Pedro

“Time to find out how long five minutes really is,” Allison said.

She heard them. Clamoring below in the stairwell and storage area. Some would find them sooner than the others. She had seen zombie movies a few times. Studied them a bit when they were briefed on the behavior of the infected to draw parallels and make distinctions. Zombies were either slow and had to be shot in the head, or fast and more fragile when inflicted with damage. Whatever the category, they had one singular purpose: the cannibalistic drive to eat people. These infected, however, were not zombies in the traditional sense. Zombies were easy to bait out with fresh human meat. They had no sense of self-preservation. No fear. More akin to that of a machine carrying out its programmed directive.

But the infected didn’t have a single-minded drive. They were animalistic. They moved in packs and used tactics for hunting. They were like wolves in human skin. They had thoughts. Self-preservation. That meant they could be dissuaded against attacks if shown overwhelming force sometimes. That, in turn, made it harder to get them because they had learned to avoid large groups of military forces. But here and now, it was two walking wounded versus them. Allison and Charlotte were on tonight’s menu because they seemed like easy prey. The smell of blood drew them here. And now, Allison had to put up her best fight to try to drive them off if she had any hope of getting her and Charlotte out of this.

“Come and get it, I’m ready!” Allison shouted as she heard the noises of the infected coming closer.

One burst out from the door. It looked around, saw Allison, and was greeted with several bullets through its torso and skull. Another came at them. She double-tapped it in the head. The gunfire was drawing more and more. They were homing in on her position. Every shot was like ringing the dinner bell. Two came out and rounded the corner in a dead sprint. Allison let loose. Her mag went dry. The loudest quietest sound in the world was a soft metal click from inside the gun when the trigger was pulled. Allison dropped the magazine as one infected dropped but the other kept running for her. She quickly moved the magazine over to load in the fresh one that was clipped onto the first and racked the charging handle back.

Allison watched the infected’s head burst and looked to her right. Charlotte had the pistol pointed right at it. There was no time to celebrate. Two more came up. Allison fired. Her aim was faltering. Her head was feeling light. The blood was leaking out of her leg and it was starting to get to her. She felt herself wobble and fought to keep her head in the game. Eyes on the prize. They had called it at five minutes and it wasn’t even past minute one yet. She fired again and dropped the two infected, trying to zero in on the adrenaline as much as possible to keep her going. She thought about Charlotte, about Hideo, about getting home. She thought about the Balkans. Croatia. That forest.

That damned forest. She’d been part of a small recon team when a long-range MARS unit had engaged them. The team tried to advance and close the distance on it. Get within effective range. It led them to the village, where local insurgents had decided they had enough of NATO’s help and wanted to send a clear message. The team wasn’t supposed to be engaging in a pitched battle with regular forces. They hadn’t been equipped for it. And still, Allison had followed them in because that’s what the team leader had ordered. She watched them get picked off, one at a time. The insurgents had placed ambush points with IEDs and hunter-killer two-man RPG teams. They made short work of her teammates in conjunction with the long-range MARS unit. Allison had been in the kill zone. She could only focus on her immediate surroundings to fight her way out. When the dust settled, she was the only one left. The insurgents had largely retreated and the MARS unit was still too far away to properly engage. She bugged out and contacted command.

The next few days were full of questioning sessions that felt more like interrogations. The NATO commander of the region had no idea what to do with her, and the transcription of the communications that day reinforced her innocence. That still didn’t matter to a lot of the lower enlisted and Non-Coms. They treated her like an omen, and even her fellow demi-machina picked up on it. She brought her concerns to her commanding officer, and he put in for her transfer with a 30 SIQ chit back in the UK for her to rest and recuperate.

Now she was fighting for her life against all odds to get back home and, once again, someone was depending on her. She felt a surge through her body. The shots came quicker. Rapid succession. The infected dropped and tumbled. Her sights moved between targets. Her finger squeezed off every time she saw a blur of one of the infected. She felt herself breathing heavier and tried to calm herself down. She watched as the bodies fell to the roof. Motionless. Lifeless. But more still came. She felt a deep-seated hate take hold.

“I did not come out of Croatia to get eaten by you fucks!” Allison yelled.

She stood up. Her mind overrode the pain. She took her position and fired. Over and over. The gun went dry again. She dropped the coupled magazines and reached into the vest, pulling out a fresh one. She slammed it into the magwell and racked the charging handle again. More infected came. They were getting closer. Encroaching on them with every body they threw at them. She caught them as they went wide and tried to circle around. She moved her upper half of her body while keeping her lower half planted and firm like a statue. She swept left, took them down, then swept right, and fired into the growing numbers as they continued to have their hand forced when Allison engaged them with gunfire.

There was a lull. They stopped, but Allison still heard them beyond the doorway. She shifted on her feet.

“Come on…” She muttered.

The infected seemed to get the idea.

“Come on…”

Or maybe there was something else.

“Come on.”

Something she wasn’t seeing.

“Come on!”

She heard a noise and swept left again. A large infected leapt up onto the roof. Her eyes widened. It was just like the one she’d seen before. Muscular structure. Acrobatic. She put the sights on it. She remembered something now. About what the man had said earlier. “Our watchman.” The infected made a move. She fired a few times. It sailed into the air, its arms outstretched towards her as it came down at her. Allison took a knee as she let off more rounds at it, piercing its chest. It sailed over her and stopped short of heading off the roof. It hit its feet against the ledge and sprung back.

Allison felt the wind leave her lungs as the infected fell onto her. She panicked. Kicked. Screamed. Pushed. Her rifle was pinned against her chest. She braced her back against the roof and shoved the infected up off of her. It roared. Then its head exploded. It went limp and she pushed it off. She saw Charlotte with the pistol pointed her way again. Before she could thank her, an infected barreled into her. Allison picked the rifle up off her chest and fired, pelting the roof ledge and working her way to the infected, dispatching it with the last round in her magazine. She looked to the left and saw another coming right at Charlotte.

There was no time. No better alternative. No other plan. Allison watched as Charlotte struggled to pull the sprawled out infected off her while the next one sprinted for her prone form. She rolled onto her stomach and stood up. Her leg protested only the slightest bit as she powered through it. She stepped forward and reached out. The infected was on top of Charlotte. She grabbed it by its hair and pulled it back. It stumbled, righted itself, and made for Allison. She reached out and put her palm to its face, smashing its nose and pushing it back. It was stunned, and she took advantage of that momentary lapse. She stepped forward, reached around to her belt, pulled out her survival knife, and stabbed it in the eye. She brought the knife out and stabbed it in the neck. In the chest. She took it down to the roof and stabbed it until it stopped moving.

She picked herself up and moved back towards Charlotte. She didn’t say anything as she pulled out the flare and lit it off. Green fire spewed from the end of it. She held it in one hand with her knife in the other. The infected slowed. Circled. She waved the flare at them. They backed off, but they kept looking for any opening. Growling and hissing in their twisted way. She hated how they sounded and never wished to be this close to hear it this clearly ever again.

“Come on! Come on, you fuckers!” Allison shouted, trying to keep herself worked up.

They suddenly stopped and straightened. Then, in unison, they all turned their heads westward. Allison was confused. Then she heard it. The unmistakable rhythm of helicopter blades. While the infected milled about, Allison sheathed her knife and slowly grabbed her rifle. She kicked the mag out, loaded a fresh one in, racked it, and fired into the air. The infected flinched and howled. Allison fired into the roof at their feet. They yelped and hissed, and then scattered. They went back down the stairwell and leapt over the ledge of the rooftops. As they gained distance, Allison heard miniguns fire and watched tracer fire arc into the streets. The screams and cries of infected being torn to shreds was music to her ears.

Allison slumped down onto her knees and dropped the flare onto the roof. She breathed heavily. Her world started to spin. She’d pushed herself to the brink, and fell onto her side on the roof. The sound of the blades came closer and faded out at the same time. The wind washed over her like ocean waves. The minguns continued to lay down hate among the town. Her mind was clouded. She was starting to lose the vision at the edges of her eyes as it faded to black. She didn’t feel the helicopter land on the roof next to her, but she did feel herself get hauled up. A flashlight loomed over her and shone in her eyes. Something went into her mouth and was washed down with water. The flashlight moved away. Her eyes refocused. In the light of the green flare she saw a man looking at her. His lips were moving but she wasn’t hearing anything immediately. She took deep breaths, coming back and listening past the ringing in her ears.

“Allison. Corporal Allison, stay with us.” The man said.

“I’m…so…”

“Allison, look at me!”

Her head lolled down, but he brought her chin up. He splashed water on it, and suddenly she was that much more aware. She stared at him. He looked fully kitted out. She looked down and saw a patch on his shoulder with two letters on it: PJ. Special forces. She thought as she looked back up at him.

“You’re going to be okay, Corporal. We’re taking you home.”

She smiled weakly. It was over. It was finally over. The man picked her up and put her into the hold of the helicopter. She laid on the floor and looked at Charlotte. A grizzled Sergeant First Class who had shown her nothing but pettiness, now looked even more worn out. Still, she winked at Allison.

“I didn’t take you as one for laying down on the job.” Charlotte said.

Allison smiled as she felt the ground fall away from under her. The helicopter took off and banked towards the west. The last thing Allison remembered was something going into her arm before everything went black.