, and spilling guts meant nothing. Red eyes narrowed. Lips quivered. It was still hungry, still angry. It could smell me. It wanted me.

The creature’s head dropped inches from the dirt, hindquarters raised. Its twisted leg slapped the ground, not so useless after all. The moment it charged a flurry of automatic weapons unloaded into its torso and up its neck. Another group of soldiers were approaching from behind, firing in rapid succession. This team was smarter, taking their time, making every shot count. The assault overwhelmed the beast, blew the snout from its face, turned teeth to dust. The moment its head erupted the monster collapsed. 

I was alive. 

For whatever reason, I was still alive. 

It took an hour to put out the fires, six to clear the corpses. If a soldier’s brain was intact, we were told to destroy it. By direct order of Mr. Walker, Sir, soldiers weren’t allowed to come back. That sort of nonsense was for people like us. Apparently they deserved better. 

I spent the next day burning bodies. Between the sun and the heat from the fire I’m surprised I survived. My body was gone, dragging, limbs more useless by the hour. I was ordered to cook the corpses until nothing remained, bones and ash catching the breeze. By the time I was done I was covered in the black sticking to my sweat, glued to every wrinkle and crack. The smell was atrocious. Pinching my nose didn’t make a difference. Holding my breath did nothing. When I wet my lips I could taste it. 

The next day the mood had changed for the worse. The attack brought things into focus, put our captors on edge. We were less welcome than ever. The morning was spent in our bunks, stomachs growling. The man in the bed across from me never stopped crying, legs pulled to his chest, face buried in knees. He’d only been with us a week. I didn’t even know his name, didn’t care to. I wanted him to shut up. Patrick was worse than ever. My brother hadn’t eaten in days. He was so weak he stopped screaming. Pain had become normal. Normal hurt less. His breathing was labored. A few times I thought he’d stopped, nudged him awake to keep him going, wiped the tears from his eyes. My brother was dying. 

Our saviors-turned-captors spent the morning arguing, screaming back and forth while throwing things. I think a fight broke out. Later in the day there was another. Someone may have been shot. A small part of me actually believed they might just kill each other and leave us the base and the food. When I closed my eyes I imagined a dinner: four courses, turkey and gravy and wine so expensive it made the table next to us take note. Patrick was there too, sitting at one side and a beautiful woman at the other. I was okay with him being there. When she asked me who he was, I didn’t lie. 

“He’s my brother.”

“Oh, he’s cute.” 

She was the one lying. 

It’s what I was paying her for.

I hadn’t thought about Patrick for years. When I put him away I convinced myself there was nothing I could do for him and he was better off. Suddenly he was all that mattered. My Bertie brother who couldn’t speak or walk or say his own name was the only normal thing I had left. I needed Patrick to survive, even if he wanted to die. I imagined myself getting control of the base, getting Patrick his medication, leading the group to bigger and better things. I thought of all the ways I’d improve the place, how I’d keep us fed and organized and on track. The place needed a real leader, someone with an IQ above eighty. In my daydream I was wearing Fred Felchus’s stupid watch. 

A less delirious part of me realized how stupid it all sounded. 

The soldiers were tired of us. It was obvious. They were sick of sharing their food, done with having to supply us with the most basic human needs. Some of them had no interest in being slave masters to begin with. At the same time, they had no idea what to do with us. Not all of them were cold-blooded killers.

Some were just assholes. 

The few that didn’t want us dead were changed by the howler attack. They were through fighting the good fight. They were on edge. They’d had enough. 

The howlers outside the walls of the base were louder than ever. We’d killed one of their own. We’d blown it to pieces, spread its brains across the dirt and burned its body. They probably smelled it from the forest. We all knew what was going to happen. It was as clear as day. More than ever we realized the reality of the world we lived in, what it was capable of, the lengths it would go to survive. Anything remaining, anything resembling a human being was gone and no longer served a purpose. The monsters had inherited the earth.

Maybe they just found their way home.

They came for us in the morning. 

“Everybody up!” 

The butt of a rifle knocked the air from my lungs. A boot stomped my leg.

“Move it, fuckers! Get yer asses up!”

I could barely stand, everything sore, bruises on top of bruises, skin purple and blue. I was heading for the door when one of the soldiers shoved me back and pointed at Patrick. “Bring the Bertie.”

Carrying my brother was getting easier. He’d lost so much weight. His eyes didn’t really open anymore. When he moved, he squinted, half awake and half somewhere better. When I scooped him up his cracked lips opened, whimpered. He wouldn’t last much longer. That much was obvious. Twenty soldiers greeted us outside. The rest were scattered through the base, leaning against walls, kicking dirt, trying their best to look away. It was clear not everyone agreed with what was about to happen. They also didn’t care enough to stop it. I’d be lying if I said I was angry. I wasn’t. They were doing what they had to do, keeping a low profile, trying to survive. I would have done the same. 

I’m not proud of it.

Sir, yes Sir, Walker looked annoyed. When he spoke, it was obvious. “Here’s the deal, folks. As much as I’d love to tell you we have the means to feed you indefinitely, we don’t. Rations are low. This base was only partially staffed and half-stocked when it opened. It was a last resort, tucked away. You all paid for something private and you got it. It wasn’t meant to house this many people for this long. We’re running low and we need to make some choices. We’re all suffering. We don’t all have to.”

My eyes went to Walker’s belly, significantly larger than when we first met.

Some of us were suffering more than others.

Walker paused, eyes rolled. It was subtle. “I wish I could help all of you, I really do…”

No he didn’t. 

He paused again, this time longer. “I guess there’s no easy way to say this, so here it is…we’ve run out of options. Tough decisions had to be made and last night we made them. Some of us wanted to put you down humanely…”

That was it, all it took. The words hit the sleepy crowd like a sledgehammer. They shattered and responded as a group. Some dropped to their knees, legs useless, weeping into the dirt, begging with what little voice remained. A few screamed and pointed, blabbering anger and indignant shock. Someone threw a punch. Someone else punched back. Twenty rifles rose. Twenty feet stepped forward, moving as a unit.

“A few of us wanted to set you free, give you a fighting chance!” Walker was screaming now, struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. “We can’t have that, though! You wouldn’t survive an hour, and we don’t need you riling up those fuckers in the woods anymore than they already are or drawing more gimps to the fence!”

The soldiers spread out, surrounding us, screaming for us to keep calm while pointing guns in our faces. They were grouping us into a circle, herding us like cattle. Most of us were going along with it. Two men broke from the mass and bolted for the fence. They were immediately put down. 

Walker’s voice changed from a scream to a growl. “Here’s the problem: I don’t like you people! I never liked you!” 

The woman near the front tripped, fell from the herd, and landed on her face. Walker shot her in the back. When she didn’t die, he shot her in the head. 

“I don’t like wasting ammo on you!”

Someone elbowed my spine. A forearm clubbed my ear. Patrick’s eyes opened. Before he could scream my hand went to his mouth. Suddenly he was squirming, desperately trying to wiggle from my grasp. I held him tighter, pulled his head to my chest. We were packed so tightly I couldn’t tell where the guards were moving us, could barely hear Walker’s obnoxious voice over the noise. He was rambling, complaining about his car and his house and his healthcare, some family member who died while people like us were hoarding secret vaccines. It was nonsense, most of it. This was Walker’s moment, what he’d wanted all along. He’d dreamt of it long before the war, before the biters and the howlers and every piece of shit that sprung from the ashes. This was his reason for living. Through the mass of crying faces I caught a glimpse of his slimy face. 

He was enjoying it.

Another shot fired. Another body fell. Shuffling forward with Patrick gnawing at the flesh of my palm, I nearly tripped over the body of a man at my feet. The back of his head was opened up, still smoking, bits of brain buried in sand. In the distance the top of a hangar came into view, weathered metal reflecting sun, glare in my eyes. As we moved closer the massive bay doors began to open.