EnEmE: Fall Of Man (7 page)

Before I could think any further on the matter, we heard the familiar rumble of a tank, very close to the house, vibrating the dishes in the cabinets. I quickly shuffled over to the dining room window. I looked around, saw nothing. I looked to the left, nothing. As I turned my gaze back to the right I saw a host soldier stepping out from the side of the building, stepping into my field of vision. I knew he was about to see me, and I’d made a rookie mistake. I was standing in the centre of the giant dining room window, too far from the safety of the window frame to dive out of the way without being seen. I froze. Before the host soldier could see me, a strong, firm hand gripped my shoulder and threw me hard to the floor.

Puzzled, I regained my bearings as my vision focused on my hostile savior.

I was shocked into silence.

I recognized the lithe, redheaded form turned away from me, ducking beside the window, keeping an eye out for the enemy.

“Lacy?” I muttered

She tensed, looking irritated; she looked at me. Her eyes tightened, irritated over solid black eyes.

She hissed at me, “I’m not Lacy.”

We hustled down the tunnel at a quick pace. I struggled to keep pace with the well-toned military men. I quickly stole a glance back at Jace and Alvarez as they walked in the other direction, toward light and smoke and potential death. Jace looked back at me and we held each other’s eyes for a moment. It felt longer than the second that it actually lasted, but in that second, I felt like we were making a promise that we’d see each other again.

I lost sight of them as they exited into the glaring light of day and Hauer hustled me around a turn in the tunnel.

He looked at me sideways without slowing.

“I need your head in the game, Doc,” was all that the battle worn soldier said.

We picked up the pace, working our way down the dark tunnel, moving past a series of smaller openings, drainage ports coming from other tunnels. We moved toward the light coming from a manhole cover above us.

Hauer cautiously climbed the ladder and pushed the manhole cover slowly upward. Before he could get the lid up in order to look around, something pulled it from his hands. A host soldier hefted the heavy chunk of steel over its head, bellowing loudly with anger, before slamming the lid down hard at the surprised soldier.

Luckily, Hauer ducked down quickly, avoiding the hunk of metal that was meant to cave his head in. Freeman, who was covering him, released a burst of rifle fire that left the dead host soldier slumped over the opening to the surface.

Hauer quickly jumped down, eyes still wide from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“Keep going. This isn’t the one we want; it opens into the exterior parking lot.” Hauer barked.

The tunnel erupted with rifle fire and energy bursts. Pieces of metal and concrete fell from the ceiling, slamming into the floor of the tunnel. Fragments of rock and metal showered down, scratching our faces and hands as we ducked to protect ourselves.

A squadron of host soldiers marched through the tunnel toward us. Hauer opened up a steady stream of fire from his AK-47, mowing down several of our pursuers.

“Keep going!” Hauer barked at me and Freeman. Without hesitation or con
versation Freeman reached back and dragged me forward, already picking up his pace. We were soon sprinting at full speed down the tunnel, sounds or gunfire and explosions echoing behind us.

Behind us . . .

An explosion knocked Hauer down, allowing a host soldier to press the advantage, sprinting up to and towering over the Master Sergeant. Hauer reached for his rifle, just in time for it to be quickly covered by the soldier’s heavily armored boot. As the host soldier pointed his gun, aiming between Hauer’s eyes point blank, the large butt of a laser rifle jutted down from the open manhole. The rifle struck the host soldier hard in the head, knocking it backward.

We finally reached another manhole, dim light seeping down into the tunnel. I tried to look back for a moment, but before I could, Freeman grabbed my wrist firmly and pulled.

“We don’t’ have time.” Freeman said sternly.

We slowly climbed up the ladder toward the cover Freeman led, climbing one-handed with his rifle at the ready, with me close behind.

He slowly pressed the cover open with his rifle ready. More explosions rocked the tunnel from behind us. We surfaced in the parking garage of the hospital, Freeman leading the way, viewing every corner of the apparently empty garage, through the lens of his rifle scope.

As we cautiously moved toward the hospital entrance, we saw the two helmeted host soldier heads, complete with armored torsos and rifles held at the ready, appear from the corridor on the other side of the large glass automatic doors.

Freeman grabbed my arm, dragging me behind a mini-van. He held his rifle ready in one hand, a finger to his mouth signalling to be quiet with the other hand.

We heard the “Whoosh” of the sliding doors opening, but no other sounds of voices or gunfire. From our vantage point, peering out from under the van, we could see the soldiers doing their rounds. Apparently they had not seen us approaching.

We held our breath for a tense moment.

“Fack you, ya bloody bastards!” A voice suddenly rang off the walls. “BANANA BENDER!” The accent sounded Australian.

We peered toward the shouting voice and saw a scraggly, skinny, red-headed man, wearing a sweat-stained shirt. He was holding a baseball bat studded with a railway spike as he ran full tilt at the soldiers.

It’s safe to say that the soldiers were as surprised as Freeman and I were. All four of us seemed frozen in a daze, holding our breath.

The skinny man ran right up and belted one of the soldiers across the head, a loud clang echoing off the helmet as it rocked sideways. The other soldier quickly ploughed the butt of his energy rifle into the side of the Aussie’s head.

The rebel fell to the pavement hard, his bat clattering and then rolling out of reach.

The now familiar hum of the energy charge could be heard as both host soldiers stood over the young man. He glared back defiantly, wisps of dirty, unkempt hair sticking up like giant hornet stingers, pointing back at his assassins.

Gunfire tore through the parking garage, cutting the host soldiers in half before their rifles could charge. Freeman leaned against the minivan, smoke slowly floating upwards from the barrel of his gun.

We quickly walked toward the young man who had covered his head in a desperate attempt to protect himself when the bullets had begun to fly. He looked around, surprised to be alive, and. realizing that he’d been saved. His face beamed at Freeman and I as we helped him to his feet.

“You’ve saved me, mate,” he said, still surprised.

“Welcome to the resistance,” said Freeman. “I’m Sergeant Freeman, and this is Dr. Kiebler,” he said, gesturing to me.

“Hi,” I said, waving and smiling, nervously.

“Bloody pleasha, folks,” he said, sticking out a hand to shake. “My name’s Jessie . . . DOG SHIT . . .Banyan.”

Freeman had a puzzled expression on his face, probably because of the odd use of the expletive. I’m sure I did as well, but the expression must have changed when my breath stopped and my blood ran cold when I heard the man’s last name. Banyan, like Jace’s and my dead friend.

“Ooookay…” said Freeman.

“So, is this all of the resistance?” Banyan asked.

“No,” I replied. “There are more people…coming.”

“ That’s . . WHORE . .  good ta hear!” Banyan responded.

Freeman and I looked at each other. Before I could think of a polite way to ask, Freeman just came out with it.

“What’s with all the swearing, buddy?” asked Freeman. “One of those drones knock a screw loose or somethin’?”

“Ah, shite, don’t mind the cursing, I don’t even . . . ARSEHOLE . . . realize I do it half the time anymore,” said Banyan. “I’ve got a case of the Tourettes or as me mah called it the Shite Head.”

Assuming that he had had another outburst from his disease I politely asked, “What head?”

“Shite Head.” Banyan responded nonchalantly. “That wasn’t Tourettes; me mah was a real bitch.”

             
“PIG’S ARSE” Banyan shouted as we walked towards the sliding doors of the hospital. “Ah, but me uncle, he’s a right good fella. He’s the reason I came over ta America in the first place. He’s always been there to help me no matter which windin’ path I took in this journey called . . . BALLS . . . life.”

I could tell despite the vulgarity coming from Banyan that his feelings and care for his uncle were genuine. I dreaded telling him that his uncle was dead.

“I was named after me uncle, ya know?” said Banyann. “Ah, but that was before me mah knew about me old cracked noodle. If it hadn’t been for me Uncle Jessie, she probably woulda left me in the outback long ago and claimed her crazy son had just gone walkabout.”

“It’s a shame that some people can’t see the value in those who have a mental disability,” I offered, attempting to comfort the man.

“Mental disability? Don’t go lumpin’ me in with the rest ah those retads. . . PISS CHRIST!” The younger Banyan replied. “I just curse a bit. No worse than any LAME DILL sailor!”

Freeman couldn’t help but laugh. Banyan and I looked at each other and chuckled, too.

“Anyway, me uncle’s a hotshot surgeon in this here hospital, and I thought if anyone’s gonna be able to help me survive all this craziness, it’s him,” said Banyan. “Plus he can get me more of me medy’s, to help control me outbursts.”

The hospital doors slid open with a quiet “whoosh” as we entered a very empty, very silent corridor.

Only a few yards into the hallway, we couldn’t do anything but watch as a squadron of five host soldiers quickly rounded a corner in the distance, turning directly at us.

“Halt!” one of them shouted, bringing the squad to a stop, weapons drawn.

Freeman answered with a volley of gunfire that left two of the host soldiers dead or injured. The rest opened fire. Freeman did a combat roll into an adjoining corridor on the left while Banyan and I scrambled for cover into the one on the right.

Gunfire erupted all around us. Energy balls exploded the plaster in the walls above us, showering us in a white powder.

“BLOODY SHITE!” Banyan yelled, barely audible over the sounds of chaos.

Freeman continued to return fire and I pulled out a micro-Uzi. I turned to look back at Banyan as we lay on the corridor floor. His previous good nature was gone, his face was filled with fear. Sweat ran down his forehead and his breathing had become incredibly fast.

“I need you to calm down and take this,” I said, holding out the gun. “If we don’t kill them, they will kill us. I’ve seen enough so far that I have no doubt.”

He took it from my hand reluctantly, refusing to grip his fingers around the handle.

“Ah geez, fuck.” said Banyan. “I don’t know. Guns ain’t me style, ya know. Me unc was always a pacifist and he always taught me that there was a better way. Ya know? That blitz in the garage, it was just me last desperate attempt.”

I pulled a grenade from my belt, popped the latch, and tossed it blindly into the hallway. An explosion rocked the hallway and shook the ground. All seemed quiet for a second, and then the gunfire continued from the other side. If I’d taken any of them out, it hadn’t been all of them.

I looked at Banyan and made the decision.

“Your uncle, he was a surgeon here, right?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” Banyan said, a curious look crossing his face.

“Was he sort of slender, balding, white hair, sick sense of humour, but charming? Worked in the E.R. as an emergency surgeon? Is that what your uncle was like?”

“Yeah, that’s my Uncle Jessie,” he said. “What do you mean ‘was’?”

I reached a hand out, touching his in comfort and preparing him for what I was about to say.

“Your uncle was a brave, smart, and caring man. I met him. If it wasn’t for him,  my friends and I probably wouldn’t have lived long enough to be here now,” I explained, holding the younger Banyan’s fearful gaze. “Your uncle was a hero, and I saw these
things
, whatever they are, kill him this morning in cold blood.”

Banyan looked at me in disbelief, the horror sinking in. He tried to respond, but kept choking on his own emotions. Tears welled in his eyes and a look of pain crossed his face. Choked half sobs escaped from his mouth. I fired blindly over my shoulder down the hall and then reached for his hand again. Before I could take hold he bolted upright and released a primal scream.