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steel him for this. Cold sweat drenched his body despite the insufferable heat
as he stood amid the elaborate network of caves with his small strike force
squad, clutching the alternate clip in his fist. Fear had a stranglehold on
him. Not one of their own. Not Rod. He told himself that it was the constantly
blowing sand and grit that made hot moisture form in his eyes.
Temporarily paralyzed like the others, he waited as seconds clicked away,
eating up the training that was supposed to prepare him for this moment. All
they could do was stare in horror.
Rod had gone into a violent seizure. Phase one. Doc Holland's voice echoed
through his mind as a distant memory. Give the man a shot. He did. It didn't
work. Step back way back, out of lunge range. He did that. God knew, he did
that. Slam in your clip of silver shells if any team member's eyes changed.
They had. Motion should be fluid and precise. Lizard brain. Don't think about
it, just do it. A new clip was supposed to go in. His mind told him to yell to
his men to switch to what they only thought was hollow-point ammo. But his
clip was still in his hand, frozen. His vocal cords were frozen, too.
Cap's eyes glowed gold, his pupils pitch-black orbs of never-ending darkness.
His normal shock of red hair had lengthened and gone midnight black right
before then-very eyes and covered his face, his jaw& a jaw that became
distended and filled with glistening, saliva-slicked fangs. Bones and
ligaments ripped and snapped, the sound causing nausea as the leader of their
squad cried out in sheer agony. Clothes tore away from his body as he shivered
on the ground growing larger, and larger, becoming less human& and
"Hollow-point clips in!"
Survival instinct immediately took over the second whatever was on the ground
swung its huge head in his direction and snarled. The clip was in, weapon
leveled, a gaping maw opened, and the thing went airborne. He yelled to his
men to take cover and squeezed off rounds falling backward; the other men, in
a frenzy, fired, began running, chaos. Chunks of flesh and gore fell from the
beastly body; warm wetness splattered his face and fatigues. Nausea made his
stomach pitch. A huge creature was still coming toward him, and only a
split-second roll away kept it off him. When it hit the ground it didn't move.
The bullet-riddled carcass lay limp on the rocky terrain for a second, then
was up and gone in a blur.
Jumping up quickly, Woods ran to find cover with the other men. Johnson held
out a sat phone to him with a shaking hand. Four other pairs of wide eyes
looked at him for direction.
"Oh, shit& " Johnson finally whispered. His huge dark frame was covered in
sweat and he just kept shaking
his head, backing farther and farther away from the group.
**Mother of God," Gonzalez croaked, crossing himself. "I don't fucking believe
it."
"I'm out. Fuck all this, man," Sherwin said, hoisting up his weapon. His blue
eyes darted between where the carcass had been on the ground and the
lieutenant. "Shoot me in the head now, if you gotta. I didn't sign up for this
shit, Woods. Uh-uh. They never told us this was possible!" His voice broke and
he raked his brunet hair with stiff fingers. "Did you know? Huh! Did you
fucking know! I didn't sign up for this!"
Sherwin, Gonzalez, and Johnson were the select human soldiers who served as
backup for them, depending on the nature of the mission. They knew about the
pack and their infection, but what had just happened was a whole other ball
game.
"If something like this showed up on your mother and sister's back porch,
would you give a shit then, Sherwin?" Lieutenant Woods said between his teeth.
"Pull yourself together! This is a domestic threat." He looked around at the
men on his squad. "Be clear. I will shoot all deserters point-blank range. And
what we just saw here is exactly why you're part of Delta One."
Hard gazes looked away from Woods and sought the horizon. Fisher turned away
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and puked, his lanky body shaking uncontrollably. Sweat had turned his blond
hair dark. Blood splatter and hunks of animal meat dropped from his face and
uniform.
Sherwin and the others lowered their weapons toward Fisher and Lieutenant
Woods, unsure. Both were covered in what had been Rod Butler's blood. Both
obviously carried possible contagion, in their minds.
"Everybody stay calm. I'm calling for an extraction.
They gave me a code. Just like they gave us the special bullets to take one of
these things down. You can't catch the virus like that you have to be bitten."
"It wasn't a thing a few minutes ago," Johnson argued. "It was Rod, man. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]