Lurk

Chapter Sixteen

“Don’t be afraid, Leo. It’s me... your old friend Walter. I’m going to look after you now...”

Leo felt his eyes lock onto the glowing red man, slowly drifting into double-vision as the omnipresent ghost approached. At first it was soft and welcoming approach, but as the ghost of Walter Bridge darted forward, Leo was hit with the greatest fear of his life. “Shit-”

“Absorb it... Become it...”

“This is useless, Snake. I’m sure he went that way – look at the prints!”

The twins bickered like twins do, trying to keep their voices on a minimum volume. Lurk had lead to the very outskirt of the base, so that they could follow the hedge-line instead of heading off in a random direction. If White’s half as sharp as I thought, he’ll have stayed off the tarmac.

Soon enough, the siblings were forced to follow the alpha male, who was speeding ahead like a panther in pursuit. He’d caught his scent, and was following it in the crouched stance of a true Neanderthal. All he was missing was a spear, and the image would be complete.

Out on the runway and taxiing grounds, the infected were swarming, fast. Heads snapping from side to side, each and every Lurker resembled the same horrible monster. Blackened flesh, bloodshot eyes and salivating jaws... The badges on their shirts were all that identified the lost soldiers now.

“Keep your voices down.” Lurk turned back to his followers, and scanned them for what his priorities desired. They flashed him confused glances, but couldn’t object before he was making his demand. “I need a gun, secondary.”

With a resigned sigh, Snake unclipped his 9mm Beretta, and tossed it over to the receiver. Lurk only wanted the one clip, although history suggested he’d need more.

“Oh shit...”

He froze as his gaze caught one terrifying sight: the window of Hangar 6 was leaking with black smoke. But there’s no fire...

“Get back to the Hangar now!”  Lurk spat, shoving them back before the twins even had a chance to look. “Go!”

“Oh shit, it’s burning!”

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Their footsteps distanced so quickly, and soon Lurk was left to suffer in solitude. Did he still have his priorities set on rescuing the missing Private? He’ll be fine. We need more firepower. Turning towards the distant storage facilities, he made a couple of brief calculations. With around twenty Lurkers per fifty metres, the odds of him crossing both adjacent runways to the other side in time were dire.

But buildings and hangars weren’t the only containers of goods in DMB. Vacated along the airstrip were various light aircrafts, designed for carrying weaponry and medic supplies to hard-to-reach areas.

Now he just had to reach them.

“The bombers are on their way, Sergeant.”

Barron nodded a mere approval to the messenger, and turned back to the heat of the battle. The fight for possession of DMB had just begun, and the snipers were quickly falling back from the main entrance.

The hordes were growing in depth and size, soon to be an unstoppable force of the un-dead. A chopper squad was landing uphill from the base, loaded with RPGs and high-power MGs. All the men could do now was hope that they had enough to hold off the enemy.

Every ten or so seconds, Barron found himself retreating ever more slightly, conscious of the speed in which their foes could reach. Bounding directly for him was one zombie in particular, half its face ripped off and a savage flare within its eyes.

It was looking at him – not the group, him. A vengeful fascination decorated its expression, telling Barron to put it down quickly. He raised the barrel of his AK, and let the bullets fly.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Its bony toes skipped across the concrete, as if almost floating. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The bullets hissed past the beast, a couple making contact with the non-fatal areas.

Destroy the brain. Always destroy the brain. But it was only ten metres away, and Barron had no time to register his thoughts. Ditching the AK altogether, he made a grab for the combat knife on his belt.

The world around him seemed to slow down as his fingers touched the leather hilt. This one’s for the lads. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you!”

He made a daring stab at the hunter’s face, but the blade slid past. The force of the tackle took him by surprise, and before Barron could defend himself, a row of rotting teeth was injected into his windpipe.