With a few temperate slaps and some water Youngman rose from his
unconscious state. The gas had left his lungs but his health was not what
Reeves and Wallace cared about. It was his firepower.
It wasn't uncommon to see the acidic ooze to bubble but Wallace realized some other movement in the fluid. These bubbles seemed larger than most. But when the layer of glowing slime poured off of whatever it was, they quickly realized this was no bubble. These were bodies. Soldier bodies were rising from the nuclear fallout and the group was going to need ever bullet they had.
Youngman wiped a drip of saliva off his lip, gained a weak form of stableness, and unloaded a few burst fires of the freaks. They didn't know where the feed of soldiers was coming from but it wasn't important. There key now was to get to the filtration plant and survive while doing so.
Flashes of brass danced around the room, holding the slow-moving grunts back. These grunts were different. The radiation mutated them. There skin was cracked and gray, they moved rather slow and fired their damaged guns very inaccurately. The bullets seemed to explode in a rather angry and barbaric fashion. They were hard to take down though. Their muscles were cramped in the clunky armor, sometimes ripping and bulging out of the armor itself. Even when they seemed to have fallen to their death the got back up again. Not all of them were slow, though. Some had mutations to their legs that made them rather fast. These were a more formidable opponent because they had ditched their guns and used their mutated claws to strike down their prey.
The chemical storage area was six compartments large. Each compartment contained eight vats. Each vat was about 15 feet wide and 30 feet long. Each vat brewed a countless number of mutant grunts and freaks. Ammo was short. Reeves tossed his empty M16 into the burning slime and began firing double handedly with grunt shotguns. He felt a special keenness about them but his good aim was soon interrupted by his lack of firepower. He couldn't figure it out. The grunts seemed to never run out of the strange looking shells but when Reeves ripped one out of there decaying hands he ran out of munitions in seconds. What were they doing that he wasn't? There didn't even seem to be a slot for the gunman to reload the weapon.
"THE BACKPACK!" Youngman screamed over the fire, the gun burst illuminating his face, "ITS SOMETHING WITH THE BACKPACK!" Reeves looked at him strangely. He tore a pack off a dead, or fallen grunt. His firepower lasted. The bullets didn't seem to stop they kept coming in just in time to meet radioactive-soldier skull. The clever half of Reeves's mind thought: What the hell was in these backpacks? The warmongering half of his mind though: Who the hell cares?
They cleared four of the six sections. Now thousands of freaks were coming in, slowed only by the crowd ahead of them. By this time they all ditched their military issue arms and bore the grunt standard shotgun accompanied by a huge heavy backpack. Reeves carried three guns, two in each hand, and one spare. Five of six now. They gave a short cheer to celebrate that they made it to the sixth area. They soon realized there was nothing to cheer about. The door that lead to the next safe room was not only pre-bombarded with mutants, undead, freaky, and just plain normal grunts but also the door was electronically locked. The control room was going to be hard to get to.
They had very short seconds to think. They darted their bodies around picking off the grunts rising from the radiation. They angrily shot their weapons and the freak grunts speedily crawling along walls and ceilings. They defended themselves against the living, dying, or dead, grunts trying to push them into the fallout and make them one of their kind. Wallace spotted the controls room. It was merely a five-foot depression in the wall adjacent to the door and was protected by a single pane of glass. He ran at the glass and dove into it, avoiding the undead grunt at its proper entrance. He flipped a couple switches and the door slowly opened. Wallace kicked the undead soldier down from the behind and ran to the unlocked door. Reeves followed close behind. The big angry mob of freaks came too. Time was short and Youngman was still about sixty feet away. Wallace pressed against door, breathing heavily, and keeping his palm on the lock. He and Wallace were safe but Youngman was still out there. Reeves was on the ground with his back turned, also catching breath, he wouldn't know what happened. Once the door was locked Youngman would have to go all the way to the control panel just to unlock it again. Wallace had a heavy choice. But it was only logical! If he left the door open they would all probably die. If they lost just one, they could still show their wives back home they were still alive and fighting, the operation wasn't a failure like mission command said.
He slammed the lock button hard. He felt the gust of air as the electronic locked sealed the door shut all around. He felt the shake. The slight vibration of Youngman, slamming against the metal door. Reeves jumped back from his position on the floor. He saw his screaming face. His hand scraped at the six-inch window. Wallace felt the heavier rumble of scatted shotgun shells and sharp claws. Reeves saw the blood spray and drip on the window. His face slid from view of the small window. Wallace felt his body thud against the door. Reeves saw the blood. Wallace truly felt the blood. Infecting him. Spreading through him. The blood carried hate. Revenge.
It wasn't uncommon to see the acidic ooze to bubble but Wallace realized some other movement in the fluid. These bubbles seemed larger than most. But when the layer of glowing slime poured off of whatever it was, they quickly realized this was no bubble. These were bodies. Soldier bodies were rising from the nuclear fallout and the group was going to need ever bullet they had.
Youngman wiped a drip of saliva off his lip, gained a weak form of stableness, and unloaded a few burst fires of the freaks. They didn't know where the feed of soldiers was coming from but it wasn't important. There key now was to get to the filtration plant and survive while doing so.
Flashes of brass danced around the room, holding the slow-moving grunts back. These grunts were different. The radiation mutated them. There skin was cracked and gray, they moved rather slow and fired their damaged guns very inaccurately. The bullets seemed to explode in a rather angry and barbaric fashion. They were hard to take down though. Their muscles were cramped in the clunky armor, sometimes ripping and bulging out of the armor itself. Even when they seemed to have fallen to their death the got back up again. Not all of them were slow, though. Some had mutations to their legs that made them rather fast. These were a more formidable opponent because they had ditched their guns and used their mutated claws to strike down their prey.
The chemical storage area was six compartments large. Each compartment contained eight vats. Each vat was about 15 feet wide and 30 feet long. Each vat brewed a countless number of mutant grunts and freaks. Ammo was short. Reeves tossed his empty M16 into the burning slime and began firing double handedly with grunt shotguns. He felt a special keenness about them but his good aim was soon interrupted by his lack of firepower. He couldn't figure it out. The grunts seemed to never run out of the strange looking shells but when Reeves ripped one out of there decaying hands he ran out of munitions in seconds. What were they doing that he wasn't? There didn't even seem to be a slot for the gunman to reload the weapon.
"THE BACKPACK!" Youngman screamed over the fire, the gun burst illuminating his face, "ITS SOMETHING WITH THE BACKPACK!" Reeves looked at him strangely. He tore a pack off a dead, or fallen grunt. His firepower lasted. The bullets didn't seem to stop they kept coming in just in time to meet radioactive-soldier skull. The clever half of Reeves's mind thought: What the hell was in these backpacks? The warmongering half of his mind though: Who the hell cares?
They cleared four of the six sections. Now thousands of freaks were coming in, slowed only by the crowd ahead of them. By this time they all ditched their military issue arms and bore the grunt standard shotgun accompanied by a huge heavy backpack. Reeves carried three guns, two in each hand, and one spare. Five of six now. They gave a short cheer to celebrate that they made it to the sixth area. They soon realized there was nothing to cheer about. The door that lead to the next safe room was not only pre-bombarded with mutants, undead, freaky, and just plain normal grunts but also the door was electronically locked. The control room was going to be hard to get to.
They had very short seconds to think. They darted their bodies around picking off the grunts rising from the radiation. They angrily shot their weapons and the freak grunts speedily crawling along walls and ceilings. They defended themselves against the living, dying, or dead, grunts trying to push them into the fallout and make them one of their kind. Wallace spotted the controls room. It was merely a five-foot depression in the wall adjacent to the door and was protected by a single pane of glass. He ran at the glass and dove into it, avoiding the undead grunt at its proper entrance. He flipped a couple switches and the door slowly opened. Wallace kicked the undead soldier down from the behind and ran to the unlocked door. Reeves followed close behind. The big angry mob of freaks came too. Time was short and Youngman was still about sixty feet away. Wallace pressed against door, breathing heavily, and keeping his palm on the lock. He and Wallace were safe but Youngman was still out there. Reeves was on the ground with his back turned, also catching breath, he wouldn't know what happened. Once the door was locked Youngman would have to go all the way to the control panel just to unlock it again. Wallace had a heavy choice. But it was only logical! If he left the door open they would all probably die. If they lost just one, they could still show their wives back home they were still alive and fighting, the operation wasn't a failure like mission command said.
He slammed the lock button hard. He felt the gust of air as the electronic locked sealed the door shut all around. He felt the shake. The slight vibration of Youngman, slamming against the metal door. Reeves jumped back from his position on the floor. He saw his screaming face. His hand scraped at the six-inch window. Wallace felt the heavier rumble of scatted shotgun shells and sharp claws. Reeves saw the blood spray and drip on the window. His face slid from view of the small window. Wallace felt his body thud against the door. Reeves saw the blood. Wallace truly felt the blood. Infecting him. Spreading through him. The blood carried hate. Revenge.