“I fucking knew it,” Jake said, raising his gun.
“Hold your fire,” Sarge said.
The trail must have curled around them, because they had found another abandoned yellow school bus. Again, a driver was present. But this one wasn’t dead.
Weapons drawn, the five men approached cautiously.
The driver’s door was missing and the creature inside was displayed like a museum exhibit. It lay slumped in the seat, chained to the steering column, reaching with two clawed hands towards the soldiers. It wore civilian clothing that had torn during the metamorphosis from human to…thing. Sharp teeth, sinewy muscle, pale flesh, wings deformed because they had grown restricted by the confines of the driver’s seating area.
“Shall I blast it?” Carter said, ready with his M-16.
“Steady on there,” Sarge said. He had stepped out front, some six feet from the beast.
“Careful it doesn’t have some serious tongue action, Sarge.”
“It ain’t a frog, Jameson,” Sarge said. “Thanks for mentioning tongue action, by the way. Now I miss my wife even more.”
“We could try diplomacy,” Jake said. But before anyone could answer, he stepped forward and landed a mighty shove against Nero’s shoulders. The translator stumbled forward, dropping his rifle. Unable to check his momentum, he fell literally into the reach of the beast in the bus, and it wrapped skinny but strong arms around him.
The other men staggered back, weapons raised, and it was all Sarge could do to push muzzles into the air before somebody let off a volley and caught Nero.
“Stop this panic, stop this shit,” he bellowed. And when he was sure nobody would do anything more dangerous and spontaneous than cursing, he booted Jake hard in the ass. “You fucking idiot!”
Then he turned his attention to Nero.
The beast was holding him tight, but it made no attempt to shred him. Hoping to prevent provoking it, Nero froze like a cat that had sensed danger.
“Keep bloody still, Nero,” Sarge said softly.
Holding his aching buttocks, Jake laughed. “Don’t worry, Sarge, it won’t eat him. Look. Holding him like a baby. Like one of its own.”
Sarge said nothing. Everyone looked on. Then…
“Okay, girls, back up. Vast universe like this, no need to crowd each other. Back on up. Move apart a few feet. Carter, aim your weapon at that thing’s head. Everyone else, aim at soil.” When everyone was a couple of metres back, Sarge addressed Nero. “Nero, I don’t know what’s going on here. You keep still. We’ll work this out. Don’t speak. Don’t do anything.”
“He’s gotta speak, Sarge,” Jake said. “He’s one of them. He can tell them to leave us alone.”
Sarge glared at him. “I won’t report this, Jake. Because no one will believe this shit. “But I am going to break your nose. I am. Later, though. When we’re out of harm’s way. That much you can be sure of. Until then, keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Ironically, the mouth of the beast certainly didn’t keep shut. It opened wide, aimed at the sky, and a terrible wail emerged that sent the men back another few feet. Nero tried to close his ears. But he felt strange tickling heat overwhelming his body, and his hand no longer itched.
“It’s calling,” Jake moaned.
“How can you possibly know that?” Oliver rebutted.
“It’s fucking calling. For the others. It’s announcing fucking dinner, guys. Maybe we should make moves away from this area?”
Sarge was inching his way closely to the back of the bus. The guys had started to argue amongst themselves, but the creaking of the rear door opening silenced them. They looked, and Sarge waved towards the trees.
“Hide yourselves. Jake, instead of fucking about, get that M-72 ready in case you need it. Oliver, get your extra tubes ready in case he needs them.
The men slipped into the jungle and froze, hidden.
The skies carried the familiar wails of the creatures they had encountered before. The soldiers held their places, quiet, motionless.
“Nobody move. Kill whatever comes!” That was the final order of Sergeant David Alan London, a joiner from New York. He clambered aboard the bus through the rear exit.
“Nero, it’s me..” Sarge lay himself on a seat, kept below the level of the windows, and had his weapon ready. “Move when I say.” He sent his gaze skyward. “Come on, fuckers,” he mumbled to himself.
The beasts came. They came almost in dart-formation through the low sky and dipped fast, a thin convoy of death. At their rear hovered a creature not yet comfortable with their means and attitude; it watched as others zipped spear-like into the area occupied by the debilitated bus. They had sensed the humans, but could not see them, except the one already captured by one of their own.
Inside the bus, Sarge heard the multiple clacks as a dozen sets of claws alighted on the bus’s roof. He kept low and quiet, eager to discharge his weapon into the roof, but careful not to.
The soldiers watched from various places around the perimeter.
“Holy Jesus,” said Oliver Jameson.
“I bloody knew it,” said Jake.
“I see you, assholes,” said Carter.
And in the middle of it all, Nero watched in horror as the other winged creatures alighted atop the bus. Each time one landed, screeching its call of - what? - it tore into his ears. They lurked atop the bus like pigeons on a wall, with their wings flapping and their eyes scanning the surrounding jungle.
The beast that had Nero put its face into his neck and breathed deeply, like a lover after sex. Its breath was warm, but loud. Each exhalation was like that of a man with chronic lung cancer. Yet Nero didn’t dare stir. His mind flew this way and that, seeking a way out of this situation, but his body remained frozen, lest a movement stir lethal action from the thing that held him captive. He heard the things on the roof above him, yet since their threat was so much more distant, he didn’t fear them.
For a moment, all was still.
Just a moment.
First to move was Oliver. He lined up the sights of his M-16 and let rip - and already he’d decided on his defence at any court martial they might throw at him: “Fuck if I was gonna let some beast eat me.”
His first round caught an eye, and its owner staggered backwards and toppled off the bus. A screech lifted above the treetops.
That was the signal for all the vampires to attack. Unfortunately for them, that shot also became the catalyst for action from the Americans. Before the first vampire had time to react, bullets were tearing into them.
Metal zinged off the bus as shots went wide; leaves danced and tree trunks burst. Like ducks in a shooting gallery, the vampires fell, and blood sprayed. It dripped onto Nero, and dripped past windows near Sarge’s hiding place.
When the firing and the noise were over, and smoke drifted from the muzzles of three weapons, nothing moved atop the bus. Twelve beasts lay dead. But inside the bus one more screeched like a mother mourning her dead children, and still she clutched tightly to Nero.
“She won’t harm him,” Jake shouted. “He’s one of them. I can take him out right now.” He lifted his weapon. Ready to take out anything that moved.
Sarge lifted his body slightly so he could shout through a broken window. “I’m already gonna break your nose, Jake. Don’t make it any worse. Shut your vile mouth. Is the scene clear?”
“Clear!” came the return, from Carter.
As he rose, Sarge saw Jake break from the trees and approach the bus, but his weapon was raised, and it was aimed at the front of the bus, at Nero.
“Jake, Jesus!” Sarge got to his feet in the aisle of the bus. “Stop pissing about!”
“Just being careful, Sarge,” was Jake’s reply. “We’ll chain him and take it from there. And kill that thing holding him.”
That was it. No matter that he was held captive by a murderous beast, Nero had had quite enough of Jake fucking Hanks, a nobody mechanic from Utah…
“Fuck you!” he screamed. The beas
t holding him screeched, too, but he hardly heard. “I’ll break your neck, just like I said. You’re lucky this thing is holding me! Jesus fuck!”
Sarge moved down the aisle, weapon readied, aimed at the thing’s skull. “Nero, don’t piss it off. Be quiet. Be bloody quiet.”
The thing chained to the driver’s seat turned its deformed head and snarled like a dog at Sarge. Unable to resist, he swung a foot and kicked it right in the face, and the sound was gratifying. Angry, it went for him. Nero was released, and its wings beat as its arms reached for Sarge, but the wings beat only against the bus’s dashboard, floor and ceiling, and as Sarge backed away, he could barely contain a laugh. But with Nero out of harm’s way, there was something else he couldn’t contain.
The sound of gunfire in the bus, despite its lack of windows, was tremendous. Bullets that didn’t tear into the creature chained into the driver’s seat, tossed up bits of plastic from the dashboard and zipped through the windscreen. The beast screeched and its arms flailed, and then it slumped dead with pieces of itself scattered all over.
“Yeah,” Sarge said.
Just then, another screech, but not from the beast. Outside, one of his men. Sarge turned his head just in time to see a flicker as something zipped upwards into the trees. He turned his weapon upon it, but it was gone, and in its stead were two men hastily backing away and shouting about yet another beast, guns trained upwards.
“What’s going on?” Sarge yelled.
Oliver turned his head towards the Sarge, and that was when a gutless and headless Carter fell to the floor with a whump, spraying blood from torn arteries via a still-pumping heart. Jake and Oliver yelled as the body landed between them.
To answer Sarge, Oliver raised his hand to point at the treetops. In a second, something had dropped, grabbed Oliver’s outstretched hand and yanked him up and away. His legacy was a grunt and a rain of blood, before his torn body thumped into the ground beside Jake, who took off into the jungle under no determined route.
“Jake!” Sarge roared. Then: “Danny?”
He raced towards the front of the bus, wary of the shattered vampire. But it was quite dead. Leaning over it, he peered out the open doorway, and there on the ground outside lay Nero, shivering…and changing.
“Jesus, Danny. You’re turning.” He aimed his rifle at Nero’s morphing skull. It was throbbing and pulsing. Jake had been right. These fucking monsters! “Sorry, man. You’ll thank me in Heaven.”
At that moment the bus rocked slightly. Just enough to capture a man’s attention; Sarge turned his head to the back of the bus, and there he saw a familiar face. Pete Walls. The face the was the only familiar part, and it wasn’t how he remembered it.
The vampire that had once been a member of Sarge’s 165th Recon Unit barely resembled Peter Walls, but there was enough for Sarge to bridge the gap and drop his jaw. A moment later, Pete Walls literally flew the length of the Yellow school bus and locked his former boss in physical combat.
Sarge hauled his knife; the blade flicked, and inhuman blood spilled. The creature squealed at the same time it was ripping chunks from Sarge’s torso. The two combatants fell to the metal floor, rolling over and over like a couple of school kids brawling over a girl, or a seat. Against ten claws there was pitted a Mac-Sog Combat Knife. The claws cut, and the knife stabbed.
It was a vicious, bloody battle, and by its end the vampire was in possession of less blood than it had lost, and Sarge was oozing similar fluid from a hundred slashes. But eventually Sarge pushed side the dripping corpse of the ruined vampire, formerly a man he had commanded, and turned his mind immediately to his men.
“Nero, run,” Sarge called. He was bleeding and hurt. Then he wrapped his arms around the man-thing he had been fighting, in case it wasn’t really dead.
He didn’t know if Nero had heard or obeyed, but he waited thirty seconds, and then he hauled a grenade. Clasping his hands around his enemy’s back, he pulled the pin.
“Gotta give a last one-liner,” he said. “I think that-“ and the bus erupted in a ball of flame and noise.
Jake had run as far as he could with a backpack and a 35lb radio. He stopped, threw down his backpack and played with the radio. He checked his location.
“Niner Africa, this is Arizona Blue Six India. Over “
“Arizona Blue Six India, this is Niner Africa. Over. “
“Blue - need an immediate extraction. Current location follows: alpha quebec mike november oscar papa. Over.”
“Africa - copy alpha quebec mike november oscar papa.” A pause. The sounds of jungle life seemed to beat in his ears. “Nearest possible papa zulu appears to be foxtrot echo lima november delta delta. Over.”
“Arizona - copy foxtrot echo lima november delta delta. ETA that location approximately two zero.”
“Africa - roger on the ETA. You will have a lift of 1 plus 1 with an ETA that location of two zero minutes.”
“Roger. Might have Dustoff alerted as I have eight line twos.” It suddenly hit him: all eight of his fellow men dead, slaughtered. But he felt more anger than sorrow. Instead of a “one plus one,” which meant one Huey helicopter and one gunship, he wanted them to instead bring a dozen gunships so they could go kill every last -
“Roger on Dustoff,” came the last communication Jake would have with anything human.
Jake popped a smoke grenade and watched purple vapour billow into the sky. Then he let out a breath. Now came the wait - something he had no control over.
He wondered about the Dustoff - a medical emergency helicopter. Maybe he should go back, find that flamethrower and consign his comrades to ashes - was it worth risking that travelling back to base inside their corpses might be that vampire disease?
Something stirred in the canopy of leaves above, then flopped lithely to the ground before him. He tried to haul his gun, but before he could the beast had whipped around him and taken hold. One arm around his waist, one around his slim neck, holding tight.
“I think I owe you something,” the beast said. And then it snapped Jake’s neck. He slumped to the ground like a sack of spuds.
The beast that had once been Danny Black - a.k.a Nero - squatted to think. Papa Zulu. Strange. Somehow, he knew where to go.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends