Nightmare-Z Read online

  The Air Marshall catches up to Andrew only a few feet behind him and begins clearing a path to the other side of the ticket counter with his pistol dropping one cannibalistic assailant at a time. The remaining team members on the outside can not be saved, for they let loose their last screams before dieing of too much loss of blood or shock while they are surrounded and eaten by numbers of people.

  Andrew comes across one of the attackers right before he jumps the counter and punches him in the face as he moves making the woman who came at him in a animal like motion fall to the ground. Andrew instantly hops the counter. Seconds later, followed by the rest of the group.

  What Andrew sees on the other side of the counter are crying children, dozens of them hunkered down to the floor with their hands over their heads. Some of them are reciting songs they once heard in fear to drown out the horrific noise of people being slaughtered while others are crying for their mothers and fathers.

  A few of them also have their hands over their ears while curled up into the fetal position trying to block out the sounds of gunfire, screams and people being eaten alive.

  “Are you kids alright? Don’t be afraid of us we are here to protect you. All of you need to come with us, okay?” Andrew explains in a polite, calm voice to soothe the childrens fears.

  All of them remove their hands from their previous positions to a sense of hope. One of the children, who seems to have no emotional reaction to the entire situation, crawls up to Andrew and informs him of the location of the team’s baseball bats still located on the conveyer belt in a large black duffle bag.

  Andrew and the survivors quickly crawl over to the belt to find the bag and open it while one of the ladies attempts to comfort the children by telling them everything will be alright and patting them on their shoulders. The mother, who is searching for her children, frantically crawls up to each child on all fours to closely inspect their faces while calling out her children’s names. None of the children are hers. Once Andrew finds the bag, he unzips it. What he finds are about a dozen aluminium bats which he passes out to the remaining group of survivors whom hopped the counter with him.

  “Now you kids listen to me. Once one of us yells the word ‘GO’, all of you need to pick up and sprint straight for the exit okay? I am not kidding, you do nothing but run, GOT IT?” a now winded Andrew instructs to the children with a sense of seriousness in his voice.

  All of the children fearfully nod their heads in agreement to what they were just told.

  “On three alright people,” Andrew tells his group of batters.

  The Air Marshall goes to check how much he has in his magazine real quick before hopping the counter. 1 . . . .

  2 . . . .

  3!

  Everyone hops the counter almost simountanisly. The Air Marshall takes lead once again, sending rounds into the assailant’s heads one at a time as he tactically walks forward at the high ready. The rest of the group, armed with only aluminium bats, spread out, on line with one another and attack the assailants who are in a feeding frenzy. Each attacker is met with an aluminum bat to cranium as the group pushes forward to engage more of the assailants.

  Some of those which dropped to the ground instantly, others not so much. The ones who attempted to get back up were met with more blows to the head until they ceased to move. This goes on for a few more minutes as the group pushes forward to clear a path to the exit while passing up various mutiliated children and the baseball coach, whom appeared to be dismembered so bad, all of his limbs were removed to include his head which was located a few feet from his neck.

  Once Andrew and the group reaches the exit, Andrew yells the all clear word of ‘GO’ to the children. Most of them pickup from the other side of the counter and run into the direction of the path that was just cleared while some took off in a dead sprint in the wrong direction back towards the embattled airport terminal the group just came from.

  Once most of the children hit the sidewalk outside just about all of them scattered in different directions. Andrew noticed some of them instantly become spotted by more assailants on the outside and chased down while some took off into the clear.

  That is when the man in the business suit who was hiding behind the Kiosk comes running up to link back up with the group. Nothing was said as they didn’t notice him all that much with the exception of Andrew and the Air Marshall.

  The child who informed Andrew about the team’s baseball bats, decided not to run off into the distance. Instead, he decided to stay with the group. As a result, he began tugging on Andrew’s leg and asked him if he could stay with them.

  Andrew nodded his head in agreement. Once the group has lost sight of all the children, they proceed through the exits as a whole into the streets while the summer Georgia sun glares down upon on them.

  Upon hitting the streets, they realize they are in the middle of crossfire between the security forces still holding on a little bit down the way. Many of them take cover behind some cars parked out front for departures as bullets weezed by over their heads.

  Various explosions can be heard off into the distance at this point. Now unaware of what to do, the members of the group peak out from the other side of cover to find potential escape routes.

  The TSA employee spots an abandoned airport transportation bus which has been slammed cab first into a light pole. However, still seeming operable. The man informs the group of what he sees. After some argument, they all agree to sprint across the embattled street to it’s refuge.

  Still unaware of the functionability of the vehicle, Andrew decides to go first in order to see if the bus can be turned on. He tells the group once he finds out whether or not it will work he will proceed to sound the horn signaling them to cross the street to it’s safety. Upon final agreement, Andrew picks up in a dead sprint across the street with his head and body attempting to stay lay to avoid passing gunfire.

  The survivors have a clear view of him as he boards the bus. Upon entering the bus, before entering the driver’s seat, he can be seen from a distance by the other survivors stopping while staring at the floor of the bus, which is unseen to the survivors on the other side of the road observing him.

  Moments later, he lifts the bat up into the air and begins pummeling what ever is in the center aisle of the bus. Andrew uses a few swings until he is satisified and is seen throwing the bat down on a nearby seat.

  A few seconds go by, then, to the group’s amazement, the sound of the bus’s horn begins whistling through their ears.

  The frantic mother, looks back to the entry way of the terminal for her children out of last minute desperation that she would see them come running out into her arms. The older lady in the group however, notices this and glares at her with a type of sadness in her eyes. She shakes her head towards the mother and places her head down in continued sadness before rising up and taking off in a dead sprint with the survivors whom are ahead of her crossing the road. The mother, begins crying uncontrollably as she picks up and follows behind the older lady.

  CHAPTER 3

  SurvivalofthefitteSt “Damn you Reagal! That was my last Rip It! How are you just going to come into my fridge and take my last energy drink out without asking?” angrily exclaims Price after returning from an all day ordeal down in the motorpool fixing up his recently blown up truck with the mechanics.

  “Here I am, hard at work, busting my chops for the man, while you sit here playing Playstation and drinking up all my supply. Dismounts are lazy!” complains Price as he unslungs his weapon and takes off his ACU top.

  “Come on boss man, you know i’m good for it. Whatever I take from you, I replace in threes. You know this just as well as I know this,” counters Reagal with his feet propped up on Price’s makeshift plywood desk while holding an empty Rip It can.

  “On a lighter note though, how’s our truck?” asks Reagal as he pauses his video game.

  Price proceeds to sit by Reagal on the floor and takes the controller from him. He begins
playing where Reagal left off. “The truck is good. Had to scrap some parts for the engine off other POG MRAPS that has not been out on any missions. It took forever man. Those tires we replaced were heavy too. Good thing Hunter and Sergeant Wilcott got strong arms,” jokingly adds Price.

  He then goes on to add, “Yeah I pretty much supervised that operation. They were lost without my guidance. God, i’m so awesome.”

  Reagal lifts up an eyebrow in dissapproval. Price continues. “We’re going to need a new paintjob though. Can’t get that shrapnel out. Sergeant was pretty lucky, if the EFP was spaced further back it would have had enough time to form and he would of been toast,” Price now explains on a more serious note.

  “Oh yeah by the way, how’s my download going?” Price excitingly asks Reagal who was monitoring his computer for him while he was gone.

  “Internet went down hours ago bro. Even some of the guys who came back from the phone center told us the phone lines are down too,” explains Reagal.

  “Ahh, did anyone die?” curiously asks Price as he continues to play his video game.

  “Nah man, we aren’t in any type of blackout,” responds Reagal. “Well I guess that is why all the civilians and higher ups high tailed it out of town. They signed a contract for six figures a year, none of that included no internet and phones,” Price continues to make jokes.

  “Yeah I hear that. This place is a freaking ghost town. Hardly anyone around here anymore except military and low level leadership. I wonder when the Battalion Commander and Sergeant Major is coming back,” Reagal responds.

  Price shakes his head with indifference.

  “At least theres no more lines in the PX and the DFAC,” counters Price.

  Reagal suddenly changes his facial expression.

  “Oh yeah man, I forgot to tell you. Go into the hallway and check the board,” Reagal informs.

  Price pauses his game and walks out into the hallway up to the platoon message board which members of the platoon look at for daily information and mission times.

  Price glares at it as other members of his platoon start swearing as they walk away. The board reads that the PX and the DFAC will be closed indefinately due to lack of staff.

  “What the hell is this!” Price yells. “I’m out of dip,” he whines as he walks back to his room. “GILROY! Hey deuscher, wake your mug up!” Hunter yells as he flips open Gilroy’s divider leading into his room while storming up to his bed.

  Gilroy, laying in bed with his eyes closed, quickly snaps up at the sound of Hunter storming his room in anger.

  “Where the hell were you supposed to be at eight hours ago?” Hunter furiously asks expecting a quick response the angrier he waits.

  Gilroy shoots up from his bed and checks his alarm clock.

  “My alarm didn’t go off. I, I, I don’t know what happened,” Gilroy confusingly explains as he wipes his eyes off to wake up.

  Hunter angrily rips his clock off the counter and checks what he set it for. “See, dumb ass. There’s your damn problem. You set it for 7 PM, not 7 AM. It was just me and Price down there the whole damn time fixing our truck. I know Sergeant said you had to help us. We really needed it too, but since you decided to be a lazy deusch and forget how to do common tasks, we had to do it ourselves. Sergeant Wilcott came down there to help us and he was asking about you!” Hunter exclaims as he smashes Gilroy’s alarm clock on the floor and storms out into the hallway swearing out loud.

  Gilroy acts like nothing happened and proceeds to get his uniform on.

  “Damn Ringo, slow down. Going way too fast!” Christopher orders with a chuckle as he tries to sprint up behind Ringo while on perimeter road. The pair decided to go running together to kill some time while their truck gets fixed. They decided to run four miles today. Ringo is a very fast runner. Actually, the fattest runner in the company. His time on the 2 mile run usually averages between 11:45 and 12:30. Christopher only runs in the meager 15 minute time block. As a result, Ringo slows it down to allow his team leader to catch up.

  “Sorry Sergeant, wasn’t trying to kill you or anything,” Ringo states. Christopher glances over as he catches up to see whether or not he was joking with him. However, like always, nobody can ever tell whether or not Ringo is serious or playing around for he is always stoic and mostly silent. The pair get in sync with eachother on the running pace and are now running shoulder to shoulder together about one mile into their run.

  “So Ringo, I hear you got Yakuza connections. What’s up with that? Were you ever in a crime syndicate?” curiously asks Christopher basing his questions off of Trevor’s suspicion.

  Ringo rolls his eyes as he’s moving. “Maybe I did, Maybe I do. Either way, none of it matters anymore. Alot of my family are Yakuza. However, I am here now. What does it matter?” Ringo asks with conviction and calmness.

  “It doesn’t matter bro. I’m just curious man. I mean, one minute you’re yelling at lower enlisted and making them sweep floors, then the next thing you know, they know people who can take out your whole family as a result of a single phone call. Pretty bad ass if you ask me. Feels like the start of a movie,” jokes Christopher as he begins going in and out of breath struggling to keep up the pace.

  Now appearing annoyed and unwilling to go any further with the conversation, Ringo responds.

  “Maybe we should do less talking and more breathing.”

  “Fair enough.” Christopher concludes. Another mile goes by as they reach the turn around point. The last quarter mile in, Ringo decided to pick it up to his normal pace, which was much faster than Christopher’s. Ringo beat him to the turn around point by about two minutes where he stopped and stared off past the fenceline into the direction of the village adjacened to the base. As Christopher finally comes running up, he notices Ringo in a dead pause just staring in shock. Christopher asks him with a shortness of breathe what was wrong as he begins to slow down to come to a halt.

  Ringo just points his finger in the direction of the village. Christopher turns his head and notices what caught Ringo’s eye. The entire village seemed to be in engulfed in flames while spots of what appears to be Iraqi civilians trying to escape in mass groups. The two just stare in disbelief for a few moments until Christopher reminds Ringo they both have to get back to the unit and find out what is going on. The pair take off at a much faster pace than before on the way back to the tent.

  Trevor sits in his ‘aim high’ chair as he runs a cleaning rod through the barrell of his M4 carbine with his head slightly down in silence. After attempting to pull the rod out from the muzzle with one strong jerk, he proceeds to change out his dirty square cotton cloth which was attached to the end of the rod and attempt another go around. Moments later, he turns his attention to his upper receiver and begins to clean out his star chamber with a Q-tip while he tries to take his mind off his brother and the rest of his family. Trevor is upset that he could not see his brother before he left for R&R leave due the last minute mission which came up in the middle of the night.

  His platoon was tasked out by their commander to conduct a perimeter sweep with their vehicles in the middle of the night for a couple of hours due to the abandonment of the guard towers and security personnell.

  That is when the platoon sergeant walks into his living area with a notepad.

  “Hey Wilcott. Round up the guys in the hallway, we have to talk,” orders the man with a serious look on his face. Trevor obliges while carefully placing his rifle parts down on a laid out rag. The platoon sergeant waits in the hallway while all the soldiers begin scurrying out of their rooms. Trevor rounds up his soldiers and informs others of the platoon meeting as he walks by them. Christopher and Ringo come walking in as well moments later covered in sweat from their run. Once everybody is there around the platoon sergeant, he proceeds to address them.

  “Alright listen up everybody. I don’t want to hear any whining or moaning out of any one of you. As you know, alot of facilities are closing down here. Mainly because of th
e pull-out in the coming months. As we all know, we will be leaving here soon and this is only the start of it. I don’t want anyone panicing at the sight of empty guard towers and ECP’s. The contractors here and the Department of State Personnell are to assume control of this area in their little sealed off perimeter down the way. I know there has been alot of confusion about whats been going on. Soldiers getting sick, rioting in the street and such. You all just got to know that has nothing to do with us and is solely IA and IP(Iraqi Police) responsbility. We all have to . . . . ,” One of the soldiers rudely interrupts his platoon sergeant with a comment regarding security.

  “Hey Sergeant, I think it’s fair to say there is more going on here than just a pull-out. This Department of State you speak of is no where to be found. They all high tailed it out of here on the flights we’ve been seeing. We all know the Ugandan Triple Canopy soldiers weren’t supposed to pull back from guarding the perimeter for another month. They just high tailed it out of here as well and left our towers and perimeter unsecure. There has to be more to what you are just telling us,” the soldier concernly explains.

  Now appearing agitated, the platoon sergeant responds. “Don’t you dare interrupt me again. Got it? What they tell me is what I tell you. I am not withholding information from anybody within this platoon. I am sure there are still Department of State officials here ready to assume, you just haven’t been seeing them. As far as the security goes, the contract with Triple Canopy must of ended earlier than expected. Now to address the recent sicknesses and deaths within the unit over the past few weeks. Our chain of command decided to limit the unit’s movement. We are now only restricted to our little living quarters, the company area and whenever missions arise,” the platoon sergeant explains.

  That is when he gives the signal to the platoon leader to hand him over a sealed box. The platoon sergeant takes it in hand and places it on the floor. He proceeds to pull out his pocket knife and cut the seal. Seconds later, he begins passing out light blue germ masks with the elastic strap for all to wear.