The pair entered, moving slowly, Delta Five in the lead, Delta Six watching their backs.
Halfway now. The pair knew something was wrong. The people seemed scared. The two could sense it, could see it in their motions as they hurried past the shadow of the alley.
They hadn’t been spotted, they knew this. They were good enough to keep hidden. Something else was causing the tension, which was thick at the moment. It’s a good soldier’s natural instinct, especially those from The Unit.
They moved closer and closer, nearing the end. They stopped ten meters shy, observing. There was a wide path in front of them, many people hurrying past. Hernandez and Marcus heard their voices, though hushed, for they talked little.
The villagers knew something they didn’t.
They knew it was impossible to keep them out.
Still, the people inside the village went about their business, for chores were needed to be done, daily life must continue despite what had happened. They did so, jumpy and nervous.
98
Five and Six posted, silent and deadly. They watched as people scattered, talking little, and if so in hushed voices. The villagers hurried along, preparing themselves to go into their homes, lock themselves away. The people knew nothing could keep them out, but the busywork helped ease them some.
Hernandez and Marcus found a gap when nobody was looking, and darted farther up the path. They found another alley, took a left, and hurried along to a less crowded roadway. Again, they posted. They were halfway through the village, now. Halfway there.
Then, to their surprise, the villagers began to panic.
“This is Sierra Bravo Four,” Reynolds said, body stiff, the anxiety in voice obvious. “Listen up, guys, we got movement. Lots of it. Looks to be three or four dozen shapes, can’t tell what they are. They’re moving quick, though. Headed from the east, bearing on your position, over.”
“Roger that, Sierra Bravo Four” Comstock said into the mic. “Eyes on. Think we may have a bit of trouble.”
Out of the night, out of the shadows of the most dreaded valley in Khost, they came. Hordes of them, crossing the plains, seeming to not touch the ground over the six hundred meter distance. They raced toward the village, spread out in small groups. They kept quiet, the silence of the night would give them away, not that it mattered.
As they neared, though, they couldn’t refrain from clacking their teeth. The creatures were excited, for they were hardly ever allowed on hunts. Their anger grew over the years as they aged, and occasionally one of the younglings would even challenge Ahmed. Most knew their place, but even these whacked out creatures could act like a hormonal teenager. Hormones and testosterone overbearing at times, but this was their chance, and they hurried to their prize. They needed this, and raced as if in panic, for the possibility of Ahmed calling them back might happen, and they didn’t want to miss out on the taste of fresh blood.
The pack grew near.
600 meters.
500 meters.
They gnarled their teeth, foam forming at their wide mouths. Their long arms dangled, dragged behind their running bodies. Their long fingernails clattered on the rocks below.
400 meters.
300 meters.
They chomped their mouths open and shut, over and over again. Their eyes slanted, their breathing heavy as if in great ecstasy.
200 meters.
100 meters.
Then, one screamed, filling the quiet night with a blood-curdling sound. One that none in the valley would forget.
They were upon the town, and with them a great wrath followed.
They filled the night with their screams of pleasure as they sought their prey.
They came.
99
“What the fuck’s that?” Hernandez asked, looking at his partner with wide eyes.
“Dunno,” Marcus replied.
It didn’t take long for them to find out. Within seconds, the villagers began to scatter. Some raced down streets, others into the false sanctuary of nearby buildings. Others froze. Many screamed.
The sound of the stampede nearly hurt the men’s heads. The sound closed in, the ground shaking as the creatures entered the village.
Now, everyone began screaming.
A woman turned into the alley, and both men nearly killed her on the spot. They eased their fingers off the triggers, breathing a quick sigh of relief.
The woman looked at them, crazed at the notion of strangers here. Frozen, she stared at them, bewildered at everything going on.
Out of nowhere came three pairs of long, white arms. They stretched around the corner, dangling out like a spider’s legs, long fingertips digging into the woman’s flesh.
She cried out.
A moment of stillness followed. It was as if everything stopped. But in a blink of an eye, the pace intensified.
The long arms wrapped around her, the hands gripping tight. In an instant, the woman was pulled away.
The men could hardly believe their eyes.
Marcus kept his rifle trained south, Hernandez had his pointed north, up the alleyway. They watched one another’s backs, attempting to figure out where to go.
Something hit Marcus in the face. At first, he couldn’t figure out what it was. He reached he hand up, touching his cheek and neck. It was as if somebody turned on a faucet, the man’s skin was soaked.
“What the fuck?” Marcus exclaimed. He turned to his right to look at Hernandez, realizing what the fluid was.
Blood — his teammate’s blood.
The man’s neck was torn open, the artery pulsating, splashing blood out like a geyser. Marcus immediately let his rifle drop, now suspended by the straps, and reached his hands up. He pushed hard on the wound, blood spraying between his fingers.
“Marcus?” Hernandez gurgled.
“Oh, goddamn!” Marcus shouted. “What the fuck, man? Are you hit?” He reached for his friend but was pushed away.
Hernandez nodded forward, toward the street. He then staggered back, struggling, going to one knee. He hovered for a moment, off balance and dizzy, and then slumped to his backside. He pushed harder on the open gash.
The artery pushed back.
Marcus looked back, facing south just in time. Ten meters away, one of the most hideous things he’d ever seen stood before him. It loomed, taller than the soldier, smelling of rotten meat, enough to cause Marcus to choke on his own vomit.
The creature breathed hard, and began to lunge forward.
Marcus raised his M4 high, clicked the switch to fully automatic, and opened fire.
“Fuck you!” he screamed.
100
“Post up,” Comstock barked. Jefferson tucked up near a fallen wall to his right, York to his left. They scanned the area, anxiously awaiting contact. Dale called into his mic, “Five, Six? Report!”
They could hear something, words maybe, but nothing they could understand.
Comstock called out again.
No response.
The men could hear the small arms fire. One M4. Why one? That didn’t make sense.
“Game on,” York said.
Comstock looked in his direction, and York grinned. Dale spoke into his mic, glaring at York while doing so. “Hollywood One, this is Delta One.”
Nothing.
“Dammit, Rivers, answer me!” Comstock said.
A moment later, Rivers said, “This is Hollywood One. We’re good. Hearing the shit hit the fan from here. Want us to come your way?”
“Negative,” Comstock said. “Hold your position. What’s your SITREP?”
“Not too many people nearby. We’re alone, and they seem to be running your way. I have a clear line up a wall. Think we can make it and stay hidden.”