Chapter 17
Alexiev Sakorsky
This Trent guy had to be a bit touched in the head. It was the only way to explain it. He had the calm demeanor, outlandish claims, and the hair to accompany his wild accusations. He made Bill Nye look normal, if only by slightly. He was chattering along to Salone, his gestures and movements almost making him seem like some sort of ballroom dancer. I let my arms go lax, giving up on keeping this Mike person as a bargaining chip. He dropped to his knees as I let go, his hands going to his neck. For someone who wasn't hurt, he sure made it seem like he was in agony.
Trent turned back, looking down at Mike as he gasped for breath. He was acting like what it seemed Americans liked to call "Drama Queens". Offering a hand, Trent helped him to his feet, giving him a quick look-over as Mike dusted himself off.
"Are you okay Mike?"
Mike nodded his head, breathing out a long sigh. The two locked eyes for a moment, staring into each other before Trent looked away, clearing his throat loudly.
"As um...I was saying, this entire area is quarantined. Right outside of the city, there is a small task force consisting of troops and armor to ensure that no one escapes. My best conjecture as to why such precautions have been put into effect is that they were a bit overwhelmed at how..."effective" these undead beings are. It would most likely be in our best interest to find a subtle method of escaping the city, as we are ill-equipped to neutralize superior weaponry such as theirs."
I slid Josh's knife into the pocket of my trench coat. Looking around, I saw both Nikole and Salone eyeing me. What did they want me to do? I was in the same mess that everyone else was. These two seemed like they knew what was going on. Might as well follow the idiot who knows what he's doing than, to follow the intellect who had no insight. Looking back to Trent, I saw his eyes looking back over my shoulder. He seemed uncertain, almost alarmed at something. In a now somewhat-shaky voice, he choked off a few words:
"We need to move."
What looked like hell itself erupted from the ground. The earth shook, putting just about everyone on the ground. Dirt and bits of rock rained from the sky. Flipping over, my sight met with the smoking barrel of an M1A1 Abrams. A freaking tank.
"Get up! Move move move!"
Trent was shouting, scrambling up and diving for cover. Salone and Nikole clawed their way behind the corner of a building. I hauled myself to my feet, looking around quickly. It was just me, out in the open. I bolted, running across the street to my right. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the barrel following me. A mailbox exploded as I dove into an alleyway, sending blue and black shrapnel hurling through the street. What the hell was going on?
Had Trent been right about this being a cover up?
I felt my knees buckle. I let myself fall back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground. I felt my arms beginning to tremble. The adrenaline was pumping through my body, with nothing to burn it on. There was no way in hell I could out-run a tank. Not an Abrams. I was starting to shake harder now, more from being scared of the sound of rocks being crushed by the treaded wheels than anything else. It was like I could see everything happening in my mind...the tank rolling by the alley. The barrel swinging around. The explosion as the shell went right through me, tearing me to pieces. I could see it all, I could see my death. Mine and so many others before me, I could see it.
The sound of footsteps ricocheting off the alley walls perked my ears. I looked up, seeing Trent dash out from his hiding place. Quickly following his path, I saw what he was running for: His rifle. What the hell was he going for his rifle for? An M40A1 was an excellent rifle, but was completely useless against a tank...
There was a low grating sound as the barrel just barely came into my view, the very tip following Trent. I turned back to watch him. The tank fired. The sheer concussion issuing from the barrel barraged my ear drums, loud ringing noises pounding inside my head. I could feel my heart in my neck, the pounding filling my ears. It only helped emphasize what happened next.
It was as if some great cosmic being had slowed down time itself. Trent ducked. His hands went over his head, his entire body tucking down into a ball. A scorching heat wave went flying past him by what seemed barely a few feet, the tank shell missing him by just a slight margin. Off in the distance, a building exploded, caving inward. My eyes flew back to Trent, keeping focused on him as he rolled over the rifle.
He grabbed the gun, pushing off of the ground with his feet to come up. He brought the scope up to his eye, standing completely still, before his arm twitched...he pulled the trigger, a small fireball of combusting powder spilling out the end.
Sha-BOOM!
I was knocked off my feet again as the tank exploded into flames. Cogs and treads and pieces that fit on who knows how went flying in all directions, saturating the ground in shrapnel and burning chunks of wiring. Black smoke billowed upwards into the sky, masking the previous clear-blueness.
I heard footsteps behind me. Rolling over, I found myself staring at Trent's boots. Eyes climbing upward, I found a hand and a warm smile being outstretched toward me. Taking it, I helped myself back up.
There was a moment of awkward silence as I dusted myself off. I said the only thing that seemed to be coherent in my head.
"So um...vhat ze hail did you do?"
Running a hand through his hair, he grinned shouldering his rifle.
"I just put a bullet down the barrel. You'd be suprised at how many weaknesses one's munitions can have."
This guy was insane. Insane for even trying it. More so for succeeding.
"Bullets down the barrel? Vhat the hell? Those don't go there!"
He laughed silently to himself, turning away. He muttered under his breath, obviously something I wasn't supposed to catch. Honestly though, I wish I hadn't.
"There's lots of places that things don't normally go..."
At that point in time, I decided for myself that I would rather have had the tank.