LOGAN
Forty feet.
That was all they needed to cover before they get to the front yard, and Logan had made dozens of plays from that distance on the football field. We can do this, he said to himself.
"Everyone ready?" Logan asked through the radio. So far, the sniper looked alone. Still, Logan couldn't help but feel nervous, but this was no time to freeze.
He peeked out from behind the tree, having determined where the sniper had positioned on the second-floor window to his left; a little trick between drawing out Deon's head from where he hid so that Logan could take a good look (not an easy job when your head was on the line of fire).
But that means we can take him, Logan thought. If we do this right.
A little flash from the partially opened window just as the sun hit the lens, and then Logan ducked behind the tree before the sniper fired a shot. The bullet hit the pavement ten inches to his right.
"Ready," said Deon. "That got his attention."
"We're ready," Paloma followed. "And that was too close, Logan." She and Edgar hid behind the overturned truck, giving Logan a thumbs up. Not far from them, Monica was comforting Marie behind the Toyota, trying to rub off Darren's blood from her face. At least she had stopped crying now; a determined look replaced it.
"I know, I know. Just gotta make sure he's still up there."
Noodle stood behind Logan, nodding his head. He would have the most important job out of all, and the boy knew it. Logan gave him the M4 carbine, which now hung over his shoulder. He only had the Beretta left.
Logan put the radio over his lips again. "Okay, we're going to do this precisely and without any hesitation from any of you. If we do that, we might get out of this street alive." A little encouragement and a dose of reality should keep everyone on their toes.
The sniper must be wondering what was taking everyone so long, and just as Logan thought of it, he fired another shot right above the overturned truck where Paloma and Edgar were, shooting the tire and then the glass, trying to draw them out into a panic. But out of all the vehicles, they were in the safest spot, and those two knew it.
Fucking idiot. Logan grinned at the opportunity.
"Now!" Logan screamed.
Paloma raised her shirt, tied together with Edgar's Hawaiian shirt, wedged by the end of her baseball bat. Logan tried to look away from those two without their shirts on, especially Paloma, but he had to make sure the sniper caught it. Paloma waved it around like she was moving. From afar, it looked like someone's head was about to jump out of cover and make a run for it.
Please, please, please! Stay alive, stay alive, stay alive!
The sniper fired, and the bullet grazing just above the bat.
Yes!
Logan dashed out of cover, running sideways to the next cover behind a mailbox twelve feet ahead. Deon followed suit a second later, running to the nearby tree across the street just as Edgar dashed out of cover opposite where the sniper had fired and slid behind a van just four feet to his right; specks of dirt hit his foot where the sniper had fired.
That was too close, Logan thought, but Edgar made it.
Deon leaned out of cover and fired a couple of shots at the window; the first bullet hit above the windowpane, but the second shattered the glass. The lens flickered for a split second, turning toward Deon just before he ducked back into cover.
Perfect! Logan dashed out again, heading diagonally, and slid behind a sedan five feet away.
Twenty-five feet.
It had low coverage, and the sniper could shoot through the window quickly if Logan raised his head a tiny inch, so he dropped low, his belly almost to the ground.
Edgar moved to the van's driver's side, partially covering him from the line of fire from the vehicle's back end. He reached into the door, pulled the stick down out of parking, and then pushed the van backward.
The van didn't budge.
It's too heavy. Logan looked around, saw Paloma was the nearest person to Edgar, and she knew he needed his help.
Suddenly, Nico ran out of cover, throwing his sleeping bag over like a canvas, opened down to the zipper's end, and spread out like a billowy blanket. The sniper shot through the bag, three bullets in quick succession, but Nico managed to evade each one, sliding and slipping from behind. Before the sleeping bag could hit the ground, Nico had already found cover from where Monica and Marie were at. The sniper fired more shots, blowing out the windows, but Nico and the girls hunkered down in the middle. There was a brief pause, the sniper reloading.
Paloma used Nico's distraction to slip out of cover and ran to the van. Quickly, they pushed the van backward, taking quite a while to get it moving until the wheels screeched and started rolling.
It seemed the sniper was still reloading, allowing Logan and Deon to move five feet closer to the house, swerving around the husk of a van long burnt down, and headed toward his next cover. He wanted to take out his pistol and started firing at the window, but that would only be a waste of bullets. He tried to save it for once he's inside the house.
Logan's back smacked against a Ford truck while Deon found himself a great cover behind a short bus, a wheelchair with its seat coated with dried, black blood sticking out of the sliding doors. Logan saw a couple more bodies inside.
All that was left was the intersection toward the house and twenty feet of open ground ahead: nowhere to find cover and nowhere to hide. If they as so much stepped out within a foot in that zone, they'd be dead.
There, a pathway toward the backyard—a way to sneak inside and flank this asshole.
The glass shattered on Logan's back, the sniper trying to draw him out, but that was all he could do. Logan knew he was safe from where he was hiding. Just as the sniper was distracted, Deon got out of cover and started shooting, blowing out more glass from the sniper's perch, and placed more holes around the window frame.
The sniper started shooting.
"You think he's dead?" Deon asked through the radio. Logan gave him a shrug where he's hiding, saw Deon slid behind the bus again just to be safe. The man could be reloading his weapon, or...
Another volley of shots was fired, this time, taking the van where Edgar and Paloma were busy pushing it. There was too much angle to the shots, taking out the glass behind the van, and then the tires followed suit. The van screeched to a halt right next to the burnt-down van. Edgar and Paloma crouched down. Logan could still see them from where he was, and she saw Edgar shook his head and pointed directly ahead.
I know, Logan thought. The sniper had moved spots.
Logan peered out and caught the sniper had perched to the right window, next to the side pathway leading to the backyard. This was getting more difficult than he thought.
Deon shot at the window again, but he was running out of bullets, and soon, they wouldn't have weapons to fall back to once they're inside the house. Who knew how armed this man was?
More glass broke, but Logan realized it was coming from the first-floor windows. Gunfire erupted across the street, shattering the windshield and the side mirrors of the truck on top of Logan in quick succession. All he could do was cover his head and his ears, careful not to step on the shards littered around him.
This is bullshit!
"I see this motherfucker has friends!" Deon hissed, hunkering down as the school bus got showered with bullets as well.
"How many do you see?" Logan asked.
"Two by the left window and one by the front door. I could see the barrel sticking out through the gap."
"Four then."
"Yep. This gets complicated."
"You know us. We love surprises," Logan said sarcastically.
Deon chuckled, but he tried to stifle it down. "What should we do? We can't keep this up!" One of the gunmen hit the short bus's front tire, a hiss of air escaped through the hole, and the bus gradually leveled down.
So, that's it, huh? Surprise us with a death squad and a hail of bullets? "Well, let them get a taste of our own. Noodle!"
Noodle was like a flexible monkey, jumping and hopping from one tree branch to the other, twirling in the air without breaking a sweat. While the snipers and the gunmen were distracted, Noodle was busy climbing up the trees, which were large and thick enough to support his weight. From where the gunmen and the snipers were situated, they couldn't get a good view through the dense foliage, and Noodle was going to use that to his advantage.
Noodle was definitely a gymnast and a very good one at that. He used the branches like vault pommel horses, beams, and monkey bars, muscles flexing and constricting against his weight, his legs swinging as if made of wind and water, so graceful and left without an impact or a thud. Noodle landed on a sturdy branch of a tree just above the stop sign—ten feet to the house's front lawn. Noodle unslung the M4 carbine and didn't hesitate to take a shot through the sniper's window.
At least four bullets went through the imploding glass, and a distinct cry cut between the bursts of fire. Deon slipped out and aimed for the front door, and Logan couldn't count how many times he fired. At least he managed to keep the gunmen at bay, who quickly closed the door shut to find cover.
Now's my chance!
This was a gridiron sweep play, like snapping the wishbone off to win the day. Logan imagined he got the ball; his running back had just passed it to him, his linemen at full engagement against the defenders along the line of scrimmage, cutting them off for a brief moment. His only goal now was to run toward the side pathway—the end zone—to win the home game before the defenders broke through the line.
Now's my chance!
Logan ran out from his cover and dashed across the intersection. A hail of bullets riddled his wake. Noodle—both is Right Guard and Right Tackle—started aiming down and shot through the ground floor windows, giving Logan more seconds to spare to reach the end. His shoes touched grass, but he never stopped, breezing past the windows where a gun was aimed at him; the bullet wheezed an inch over his head and kept on running until he reached the pathway.
Ha! I made it! Take that, bitch!
Then, he heard the screams.
Logan turned around and saw a vector tried to crawl into the van's broken glass with Paloma and Edgar hiding and shouting from inside.
"No!"
A twig snapped from behind him, and Logan only had a second to react before an ax swung over his head.
——
PALOMA
"Wait, do you hear that?" Paloma placed her hand on Edgar's shoulder just as the sniper took out the tires. She tried to keep the panic in her voice from scaring him just when the van stopped moving.
Shit. We're stuck! "The noise—" Paloma whispered, trying to find it. It was familiar, just above the gunshots, until...
"What? I don't hear—"
There, a lone vector shrieked, drawn by the gunfire.
There was only one for now, but Paloma didn't know how many more were coming. From a ranch-style house, a man rattled against the side gate; blood covered his mouth and shirt, his eyes trained at them. Paloma felt her gut turned over, seeing those things again so up-close.
"It's them!" Edgar yelped.
Her heart hammered, a swell of adrenaline entered her system, and she desperately wanted to flee. There was nowhere else to run. They didn't have a gun, only a baseball bat and an ax, and if they stepped out of cover, the sniper would shoot get them.
At this rate, the vector would get to them. They needed to move.
"Fuck! We're cornered!" Edgar said.
The gate was probably only five feet high, a foot shorter than the man, who simply vaulted over and landed on the soft, untrimmed grass and darted toward them.
Paloma slid the van's door open and said, "Get inside!" She pushed Edgar in and quickly climbed after him.
"Close the door, close the door!" Edgar mumbled.
Paloma grabbed the handle and slammed the door shut just as the vector smashed against the glass; a tiny spider web formed on where his skull had it the window. There was a moment of respite that they were safe, but it was only for a brief moment. Paloma realized they were in a death box. The vector snarled, angry that his prey got away from him, but the sniper kept firing on them, one bullet hitting the side mirror into smithereens.
Paloma hoped it would distract the vector, but he didn't. His prey was already in front of him, separated by a thin window inside a minivan. The vector quickly spotted the opening, the broken window that the sniper had shot out earlier.
"Shit!" Paloma spat, dragging Edgar out of the way.
The vector ran around, faster than Paloma anticipated, and slithered into the opening. His stench filled the car like being smothered in rotten eggs and feet. He reached in and grabbed Edgar's arm, his body halfway inside. Paloma screamed and kicked the vector's head while Edgar tried to pry his hand loose.
"Let go of me!" Edgar screamed.
Paloma reached for the van's door, opened it, threw the bat out first, and then grabbed Edgar's legs. With his screaming and his mind preoccupied from trying to push the vector's teeth as far away from his skin, Edgar took a few seconds to realize the door was open and that Paloma was practically screaming at him to come out.
"Oh, for fuck sake, Edgar! Come on!" She gripped hard around his ankles and dragged him out, but the vector also had a firm grip on him, and he was also pulled out.
I have to make this count!
Edgar tumbled through the door first, landing on his bottom, and once the vector was halfway out, Paloma roared and shut the door on the vector's shoulder blades, who let out a strangled cry. He let go of Edgar's arm.
"Grab the fucking bat, Ed!" Paloma screamed, gesturing for the bat lying by the sidewalk.
Edgar grabbed the bat, lifted it over his head, and brought the bat against the vector's skull with one rattling roar. There was growing panic bubbling up Paloma's throat that it wouldn't work, that it would take more to kill a monster, but once the wood made contact with bones and muscles, once the blood had seeped and soaked the storm drain, Paloma knew they had killed the son of a bitch. Edgar did it three times—wack, wack, wack—a slight hum in the air shifted with each blow until its head had turned into a mangled mess of tissue and blood.
The vector stopped moving.
"Take that!" Edgar whooped.
Paloma shushed him and dragged him down the ground until their bellies touched the pavement. "The sniper!" She said.
"Thanks."
Paloma checked his arm. "Are you bit? Are you hurt?"
"N-no. I don't think so."
Paloma couldn't see any wounds or broken skin, and she heaved a sigh. Edgar wasn't infected.
They could still hear the gunshots.
"This fucker is really trying to draw us out!" Edgar said.
But they sounded so far away, and it seemed the bullets never made it to their end. Paloma realized why.
It was coming from inside the house.
——
LOGAN
Logan ducked, the blade cutting through the air an inch above his hair, and slammed against the house's exterior wall.
"Fuck!" Logan spat, an involuntary reaction; his stomach and heart seemed to jump all at once and rested on his throat.
That was close!
The man, clad in a tactical vest and green camo jacket, stood over him, his arms outstretched, still attached to the ax's handle, and Logan realized the soldier was trying to pry it out of the wood's lapped siding.
"No fucking way!" Logan curled his hand into a fist and thrust it forward, contacting just above the bridge of his nose. Blood gushed out of his nostrils, and the soldier let go of the handle and clutched his broken nose instead.
"Muh nuss!" The soldier screeched.
Logan shoved him back. The soldier stumbled to the grass and landed on his ass.
He saw the knife sheathed on the man's belt, and Logan knew he was going to grab it next and shanked him.
Gotta think, gotta think!
The ax!
Logan grabbed the handle and yanked the blade lose; specks of wood and sliding panels came off. From the corner of his eye, the soldier pulled his knife out of its sheath, flipped it around to get a good grip on it, and made an upward slash. Logan swerved out of the way, the blade slicing just under his rib cage, and spun around.
"No, wait—!" The soldier pleaded.
Logan brought the ax down as the soldier screamed, and the blade bit into his neck and went clean through flesh and bone. He didn't realize he placed too much strength into the swing, the adrenaline pumping and charging, and the man's head sailed up through the air and on the soft grass six feet away from the main body. It rolled into a bed of white daisies, splattering the petals into a mosaic of dark red and pink hues.
Logan wanted to hurl his guts out as he watched the headless body slumped to the ground, letting out two spurts of blood out of the sheared stump. He leaned against the wall, the ax growing heavy, and he let it slip out of his grip; it fell to the ground.
I killed a soldier.
But then Logan noticed that the man didn't look like a soldier, not like the people he saw from the outpost. Wearing the white Jordan sneakers instead of combat boots gave it away. That and the uniform didn't match what the army was wearing.
"Paloma," Logan whispered.
He made it two steps back to the pathway, momentarily stopping when he saw that Edgar and Paloma had dealt with the vectors already.
They're fine. Logan heaved a sigh. He took out his Beretta and walked back, making sure not to step on the body as he crouched toward the backyard and found the sliding door opened. He tried to push the image of the severed head out of his mind as he peeked out from behind the corner and gathered that no one was in the yard. Even the pool (which had no water) was empty.
There was a raised deck, a 12x12 back porch, which led to the sliding door, and Logan stalked toward it. He took a deep breath, praying not to get shot in the head just to peek in through the glass, but someone had already seen him.
The glass doors erupted into thousands of pieces, coming from inside the house. Logan had no choice but to fall back to where he came, placed his back against the corner. Two men wearing the same outfit as the man he had killed came out from the back door. One vaulted over the deck railings and hid behind the stainless steel barbecue grill while the other hid behind the deck itself, just out of his sight.
Well, let's see how you handle this!
Logan peeked out and fired, but the gun didn't go off.
"What the fuck?"
One of the men fired; the bullet barely grazed his nose and hit the wall next to his face, and Logan ducked behind cover again. Specks of wood chips fell over his head.
You stupid buffoon! You forgot to turn the safety off!
Logan slapped himself on the forehead.
"Idiot," he muttered.
I have to flank them.
Luckily, the house had a window propped above the ac unit. As the two men were busy firing a few cheap shots at where he hid, Logan hopped on top of the unit, tried to wiggle the window loose, but he found it open. Yes! He crawled inside into a small washroom. The stench hit him right away. Weeks without proper plumbing had soaked the toilet with something Logan couldn't describe or even want to know.
He slowly opened the door, found the hallway empty. Logan waited, of course, trying to make sure there weren't any footsteps coming his way, and besides, the two men from the backyard had stopped shooting. They must be wondering if they had hit him.
Sure the coast was clear, and Logan slipped out into the hallway, his gun at the ready. He crawled toward the kitchen just as one of the men from the backyard called out the other to check. Logan peeked from the window above the sink, saw the guy hiding behind the deck stalking toward the corner with his gun raised, steps so delicate he didn't even make a sound.
That's when Logan saw it: the propane tank under the grill.
Fuck it.
Logan shot at the tank. The first shot caught the two men's attention, and they dove for cover. The first guy went back from behind the deck, but Logan doubted a bunch of wood railing could protect him now that he had the vantage point from the kitchen. The second guy ducked behind the grill. Logan fired another shot, just clipping the grill's top part; the third bullet merely went through the middle and took out the cooking grate.
Logan aimed two inches lower and fired.
Logan expected what would come next, but he didn't expect the radiant heat that wrapped his face. Even though he was far enough from the explosion, the heat must have evaporated the sweat over his brows. For ten feet across, the fiery ball expanded, throwing the guy hiding behind the grill into a charred mess and sent him flying thirty feet into the air and fell into the pool. The other one managed to flee, but he barely made it a step before the shockwave propelled him backward, and he crashed into the deck's railing, a wood splintered off into two, and both impaled him through the chest and stomach. He wasn't moving.
Logan ducked behind the sink just as the shockwave hit the house, shattering the windows. He felt the house shake a little, something he could feel all the way up to his knees. Logan gritted his teeth and got up, but just as he propped his hands on the counter and hauled himself to his feet, he heard footsteps.
He barely had time to turn his head when a man his size slammed and tackled him to the ground, missing the countertop by an inch, or else his head would have gone splat. He wiggled himself loose, but the man was on top of him, roaring against his ears, cursing and muttering something about slicing and dicing him. Well, Logan didn't want that to happen, and he wasn't going to give him a chance.
His right hand caught on something, glanced on it to find a ceramic plate. Aha! Logan grabbed it and smashed it over the guy's face. He grunted, blood oozing out from the cut on his forehead. But the man didn't budge, his hands trying to wrap around his throat. Logan slightly turned his head to the left and then grabbed the man's hand. Without a beat, he bit his finger.
"Ah! You motherf—!" The man hollered.
Logan tasted blood and spat on the man's eye. He loosened his grip around Logan's throat to wipe it off, giving Logan enough chance to crawl from underneath and pushed him aside. He didn't put enough weight on the shove, but it bought him a couple of seconds to be back on his feet. The man got up as well.
"I'm gonna fuck you up, bitch!" The man hissed.
Logan pulled all the strength he could muster and roared, screamed his lungs out as he charged against the man, his arms wrapped around his waist, and hoisted him up. He kept on running, thinking back on all the training in his field, Coach Greyson drilling how to block and tackle, and definitely how to push the enemy back ten feet and out of your ass.
He darted straight for the hallway, still carrying the man, who flailed and yanked at Logan's hair. Still, he rode through the pain, determined to get through that hallway, but they didn't even make it past a couple of steps.
The man slammed the back of his skull against the head of the door frame and went limp. Logan could feel his weight grew heavy, and he dropped him to the ground before he both took them down.
Is he...?
The man had his eyes trained wide open toward the ceiling, blood pooling from the back of his head. Logan looked up to the splintered door frame, the jamb and header casing a little loose, and there was definitely blood trickling from where the man had hit his head. He gave two kicks on the man's legs, just in case he was still alive, but he didn't flinch nor made any move.
"I guess I fucked you up." Logan's ears were still ringing from the blast, still tasted blood under his tongue, so he spitted to the side, though that still didn't make him feel better.
Boots crunched under shattered glass, and Logan turned around toward the hallway.
There, the sniper, no more than in his mid-fifties, stood by the bottom staircase, staring t the dead man on Logan's feet; two holes on his right shoulder, but he was still standing.
And he had the rifle in his hand.
There was a low huff; the sniper's face turned into a terrifying snarl, and he aimed the rifle at Logan. Before Logan could even beg, before he could even shout, stop, or even scream, the sniper pulled the trigger.
Logan flinched and closed his eyes. Where would it hit? My brain? He thought for a split second, then that thought turned into something else.
He heard a loud pop, and the end was inevitable.
Nothing happened. He opened his eyes, and he was still standing there; the sniper still had his weapon aimed at him, but instead of that snarling face, it was replaced by a confused look.
He had no bullets left.
The sniper fished out a bullet from his pocket. Logan tried to pull his pistol out, realized he had dropped his gun during the scuffle.
Shit!
But before the man could fill up the chamber, his head exploded sideways, caking the wall with his skull and brain matter.
Logan froze, his mind blanked, and stared at the sniper's dead body. Then, Deon walked out from the living room, gun raised and gave Logan a curt nod. "Hey. You okay?" He asked. "Talk to me, man."
"I—I'm fine."
"Well, you look like shit."
"I had a little barbecue. Almost took my eardrums off."
Deon chuckled. "Yeah, I can see that."
They both listened to the house creaking. No footsteps. No sudden moves.
The house was finally empty.
"I found something in the garage on my way here. You want to check it out?"
Logan could only muster a nod and followed Deon to the garage.
"Ta-da!" Deon flashed his fingers, gesturing toward the prize...or at least that's what Logan saw it was.
A pick-up truck.
"So, do you think this can get us to the cemetery?" Deon asked.
"Yeah. It will."
"Why don't you call the others here and get them off the streets? We need to be out of sight before more vectors come to check out the ruckus we made."
"Hey, everyone clear?" Noodle hollered from the front door.
"All clear!" Logan and Deon yelled.
Eventually, the others came into the garage and checked the truck. There were two duffel bags with various supplies, but sadly, none of them were food. Logan gave the others five minutes to look around and find anything they deemed valuable, specifying that they should loot their guns as well. He didn't hear a single complaint. If they're uncomfortable doing that, then there's really no helping them.
Nico pulled out a folded blanket from the back of the truck and unfolded it. Marie and Monica gasped.
It was the Alphas' sigil.
"I guess they're perching up outposts and lookouts toward downtown," Nico said.
"And we just stumbled into one of their nests," Paloma said.
"Seems so. If the Alphas are nearby, then we really have to go," Logan said.
"Do you think they'll come for us? We killed their men," Marie said, and Monica wrapped her arm around her for comfort.
Deon scoffed. "They killed two of my friends. They deserved more than what they got. We need to bury them."
"Easy there, Rambo," Edgar said. "We don't have room in the truck to have two more dead bodies, and I doubt we have time to bury them."
"We are heading to a cemetery. Seems like a perfect place to do it."
"But we don't have the time."
"So what? We just leave our friends out there to rot under the sun?"
Logan placed his hand on Deon's shoulder. "In other circumstances, we would have brought them with us, but we're in the city now, Deon. Harrisburg is becoming a dangerous place, and if we so much as take a pause, someone's going to take us out. It could be the Alphas, the military, or heck, even the vectors. To keep everyone safe, we have to move forward. We can't get sidetracked."
Deon sighed, and Noodle sidled next to him. "It's okay, Deon. We'll pray for them at the church. It's one of our stops, remember? We can light a candle for them to honor their memory."
Deon let out a weak smile, but he also fought his tears. "Yeah. That'll be nice. We'll get the other guys to do it, I mean, if they made it."
"Yes." Noodle glanced at me, frowning. "If the others make it." They walked back into the house, searching for supplies.
"It's a good thing you talked some sense in that boy," Paloma said. Logan didn't realize she was beside him.
"I have to keep the group together."
"A job I don't envy."
"Thanks for the assist there, by the way."
"It was worth it. We won."
Logan rubbed his ears, annoyed by the ringing. Though, it had grown fainter over the past few minutes. "It doesn't feel like a victory."
"Two people died, but you saved the rest. I still call that a victory. You still saved us, and that's what matters." Paloma smiled.
Logan smiled, too. It felt good to smile again. When that rifle was aimed at his head, certain, confusing things flooded Logan's mind; his mother and her laugh; a nordic lullaby she would sing to him every night when he was a child; her awful pot luck of stewed vegetable chili during PTA meetings that she would force him to eat; and her drawers of teacup collections worth seven figures total.
Then, he thought of Bren. He thought of his stupid comic books that he shared with him for the first time in the hospital when he fell into a shaft in the abandoned warehouse. He thought about the days Bren had covered for him when he went past curfew. Or the days where they would take the bus to Omsi Museum and spent hours there in their dinosaur exhibits. He thought of Bren finally looking at him, and he meant really looking at him that day in New York, the one trust he had broken finally molded back into a single thread, and he had vowed never to break that again.
He thought of Bren, and he wasn't going to let this city keep him away from him.