Kyle West - Extinction

He ducked back in, cursing.

“Michael!”

He shook me away. “I’m fine.”

“Quiet,” another man said.

I listened, hearing nothing for three long seconds.

That was when an explosion ignited outside, not in front of the door, but a short distance to the left of it. A bright flash of orange blinded me, and the heat of the blast licked my skin. The floor shook as I dropped to my belly, face down. Men groaned outside in the corner. I couldn’t tell if they were with us or them.

Michael stepped into the corridor. I was almost surprised when no bullets came to claim his life. He disappeared toward the left. I hesitated before following him.

Michael stood in a corridor littered with bodies, severed limbs, and crusted blood in the midst of crumbling concrete, rebar, and choking dust. I hacked in the sooty air. Nothing was recognizable.

“Where are we?” one of the men asked.

“Nowhere we need to be,” Michael said.

Michael turned from the collapsed tunnel, walking as if he knew where he was going. It was amazing how quickly such a man would be followed. We fell in step behind him as he turned to the left, not bothering to check the many open doorways he passed.

I was about to ask if we should slow down when Michael spoke.

“We become the hunters now.”

He reached a set of steps. At first, I thought it was to go up. I stared only for a moment before he struck downstairs.

I knew where he was going.

“Michael — this is crazy.”

He looked at me, his brown eyes intense. “Feel free to turn back. I’m going to hit them now, while most of their fighters are up here. I trust Makara and the others to hold the line. Any of you are welcome to join me.”

With that, Michael went down into the darkness, at first alone. He paused at the first landing, waiting a moment.

I thought about that day long ago when I followed Michael into the Wasteland for the first time. I would follow him again.

When I started after him, he gave a grim smile.

“Well, Alex,” he said. “It’s time to kill the Weasel.”

We quickly circled the flights of stairs down to level ten. Here the stairs ended, opening onto a long, dark corridor. Michael scanned left and right with his light.

At this distance, the gunshots had faded, though the occasional crack carried down the stairwell.

Michael walked forward, in search of another staircase leading down. The Lords’ headquarters were on level twenty, the lowest level of Bunker 84. With luck, they hadn’t left many defenders behind.

The corridor turned ninety degrees to the right, Michael’s light beam illuminating dancing motes. We walked a few steps before another stairwell materialized in the darkness.

Michael paused at the top of the stairs, listening. One of the men reloaded a magazine, the sound loud and echoing. Almost like a bullet itself.

Michael turned to face us. As an Officer and patrol leader in Bunker 108, he was used to leading. It was easy to follow him.

“Alright,” he said. “This one should lead straight to level twenty.” He fixed us all with a level gaze. “I don’t have much to say. I know we’re not supposed to be down here, but sometimes, you get a feeling you can’t ignore, an opportunity you can’t pass up. This is one of those. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, I don’t know what we’ll find. There’ll be civilians, so think before you shoot. Our priority is taking down the Lords and keeping the civilians safe.”

The men nodded and waited for Michael to speak again.

“Anyone not ready?” he asked.

No one spoke up.

“Let’s go.”

Of all the crazy things I had done since leaving Bunker 108, I felt this had to be one of the craziest.

We were running downstairs into darkness to confront an enemy of unknown size, without orders from either Makara or Samuel. But the prize was too tempting to pass up: we could save Ruth, Char, and Marcus, along with everyone else who had been trapped down there.

The flights went by in slow motion.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

On level fifteen, a surprised Lord had been standing guard, where he had obviously fallen asleep. As he rushed to get up, grabbing his rifle, he was shot down. That shot would echo downward to the twentieth level.

“Keep moving,” Michael said.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

There were only two flights left, now. If Makara and the others could hold on upstairs, this might all end tonight.

Nineteen.

That was where the fighting started. A blaze of bullets issued from men hidden behind doorways, felling two Angels before the rest of us could continue to the twentieth.

“Markos…Groot…hold the rear!” Michael called.

The two Angels obeyed, even knowing the danger, but someone had to hold the Lords off on nineteen while we continued to the twentieth. Two more Angels peeled away to assist Markos and Groot. Michael motioned the rest of us on.

We ran down the last line of stairs to twenty, into an empty hallway. The floor was cloaked in darkness. The screams of women and children were muffled by distance.

Michael went into a crouch, advancing forward. On level nineteen the firefight continued. A man screamed; us or them, I couldn’t tell.

We walked unopposed into a rec room — the same one Elias and I had spoken in just a week ago. Michael continued on into a dark hallway. The level was eerily silent.

We kept moving until we reached Hydroponics. The grow lights bathed the plants, casting green shadows on the many lanes running through it. Sprinklers misted the plants, producing rainbows as they refracted the light.

Michael approached the railing, low to the floor, peeking over. He watched a moment before turning toward us, holding up four fingers.

Four men on guard. It made sense that the Lords would leave some guards here. The food was their source of power.

There was no way we were sneaking by with almost twenty armed men, so Michael took careful aim. Several more Angels approached the landing, doing the same.

One of the guards amid the plants was startled, looking at our position. He squinted at us, as if unable to believe his eyes.

We opened fire.

Two of the men fell immediately as the other two dove for the plants. From within the maze of green foliage, several women screamed.

“Cease fire!” Michael said. “They have civilians working down there.”

We backed way toward the wall and away from the railing.

“The gang lords are the target,” Michael said. “This just distracts us.”

I didn’t like leaving the civilians behind, or the Lords at our back, but Michael was right. We had to stay focused on our goal.

Michael stepped away from the railing, sidling along the metallic wall, keeping as far from the overhang as possible. The men followed suit. The Lords below couldn’t take shots unless they actually climbed the stairs that led to the overhang — in which case, we’d have the advantage.

The sound of footsteps pounded from the corridor behind. Several voices called out as we readied to defend ourselves.

“It’s us! Angels!”

Three men appeared out of the original four that had stood guard at the stairs.

“What happened?” Michael asked.

“The Lords abandoned their position on nineteen,” the Angel said. “They disappeared onto the level, so we came to find you.”

Michael nodded. “Keep close.”

He turned and waved us on. He approached the corridor leading to the hangar.

We went around the corner. Michael hung right, where a flight of stairs branched from the corridor and ran down to the hangar. The metal steps rattled beneath our boots. Michael, at last, reached the metallic door reading “Hangar.”