Van used his sledgehammer to break out a second window, ushering the prisoners through.
“Alpha, Bravo, we’re trying to hold the Skulls off, but we may need to move soon,” the drone operator said. “You have hostiles headed your way on the walls.”
“Copy that,” Stuart called from outside.
Almost as soon as he did, gunfire burst from just outside the window. A few of the prisoners screamed. More gunfire.
“Hostiles down,” the operator said. “But we’re taking more fire.”
Skull howls started to rattle through the building. Shots reverberated through the walls. Something pounded the door of the laboratory. O’Neil couldn’t tell if it was a soldier or a Skull or one of those hybrid beasts. He fired at the wall and the door, sending bullets tearing through both.
An agonized yell roared out in response. Then came a bout of gunfire that tore more holes in the wall, bullets lancing through the lab back at him. Glassware burst into shards. Sparks flew from one of the hit computer monitors. A stray bullet punched through the back of a prisoner. The man tumbled forward, slumping to the floor.
Tate dove to help, trying to get the man back to his feet.
“He’s dead!” Tate said, lowering the man back to the floor gently.
“Just get the rest out of here!” O’Neil shouted back.
More slams against the door, shaking it in the doorframe.
O’Neil switched the selector on his rifle to automatic. He emptied an entire magazine through the door and the wall into the hall beyond. A shriek and another scream exploded in response, followed by a long, angry howl.
“Last prisoner is out!” Tate yelled.
“Then go!” O’Neil said.
Van, Loeb, and Tate slipped out the windows. O’Neil and Reynolds backpedaled toward their escape, keeping their weapons trained on the entrance to the lab. Through the bullet holes in the walls, O’Neil could see more shadows moving. He fired another sustained burst to hold the enemy back, before slipping out of the window.
Once his boots hit the asphalt outside, O’Neil started running with Reynolds covering him as they rushed to catch up with the rest of their teams. The other operators had their weapons aimed up at the walls, firing at the soldiers on the catwalk.
Guttural howls erupted from nearly every side. The clatter of claws over concrete filled the night between the intense gunfire. Stuart and Henderson were leading the prisoners toward two of the Typhoons in the parking lot. Skulls started to swarm between the other vehicles, racing through the lot in the SEALs’ direction. The first were only maybe twenty, thirty yards from colliding with the operators.
O’Neil and Reynolds picked them off as they advanced. A couple of the beasts fell from bullets breaking through their armor and flesh. They were quickly trampled by the others roiling over them, desperate at the prospect of fresh meat.
A few shots burst from Charlie’s and Delta’s positions near the pier as the snipers worked to aid Alpha’s and Bravo’s escape. Skulls’ heads exploded in sprays of bone and mist, or they tumbled to the ground, their chests blown out from the devastating rounds.
But even as the SEALs fought back, the beasts filtered between the other vehicles in the parking lot and rolled over their dead brethren with single-minded rage.
The only thing that gave O’Neil hope they might yet escape was the rumble of two Typhoons’ engines. The rear doors on each of those mine-resistant ambush protected vehicles (MRAPs) were open, welcoming in the frightened prisoners.
“Come on, come on!” Stuart yelled from the back of a Typhoon. Henderson waited just outside the vehicle, his rifle shuddering with each burst of rounds cutting into the Skulls’ numbers.
Tate was leaning out the rear of another, helping prisoners aboard. Van and Loeb were just behind a group of six prisoners, herding them onto the vehicle with Tate.
A few of the Skulls charged ahead of the pack, dodging past O’Neil and Reynolds’ gunfire.
O’Neil lost sight of the beasts until one pounced out from behind an SUV, tearing into a prisoner.
Another prisoner yelled in fear and changed directions, running back toward the lab building.
“Don’t!” O’Neil said, gesturing desperately for the guy to follow them. “Don’t!”
The guy was too terrified to listen to words or gestures. He just kept running back toward the lab as if his old prison cell would somehow be safer than the world outside this port. O’Neil thought about racing after him.
But it was too late to save that guy now. Not with the Russians on the walls and the Skulls barreling around the lab.
O’Neil had to focus on the lives he knew he could save. The ones piling into the Typhoons. Reynolds swerved off toward the Typhoon with Stuart and Henderson. O’Neil ran toward the second where his team was.
Skull talons clicked along the asphalt from every direction. The monsters’ screams assaulted O’Neil in a furious salvo. He could almost feel them catching up, ready to tear into him, into his team. Into the prisoners.
Another rush of adrenaline surged through him.
The world seemed to slow in those last few seconds as he raced to catch up to the Typhoon. With the last prisoner aboard, Loeb hopped on. Van was about to get on when a Skull dove for him, raking its claws toward his face.
Tate leveled his rifle into the Skull’s chest and fired, bullets tearing out the monster’s back. Then he kicked the dead beast into another raging monster.
Shrieks exploded from O’Neil’s right. Five monsters charged toward him, some galloping on all fours, their hideous faces painted in unfettered rage.
From somewhere on the wall, gunfire lanced out in a ferocious volley. Rounds sparked against other vehicles and the pavement. Just as he turned to fire back, to cover his advance, a low, aggressive growl erupted to his left.
A beast slashed at him with its hooked claws swishing just inches away from his side. He batted away its claws with the stock of his rifle, then twisted it to fire into the beast’s chest, sprinting ahead as the monster stumbled over itself, carried by its own relentless momentum.
“Get ready to leave!” O’Neil yelled to his team.
Van disappeared into the troop hold toward the driver’s seat of the Typhoon.
Loeb and Tate aimed out the back, firing at Skulls and soldiers and whatever else was behind O’Neil. He pushed himself harder, his muscles straining with the effort. He could almost feel the beasts’ hot breath on his neck, their claws slicing through the air behind him.
Another monster lunged toward him from behind a car. Its mouth opened as if to rip a chunk from O’Neil’s leg, but before it could bite down, rounds snapped into it from the Typhoon. The creature’s body was dead before it hit him. But even in death, its weight slammed against his legs. He staggered and lost his own momentum, hitting the ground hard, hands and chin grinding into the asphalt.
Then something punched into his back, stealing the breath from his lungs. A sharp agony spread from along his spine. Felt like a rhino had rammed into him.
“Come on, man!” Tate said, reaching out toward O’Neil.
He pushed himself up to his knees. Still couldn’t breathe. He barely managed to get to his feet. Dizziness threatened to topple him again as he stumbled toward the back of the Typhoon. Hands pulled him inside, and the door slammed shut, claws scraping at it from outside. More bullets pinged against the MRAP.
“You okay?” Tate asked, checking over O’Neil’s back.
O’Neil was finally beginning to recover, but every breath sent a jagged strike of pain through his side.
“Took a shot to your back,” Tate explained. He patted the broken ceramic plate in O’Neil’s vest. “Just your body armor. No blood.”