John O'Brien - Chaos

The walkway and stairs prevents an angle to the ground directly below on the ramp side so the soldiers continue to direct their fire into those still coming into the light and on the fence.

“They’re inside the perimeter!” Lynn turns and yells to Drescoll.

He turns towards her from his kneeling position on the edge of the other side of the roof, “Here too!”

“We don’t have an angle on them below from here because of the stairs,” she replies back.

“We can hit them fine from here.”

That’s good news , Lynn thinks as she turns back to the ramp side observing that they only seem to have one blind spot; the spot directly below the stairs and ladder. If they manage to somehow find a way to navigate those ten feet to the first stair level, they will not know they are coming until they round the last level and emerge on the landing directly below them or hear them coming up the metal stairs. Creatures continue to emerge into the lights circling the tower in unrelenting groups and waves.

“Down to my last mag,” one of the soldiers calls out below her.

Lynn immediately details one of the soldiers manning the stairs to grab ammo from the crates stacked in the office below. He returns a short time later and positions it behind the group on the walkway. The gunfire on the ramp side ceases momentarily as soldiers grab a resupply of magazines. She then details the same soldier to carry some of the ammo to Drescoll’s side. Weary and deafened from the continuous noise, Lynn notices the sky to the east lighten, portending the coming dawn. As if a switch was thrown, the multitudes of creatures stop emerging into the light and the ones that were inside the perimeter and shielded from the stairs, run out into the still darkened ramp, chased by rounds with a few dropping before finding the safety of the dark.

“Cease fire!” Lynn calls as the last one is swallowed by the darkness. Sergeant Drescoll echoes her command to the group on his side.

The silence that ensues is deafening in its quietness. Even the continued sound of the running generator is not heard through the ringing in everyone’s ears and the smell of almost two hours of continuous gunfire hangs thick in the still morning air. With her legs stiff and knees popping from the time spent kneeling on the metal roof, Lynn stands and reaches around to the small of her back, stretching to work out the kinks.

“Police up whatever magazines you can find and meet inside,” she directs the soldiers below her.

They wearily begin to scoop up the many empty magazines on a walkway littered with shell casings. Lynn continues standing above them and notices how truly cold the night air is as she starts coming down from the flow of adrenaline. With one last look at the bodies covering the ramp and the sky continuing to lighten in the east, she starts down the stairs behind Drescoll and the other soldiers begin their slow, shuffle-like steps into the control room.

Details about what needs to be done in the coming day; fix the fence and gather additional ammo being among them, fills Lynn’s mind as everyone gathers in the control room. “It’s becoming fairly obvious that whatever changes have occurred with these, um, creatures only allows them to operate at night or in the dark. We’ll therefore only travel during the day and only in groups of four or more. Buildings will be treated as hostile environments and avoided as much as possible. If we need to go in, it will be completely cleared before gathering whatever is needed. If that is fine with you, sir?” She asks turning to Major Bannerman.

“Good plan, Sergeant Connell.”

“It’s 0525. We’ll stand down and rest until 0830 and then I’ll assign details. Besides the radio watch, we’ll stand two on watch in one hour shifts until 0830. Now get some rest,” Lynn says after assigning guards and shift schedules.

She opts to take one of the first shifts setting up on the roof covering the ramp and camp sides while a Corporal covers the runway and far side. Sitting with her legs swinging over the side of the roof, she looks out over her area with part of her mind while another part sorts through the multitude of thoughts that race through.

She holds onto the thought that Jack will come even as a logical part of her mind tells her the chances of that happening are marginal at best. She needs to ensure the safety and survivability of the group in her charge here. The camp will do for the short-term but if no one comes, they will need to move on for any chance of surviving in the long-term. That means a continuous supply of food, water, and shelter. To that end, it will mean a long, arduous journey; most likely to some land surrounding The Med and that more likely on the European side. For the first time, she thinks she may not see America again or that, if they are not picked up, it will be a long time coming. I’ll give it four more days before we start planning an alternate route , she thinks looking over to the western horizon with the sun rising in the east. A quick thought of Jack enters, Please be okay and come get us , before the short-term needs of the group preside.

The hour passes and she lays down on the floor of the control room, after passing the next shift to another Private, falling asleep almost before her head touches the floor only to be awakened after seemingly minutes. Waking the rest of the group, she details a squad of four to commandeer additional ammo, some to repair the fence as best as possible, and others to cart the bodies to an open area of the camp. With that detail, she assigns a heavy equipment operator to dig out a grave site to bury the bodies after collecting all of the dog tags she can. Her sense is that these were all once soldiers causing her to give them as close to a decent and military burial as possible.

Once the bodies have been interred, she gathers the entire group together in the early afternoon sun and heat to pay their last respects. The fence is resurrected as much as possible with a fresh lining of razor wire both on top and on the ground below. Ammunition is gathered and resupplied to the tower. The generator is filled with diesel. After the burial ceremony, Lynn has the group rest until the early evening anticipating a replay of the night before.

During the day, Private Turnbull came down with a fever. Lynn inspected the wound on his arm to find that the immediate area around the wound had become the same pale shade of gray of the creatures with a surrounding bright redness of infection. The fever became worse as the day progressed and by nightfall, Private Turnbull was dead.

The next two days and nights are replays of the first ones; resupplying, resting and burying the dead during the day and fighting off the attacks at night. Is this live or Memorex ? Lynn thinks during the third night. The creatures show up under the light in gradual numbers and overwhelm the fences; only to be halted and not being able to gain entrance to the stairs by the coming of dawn. How many can there be? The question passes through her tired mind as the rising sun chases off the last attack. The radios however remain silent as had any answering of telephone calls to the outside world.

The fourth day dawns as had the previous mornings. The sun rises in the east signaling yet another heat-infested day filled with the tedium of staying alive for yet another day. Lynn gathers her mind and thoughts towards vacating the area for a more survivable, long-term solution. The thoughts of their need to conduct a long, arduous journey and what they will need to accomplish this fills the majority of her day. Tomorrow she will begin to enact their withdrawal of the area and to create the criteria of their new destination. Tomorrow I will worry about that , she thinks as the sun begins its descent into the western horizon. Where are you Jack?