M Banner - Silo - Summer's End

Krista never moved. “Not a chance, asshole.”

Summer flew out of her chair and backed away, her feet taking her to the wall behind. The dog went with her, remaining at her side, its ears back and fur standing on end.

“I’m not going to ask again,” Fletcher said to Krista, planning to eliminate the dog next.

Krista clenched her teeth, pushing air through them as she spoke. “Then you’d better take your best shot because I’m not letting anyone put their hands on that girl.”

“Please, Simon. We can work this out,” Edison said in a frantic tone.

Before his next heartbeat, Fletcher heard a long string of pops outside. They were random and at a distance. Gunshots. Dozens of them. They were followed by a chorus of commands. Frantic. Amplified.

Edison whipped his body around to face the door. Summer and Krista did the same. All eyes were now in the direction of the noise beyond the door.

Fletcher followed suit just as Heston broke through the door, his eyes wide and breath short. “We have a situation. I need everyone to follow me.”

Nobody moved. Only stunned silence.

“I said, let’s go! Now!”

Krista collected Edison and led him to the door. Summer followed and so did Sergeant Barkley, his paws pounding at the floor.

Fletcher looked at Frost, waiting for orders.

“You heard the man, let’s move!” Frost yelled, his feet moving first, following the others out of the door and into the foyer.

Fletcher closed ranks behind Frost, as did Dice, the two of them coming together.

Dice sent his fingers into the knot of hair that made up his bushy ponytail. He pulled out a cylindrical tube about the size of a Chapstick. They’d hidden it inside his thick mop, where they knew Heston’s guards never checked.

Dice gave it to Fletcher, who promptly tucked it in his hand, while everyone’s focus was on Heston leading the way.

Gunshots continued, growing in number and intensity. Some of the verbal commands outside had been replaced by screams, raising Fletcher’s heartbeat in the process.

Heston, Edison, Krista, Summer and Frost were now outside the central building, being protected by a lineup of Krista’s guards and Frost’s men. The dog was there too, his legs moving in lockstep with Summer, never leaving her side.

They all stood together, unarmed, a few yards from the end of the booths marking Trader’s Row. The vendors had all fled, leaving their trinkets and other valuables behind.

Fletcher and Dice caught up, stopping two steps behind Frost, who was bracketed by the remainder of his guards.

To the right, Summer stood on one side of Edison, Krista on the other, with her team holding position in front of her.

A skirmish line of Heston’s guards stood in front of everyone, using a half-moon formation, firing with their rifles level to the ground. The barrels moved left and right as the gunfight continued.

Fletcher knew the signs—they were spraying and praying, each of the thirteen men hoping to take out the threats ahead.

“Everyone back!” Krista snapped, her eyes focused on the swarm of Scabs climbing over the fence line ahead. Her hand went for the holster on her hip, but it was empty. She looked at the cowboy closest to her. “Hey you!”

He peered back with a puzzled look on his face, his rifle still engaged and shooting one round at a time.

“Your sidearm,” she said, motioning at the weapon on his hip.

He let go of his rifle with one hand, then pulled the revolver from his holster and tossed it to her. It floated with almost no rotation, much like a knuckleball from a pitcher. She caught it, flipped it around, and cocked the hammer, aiming it at the Scabs ahead. “Tell the others, too.”

He did as she asked, spreading the word, bringing more pistols out of their respective holsters. The revolvers were passed from man to man until they were in the hands of both Krista’s and Frost’s men.

The Scabs were everywhere. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, flooding the compound in waves, their hands and feet scaling the switchback fence line with the dexterity of tree monkeys. Some of their heads exploded in a burst of red after bullets made impact, but the rest of the throng kept advancing.

A flood of Scabs broke off and swarmed the two guard towers, climbing the struts like an army of ants. The men in the towers got off several shots, but there were too many coming at them. It only took seconds for the horde to overrun their position and begin their munching feast.

Edison and company shuffled to the rear while the bullets and commands continued from the guards standing firm in front of them. Some of the orders were issued by Heston. Others were from Krista and Frost, each leader invested in repelling the attack.

Fletcher opened the tube Dice had given him with a twist of its cap, then put a finger over the spout to control how much fluid would leak out. He flicked it at Dice while Frost was turned away, sending drops of the pheromone solution onto the redhead’s shirt.

Fletcher did the same to himself, then raised an arm to sample its odor. It wasn’t strong, but it was noticeable, if anyone took a moment to sniff. He didn’t think that was likely, not with the pandemonium unfolding ahead of them, which is why he waited until now to deploy the deterrent.

“There are too many! We gotta run!” Summer yelled.

“Isn’t there a back gate?” Fletcher asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. Follow me,” Heston said, pointing. “This way. Hurry.”

One by one, their group peeled off and followed Heston’s lead, passing close to Fletcher. Frost was the first, pulling a rush of frigid air with him.

When Summer scampered by with Edison, Fletcher applied the elixir to both of them in a covert splash.

Then he did the same to Krista, who followed behind Edison and the girl, walking backwards with her gun at waist level, firing two rounds at the Scabs.

Krista must have felt the liquid hit her skin, her eyes turning fierce. “What the hell is that?”

“No time to explain. Just trust me,” Fletcher said, his voice barely audible over the barrage of gunfire. “We gotta go! Now!”

Krista lowered the gun, then turned and ran after the others.

Fletcher put the cap on the tube and stuffed it inside his pocket before he and Dice followed behind Krista.

Their group turned a sharp corner along the back side of the main building and jogged past the backhoe, eventually running into a stampede of Scabs coming from the right. They were packed together and snarling.

Fletcher saw one of Heston’s cowboys climb the metal steps and enter the cab of the John Deere, then slam the door closed. He started the turbo-charged engine and spun the seat around before grabbing the control sticks.

A moment later, the hydraulic arm on the back of the dirt mover swung sharply. First, he brought it to the right, smashing into a collection of Scabs who were looking the other way.

The sudden impact sent them in the air as if they were hockey pucks heading down the rink. They landed on top of several more of their kind, knocking them down like pins in a bowling alley.

The operator brought the bucket back the other way with a jerking force, swatting three more cannibals, this time separating one of the meat-eater’s legs in the process. Blood shot out in a wide arc as the bucket followed through, catching another Scab in the head. It, too, blew apart, sending brain matter and blood on the same trajectory.

The Scabs must have finally realized what was happening and turned their attention on the great machine, swarming it from all sides. Soon the yellow paint across the forged steel disappeared from view, fully engulfed in human scavengers.

The man inside the cab didn’t stop what he was doing. He brought the backhoe bucket up about fifteen feet and then started to pound Scabs from above, stamping them flat like cockroaches. Strike after strike was made. Boom. Boom. Boom, each time the bucket compacting one of them into a pile of bones and goo.