Whiskey Delta – Chapter 8

“ He is best secure from dangers who is on his guard even when he seems safe.”

-Publilius Syrus

“Check those corners, people.”

Dezba and his squad moved into the next classroom. Like all the rest, the desks looked like they had been moved to barricade the doors. Of course, they hadn’t held. The doors were all ajar, their hinges broken and their glass planes turned into fragments all over the floor. And of course, the desks were scattered from the middle as if they had been forced through in a hurry.

At the other end, the doors had fared a little better, the hinges still intact, with a chain wrapped around one of the handles and strewn across the floor. Were Dezba to guess, he would say that whoever had locked themselves in here was expecting an attack from his direction. When it came from the opposite side, they had tried to escape and were forced to undo all their careful preparations.

No telling whether or not they had made it. Perhaps some of the survivors on the roof counted themselves amongst them, but he strongly doubted it. It was unlikely anyone so exposed could survive that long.

“Check those corners,” the LT repeated.

Mill moved from the far corner of the room and nodded. “Room clear Sarge.”

Dezba nodded and waved for them to move into the adjoining hallway. On the com, Braun continued to issue general reminders.

“Watch those shadows. Keep your eyes open for all movement.”

Up until the hallway, Dezba and the squad paused. There were several more rooms before they reached the staircase. And the stench was getting worse the father they went. And yet they hadn’t seen a single body. That could only mean one thing…

Not a single person who had been bitten in the last attack had stayed dead.

“Watch those shadows…”

Majorca grunted. “Why doesn’t he just read us the whole playbook?”

“Take er easy, he’s just watching out for his people.”

“We’re not all FNG’s…”

Dezba looked at Jones, who seemed too nervous to notice the slight. The shit always rolled downhill whenever things got tense and the CO started getting pushy. At least whenever the CO was actually liked…

He raised his weapon again and sighted down the hall. Time was wasting, they would have to clear the hallway quick.

“Mill,  Whitman, take the rooms on the right. Point check only. Majorca, you’re on the left… with Jones.”

“Fuck…” he muttered. The two teams began moving, stopping by each door and poking their rifles in. Dezba moved down the center, keeping his eyes on the stairway. The red EXIT sign at the end glowed bright green in his site. One thing that could be counted on to still be operational in townships like these, the emergency exits and anything else that ran on backup generators. He only wished the air vent ran on that same system. The stink was only getting worse the closer they came to the stairs.

“Clear!” from the left.

“Clear!” from the right.

One by one, the room’s were checked and determined to be empty. Unlike the seminar rooms they had cleared on the way in, these all seemed abandoned and relatively untouched. No attempts were made to barricade the doors or hold up inside. Whoever had been taking classes when the First Wave hit must have thought they could make it out. Judging from how they were all closed on this level, no one seemed to have tried to make it out the windows. They must have thought that they would be safer in the larger classrooms.

Then again, who the hell knew what they had been thinking? Everything Dezba had seen since they started clearing overrun houses told him that people rarely acted rationally when the bastards came looking for them. Most of the time, they simply panicked. Whatever preparations or final actions they took were generally half-assed and ineffective.

When they finally reached the stairs, Dezba radioed in.

“Viper One, proceeded to the next floor.”

“Roger that, Viper One. We’re on your six.”

Dezba put his foot on the landing of the first step and paused. He could feel the stench now, creeping up the stairs. And there was something else besides. He looked up the full length of the stairway. The walls were painted in a strange, lime green color, the light coming in through a wall of glass panels reflecting in the same tinge. It was like watching the world through NV. Too many times he had looked out on a scene like this, right before the milky globes appeared and all hell broke loose.

“Sarge, what’s going on?” Whitman asked.

He looked the other way, all the way down to the bottom floor. By contrast, there was nothing but darkness down that way. the green tinge disappeared into a wall of black and the glass windows stopped just below the second story. Their didn’t appear to be any working signs down that way. And all the while… the stench.

“Sarge… what the fuck, man?” he repeated.

Dezba raised his fist, the unmistakable request for a halt and quiet. His eyes stayed trained on the lower levels, where the dark had made a home and seemed to be calling to him. Stopping the nearest step, he placed his rifle down temporarily.

“Seriously, man, what gives?”

“Easy, Private,” Mill replied. “He’s having one of his Hopi warrior premonitions. Best not to interrupt.”

Were he listening to their chatter, Dezba might have corrected Mill on his White Bread cultural ignorance. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the dark, and unhooked a flashbang from his belt. Yanked the key out with his left hand, he tossed over it over the rail with his right and covered his ears The grenade fell, end over end and releasing the spoon, until it finally disappeared deep below.

A loud metal clang as it landed.

“Cover!” Dezba yelled, a second too late. The concussion echoed up and down the stairwell, but the incendiary was all but contained below. Everyone but him groaned from the piercing noise, but when it faded, they were altered to a new noise that was far worse.

It was low and rumbling, and very, very angry. It got worse as the seconds passed, growing louder, angrier… and closer.

“Shit, Sarge, what the hell is going on!” yelled Whitman.

“Fuckers were lying in wait,” Dezba replied.

He was still staring down. He couldn’t see anything, but he could still feel it. It was moving, angrily seeking the man that had disturbed them from their hiding place below. It had been waiting, hoping to catch them unawares. Now, it was attacking out of pure blood lust, an angry nest of hornets that had just had just been kicked and wanted revenge.

“Fall back,” he ordered. “Fall back to the seminar room.”

“What the hell, man. They’re fucking animals! They don’t know how to lie in wait!”

“Get back to the seminar room!” he repeated. “Regroup with third squad there. It’s the only shot we got!”

They did as they were told. Mill, Majorca, Whitman and Jones began beating a hasty retreat. They passed the abandoned classrooms and rushed for the pair of double doors that still hung on their hinges. Dezba’s earpiece began to crackle. He could barely hear the words over the rising noise coming up from behind him. No doubt the LT was hearing it now too.

“I say again. Viper One, report!”

He keyed the comm and began issuing a panicked reply.

“Viper Actual, this is Viper One. Unknown number of Whiskeys converging on our position! Falling back to regroup with Viper Three!”

There was a short pause. Bad news never seemed to get an immediate response, not when it came unexpectedly.

“Roger, that, Viper One,” he said hastily. “But we are one floor beneath you and two mikes away. You’ll have to hold them until we get there.”

Dezba looked ahead and spotted his squad taking up position in the seminar room. In these close quarters, they’d be risking a lot to fire their M203′s against a slew of moving targets. Whiskey’s were known to move fast when encouraged by the smell of living flesh. They’d have to slow them down some other way.

“Mill! Jones!” Dezba yelled. “Start barricading those doors! I’m going to plant some Claymores!”

Mill looked back at him angrily. “These door won’t hold for long!”

“Just do it! And give me some cover while you’re at it!”

Mill started to grumble and relayed the order to the others. Majorca stepped to the door and aimed his SAW down the hallway while the others began hauling desks their spots against the wall. Dezba reached into his jacket and began pulling out his M18s. They’d be hard to plant in the linoleum that covered the floor, but he only needed them to stand up long enough for a Whiskey to wander into their path.

He set the first one in a doorway near the end of the hall. Falling back midway between the seminar room and the stairs, he picked his second spot against the drywall.

That’s when the noise became truly discernible. He looked up and saw one down hall… looking straight at him.

It groaned, a low, angry rumble. It’s eyes were dead, but he could swear he saw the smoldering flames of rage burning in them. More converged around it and just stood there, looking down at him. He had certainly kicked up a hornets nest with this one. Like any creature that had had its best plans foiled, these Whiskeys looked seriously pissed. The wretched flesh and exposed teeth didn’t wasn’t taking away from that impression much.

He flicked the detonator switch on the second Claymore and pulled his rifle around He stayed low, presenting as small a target as possible.

“It’s true isn’t it?” he asked. “You guys really are getting smarter. You’re starting to think things through…”

The groans grew louder. Their grou began to sway, momentum pooling up in their limbs and getting ready to surge forward. Dezba raised his  gun.

“Well, fuck you. I still outsmarted ya!”

The first of them lurched forward. Dezba pulled the trigger and sent  a burst that shattered its skull. It’s body fell by the wayside as the other pushed forward.

“Sarge!” Majorca yelled from behind him. “Get your ass out of there!”

Dezba kept his head ducked and began falling back. He squeezed off two more bursts before coming around and sprinting towards the doors. As soon as he was sure he had a clear shot, Majorca opened up with his SAW and sent his own bursts down range. Dezba could hear them finding their mark behind him. At least two more hit the floor before he made it to the end of the hallway. Mill and Whitman reached out to take his hands and hoisted him over the desks that was stacked in his way. Between the two of them, he was thrown clear of the barricade and landed flat on the other side, his faces touching down against cold linoleum. He barely had time to get to his knees before his men were on him and helping him to his feet.

“You alright, Sarge?” asked Mill.

“Fine… wind…” he pointed to his stomach.

“You’re alright. We got this!”

Dezba raised his rifle and fell back to the other side of the room with the others. Mill hung back to make sure the chain was pulled tight between to the doors and then grabbed his own weapon.

“Alright! We’re good to go.”

Dezba took a deep breath and keyed his comm as the first of the Claymores sounded outside the doors.

“Viper Actual. We are in position and waiting on reinforcement, over!”

The second Claymore blew. He could barely hear the first of the LT’s reply, but the relevant stuff came through loud and clear.

“…still one mike away. Stand fast and wait for relief!”

Dezba released the comm and looked up to his men. “We got one minute to go! Get ready!”

The doors began to shutter. He had been hoping the M18s would have bought them a little more time, but that was the problem with monsters. They didn’t seem too deterred by explosions and loud noises. They also didn’t stop to regroup or check their casualties . Even if he had managed to take out half a dozen with those two charges, there had to be at least a dozen more coming. The din they were making was indicative of that many at least.

“Ready!” he yelled, kneeling behind the table next to Jones. The FNG was looking shaky, but at least his shotgun was aimed in the right direction. Mill grabbed a spot over against the right wall with his SAW while Majorca grabbed a spot to their left.  That left Whitman behind him with his rifle to complete the squad.

“Don’t shoot ’til they’re clear!” he yelled. “Let em waste themselves on those doors.”

“That shouldn’t take long,” Mill replied.

The door shuttered again and again. They would be through in just a second. He only hoped they had enough firepower to stop them. There was no way the Whiskeys would fall back or slow down. There was no way they’d turn tail and run when things got too sticky. There was only one way to stop an advancing hoard of these monsters, and that was to make sure every last one of them was shot dead… and stayed that way.