Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

“A half hour ago. Doug! The soldiers aren’t stopping! They’re running right on past!”

“You and June stay down, Amelia. I’ll try to get you some help.” Damn it all, Amelia should have reported it when the spotter was first killed. For the last half hour he had been assuming they were safe from attackers coming from that direction. There was no use blaming her, though. She wasn’t military.

And where was Gene? He should have been back by now.

“June isn’t here. She went down to join the others defending the entrances.”

His heart bounded around inside his chest at that, but there was nothing he could do except wish he hadn’t been quite so precipitous about taking her to the firing range that one time. What he had been hearing was mostly rifle fire. What in hell did she think a popgun of a revolver could do against assault rifles? He knew he was raging at himself instead of her, but something had to be done quickly and the admin building was far removed from his position. He thumbed his phone, wanting to talk to Teresa and see if she had any troops left in reserve, and whether she had seen Gene. He got no answer and cursed, then tried the platoon leader who should be next nearest to the administrative building. He felt a sense of relief when someone answered this time, but only for a moment.

“Branklin, Post three,”

“Roy, Doug here. We’re in trouble at the admin building. Can you send some troops to help them?”

“No. Goddamn Army bugged out. I’m trying to collect stragglers and put them on the line here to keep us from being overrun. I was just getting ready to call you for help.”

Doug felt as if an arrow had impaled his heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think of something else to do. There was nothing. He had to steel himself to keep his voice steady. “You’ll have to hang on, Roy. Make sure everyone knows what’ll happen if they get taken, if they don’t already. If we can beat them back on the other side of the complex here, I’ll try to get some help for you.”

He thumbed the phone off and continued calling. Bullets began striking the improvised bunker, smashing holes through the piled up furniture. He ducked lower, shielding his body in the shallow hole dug beside the sidewalk leading into the science building. He knew in his heart that their forces were too thin to prevent the complex from being overrun if the attacking force was willing to accept enough casualties.

The only part he had a chance to save was the security and treatment buildings, and the science building where he had placed his combat headquarters and the heaviest defenses. It was the one area that absolutely had to be held. If necessary, he would put the scientists themselves into the fight. Better to lose a few of them than the whole bunch, and he had seen to it that they were armed.

From the direction of the admin building he heard the explosion of a rocket propelled grenade. He shuddered, hoping the enemy didn’t have many of them. His own supply was limited and the men who knew how to use the RPGs were limited, too.

A momentary lull in the fighting allowed him to leave his headquarters in Martha’s capable hands until Teresa returned. He was thankful Martha was back, even with one arm still in a cast. He ducked and ran with his rifle ready, heading for the next barricaded entrance where communication had ceased. Just as he dived for its shelter, a burst of automatic rifle fire kicked up concrete shrapnel as it walked along the sidewalk. A number of the concrete chips got him in both legs and the forehead, but it was a bullet in the calf that sent him tumbling. He hung onto his rifle with grim determination and slid into the narrow depression behind displaced earth and landscape timbers. Shovels to dig emplacements had been surprisingly hard to come by.

“You’re hit, Doug!” One of the men said as he rolled over to reload his rifle.

“I’ll manage. What’s happening here?” Then he saw the sprawled bodies behind him and how few were still defending this entrance. He had almost turned away, then jerked his gaze back to the bodies. One of them was Gene Bradley, his head almost severed from his body by what must have been shrapnel from an RPG. He looked away quickly, feeling his gorge rise. Always the good ones, he thought sadly.

“The phone got hit and Gene bought the farm and we haven’t had time to call anyway. We were damn lucky to stop them this time, but we can’t do it again. Get us some help!”

While intermittent gunfire raked their position, Doug wrapped a bandage around his leg to slow down the bleeding. The troops fired back whenever they had a target. His leg was beginning to throb but there was no time to worry about it. Think! He told himself. This was the transient apartment building where he doubted anyone was still left inside. Gene’s last order had been for all non-combatants to gather inside the science building. The administrative building was a bad position to try to defend, but if the transient quarters couldn’t hold, he could at least take the troops when they abandoned it and use them to try to rescue the occupants of the admin building. And June.

“All right,” he said, coming to a decision now that he knew for certain he was in charge. “We’re going to abandon this building, try to hook up with the admin site. We’ll get everyone there, evacuate the wounded, then all of us fall back to the treatment and science buildings. Maybe we can hold those and our security center.”

The man in charge of the post nodded, then let loose several quick, three round bursts of rifle fire. “I’ll pass the word,” he said. “Just tell me when. And it better be damn soon!”

“Give me a lot of covering fire for five minutes,” Doug answered, “then run like hell to the rear entrance here. I’ll gather everyone else along the way and we’ll try to get to the admin building. You try to hold here long enough to cover us when we retreat from there with the staff. Got it?”

Another nod.

“Give ‘em hell!” Doug shouted as he jumped up and broke into a run. Bullets chased him despite the covering fire, making all too familiar noises as they displaced air near his head and gouged holes in the brickwork adorning the ground floor of the building. Chips of brick joined the shards of shattered glass piling up from shot-out windows.

By the time Doug flattened himself behind the bullet riddled bunker at the back of the building, his leg was bleeding copiously again. He tightened the bandage even as he counted heads, then had to duck as a fusillade of shots came from near the admin building itself. Two of his men were hit. The others crouched behind what cover they could find; the bunker was too small to contain them all. He took a chance and raised up far enough to see, using a whole clip on automatic fire to keep heads down over where the shots had come from. His heart sank as he saw a whole swarm of black men in civilian clothing break from concealment around the corner of the building and rush the entrance. The few defenders fell quickly, then the blacks took cover inside and behind the captured post and began shooting back at them, putting out a volume of fire he couldn’t hope to match. More blacks cascaded from around the other corner and he knew it was hopeless. The building was lost, along with everyone who might still be in it, including June and Amelia.

“June!” For long seconds he could think of nothing else but her. Tears leaked from his eyes. A rifle butt jabbed him in the shoulder, bringing him back to his senses.

“Doug, we’ve gotta get out of here before they get us, too!”

Doug knew the woman was right. He didn’t even remember her name but for the moment she was thinking clearer than him. There was nothing he could do but agree. And do it. Ducking and crouching, they retreated, picking up a few stragglers along the way. A few minutes later his force hooked up with the platoon still holding the treatment facility. And here he found most of the medical staff, come down to help defend their patients. He searched frantically, but could see neither June nor Amelia, nor anyone else he recognized from the admin building. They were either dead or captives.