Van had already twisted to help. His rifle fell on its sling, and he pulled out his HK45C. He aimed the pistol into the side of the Skull’s head and pulled the trigger until the beast dropped.
Alpha was still positioned on the stairs, aiming at the doorway to the kitchen. O’Neil thought for a moment that they had killed the last beast that had been hiding the kitchen. That though they had been damn close to losing control of the situation, they had pulled through.
A violent shriek proved him wrong.
Another Skull came rushing through the broken doorway, hands outstretched behind it, claws ready to slice through the first person it met. The beast ran straight toward the stairs where Alpha was opening fire. More beasts poured through the doorway, dressed in the remnants of cooks’ uniforms or name badges and tattered suits; others were nearly naked, wearing nothing but their gray flesh and bony growths.
Each pushed against the hailstorm of lead. Their screams rivaled the din of the responding gunfire. O’Neil did his best to sight the creatures up and fire in the enclosed, crowded environment. Tried not to slip again on the basement floor. But the concrete was growing slick with the sloshing blood and bodily fluids spilling from the slaughter.
The beasts fell over each other, crumpling and shrieking, their howls pounding against O’Neil’s ears. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain his cool, taking the beasts out before they reached him or his team.
Time seemed to slow with each successive shot and charging Skull. The monsters came at them in a relentless wave, threatening to wash them all away.
It might have only been a few seconds, but to O’Neil, it seemed to stretch to an eternity. He had never seen so many Skulls packed in such a tight space.
He lost count as the creatures streamed through. Nothing he had trained for prepared him for this. His heart slammed against his ribcage with a violent fury, his vision tunneled down to his sights.
He ignored all the primal instincts in the back of his mind screaming that he was going to die. That his whole team was going to die.
Panicking wouldn’t save them now.
They just had to survive one second. Then the next.
His bolt locked back, his rifle clicking. He didn’t have time to change his magazine. Just let the rifle drop on its sling and pulled out his sidearm. He kept squeezing the trigger, the pistol bucking in his hand.
When the slide locked back, a Skull pounced on him, its teeth gnashing, claws raking for his face. He fell back against the wall, pressing one hand up against the monster’s chin, holding its face back.
Every time the monster slashed at him, he squirmed and dodged. The claws hit the concrete wall, breaking with each impact.
O’Neil struggled to keep the monster from tearing into him. All he could think about was the fact that it would just take one strike, one scrape, and he would be infected, too. He would slowly turn into one of these abominations.
And if his team came away from this alive, if they managed to escape with their lives intact, then he would be a ticking time-bomb. A monster himself. He could not bear the thought that he might inadvertently be responsible for their deaths because the disease took hold of him, preventing him from helping them.
Or worse, as a Skull, he might kill them himself.
He reached toward the sheath on his thigh. His fingers hit the handle of the KA-BAR. Managed to pull it out, then stab upward at the beast. His first strike slipped. The blade glanced off the overgrown bone buttressing the beast’s jaw.
The monster snapped at him again, and he jerked his head away. The beast’s teeth closed around his collar, pulling at it. The fabric tore as the monster pulled O’Neil closer to him. When the beast reared back, bits of fabric caught between its teeth, O’Neil jammed his knife straight into the monster’s open mouth. The blade punched through the back of the creature’s throat, blood gurgling out, splashing over O’Neil’s chest.
He kept pushing as the monster bit down on the knife, then used all the strength he had in his legs to drive the creature backward, pushing it, using the knife to guide the monster until he slammed it into one of the shelves. Rotting food tumbled over the creature. He twisted the knife inside the beast’s mouth until he felt the snap and pull of breaking tissue. Kicking the creature hard in the abdomen, he pulled the knife out.
The beast collapsed against the shelf, making it teeter more wildly this time. Crates and boxes crashed over the Skull. Decaying food and piles of canned goods spilled over the monster’s body.
O’Neil turned. Bits of Skull and blood and food-matter dripped off his uniform. He ran at the first Skull he saw, a beast attacking Tate. He slammed his knife home right into the side of the monster’s head. His blade punched through the cavity where its ear had once been. As blood streamed from the devasting wound, he shoved the creature to the ground.
Tate gave him a nod, and together they moved onto the next creatures.
With the combat quickly turning to a hand-to-claw struggle, O’Neil left his rifle on its sling and his dropped pistol somewhere in the mess of Skull parts. They simply couldn’t risk firing in the enclosed space. Couldn’t risk hitting one of their comrades. He and Tate worked to help Van and Loeb, cutting into the Skulls. Then they pulled off a monster pinning down Reynolds. They caught the beasts attacking Stuart and Henderson from behind, tearing into them with blades.
Until finally, they had cleared the room of monsters.
O’Neil’s chest heaved as he looked around the room, blade at the ready, waiting to see if any of the creatures on the floor dared push themselves back up to fight.
But the only thing moving was the blood trickling between their boots and streaming between the broken bodies of the dead creatures.
“Anyone hurt?” O’Neil asked.
The SEALs checked themselves over, taking a moment to ensure the adrenaline hadn’t numbed them from any lacerations that would spell their mad descent into becoming one of the beasts.
“All good,” Tate said.
“Same,” Van said.
Loeb rolled down a bloody sleeve, then let out a long sigh. “I’m all good, bro.”
Reynolds patted himself down. “All that blood is from the beasts.”
Henderson and Stuart were clean, too.
O’Neil finally a slid a new magazine into his rifle, keeping it aimed at the kitchen door. “Cover it.”
Loeb, Van, and Tate positioned themselves in front of the broken-down door. Stuart and Henderson moved into the storage room behind them as O’Neil recovered his pistol.
“Alpha, Bravo, you good?” A Delta operator said.
“We’re good,” Reynolds said.
“That was a firestorm.”
“No fucking shit.”
“Dining room is clear,” the Delta operator said.
“Copy that,” Reynolds said. “Securing the kitchen.”
Reynolds signaled for the team to move into the kitchen. When they spread out among the stainless-steel appliances, they were met with the intense odor of rot strong enough O’Neil’s eyes began to water again. He fought the urge to retch. But no Skulls. Seemed like they had successfully gotten every beast stuck in that kitchen to come charging at them.
O’Neil spotted marred human bones scattered around the kitchen floor.
“What’s this?” Tate asked, nodded at an old, busted AM/FM radio in the center of the room. It had claw and teeth marks gouged into the plastic.
“Maybe that’s how someone got all these beasts down here,” O’Neil said.
“Smart,” Van said. “Lock them all down here.”
“They could’ve been nice and burned the whole place down though,” Stuart said.
“Much prefer that instead of forcing us to act like fucking zombie exterminators,” Henderson added.