David Golemon - Ripper

“This is it, no farther, hold the line!” the sergeant shouted as the beast was only fifteen feet from them. Men were firing and quickly emptying their weapons.

Suddenly they heard the command coming from behind the creature. The order was loud and clear, even over the crackle of gunfire.

“Soldiers to our front, hit the deck!”

Collins had trained his men to not hesitate. He had drilled into them that any form of hesitation got people killed. The thirteen men of gate one security hit the ground just as a withering, powerful eruption of heavy-caliber gunfire opened up at almost point-blank range. The heavy-caliber rounds, most fired from fifty-caliber weapons, struck the creature, forcing it to turn and face the new threat behind it. That was its fatal mistake. It thought that it was going to face more of the light-caliber rounds of the security men, but instead it faced heavy fire that tore the front of the beast to pieces. It roared in pain and shook its massive head. It continued forward. Suddenly the altered soldier was dropped as a round fired from a fifty caliber Barrett single-shot rifle struck it between the eyes. The creature’s head literally exploded into mist. Still it took one, two, and then three steps forward before it fell into the desert sand outside of the old hangar.

Suddenly the frightened group of civilians and the security element from gate one saw over thirty shadows rise up from the still-hot sands of the desert. One of the men still held the smoking M107A1 fifty-caliber Barrett rifle.

“Jesus Christ!” the sergeant from the Event Group said loudly. “Where in the hell did you guys come from?”

A small man that held the large-bore fifty stepped forward and removed his ambient-light goggles and then his bush hat. He wiped sweat from his face as he stared down at the monstrosity he and his men had just dropped.

“We just dropped in from Never Never Land Trooper,” Major Jerry “Grateful Dead” Garcia said as he motioned his men forward. “Tommy, it looks like we’ll be rapelling. Get the gear ready.”

The sergeant stepped forward and held out his hand to the smaller man. Garcia noticed the civilians in the desert start to come forward. He ignored the sergeant’s handshake gesture.

“Sergeant?”

“Reggie Anderson, U.S. Air Force,” he answered.

“Well, Anderson, Reggie, Sergeant, U.S. Air Force, would you please keep your people back? If you were trained by Jack Collins, you can guess as to why we cannot mix with the civilian element of … of … hell, whoever you people are.”

The sergeant realized as he looked from the smaller man to his other rescuers that he was dealing with the highly deadly group of men known as DELTA. He understood immediately, turned, and waved everyone but his security team back into the darkness of the desert.

“Thank you, Anderson, Reggie. Now, can you tell me where Jack is?”

“I have no idea. The last I heard … well … the last I heard was that he was off base. Captain Everett has been stuck below since this mess began.”

The major looked down again at the beast at his booted feet. He reached over and removed a flashlight from his collar and snapped it on. His eyes roamed over the transformed man and he looked up at the sergeant once again as he snapped off the flashlight.

“One of yours?” he asked.

“Not exactly. This is one of the intruders. From what I understand, he didn’t come into the complex that way.”

“Must be the water down there, huh?”

The sergeant remained silent even as the major slapped him on the shoulder.

“Sorry, it was a long freefall, and I don’t handle it as well as when I was a sprout.”

One of Garcia’s men came over and handed him a small bag of gear.

“What’s you plan?” the sergeant asked.

“Well, the president said he wants those people down there brought out in one piece, so I guess we’re going in.”

“Can my men and I come along?”

Garcia looked up as he handed the heavy-caliber Barrett over to the man who had given him his rapelling gear.

“Thanks, but we work better alone. Grateful for the offer though.” Garcia turned away and then stopped and faced the Event Group security man once more. “By the way Sergeant, from two hundred feet up, we saw that you put up one hell of a defense. Pass that on to your men. I can see Jack Collins’s training there. You did real well. You and your men can fight with us anytime — just not tonight.”

The sergeant watched the small officer and his thirty-six-man team move off toward the hangar and the black hole that awaited them.

“Good luck.”

Niles had never been as frightened in his life as he walked the long and curving corridor. The white plastic helped in reflecting the weak lighting from the emergency floods but did nothing to dispel the shadows that threatened to give him a stroke every time he saw his own as reflected in the plastic wall and ceiling. In the million times he had walked this very corridor heading to either his office or the conference room he had never given one thought to the darkness that would prevail in the underground complex if power had ever been lost. If they survived this night of horrors he swore to himself that he would line every hallway, office space, and stairwell with so much backup emergency lighting that the heat would fry an egg if needed. With billions of dollars in high-tech equipment and millions more for a military arm, right at that moment Niles would trade half of it for more emergency lighting.

It was amazing how his ears and mind were playing tricks on him. In the almost empty complex, echoes and sounds from many levels away could be heard wafting up through stairwells and elevator shafts. Screams of his people and gunfire from what remained of the security staff kept Niles praying and moving. As he approached the double doors leading to his office, he slowed when he heard a faint echo. To him it sounded like a deep breath had been taken in and then exhaled. He froze as he came to the last curving bend. He knew the curve of the last corner didn’t offer the protection a straight-lined wall would have, but he tried not to expose much of his body. Somewhere in the distance, perhaps three or four levels down, the thump of gunfire wafted through the soles of his shoes and popped in his ears.

As he looked around the bend he finally saw the offices where he, Pete, Charlie, and Jack had been but an hour before. The doors were still propped open and he could see the desks of his assistants inside. His private elevator was to the left of the door and from his vantage point he couldn’t see the damaged shaft. He shook his head, moved as fast as he could to the door, and then stopped.

This time it was something else. Not breathing like he thought he had heard before, but something else he couldn’t put his finger on. Cursing himself for his deep-seated fear of the dark, Compton stepped into the outer offices used by his four assistants. He quickly looked around. It seemed everything was still as it was. The damaged elevator doors and the empty tubular shaft inside looked as if they held no hidden monster waiting to jump out at Niles. He cursed himself again as he remembered the nine-millimeter Beretta Jack had slipped into his hands. He again wanted to stomp his feet in anger as his frightened state was fast becoming something that was as deadly as the unnatural soldiers prowling his complex. He angrily reached back and pulled the heavy handgun from his waistband. He felt the pressure plate designed into the new Beretta disengage the safety on the weapon as he gripped it tightly. He felt better for at least the moment as he scurried across the reception room thinking that at least now he could shoot something, even if it was himself. Niles paused at his large oak doors, just waiting and listening. His eyes caught the large portrait of Abraham Lincoln at the centermost point of the main wall. Niles rolled his eyes.