R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

He directed his fire toward a soldier who was flattened behind a mailbox, hugging the ground and shooting at Hank. He breathed deeply, steadying his breath. His target was almost a hundred yards away and only a small patch of green camouflage presented itself. He let out half of his breath and slowly squeezed the trigger back. His rifle barked and a split second later, the soldier rolled over, yelling in pain.

Just then, movement to his left caught his eye. Hank had leapt to his feet and was running towards the soldiers’ position, firing the BAR wildly from his hip. Cooper’s mind screamed “No!”, as he desperately fired at the other soldiers. Dranko’s M16 erupted in a furious long burst of gunfire as he tried vainly to give Hank covering fire. From the east, the pace of fire from the other defenders, who must have also seen Hank charging, also picked up.

Seconds later, the bolt on the BAR slammed home empty. He kept charging forward, screaming madly. Then, a single shot rang out, stopping his forward momentum and knocking him backward. He stood for a moment, wobbling on his feet, the BAR falling from his grasp towards the ground. As he stood motionless, teetering, three more shots hit him in the chest. Cooper could vividly see each round’s impact, slamming Hank’s body this way and that in slow motion. Cooper could only look on in helpless agony. Finally, mercilessly, Hank’s body fell to the ground and found escape from the deadly fire.

Rage consumed Cooper. He found the source of the fire that had killed Hank; a soldier who lay propped against a white birch tree. The tree gave him cover from Cooper. A wry smile crept across Cooper’s face as he aimed directly at the tree and fired several rounds. The bullets tore through the tree and punched into the soldier behind it. From the range of fifty yards and in the moonlight, Cooper imagined more than saw the man’s stunned look as he fell to the ground. He tapped the FAL affectionately.

Cooper scanned for more targets, but could find none. No one was firing back against them. He took the risk and raced towards Hank’s side, some thirty yards distant.

He found him a mess. His breath came in raspy gasps. Blood smothered his torso. Cooper cradled his head in his arms, “Why’d you do that? Why?”

Hank mustered a smile, “Dunno. Just came over me. Worked at Normandy against some lousy Krauts,” blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth.

Cooper peered into his eyes, “I think you saved us all. Everyone found their courage and fired when they saw you charging.”

Hank nodded slightly, “Yeah. I felt useful again.” A gleam returned to his eyes.

“You’re a damned useful man, Hank Hutchison.”

He smiled dryly, “Not anymore.” Hank let loose a long gurgle before coughing up a mouthful of blood onto his shirt. A few rapid, seizing breathes later and then he was gone. Cooper rocked his body back and forth in anguish.

Moments later, Lisa came up, put her hand on his shoulder and kneeled down to examine Hank. Quickly, she closed his eyes. “I’ll take care of him.”

Cooper wandered off, dazed for a moment. Dranko came up, “Dead?”

“Yeah, dead,” he muttered.

“Surprising isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Hank barely could walk. To see him running across the street, guns blazing, it was just surprising.”

“It was amazing.” Cooper said, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, he turned to the matters at hand, “What’s our situation?”

“Well, Hank’s charge inspired a flurry of gunfire from our side. There’s about eight soldiers not in the Humvees. They’re all dead or might as well be. Our guys…and gals,” he said, correcting himself, “went a little crazy and just kept firing at them, even when they were down.”

“Cooper! You alright?” A female voice called from afar.

Cooper turned and saw Angela on his doorstep. She had come out after the gunfire ended. He waved at her. Seeing her galvanized him and he looked back at Dranko, “We gotta get going. Appoint someone to police up the bodies and restore our defenses. You and me, we need to move. We leave in five.”

“Yup, got it,” Dranko said and moved down the street.

Cooper strode over to Angela, “How’s Jake?”

“Same, but scared. I got him onto the ground. What was this all about? Soldiers? Attacking us?”

Cooper looked stolidly at the ground, “Yeah. Soldiers. Coming for me.”

“What?” she gasped.

Cooper’s tone grew harsh, “Yes. For me. That Major downtown, who Dranko and I went to see, must have talked to Mitchell. Must have decided they wanted me dead.” He spat the last few words.

“Oh, my! I can’t believe it.”

“I wouldn’t have either a half hour ago. It’s obvious now.”

“What’s obvious?”

“Whatever happened at Admonitus, they were up to something big. We need to move quickly. Hopefully, we can get to Mitchell before the Major realizes his attack failed. We leave in four,” he said, brushing past her to go into his house to gather the last of his supplies. He bandaged his arm as well, which thankfully, turned out to be a nothing more than a graze.

At nine o’clock, they left Cooper’s house. Cooper took the wheel of his sedan, with Angela in the passenger seat and her nurse’s bag in her lap. Dranko was in the rear seat, passenger side. The M16 was stowed in the trunk, as was Angela’s rifle. Cooper’s shotgun was on the seat next to him, under a blanket. All three of them had their pistols holstered and concealed on their hips. They kept the shotgun on the seat, believing it would bolster the bodyguard story. Driving Cooper’s unassuming sedan was similarly chosen to be less threatening than his pickup or Dranko’s Jeep.

Slowly and precisely, they picked their way across the city. None of them had driven this far at night since the plague had struck, and the nervous tension clouded the air inside the car. The barricade that Cooper and Dranko had encountered earlier on Division lay deserted. One of the vehicles comprising the obstacle lay aflame, sending soot into the air, black against the dark night sky. There were no signs of bodies, only stains of crimson in a few places on the asphalt that were made visible by the burning car. Inside their moving car, the trio’s alertness heightened, grips tightened on weapons, and their breathing became shallower. They drove onward.

The streets were largely deserted. Whenever they encountered another vehicle or pedestrians, they would circle each other like predators on the Serengeti, giving one another wide, wary berths as they passed. The city’s blocks were as before, a hodgepodge of untouched areas, with others showing the effects of fire, bullet holes, or the dead. Only this time, there was more of the latter. They also encountered a few more roadblocks and barricades, but were able to skirt around those without incident.

Nearing the Morrison Street bridge on the corner of Grand Avenue, they encountered a solitary figure. The man was tall, pushing seven feet. He wore a dirty basketball tank top and matching shorts. The shirt was smeared with blood. They could not tell if it was his own or not. Dranko deftly maneuvered the car to give themselves separation from him. His eyes locked onto Dranko’s and a thin, accusing finger pointed at him. Suddenly, his head fell backward and he laughed hysterically, “Off on an errand? What errands are there to do now? But the dying, the dying is all there is. No need to leave home for that!” As he rambled, his eyes fell back inside his head, so that only the whites were visible. Angela shivered.

“I hope that’s not some kind of omen for our attack,” Dranko complained. Cooper ignored him.

“I wish we could help the poor soul,” Angela said sympathetically.