Earthfall (24 page)

“Choi, I’m down to Mark One eyeballs,” he said.

“Roger that, I’ve got good sightlines to our left, but the right is messed up for me too.”

“Mike,” Rachel started.

“All right, stand by to shift position,” Andrews said. “I’m thinking that old truck over there—we might be able to climb into the cab and gain some elevation, so we’re looking down on these fuckers instead of over at them.”

“Movement over there,” Choi said. He raised his rifle and fired into the darkness. Andrews could only see vague silhouettes.

“Mike!” Rachel said again. She grabbed his arm.

Andrews shook her off violently. “Are you fucking deaf? Go with Kelly. Go right now, Rachel!”

“Let’s go,” Kelly said, grabbing Rachel’s arm. “We’re leaving.” Kelly yanked her to her feet, which was no small achievement, given that she was considerably smaller than Rachel. Rachel struggled against her for a moment, but Kelly dug in and yanked her toward her.

“I will fucking punch you in the face and carry you, Rachel,” she threatened.

Faced with the threat of violence and the fact that Andrews and Choi were busy fighting, Rachel gave her husband one last glance. Andrews couldn’t even spare her a quick nod, for at that moment a nearly emaciated woman came sprinting through the flickering flame to his right, carrying a sharpened metal spear. She shrieked as she bore down on him, holding the weapon like a pike, intending to run him through. Andrews twisted at the waist and fired two shots through her chest. Even though she couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, the 5.56 millimeter rounds didn’t pack enough punch to stop the woman’s flight, so she careened right into Andrews at almost full speed. But the bullets had done their job—her heart had beat its last before she crashed into him, and the metal spear made a clanging sound as it fell to the floor. As it rolled under the car he crouched behind, Andrews kicked the corpse off him—just in time. Several more shapes erupted through the flames, screaming like banshees and carrying all manner of weapons.

With a flick of his finger, Andrews set the M416 to AUTO and chopped them down. Kelly turned and fired into the mob as well, driving the survivors stumbling back into the darkness. Two fallen enemies lay nearby, clad in stinking rags, their limbs twitching as they writhed and moaned in agony. Waning firelight made their spilt blood glisten and gleam.

“Kelly—”

“We’re gone, Mike.” Kelly grabbed Rachel again and yanked her after her as she sprinted toward the waiting Laird. Once Rachel’s back was to him, Andrews flipped his rifle back to SEMI and quickly killed the two wounded attackers nearby, shooting them in the head. He was surprised he felt nothing; only a day ago, committing such an act would have been far beyond him, something akin to an atrocity. Now, he simply considered it killing the enemy before they could kill him.

If someone presses your buttons hard enough, you’ll find killing them is pretty easy.
The words Mulligan had spoken to him back at Harmony came to him suddenly, and in hindsight, Andrews felt a sudden squirt of embarrassment at how he had reacted to the big Special Forces soldier’s statement.

The voice over his radio snapped him back to the present. “Andrews, Laird. We’re linked up, and we’re going for the door. We look to be in the clear. Over.”

“Roger, Jim. We’ve got the front door.”

“See you outside. Out.”

“Let’s roll, Choi,” Andrews said. “Let’s give these goons something nice and mobile to shoot at. You ready?”

“No, I’m not
ready!
” Choi said, the scorn plain in his voice. “Does that count for anything?”

“Nope.”

“Well, balls. Okay, I’ve got the lead.” The younger man fired a quick burst into the darkness in one direction, then pivoted and fired off a grenade from his M320 in the other. The grenade struck a support pillar several dozen yards away and exploded with a sudden
boom
and a flash that cast shadows through the garage. Before the echoes had even begun to fade, Choi was on his feet, running toward the truck he and Andrews had discussed. Andrews swore and pulled his NVGs down over his eyes—the flames to his right were sputtering, so NVG effectiveness was pretty much restored—and he ran after Choi as quickly as he could. Just in time. The car the two men had been using as a fighting position was suddenly bombarded with fully-automatic rifle fire. Muzzle flashes lit up the garage far to Andrews’s right. The shooter leaned into the weapon and turned it toward him, walking the rounds toward him as he ran. Andrews juked to his right as hard as he could and shouldered up against a nearby support pillar. Bullets slammed into the stout cement post an instant later, scattering concrete chips across the floor as a small cloud of dust billowed in the air. The gunfire ended abruptly, and Andrews knew this was probably his only chance. Placing his left heel against the pillar, he turned at the waist and brought up his M416. Through the night vision goggles and the low-light scope on his rifle, he could see the man with the captured assault rifle struggling to reload it. Andrews fired two rounds and hit him directly in the center mass. The man dropped the rifle and slowly crumpled to the floor.

“In place, Captain,” Choi said over the radio. A moment later, his rifle barked, and in the dark distance someone yelped. “I’ve got your advance covered!”

Andrews pushed away from the pillar and sprinted toward the truck, scanning left to right. He saw flashes of movement in the green-white world revealed by his NVGs. Several scraggly survivors were closing on them, leapfrogging from decaying car to decaying car, then flitting behind the thick concrete pillars. Muzzle flashes bloomed from the darkened cab of the semi-truck as Choi opened fire on the survivors. He continued to fire on semi-automatic, rationing his ammunition as well as he could. Andrews ran to the truck and slammed into its dusty fender. The rig’s tires were gone, either having rotted away or been stripped off for another use. The big vehicle sat on its belly, which meant there was no way anyone would be able to crawl under it and use it for cover. Andrews pressed his back against the truck’s sheet metal and fiberglass body and shouldered his rifle, scanning for targets.

“Choi, can you see movement to your left?” he asked, creeping toward the front of the truck.

“I see ’em,” Choi replied. “They’re trying to sneak up on us. How bad of a hurting are we going to put on these guys, sir?” His voice was neutral, as if he were discussing a menu item.

Andrews looked around the truck’s grille, weapon at ready. “As much of one as we need to, Choi. If they don’t back off, they die.”

“Hooah. I’m engaging with a forty.” Choi fired another grenade out of the truck’s windowless cab. It arced through the air and landed in the shell of a car several survivors were hiding behind. The explosion was tremendous, made even more so by the relatively tight confines of the parking garage. Andrews’s NVGs were once again overwhelmed by the sudden flash as the high explosive round went off, fairly decimating the car and turning it into one giant shrapnel generator. The goggles cleared instantly once the flare dissipated, and he saw several shapes writhing about on the concrete floor, shrieking in agony, their bodies flayed open by the fusillade of whirling metal. Men, women, and to Andrews’s shock, children lay in the blast radius, their screams of pain echoing through the garage.

“Oh man, are those fucking
kids?
” Choi said from the cab. “They brought their
kids
to the fight?”

“Hold it together, Tony,” Andrews told him. “They did it to themselves; you didn’t do shit.” He shouted into the parking garage, raising his voice so it could be heard over the cries of the wounded. “Back off and no one else gets hurt! We’re not here to harm you, we just want to get out of here! You can send two people to recover your wounded—we will not fire on you!”

In response, another Molotov cocktail came spinning through the darkness from their rear. It burst open against the rear of the truck’s cab, spewing flaming liquid across it. Choi swore as some of the flaming accelerant landed inside the cab.

They’re behind us!
As Andrews spun to face the new threat, something struck him in the chest with enough force to throw him back against the truck. He kept his grip on his rifle and looked down. A metal arrow stuck out from the body armor covering his chest, right between two pockets that contained magazines of 5.56 millimeter ammunition. That he felt no pain was little comfort—he had no idea if the projectile had penetrated the ballistic trauma plating that lay beneath the composite layers of bullet-resistant armor that covered the surface of his vest. Until he felt it, he wasn’t going to stop fighting. Realizing he was silhouetted against the ribbons of fire that raged across the back of the semi-truck’s cab, he ducked to his left. Just in time, for another arrow slashed past, and this one ripped right through the truck’s sheet metal cab without even slowing down.

“Choi, we’re taking fire from the rear! Laird, this is Andrews—we have OPFOR to our rear, they are between you and us! Over!”

“Roger that, Mike. We’re at the door now, start making your way toward us!” As Laird finished transmitting, a loud explosion tore through the garage as a forty-millimeter grenade did its work against the steel mesh garage door. Then two more explosions.

Choi leapt out of the doorless truck’s cab and landed beside Andrews. He fingered the firing selector on his rifle and ripped off a quick burst at a man standing fifty meters away, a huge longbow held in one hand. Both men fired at the same time, and Choi missed being killed by the man’s steel arrow by millimeters. The attacker spun and dove away, and Andrews didn’t know if he’d been hit or not. Choi glanced over at Andrews and saw the arrow sticking out from the center of his body armor.

“Man, that’s some shit, Captain,” he said, before returning to the task at hand.

There were two more resounding explosions from the far end of the garage, and stroboscopic flashes of light peeled back the darkness for an instant. Andrews saw flurries of movement to their rear, and he stood up and peered through the open cab of the truck. More figures raced toward it, using its bulk to camouflage their advance. Andrews cracked off two rounds, then his weapon clicked empty. He ejected the magazine, pulled another from his vest and slapped it in, hit the bolt release switch, and was back in business. The attackers had disappeared. He knew they were crouched down on the other side of the truck, which meant he and Choi were practically within knife-fighting distance. But they weren’t outfitted for close-quarters combat; their rifles weren’t short-barreled, and they had no sidearms—those were not part of the SCEV weapons loadout. The only thing the two men could do was put some distance between them and their attackers. He slapped Choi on the arm and pointed in the direction of Laird, Kelly, and Rachel.

“Let’s roll! When we get forty meters out, turn and drop a grenade on this thing!”

“Roger that,” Choi said, already sliding another forty-millimeter grenade into the M320. Both men set off at a sprint from the vehicle, and just in time. With a war cry, the attackers on the other side of the rig swarmed over it, hoping to catch the two men from behind. Andrews half turned and fired a burst at the dusty wreckage, aiming as best as he could while on the run. He needn’t have worried. When the bullets rained down among them, the attackers reversed course and dove back behind the hulk of metal.

“Laird, we’re heading your way!” Andrews said as another explosion tore through the garage.

“Great timing—we’re through over here! Speed it up! I’ll drop back and give you some cover!”

“Negative—get Rachel to Five! We’ll be right behind you!” Andrews ordered. Beside him, Choi slowed and turned, raising his rifle to his shoulder. At the same time, Andrews saw a burst of movement to his left and he spun, bringing his rifle sights on a small figure as it darted toward him. The boy was ragged and thin, his long, filthy hair tied back in a ponytail that seemed to go on forever. Through the NVGs, Andrews could see his every feature: wild eyes, foam building at the corners of his mouth, pockmarks on his face, the natty tunic he wore. He carried a single blade of steel that was patinated by time and use, and his feet were wrapped in scraps of cloth. His thin arms were exposed, and a sheen of sweat stood out on them. He looked to be only six or seven years old, but given the apparent malnutrition that stole through the group of survivors that had made the shattered hulk of San Jose their home, he could have been twice that age.

“Stop there, or I’ll shoot you!” Andrews shouted. Behind him, Choi’s grenade launcher thumped, and an instant later another explosion shook the garage. Dust rained down from the ceiling and the boy slowed, frightened by the sudden fire and fury as Choi’s grenade destroyed the semi-truck the rest of the attackers were hiding behind. More cries and screams of shock and agony reached Andrews’s ears. The boy looked at the conflagration behind Andrews, his pace slowing; then his face hardened and he accelerated toward Andrews again, blade held high. He released a keening wail as he bore down on Andrews, his eyes full of hate and fear.

Andrews shot him once through the chest. The boy stumbled and fell, skidding and rolling across the dusty floor, his blade clattering as it slid across the concrete. The small figure came to a rest on his back, chest heaving, a bloody froth spilling from his mouth.

Jesus …

Andrews snapped out of it and turned to Choi. “Come on, Tony—let’s get the hell out of here!”

The two men sprinted toward the far end of the garage, where they could see the ragged hole that had been blown through the entrance door. Choi reached it first, and he knelt beside the opening, rifle at ready. An expended forty-millimeter grenade casing rolled across the concrete ramp when he brushed against it with one of his boots, tinkling as it bumped over metallic debris. There was no sign of Laird, Kelly, Leona, or Rachel, and Andrews hoped they were well on their way to SCEV Five.

“Go on,” Choi said. “I’ve got your back.”

Andrews tucked his rifle close to his body and lifted up one leg. The hole was only four feet tall and just shy of that wide, so he had to step through it carefully, lest he cut himself on the ragged metal edges. The night on the other side of the hole was cool and dry, and a light breeze cooled his sweat the instant he was out of the garage. He reached back inside and tapped Choi’s shoulder and, a moment later, he stepped out as well.