Some were still being eaten.
York fired first, running forward, killing the creatures, seeking the death he so desperately craved.
The others followed. Jefferson and Clements flanked left, shooting those that climbed on the walls, those that rushed from another tunnel.
Rivers and Dale swept to the right. They killed and killed, calling out when they changed magazines.
“Loading,” Dale said.
Moments later, as Dale commenced, Rivers did the same.
“Loading.”
Pushing forward, they were having success. Their firepower, their sheer will was overbearing to the creatures. The hot steel, the massive amount of firepower and the courage of these Special Activities Operators was too much.
Closer and closer, step at a time, the team slaughtered everything. On and on.
One of the bastards jumped from a shadow. It was atop Rivers, biting at his neck. Rivers twisted, flinging the thing off. Before he could fire, though, the creature was back up. It rushed at him, wide mouth open like a sick grin, ready to tear Rivers’ throat open.
Crack!
The report startled Rivers, who finally raised his AK-47, shooting at the creature, though it was unnecessary. The thing was already down, head split open.
He heard Dale, a few steps in front, moving forward and killing. It wasn’t his long-time friend. Rivers turned back, and to his surprise, Svetlana held out her Glock .40 pistol with shaking hands, pointing it at the dead beast.
“Thank you,” Rivers said.
She merely nodded, pale as a ghost.
“Shoot the fuckers,” Rivers added, having no time to calm her. More came and he turned, firing, helping Dale advance.
Svetlana followed, doing the same. For a woman who’d never known combat, who’d never imagined herself in such a nightmare, she did just fine.
Svetlana killed without mercy.
Clements and Jefferson had made their way to the far left side. They were at the edge of a wide tunnel, and entered without saying a word. They moved swiftly, killing the hoard of creatures that raced toward them.
“Loading,” Clements hollered.
Jefferson killed more.
On and on, deeper and deeper. The masses of creatures, the waves of demons were too much. They entered yet another chamber, finding hundreds. The beasts were packed like cattle. Some looked human, others didn’t. Some had tails, lizard-like tongues. Some were like spiders, crawling along the ground. A few slithered like snakes, their legs and arms long since missing.
“Kill them!” Clements shouted.
“Loading,” Jefferson yelled, putting another thirty rounds from his AA-12 into the chests and heads of every single beast.
They kept moving, far from their teammates, closer and closer to their deaths.
As they entered the depths of the chamber, they realized they were surrounded.
Clements turned to Jefferson, his face grim. “Down to my last mag.”
“Me too, brother,” Jefferson replied. “It’s been an honor fighting with you.”
The two men fought, killing dozens more. They expended their rifle ammunition, dropping and grabbing their pistols.
They killed and killed, down to their last bullets.
Clements and Jefferson, these two heroes, met their untimely deaths side-by-side, dying as brothers, dying by one another’s side.
They did so as a member of The Unit was expected — with great honor.
113
Elizabeth scurried down the tunnel. She was close. She could hear the gunfight, hear that the team was near.
Turning another corner, she finally stopped. Her mouth open, she saw it!
Something not remotely human was hidden deep in the corner. It looked as if it were once female, though any resemblance of humanity was long gone. The thing, the female, kept in the shadow, its red eyes blinking, staring at Elizabeth.
She felt a sharp, piercing pain in her head. She knew this was it. It hadn’t been Ahmed, he wasn’t the leader of this rabble.
This thing was.
This blob of substance, this mush of flesh, and what appeared to be a mossy substance, stared at her, making no movement, attempting to get inside her head.
It was time, Elizabeth thought.
The thing snarled at her.
“Fuck you!” Elizabeth replied, staring at the monstrosity. She unzipped her pack, pulling out the bomb. It was eighteen inches long, cylindrical and shiny. She set it down, pushed a few buttons, crouched as she set the bomb.
Glancing back up, she looked at the thing. The blob of filth stared back. It couldn’t attack, it didn’t have the ability. Elizabeth pointed her MP5 at it, ready, just in case. She watched as the thing oozed, pulling itself into a crevice like a slug, fully aware of what was happening.
Elizabeth didn’t know how it knew, or how she knew the thing knew what was happening. Something overcame her, and she knew what was happening. The creature, the blob that was once Ahmed Massoud’s sister, was calling to them.
Not in words. No sounds.
It still called.
And the creatures answered her beckoning, turning and sprinting deep inside the cave.
“Come on in,” Elizabeth welcomed, her attention back to the bomb.
114
Thompson and York fired. They were running low on ammo. They knew their time was up. Then, one of the creatures leapt from a mighty distance, landing in front of them. They hardly had time to react. The thing, male, was massive, red skinned with a wide mouth. He had a large head, massive hands. He seemed to smile. And it had a distinct scar running down its face.
Ahmed.
What once was a famous Mujahideen warrior stood in front of the two members of The Unit. With all its might, it swung its hand, crashing across the two men, dropping them to the ground.
York went out, his head hitting a rock, blood leaking out.
Thompson, dazed, looked up. His jaw was broken, his arm twisted. He tried to stand, but Ahmed was atop him. The creature smashed, bit, gouged at the Delta member, and in a violent struggle Thompson did his best. Having his rifle flung aside, the man pulled a knife, stabbing violently, only seeming to irritate the creature.
And in one final motion, Ahmed slashed his long nails across Thompson’s chest, ripping it open.
The creature then leaned down, teeth chomping, and feasted upon Thompson.
Dale Comstock saw the horror, saw his friend die, and raced in. Rage consumed him, and he would kill this thing or die trying.
As he ran forward, Rivers began to follow. After two steps he heard a muffled scream, Turning, he saw three of the younger ones, white skin, caked in blood. They were atop Svetlana, biting at her, tearing her apart.
“Oh my God!” Rivers shouted.
He rushed in. They were too close for him to fire. Instead, he took the butt of his AK-47, bashing one across the head, knocking it off. He did the same to the second, it, too, falling to the ground. The third beast raised its head up. Dripping from the creature’s mouth was the freshly bitten flesh of the beautiful Svetlana.
Rivers screamed, fired, exploding the monster’s chest wide open. He turned, emptying his magazine into the other two, ensuring their deaths.
Rivers reloaded, did a quick sweep, looking for more. Strangely, the beasts were running away, pulling past him as if not noticing his presence. Rivers looked down, kneeling, eyes wide.
“Svetlana…” he whispered.
She gurgled, spitting up blood. “Jeff.”