Jonathan Maberry - SNAFU - An Anthology of Military Horror

The person on the ground turned at the sound. There was no mistaking Sergeant Lopez as she faced Watkins. Her long black hair had fallen from what was left of her bun, blood sticking long black strands to her face. Her arm hung loosely at her side like it was broken. She definitely needed medical attention. Why hadn’t Watkins thought to look for a first aid kit?

Watkins took a step closer. “You okay, Lorena?”

Lopez tensed, her eyes darting from Watkins to the engine with a frantic energy — looking at him with what he’d thought was longing. No, it was something more. She had the look of an addict, of need, just like his cousin back home in Trenton. She inclined her head and narrowed her eyes. It was almost like she was unsure what to do. Her eyes moved around and Watkins could almost see her brain working with thought.

“It’s me, Solomon. What happened to you?”

Lopez’s lip curled up in a snarl. A low growl rumbled from her chest and up to her throat just like a dog.

Watkins stopped, tensed. As Lopez’s eyes moved, he thought he noticed that her sclera weren’t white. He stared. The next time her eyes moved toward the engine he was positive. Each sclera was blue — the color of electricity — instead of white. Weird.

Think as he may, Watkins couldn’t come up with anything that would turn a person’s eyes that color. No disease, condition, or sickness… nothing. This whole scene seemed a little too surreal. Maybe he was still strapped to the chair in the C-17 in a coma. Maybe he was dead. That would make more sense than what he was seeing.

Lopez took a step toward him, spewing a guttural challenge; her eyes no longer unsure but wild and threatening, soulless.

“Don’t move, Lorena.” Watkins raised his weapon.

Without warning Lopez raged toward him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Watkins watched dumbfounded as her head ballooned outward with each step. His legs seemed to know what to do before his brain. He slowly backed up until a large stump stopped his retreat. Lopez kept coming. She was about twenty yards away and closing fast.

Watkins could see her scalp rippling. It looked like two shapes were moving, almost scrabbling around between her skull and scalp. Faster and faster the lumps moved around the circumference of Lopez’s head until she abruptly dropped to her knees, clutching her skull. She was less than ten yards away and her screams of agony echoed off the mountainside.

Watkins instinctively pointed the gun at her.

Lopez reached a hand toward him, the snarl replaced by a look of confusion, pleading. Under her skin the two lumps sped faster and faster. Watkins actually heard her skull crack. Lopez screamed one last time, clawing at the ground, pulling herself closer to Watkins. Then, incredibly, her head burst apart like a piñata at a kid's birthday party. Instead of candy, bone, brains, blood and… something else rained down.

Watkins jumped back, pain knifing through his ribs. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. People’s heads didn’t just explode. He was only a mechanic sent to fix an aircraft. Nobody was supposed to die.

He looked down at the body and saw a quick flitter of movement. Watkins leaned forward for a closer look. It was difficult to pinpoint through the remnants of Lopez’s head, but eventually the thing slithered onto her back.

It looked like some kind of black worm, about two inches long with barbed pincers. Its polished body reflected what was left of the light and reminded Watkins of obsidian. He took a few tentative steps forward. The thing — because he had never seen a worm like that before — stopped moving and almost seemed to be waiting. Another emerged from the carnage that used to be Lopez’s head, moving through the grass toward Watkins. Nasty little buggers.

“Back away. Slowly,” a voice whispered from behind. “They don’t live long without a host.”

Watkins wanted to turn and see who the voice belonged to but didn’t. It was nice to hear a real, human voice. He moved back with steady, even steps while watching the black worms. They were moving faster now slithering around in circles, probably looking for a new brain to explode. Why weren’t they going for the idiot banging away at the engine?

As if on cue, the Delta Force guy smashed the engine one more time. A moment later it crashed onto the ground below, jet fuel pissing from the broken manifolds.

Lopez’s worms had slowed. They raised their tiny heads to the sky and opened their pincers, screeching. With a buzz and an arc of what looked like electricity they exploded.

“What the hell were those things?” Watkins turned and saw a soldier dressed in head to toe black crouched near the crack in the fuselage. The soldier motioned him back.

“The worms? I wish I knew.” He pointed to what was left of Lopez, “That your friend?”

Watkins crouched and nodded.

“The same thing happened to a couple of guys from my squad. We call them screamers. Next time put a bullet through the host’s head before they get too close. The worms will still bust out but at least they won’t get inside you. I’ve seen one slither up a guy’s nose. It isn’t pretty.”

“Got a name for him too?” Watkins asked pointing to the Delta Force soldier who was pressing a shard of metal the size of a small book into his stomach. There were already pieces of metal covering his arms. His eyes shone with the same electric-blue light as Lopez’s.

“Those would be ironhides. They stick metal all over themselves like homemade armor. Even seen one pick up a gun and shoot another man down.” The soldier took two silent steps forward and fired. The bullet struck the infected soldier in the eye. As the fresh corpse fell, three worms broke free from the confines of his head. “RIP brother.”

“Who are you?”

The soldier smiled. “I’m Chen. We were sent to investigate a… discovery.” Chen looked up at the darkening sky. “C’mon, let’s get away from here before more freaks show up. The worms seem to be able to communicate. That screeching you heard was a call for help.” He looked inside the wreckage. “That Humvee operational?”

“Beats me,” Watkins said with a shrug. “I didn’t have time to find out as I was falling out of the sky and crashing, not to mention all the weird shit going down after I woke.”

Chen looked from the Humvee to Watkins. “We’ve got to find out. That’s probably our best chance at getting the hell out of here in one piece. There’s a naval base not too far south of here. Edgerton Springs.”

Chen crept through the tear in the fuselage, Watkins staying close.

Chen glanced through the passenger-side window. “Steering lock. If we can find the loadmaster, we should find the keys.”

“He’s not here.”

“Duh,” Chen said. “I just want to make sure the Humvee isn’t fried.”

Chen tried the Humvee's door. It opened. He looked around a minute before releasing the hood. “Take a look and tell me what you see.”

Watkins walked around to the front of the vehicle. To his surprise everything looked in order. The battery didn’t have any char marks like he thought it would. “Looks good,” he whispered back.

Careful to make as little noise as possible, Watkins eased the hood down.

“I want you to stay here while I get the others,” Chen said, inspecting his weapon. “I’ll be back in five.”

“But you just said we should get out of here. What do you want me to do?”

Chen pointed to the open Humvee. “I want you to get in and be quiet.”

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Watkins’ stomach. He eyed the corpses suspiciously before looking back at Chen. “I’m just a mechanic.”