A series of explosions ripped through the air. Shock waves smashed our carrier one after the other, rocking us inside like marbles in an empty tin can. I squinted through my periscope to see the three figures on the overpass tossing homemade bombs. One landed no more than ten feet from the nose of the APC and exploded, sending fragments of high-velocity shrapnel into the hull of our machine.
“Sid!” I shouted into my microphone. “Two hundred meters, overpass, watch and shoot!”
“On it!” Sid answered as the turret spun to the twelve o’clock position.
A pair of loud pops filled the carrier with the stench of cordite. I watched two single tracer rounds tear across my field of view like laser beams. I spotted a bright red spray of arterial blood splatter across the side of the front-end loader, and a body slumped over the edge of the cement barrier.
“One down, two to go!”
“Roger,” I replied. “One of them ran behind the loader, but I can’t see the other guy. Ark Two, how are you holding up?”
The radio hissed loudly. “Just pulling in beside you,” said Cruze. “The Brinks truck from hell decided to stop.”
“Keep your guns trained on him while we take out the two remaining shooters on the bridge,” I said, eyeballing the overpass.
The .50 caliber machine gun fired off another series of single shots and I watched as a second man fell over the edge, slamming into the ground.
“That’s two,” said Sid. There was an edge of anticipation in his voice.
It was only a matter of time before Sid took out the third shooter. I wondered for half a second whether the guy would actually try to surrender. I hoped not - we weren’t in any position to take prisoners.
“Holy shitbirds!” shouted Sid. “He’s got four creeps bearing down on him – where the hell did they come from?”
“Probably one of the vehicles they used to barricade themselves on the overpass!”
The intercom hissed for a few seconds and then Sid said, “Christ … they’re all over the guy. Poor bugger.”
“Is he still in your field of view? If you can see the guy, shoot him … you’ll be doing him a favor.”
“Yeah … I guess you’re right,” Sid replied grimly.
A few seconds later I heard one loud pop from the machine gun and Sid informed me that it had been taken care of. I peered into my periscope to see a small army of monsters stumbling and plodding across Bowness Road, no more than six hundred meters from our position.
I was just about to order that we press on, ignoring the Brinks truck, when a flash of light to my left temporarily blinded me. The radio squawked, a sharp, piercing screech followed by Cruze’s panicked voice.
“More Molotov cocktails, Dave!” she roared. “Two guys just popped up through a hole in the roof and they’ve got some kind of big-ass jerry-rigged slingshot!”
“Back your carrier the hell away from here, Cruze!” I shouted. “Have an eye on the creeps but don’t start shooting unless they get within one hundred meters of your position. We’re going to take out that Brinks truck!”
“Roger, Dave!” Cruze replied. I spun my crew commander seat until it faced the rear of the carrier.
“Dawson!” I barked. “How many M72s do you have packed away?”
She quickly poked her head underneath the large olive drab tarp that covered the floor. “A dozen.”
“Get one primed and ready. As soon as it’s cocked get your butt topside and take down the target – it’s about two hundred meters directly behind us.”
YOU ARE READING
The North (#wattys2016)
Science FictionBreakout. Escape The City. Stay Alive. Sixteen-year-old David Simmons is on a mission to save his eight-year-old sister. In a smoldering world infested with walking cadavers, the survivors of Simmons infantry reserve unit are going hatches down in a...
