Chaos

Turnbull was dead.

The next two days and nights are replays of the first ones; resupplying, resting and burying the dead during the day and fighting off the attacks at night. Is this live or Memorex? Lynn thinks during the third night. The creatures show up under the light in gradual numbers and overwhelm the fences; only to be halted and not being able to gain entrance to the stairs by the coming of dawn. How many can there be? The question passes through her tired mind as the rising sun chases off the last attack. The radios however remain silent as had any answering of telephone calls to the outside world.

The fourth day dawns as had the previous mornings. The sun rises in the east signaling yet another heat- infested day filled with the tedium of staying alive for yet another day. Lynn gathers her mind and thoughts towards vacating the area for a more survivable, long-term solution. The thoughts of their need to conduct a long, arduous journey and what they will need to accomplish this fills the majority of her day. Tomorrow she will begin to enact their withdrawal of the area and to create the criteria of their new destination. Tomorrow I will worry about that, she thinks as the sun begins its descent into the western horizon. Where are you Jack?

With the thought of the last night in camp, Lynn stays with the guard detail posted for the first shift and watches the gathering of the first creatures around the tower. The difference between this and other nights is the quickness of the gathering. The fence perimeter is quickly overwhelmed with many of the creatures gathering at the base of the tower on the ramp side. Some complacency, due to the tiredness of the troops, follows a seemingly repeat of the previous evenings; doing enough to exact damage and a depletion of the creatures without them being able to gain entrance.

Within the deafening din filling her ears, Lynn picks up a faint noise of hammering metallic sounds from below her. She looks down to the soldiers below on the walkway trying to fix the sound to the spent rounds falling and the magazines impacting the walkway but the sounds seem out of sequence with what she sees.

A flash of light fills her head, “They’re on the stairs!” She yells to the soldiers manning both the walkway and covering the stairs.

Leaning over the edge as far as she dares, Lynn sees creatures scaling the outside of the stairs and shadows of others rapidly ascending the stairs. They have somehow reached that elusive final ten feet.

“Drescoll, I need two of yours over here!” Lynn shouts to her companion on the roof.

“On the way!” He shouts back.

“Direct your fire on those climbing up!” She yells to the soldiers beneath her. They lean over the railing to aim their fire directly downward.

Bodies fall off the staircase structure as rounds impact their shoulders and heads but the vast numbers on the stairs and the inability to fire directly on those ascending allows the horde to mass ever upward; slowly but surely pressing toward the small group defending the tower. Thoughts penetrate Lynn’s mind that perhaps she will not have to worry about any future, arduous adventure. I will not fail! The thought lends a force to her willpower and the volume of firepower directed on the ever advancing horde; the soldiers apparently sensing this thought direct an even more focused attempt to repel the invaders.

“Sergeant Connell! Sergeant Connell!” A voice sounds repeatedly behind her; having to be repeated due to her intense concentration on the creatures driving ever upward. She turns her head and notices Major Bannerman behind sticking his head through the open hatch to the control room behind her.

“Yes, sir,” she responds between trigger pulls.

“There’s someone on the radio!” He tells her.

Not fully grasping the gravity nor import of the meaning, she looks back at him in askance. Realizing that she has not comprehended what he is saying, Bannerman adds, “Sergeant Connell, there’s someone calling in on the radio with a call sign of Otter39?”

A dawning comprehension reaches into her eyes and soul. “Sergeant Drescoll! Cover the stairs. I’ll be in the control room on the radios.”

Sergeant Drescoll stands from his kneeling position and repositions himself at the other edge as Lynn descends the stairs to hear, “This is Otter 39 on UHF guard. Anyone read?”

Lynn sees Specialist Taylor raise the mic to his mouth and respond, “Otter 39, this is Arifjan, read you loud and clear, over.”

“Arifjan, this Otter 39. We are an inbound HC-130. State status.”

Major Bannerman takes the mic from Taylor and says, “Otter 39. This is Major Bannerman. State your position and intentions.”

* * *

I look over at Robert with one raised eyebrow and a ‘what the fuck’ expression. He looks over and shrugs; our tiredness from the extended trek showing. “Um, Bannerman, we’re now approximately forty miles west and I guess I intend to pick you up. State souls.”

There is a long pause with no response from Arifjan. I see the lights of a seemingly small city stretching off our nose as we continue our descent. “Arifjan, Otter 39. Confirm lights are on.”

“Otter 39, um, Arifjan. Roger. Lights are on.”

“Roger that Arifjan. There wouldn’t happen to be a Sergeant Connell with you would there?”

Complete silence ensues on both ends of the radio. On my side, it is awaiting a final word and verdict. On Lynn’s side, there is a sense of unrealness as all eyes turn and center on Lynn.

“Do you know who this is?” Bannerman asks with his eyes wide in bewilderment.

“I may, sir,” Lynn responds amidst the crackle of gunfire outside.

“Talk to him then,” Bannerman says.

Lynn takes the mic, “Otter 39, this is Arifjan,” she says with her voice cracking slightly.

I hear the response over the radio with sense of incredibility. I look over at Robert, Nic, Bri, and Michelle. They continue to look at me with a measure of unbelief; that we are talking to someone, that there is, in fact, someone at our destination, and that it may actually be Lynn.

“Oh my god! Lynn?” I say over the radio.

“Jack?” Lynn responds.

Descending close to the airport, I see the runway lighting offset from the light emitting from the camp itself in a seemingly small town aspect; streetlights set in small rectangular patterns with smaller lights set in amongst these lights.

“Yeah, babe. What’s your situation?” I ask worried over the sound of gunfire on the radio responses.

“Standby,” Lynn responds and walks over to the door and outside peering over the walkway railing.

She sees creatures climbing unrelentingly on the side of the stairway leading upward. Bodies line the landing just below her position as the soldiers she placed there are firing down on those who have managed to reach the landing. A horde of creatures line the perimeter awaiting room on the stairs; the things completely encompass the stairway structure. She looks to the soldiers firing on the walkway to see their wide eyes as they fire downward on the ever encroaching mass. Their eyes depict an emotion that their life here is only a matter of time but determining to exact what they can.

Walking back inside, she calmly walks to the radio, and picks up the mic, “Jack, it doesn’t look good. We’re in the tower. They’re scaling the tower and their overrunning the top is only a matter of time.”

“Roger that. Hold on as best as you can. I’ll be there in five.” I say in response.

I set up an overhead assault pattern minimizing my time in the air and descend rapidly to the airfield; the runway lights are 1,000 feet below as I bank the aircraft over into a steep, left hand descending pattern. Rolling out on final, I glance over to the tower on my left at the far side of the ramp. Light flows from the tower out onto the ramp and is filled with flashes of gunfire from all vantages on the tower top. Give me just a few more minutes, I think rolling out of the turn and descending toward the green lights at the runway threshold with the white runway lights stretching away before me.

The strobe-like flashes echo off to the side of my vision as my landing lights pick up the threshold markings and they flash underneath. The first 500 foot markings stream by my window as I draw the power back and start my flare; the nose rising in response to my control inputs. The drone of the engines diminishes yet we remain airborne as the aircraft continues its instinct to remain aloft. Gravity overcomes the wants of the aircraft with a chirp and the aircraft settles as it transitions from a creature of the sky to one of the earth.

With the flashes of weapons still being fired in the distance to the left, I pull the prop levers back into