A round whizzed over Clem’s head while another struck the brick wall to his front. With no need for instructions, he pulled the rifle into his shoulder and began firing on targets, picking those with automatic weapons first.
Masterson’s machine gun let loose at the same time as the overhead doors began screeching open. The first of the trucks racing forward, Masterson changed the angle of his fire just enough to allow the vehicles to move through the wall of lead he was providing.
The convoy was taking heavy fire. Clem laid down his rifle and rolled to his side, lighting the fire bombs and tossing them in rapid succession to his left and right, trying to create a gauntlet of flames for the vehicles to race down.
Clem watched in horror as the Deltas on the ground began ignoring them. Instead, The Darkness focused all of their fire on the escaping vehicles. A gray cargo van took heavy fire, rounds drumming across its front. Clem figured the driver must have been killed as he watched the van veer hard, nearly rolling before sliding partially off the asphalt and colliding with a tree just short of the opening to the road. Vehicles behind it slammed to a stop, while some tried to steer right of the disabled van, the back half of it now blocking the road.
A wave of at least ten Deltas emerged from the trees, screaming as they charged forward at the van. Clem went back to the weapon, his bolt-action rifle not able to keep up with the mobs. The things reached the van door and began grabbing at the woman and children inside. He no longer had a safe shot and was forced to get off target. He switched his aim in an attempt to support the other vehicles and watched as women exited with weapons in hand, fighting bravely while trying to cover the others as they escaped.
Masterson stayed on the machine gun, screaming as he fired, bringing his aim in as close to the women on the ground as he safely could. “Oh my god, here they come!” he shouted. Clem gaped down and saw the first of the red-sleeved soldiers appear in the tree line, their vehicles just becoming visible in the distant trees. The Deltas were handing off their captives to them. Looking down, Clem could see some of the armed women were falling to the heavy fire, while others were retreating back to the warehouse. He clenched his teeth and looked away from the carnage below, instead focusing on the red-sleeved soldiers standing to his front.
Clem’s guts ached and his throat constricted as he realized they’d failed. This was a fight he knew he couldn’t win. He pushed away the dread and steadied his aim, firing a shot directly into a creature’s chest. He worked the bolt, loading another .308 round and took down another creature before the first had even fallen. A blue splash of plasma erupted to his right, and he felt the heat on his cheek. Ignoring the pain, he reloaded and dropped another of the alien soldiers.
“Clem, we need to move!” Masterson yelled.
He loaded another round and panned left. Having dropped the first group of alien soldiers, he searched the tree line for more. An enemy squad was kneeling in the trees. He locked onto one and saw he was looking down the barrel of an enemy rifle… they fired at the same time. He watched the soldier’s helmeted head snap back from his round as the bolt of blue plasma raced in his direction. With a yank at his boot, Clem was jerked away. He felt himself being dragged across the roof just as the knee wall to his front exploded.
He rolled to his back and looked into the tired face of Masterson. “I said we have to move! There’s nothing else we can do here,” his friend yelled.
“No, I won’t leave!” Clem protested over the sounds of screaming children below. He tried to roll back to his belly and return to the wall. He knew the fight was over, that the Deltas were taking them all away, but he would do whatever he could to stop it.
Masterson low-crawled to his side and, pushing his face in close, said, “We can’t help them if we’re dead.”
Clem acknowledged him with a slow nod, biting into his bottom lip until it bled.
He watched as Masterson searched the roof. The building itself was engulfed in flames, and black smoke was pouring up the stairway they’d used earlier.
“There,” Masterson said, pointing to the back corner of the building, which appeared to be the only place flames weren’t licking over the sides of the roof.
On their stomachs, they crawled together. As they neared the back of the building, the incoming fire stopped and the screams faded into the distance; only the sounds of the roaring fire remained. They moved along in a drainage trench that followed the edge of the roof, finding a hole cut in the side that allowed rainwater to drain from the flat roof. Looking over the edge of the knee wall, they could see what remained of an ancient, tin downspout.
Masterson reached over and nudged it with his boot. He rose up and looked back at Clem. “Looks solid enough. I’ll go first.” The man dropped over the side and disappeared. Not wanting to be left alone, Clem scrambled after him, nearly falling as he grasped the pipe and slid to the ground. He landed hard, feeling his old knees crunch from the speed of the drop. He turned away and pressed his back to the wall while flames and smoke rolled from windows overhead.
Masterson turned an eye back at him. “You okay, old timer?”
Clem flipped him a middle finger. “Lead us out,” he said.
Masterson scaled ahead slowly, patrolling them along the perimeter of the building, rounding
