Whistlers

Jack Walker — Dazed and Confused

Two things come to mind. The first is that Mike did it. I didn’t think it was going to work. I had hoped so, but I wasn’t really sure. The second is my incredibly bad timing. There are burning and stinging sensations all over my body. It feels like I have jumped into a nest of fire ants and am rolling around in them. I do a quick mental check and am reasonably sure most everything still works. The things that don’t…well…I’ll find and deal with those later.

Rising into a sitting position on the concrete pad where I’d been thrown, I notice scraps of metal lying about. Below, most of the monsters are dead, dying, or wandering around in a daze. It looks like the blast has taken more than half of them out. That is the good news. The bad, there are still some alive, more than enough to overwhelm us.

The concussion from the blast, magnified under the bridge, has them stumbling around like drunks at Mardi Gras. They will recover in a short period of time. I need to make sure that’s a luxury they don’t get.

I wonder if Mike knows about Mardi Gras?

Thinking of Mike, I look back. He’s on the ground covered in gore and blood; most of it is that black substance pumping through the creatures. In the midst, I see spots of red and know that he’s been hit. He sits up and grabs for his M-16, staring down at it as he realizes that he’s holding the butt stock in one hand, and the rest of it in the other.

Well, hopefully he can get the hell out of here. I’ll take down as many as I can to give him and Trip a chance.

Turning my attention back to the monsters, it is time to get to business. I rise and sight in on the nearest creature, sending two rounds out on a delivery. It stumbles one more time and falls over like a drunk trying to pass a sobriety test. I advance down the pad, firing at one target after another. There are still a lot of them on their feet and it is only a matter of time before the shooting gallery turns into a firefight.

The high-pitched scream erupts again. It is like someone dragging a needle across my eardrum. I keep moving and firing, hoping to hit whoever, or whatever, is making that god-awful noise. If I can just shut that up, I won’t care what happens afterward. I just don’t want that sound to be the last I ever hear.

I’m not going to be able to take them all down in time, I think, changing my mag.

The leader is rallying his troops, and they are responding in quick fashion.

Well, I just hope that I buy Mike enough time.