Davis Aurini - As I Walk These Broken Roads

Moving leap-frog, they went further along. Past the turnstiles was another set of steps. He could make out the light from several different fires reflecting off the roof of the lower level. Wentworth was leaving a path for them to follow.

With hand signals he grouped his Section on either side of the stairs. It was quiet. When they moved their footsteps echoed and their trench coats swished. Their weapons made greasy clacking sounds as they adjusted their grips. The fires crackled softly while in the distance a moan almost too low to be heard resonated through the long tunnels. He grabbed the shoulder in front of him, not caring who it was. “Prep smoke,” he whispered in their ear.

Wentworth was leaning against the wall in sitting position, canted to his right so that his point of aim would be at the distant subway platform. His weapon’s sling was wrapped around his right arm, his hand was on the pistol grip, while the weapons magazine was cradled in the crook of his left elbow. His arms were crossed and the weapon was nestled snugly between the two. Taking deep breaths he tried to slow his heart rate. This shot needed to be on target.

Running was not an option. This time, it was a question of resources. If he and Raxx were to attempt flight it would be a pyrrhic victory. Without their vehicles and supplies Phillips would eventually catch up with them and it would be the same fight, only they’d be exhausted and hungry. Better to make their stand now. Phillips had screwed up by not killing him immediately, and now they were both flying by the seat of their pants.

Except Wentworth had already explored these tunnels.

He could barely make out the distant subway platform. The fire Raxx had lit had been in a garbage can. It was projecting its light upwards towards the ceiling, not onto the platform itself. But Wentworth could remember what it looked like and the few things reflecting the light were enough of a guide for him to take up a point of aim.

A metal canister bounced down the stairs, Wentworth recognized its sound. It started spewing out purple smoke and within seconds the platform was covered.

That was okay. He still had his point of aim. Time for the eyes to go glassy, and the heart to beat steady.

Ears straining, he made out the sounds of footfalls. They were coming down the stairs, planning to immediately bypass the platform because it was lit up, and go straight for the tunnels. He waited a moment, guessed at the timing, and squeezed the trigger.

His rifle cracked and struck his eardrum, the cement tunnels echoing viciously, followed by a loud blast from the platform. Its echoes interplayed with the echoes from his rifle for a second. Then the screams started.

Wentworth was already running. He’d used the recoil of his weapon to roll backwards, onto his feet. The next platform was close at hand, he could make out the red glow of another of Raxx’s fires. He ran blind, not risking a flashlight, trusting the reflections off the two rails. Everything was glints of silver and red. The sound of machinegun fire started up just as he reached the platform. His rifle was raised up in one hand while his other grasped the side of the platform. Invisible in the shadows, Raxx grabbed the hand guards on Wentworth’s rifle and pulled him up. Something bit into the back of Wentworth’s calf and he gasped in pain, sagging for a second — goddamnit, the same fucking leg! — but his grip on the rifle only tightened as Raxx finished hauling him.

They were safe for the moment. The back of his leg felt wet, but aside from the initial bite he felt no pain. Time to come up with another idea.

Phillips had noticed the fire extinguisher bolted to the wall immediately upon entering the platform. As soon as he saw it things clicked; he knew what Wentworth was planning, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything before the man’s round had screamed through the smoke and into the container of pressurized gas. It had been all Phillips could do to dive for cover as it exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere.

Now two of his men were dead, a third dying. He’d grabbed the machine gun off the dying one and vaulted down to the tracks. He’d fired for a good five or six seconds, raking it back and forth across the tunnel, before releasing the trigger. Exposed as he was he didn’t dare turn on the flashlight to see if he’d hit anyone. They’d need to regroup and keep going.

Steele had dragged the dying gunner to cover and was administering first aid, while the other three took up covering positions. Phillips could already see that the first aid would be useless; one of the dead had been their medic. To their credit, none of his troops looked phased. Two, soon to be three, of their brothers were dead, but they’d deal with their emotions later. Right now there was work to be done.

They regrouped quickly, though it took longer than Phillips would have liked, then arrayed themselves along the tunnel and started moving. Ahead the next platform glowed, a garbage can fire had been kicked over and the chamber was easily visible. They jogged, not wanting to waste time, trying to deny any advantage to Wentworth and his cohort.

At the last platform there’d been had tracks running along either side; here, the tracks came together and there were two platforms. The kicked-over barrel was on their left, but he decided to hedge his bet and split their force — three on the left, three on the right. They climbed up while he covered them. They were still cautious and sharp, fluid, taking the area in stages, staying behind whatever cover they could find. The boarding-area was clear. Their quarry would be above, by the ticket booths.

Raxx remembered this area. The stairs came up on either sides of the tunnel, and the platform was huge, shops littering both side of the rotunda. Above it was a semi-circular balcony, leading towards the exits, and looking down on the subway stairwells. They were up on it now, crouched in the shadows with their weapons trained. Wentworth had called it the fatal funnel. This was where they were going to end it.

The minutes stretched on. It was dark. Only the barest hints of red, flickering light reached them. Finally they heard sounds from below. Wentworth’s hands were sweating, he opened and closed his right before putting it back on the pistol grip. Phillips was being cautious.

A glint of black in the stairwell. He and Raxx opened fire. The gong of a grenade launcher. Raxx was already running, as planned, after firing a short burst. Wentworth dove to the side, rolling onto his stomach and bringing his rifle up. A piece of shrapnel pinged off his helmet as he started firing back down into the stairwell. Raxx had circled around the balcony and was going down the service stairs. Without exposing himself, the grenadier lobbed a second grenade. This one exploded against the ceiling. Wentworth ducked again. This time he couldn’t tell what showered his body, bits of concrete or shrapnel, but he still seemed to be okay. He rolled back from the edge and played dead.

“Move!” came the shout from below. The Section tried to bypass the stairwell as quickly as possible, but the troop guarding their six was too slow. By this time Raxx had snuck down the service stairs, and was crouched at the back end. His shotgun chugged as he held down the trigger. The muzzle flash lit his face white, casting shadows on his eye sockets and making the hairs of his goatee stick out like a thousand threatening needles. His piercings glowed viciously.

As Raxx fired, Wentworth stood up and started snap-shooting into the stairwell. Raxx backed off and Wentworth switched to fully automatic. That’s when he saw the movement on the second stairwell. He switched his point of aim, but it wasn’t enough. “Raxx, get down!”