Sara Reinke - Backwoods

It’s all right, he tried to convey, leaving the mask on her face. She was disoriented, though, frightened and confused, and struggled briefly with him, trying to push him away, slapping at him in a frantic frenzy. After a moment, realization dawned on her, along with recognition, and her struggles ceased. She uttered a stifled cry then sat up, shrugging and thrashing to work her hands loose from Langley’s guts.

Working together, they managed to wrestle her free. Leaning heavily against him, she stumbled to her feet, both of them keeping their oxygen masks over their mouths and noses. Andrew nodded to indicate the doorway, and she nodded once in affirmation. He kept a steadying arm around her as they limped together toward the door. One of the screamers—Larry, it looked like, to judge by its massive, misshapen hands—pawed weakly for them as they passed, and with a muffled cry, Dani danced sideways to avoid it. It didn’t move again, but they passed it quickly nonetheless, giving the rest of them as wide a berth as possible in their bid to escape.

By nothing short of a miracle, they managed to make their way back to the main entrance of the laboratory, and staggered together out into the night, the darkened expanse of the courtyard. Only then were they able to cast aside their oxygen masks, and both Andrew and Dani collapsed to their hands and knees, side by side in the grass, dragging in deep, whooping mouthfuls of air. It was cold outside, the pervasive chill made even worse considering their clothes were soaked with blood.

Blood and God only knows what else, Andrew thought, sitting up, grimacing as he drew the tacky, soggy front of his T-shirt back, then let it slap against his skin again.

“I couldn’t shoot,” Dani whispered, her voice strained. “Andrew, I…I’m sorry. I couldn’t shoot. I just kept seeing them in my mind, the way they were.” She blinked at him, her eyes enormous, childlike and fearful, her face streaked with gore, her hair sopping with it, clinging to her scalp and framing her face in messy tangles. “I knew them. All of them except Langley…they were my friends.”

“It’s alright.” Hooking an arm around her neck, he drew her against his shoulder. She trembled in his embrace and he kissed her brow, grime and gore be damned. “Everything’s going to be alright now, Dani.”

“What happened back there?” she asked with a timid glance over his shoulder at the lab.

“Inert gas fire suppression,” he said. “Carbon dioxide. It’s heavier than oxygen, so it displaces it, puts any fires out.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, what happened to them? To Langley and the others…to Alpha squad.”

He tried to explain, even though he felt fairly certain her understanding of bioengineering would as limited as his own.

“Dr. Moore did that to them? On purpose?” She began to rock back and forth against him, clearly in shock. “ Oh, God. Oh, my God.”

“It’s alright,” he soothed again, stroking his hand against her hair. “Come on. We’re wet and it’s cold. We need to get one of the trucks and get out of here.” He told her about Moore and Alice’s escape, and what Moore had told him about the roads leading to and from the compound.

“They’ve been clear the whole time?” Dani asked. “But why would Major Prendick lie about that? Why would he want us to think we couldn’t leave?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew shook his head.

They stood together and, huddled against the chill, made their way across the courtyard toward the parking lot and garage. “What happened to Langley,” Dani said. “That’s what was happening to Thomas, wasn’t it?” Her eyes had grown tearful at the mention of her friend and when Andrew nodded, she uttered a soft, pained gasp. “They did that to them, Prendick and Moore. They meant to do that to all of us.”

They’d neared the parking lot and could make out the looming silhouettes of two heavy duty trucks parked near the garage. “Where are the keys?” Andrew asked.

“By my desk,” Dani replied. “Inside the garage.”

They both spared a long moment to study the garage door, which unfortunately for them, was closed.

“The power’s out,” Dani said, breaking away from Andrew and squatting in front of it. “But I think there’s enough room to get our fingers beneath the bottom, try to raise it by hand.”

“Okay.” Andrew crouched beside her, wedging his fingertips between edge of the door and the pavement. “On three?”

She nodded and he counted out. At three, they both furrowed their brows and dug in their heels, grunting as they strained to pry the enormous door up on its tracks. With a grating squall of metal against metal, it lurched and rumbled slowly, begrudgingly up a few inches. It was all they could manage before the strain grew too much, and they both released their grips, resting for a moment.

“If we can get it up a little more, I can crawl underneath,” Dani said.

“Let’s try again, then.” Andrew slid his hands beneath the metal rim. “One, two… three!”

Again, he gritted his teeth as he and Dani both heaved against the door. This time, the scraping as it rolled up the tracks sounded agonized and shrill. It moved slightly higher, no more than a few centimeters and exhausted, they had to fall back.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked. “Back inside the lab, when I was still locked inside Moore’s office. You told me I was your reason. Did you mean that?”

He looked at her for a long moment, holding her gaze, unable to turn his eyes from her. Yes, he wanted to tell her. Yes, I meant it, each and every word.

“Dani,” he said softly, reaching for her. He let his fingers brush lightly against her face. She smiled at his touch, turned her face toward the caress.

He was so distracted that at first, he thought the sharp ratcheting sound he heard was the door lifting in the overhead tracks, that somehow the power had come back on and its motor was raising it once more toward the ceiling. It wasn’t until he felt bright, searing pain lance through his right ankle and his entire leg abruptly gave out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ground, that he realized.

Gunshots. I’ve been shot!

“Andrew!” Dani cried, then more shots rang out, the rapid patta-pat-PATTA of an M16 assault rifle set to burst mode, allowing a torrent of rounds to fly from behind them. They clanged in a noisy, staccato burst against the metal garage door, leaving dented craters with each resounding impact, sending a spray of sparks as they struck.

“Run,” he yelled, scrambling forward, ducking his head and forcing his shoulders beneath the thick lip of the garage door. “Dani, take cover!”

She dove for the garage door, smaller than he was, wriggling beneath more easily. His waist had cleared, his ass nearly so, but when she reached to help him, getting her feet beneath her again, more bullets punched into the slick concrete floor between them, forcing her to dance back.

“Stop shooting,” she screamed, even as more rounds pelted into the garage door, an overlapping barrage of drum-like pounding. “Whoever’s out there shooting, stop,” she yelled again. “It’s Specialist Santoro and Andrew Braddock. We’re friendlies! We’re friendlies!”

Andrew had made it into the garage and crawled on his belly away from the threshold, trying to get out of the line of fire, dragging his injured leg uselessly behind him. Reaching the side of the nearest truck, he sat up against the front wheel and jerked up the cuff of his pants. The bullet had sheared away a hefty chunk of flesh from the back of his ankle. Shit, he thought, clapping his hand against the wound. Blood had soaked his sock and pooled in his boot. He could feel it there, squishing and hot beneath his heel.