Hey guys, finally another chapter. Hope you like.
Chapter 5 FUBAR BUNDY Part 2
"Boss, this is Kowalski. We could use some help. We are being steamrolled!" reported the Majors astoundingly calm sounding voice, even as you could hear the loud bangs of shots in the background.
"Kowalski, are you shooting?"
"Can't be helped. Those critters are everywhere."
"I'm on my way. Try not so shoot me, okay?"
"Can't guarantee. Kowalski over and out."
Walter wondered if he was the only one who thought that this communication had been more that a little weird. Indecisive, he searched the Colonels face over the paper littered desk. He realized shocked that O'Neill was already out the door and on his way to help Major Kowalski. His brain worked hard as it tried to find out what to do next. Should he obey his orders and stay, or should he rather follow his instinct and flee? But O'Neill, despite his shortage of interpersonal relationship skills still a good officer, was already at least one step ahead. His gruff voice called out "Walter! What are you waiting for!" and made the decision for him. Sergeant Walter Harriman disobeyed his orders, for the first time in his life, and fled.
If Jack had known before that his job had him running around the base all day, he would have packed his running shoes. His brand new, dear money and still unused running shoes. He hadn't even unpacked them. They were still sitting in the shoebox and waiting to be used. And it looked like that wouldn't change in the near future. But there was nothing he could to about that now. His feet were stuck in heavy boots as he sprinted over the base with Walter Harriman in tow. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Walter trying to stay in his slipstream to avoid a collision with one of the many straying civilians.
As they left the administrative Complex of Ford Carson they found themselves in the middle of a chaotic appearing anthill of refugees. Like a beehive countless people, civilians and military personnel, were running around aimlessly. Petrified screams joined together with shots that grew louder, as they neared Gate 5, where he had left Kowalski and Hanson.
In such situations he was thankful for his superior height. While the smaller Harriman had serious problems to navigate in the mass of people, Jack could just look over their heads. But what he did see made him almost wish for less view.
A few hundred feet ahead of them lay the Watchtowers of Gate 5. Even from this distance, Jack recognized that the trellised gates were closed. About a dozen soldiers stood spread into two groups on the towers and let rain down bullets on the bodies outside the gate. For a short, awful moment, O'Neill feared that his men were shooting at humans. But he dismissed the thought quickly. Kowalski was a good guy, he would never allow the situation to get out of hand. But this left just one conclusion. Those bodies outside the gate were not humans, they were the dead. The walking dead.
Walter and he had no other choice but to use their elbows to find a way through the meandering mass of men and women. Inhuman sounds filled the air. Watery, stertorous breathing. Muffled wheezing. Growling. Hissing. Grunting. And continuously gunfire in addition to Kowalski's bellowed orders to hold the line.
"Aim at the heads! Shot them in the head!"
Harriman breathed hard as he clambered up the stairs of tower one behind the Colonel. Not just the strain made it difficult to breathe, but more so his fear. He was pretty sure that his starched uniform was the only thing that kept him up right now.
They reached the observation platform and stared horrified at the spectacle at the ground. For a few seconds Walter thought he could see real discomposure in the eyes of the usually expressionless soldier, but it took just a split second before his detached mask was back in place.
"Kowalski, I want an update." barked O'Neill at his Major and risked a glance through the gun sight of his sniper rifle.
"They just came out of the friggin' woods. Must be over a hundred. We had to close the gates or they would've steamrolled us." Was his laconic summary.
Walter dared a glance towards the gates. What he saw there, provoked a nausea and he had just enough time to throw his upper part of the body over the rail, before his breakfast forcibly left his stomach. But maybe it would have been more wise to puke at his shoes. His head hung over and as the retching stopped and he found himself eyeball to eyeball with one of those tings. It stood right under him and just stared back. Harriman had never seen live what this virus caused and it was ugly.
The first thing he saw were to rows of dirty teeth in a mouth that snapped greedily at him. The nose was wrinkled up, like a dog that got the scent of his prey. Out of two deep eyeholes stared glassy eyeballs. Embedded in the waxen skin of the face stretched a drooling tongue towards him. It was a woman. Or an ugly man with long, greasy hair. The leathery skin was so bland and the eyes to empty, that every human trait seemed to be gone. His eyes swept unbidden over the mass of will less and live less bodies. Kowalski was right, down there were at least hundred. They moved like a giant, synchronized clumb of white, cold an dead flesh as they pushed against the doors.
The shots, the soldiers panicked shouts, the refugees cries, all that moved into the background as Walter and this thing eyed each other. The gates metallic groan under the weight of the dead bodies reached his subconscious unusually clear. He could feel his pulse vibrate in his temples. He was feeling nauseated again. Dizziness crept over him and he grabbed the railing hard.
A thought repeated in his head. Oh, god! We can't stop them! We'll all die!
These were his last thoughts as he felt his body getting slack and soon he sank helplessly to the ground and everything went black. He didn't know how many time was gone when he felt two strong hands grip his arms. He was still dizzy as those two hands straightened him up against the nearest wall. The next thing he felt was the stinging pain of a slap in the face, that tingled on his right cheek. Colonel O'Neill stood right in front of him and wore a expectant expression. Then Kowalski joined him. Both exchanged some words, but he couldn't understand them. His body felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool.
"Sergeant! Hey, Walter, wakey-wakey!"
The Colonels voice reached Walters brain slowly. Everything became clear in slow motion. The numbness in his ears disappeared und his vision cleared.
"That's right, Walter! No time for a nap." Encouraged O'Neill. "Just keep breathing, nice an slow."
"Welcome back." Commented Kowalski humorless and patted his shoulder.
"Colonel! What happened?" asked Walter finally. He still felt a little uneasy.
O'Neill and Kowalski exchanged a worried glance.
"Can you walk? Yes? Good!"
The special forces soldier left him no chance to answer. Instead the grabbed his shoulder roughly and dragged him impatiently along.
Kowalski took the lead and raced down the stairs while Captain Hanson covered their back.
"No time for explanations, Sergeant. We have to get lost. Pronto." Muttered O'Neill and shoved the still weak Harriman forward.
"Sir?" This time he got no answer for his washy question, as he stumbled down the stairs with the three soldiers. Immediately they were surrounded by a frantic crowd, as they tried to get as much distance between themselves and the yielding gate. A few times his knees gave out and he had to be supported by Kowalski and O'Neill. Hanson walked before them and used his broad body to clear a path for them.
"Hanson, car pool!" shouted the Colonel and looked disgusted with himself. Kowalski grunted as they shoved and pulled Harriman along. "We got no choice. The base is lost." He stated defeated.
The facial expressions of the two men spoke volumes. Anger, fury, helplessness and frustration. Both were men of action. Badass soldiers. Used to solving problems, not running away from them. Or even worse, fleeing. The feeling of giving up, or declaring something as lost was foreign to them. They'd rather want to stand back and fight. But two or three of them against hundreds? No Chance and no other choice than to give up Ford Carson. Even as they may hate themselves for it.
Behind them the noise doubled as the locks were forced to yield against the vigor of the shoving dead bodies. Like a flood wave the dead poured into the base. They chased after them stumbling, staggering and scrambling. Within a minute they found their first victims. Bloodcurdling screams filled the air as cold claws tore at skin. Gruesome smacking as sharp teeth sank into soft flesh. Slurry gurgling as arteries burst and throats rattled desperately as humans suffocated in their own blood. The air was heavy and smelled like death and decay.
A few minutes later the group of refugees was thinned out significantly as the drill ground of Ford Carson was turned into the stage of a massacre.
Up front Walter and his three comrades hat worked their way to the top. The four of them tried to ignore the impending danger. If they wanted to survive this, they had to concentrate on their goal, the car pool. As they crossed the quarters of the 101th. Special Forces Unit, the group of survivors had been diminished again. By the time they reached the car pool the screams and sounds of agony died away slowly and O'Neill, Kowalski, Hanson and Harriman realized that they were alone. No one else had made it this far. But they had no time to think or doubt. With Walter between them and Hanson up front, they headed straight for the single remaining military truck. They came to a halt as two undead men rounded the truck. One of them staggered towards the small group of survivors, while the other one sank to his knees and grabbed with his scrawny arms at something under truck. Something…or someone, realized Walter suddenly. What if there was a human under that truck? They had to do something. But again O'Neill had already analyzed the situation.
"Hanson, get they keys. Kowalski, stay with Walter." His order was hardly spoken when the Colonel headed straight for the two undead. He whistled loudly and in an instant the second dead man left whatever or whoever under the truck alone and came drooling to his feet. Apparently O'Neill seemed to him like an easier prey. It took two single shots and the two men fell to the ground. This time really dead. At the same time Hanson came running out of the gatehouse, in his hands the saving keys of the truck. Carefully Hanson, Kowalski and Walter closed the gap on the Colonel.
O'Neill knelt beside one lifeless bodies, his face was hard. Walter coughed shocked, Kowalski murmured something unintelligible and Hanson reacted in no way. The both bodies that had seemed so menacing just a few seconds ago now lay in their own juices. They were pale, slack and live less. And they wore uniforms. The men were two of them. Two of their own people had been bitten, transformed and forced Colonel O'Neill to kill them. This fact made the horror real and seizable in a way that had Walter wish for a switch to turn of his feelings. He couldn't imagine how it felt for O'Neill to kill two brothers in arms. Walter knew parts of his file. The man was a soldier for almost his whole life. He probably couldn't even remember how it felt not to wear the uniform day in and day out. And now, having been forced to kill two fellow soldiers, even if he knew at some level that they had been dead by the time one of those tings had bit them…it must feel awful.
A movement ripped Walter out of his gloomy thoughts. O'Neill cocked his head to the side and kneed beside the truck. His whole body stiffened as he shifted his weight to his left body half and stretched his right arm towards someone.
"Hey, you." He said with a softness that Harriman had never heard before. Behind him Hanson whirled around und worriedly watched the car pools entrance. Up until now they had jet so see another of those things, but now the muffled sounds came close again.
"Colonel" warned Hanson. "We have to hurry."
If O'Neill noticed the Captains warning, he gave no sign. He was still talking gently with the person under the truck. Although just a few minutes had passed till the Colonels outstretched hand was seized, it felt like hours for the three other man.
A young girl came scrambling from under truck. She was about 14 years old and had shoulder length dirty blond hair. She had the Colonels hand in a death grip but he didn't seem to mind.
"Colonel O'Neill, Sir!" warned Hanson again and rolled his eyes as he was ignored again. Instead of reacting to the Captains warning, he folded his tall body and focused on looking less menacing.
"Kiddo, I know you're afraid. But you gotta give me my hand back. Think you can do that?"
The girl seemed indecisive as she bit her lip. O'Neill put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and nodded in Harrimans direction.
"I'll be right back, promise. I just have to open the gate. Why don't you hold Walters hand for a while. He's a little wobbly and could use someone to hold his hand, right Walter?"
Walter understood the Colonels intention to calm the girl and wanted to help him. But he made the mistake of moving jerkily, causing the girl startle and grip O'Neills hand harder. The taller man threw an angry look at him.
"You have to excuse Walter. Good personnel is hard to find, right?" he joked and tried to coax a smile out of her. It didn't work, but at least she loosened her grip on his hand.
"I promise, we'll take you with us. But first I have open that door and I need both hands for that. Think we can manage?"
The four men waited tensely for her decision. None of them had any desire to force the clearly freaked out girl. Relieved breathing could be heard as the girl finally released the Colonels hand.
The man was quick to return into his role as officer and barked his orders like gunshots.
"Hanson, get behind the wheel. Rev up the engine, I want to be gone as soon as that gate is open. Kowalski, secure the truck. Walter, get on the loading floor and watch that girl."
As soon as the words were spoken the tall Colonel jogged away to open the gate. While Kowalski aimed his assault rifle on the entrance to fend off the monsters that announced their presence with loud groaning, Walter helped the girl in the truck and Hanson swung himself behind the wheel and started the engine.
The truck worked with a pneumatic break and had to build up some pressure before you could drive. The Captain drummed impatiently against the wheel, waited and observed the Colonel as he threw himself against the heavy sliding gate. It took him forever to open the second gate, but as soon as it was open he raced back to the truck. Before he engaged a gear Hanson risked a glance in the rear view mirror to see where Kowalski was and startled as the man drummed demandingly at the window.
"Wait up, someone's coming!" he called out and disappeared again.
Jonas stretched his head out of the window to see what caused the delay. The Major had taken a position a few feet away and waved energetically at a group of people that came running in their direction. They were six people, four men and two women. Hanson groaned frustrated as he saw that a mob of those things followed them closely. This group had let them right here.
One of the men was fat, there simply was no other word for that. His short legs tried to move faster, but his weight slowed him down. While the other five had already reached the truck and climbed exhausted on the loading area, the monsters had almost reached fatty. Kowalski provided him some time as he opened fire and brought down a considerably amount of them. Then he grabbed him by his soaked shirt and pulled him to the truck. The back of the truck sagged noticeably as fatty hauled his big body in the truck. Finally Kowalski tore open the door on the passenger's side and Hanson geared up just a the first monsters grabbed the canvas cover. As they passed the opened gates Jonas slowed down and O'Neill jumped into the loading area. Walter had to grab his jacket as the Colonel was about to fall right out again when Hanson speed up. The tall man breathed hard and gave a jagged nod as thanks.
He sagged down and allowed himself a moment of exhaustion. Beside O'Neill the girl gave him a glance that was part open admiration and part insecurity. Jack smiled encouraging at her. Only now did he realize that there were six other people in the truck with them. One of them, a younger man with shaggy brown hair and askew sitting glasses looked at him questioningly. The very young and very beautiful dark haired woman latched to his arm mirrored his question. Apparently they expected some kind of speech or explanation. Well, they'd have to wait a long time for that. He was not in the mood to explain anything.
While Captain Hanson drove the truck away from the hell of Ford Carson, the people in the back of the truck were eerily silent. It was the heavy man that eventually broke the silence.
"Dio mio!" he exclaimed gasping and his double chin wobbled. Jack looked him up and down. He was no linguistic genius, but he had understood that.
"Tell me about it." He agreed finally.
These were the last words that were spoken for the next few hours.
Sooo, O'Neill and his little group of survivors got away. In the next chapter Carter has to decide between her fiancé and her conscience. Any ideas who that fiancé could be?