The Rift
Miley was laying belly down on the ground with his rifle held out in front of him. A cigarette hung in one side of his mouth as his long blonde mullet blew in the wind behind him. He'd been laying like this for almost twenty minutes now. His back was soaked.
From behind him came a sound like chalk scraping across a blackboard, but magnified to the point where it physically hurt to hear it. It was coming from the trucks.
"Ahh, fuck. What is that?!" his arm reached over the top of his head to cover both ears clumsily, while he turned and rose to a crouching position with his rifle.
The two Rebels close on his side were covering their ears as well. Squinting their eyes with distast; both of them scientists with guns. Then the sound stopped, leaving the atmosphere on the cliff more silent than it had been before it came.
"Someone's fucking around with the trucks back there," said Miley. "You two, why don't you go take a look?"
He turned a dial on his radio, and then handed it to the soldier/scientist closest to him.
"It's on Davis's frequency. Radio us when you get over there."
The soldier seemed a little dazed. He stuttered: "...Y, Yes, sir! Right away!"
Miley wasn't listening. He walked over to the oppostie end of the line, recieving puzzled looks from troops crouching in the grass and by the trees.
Let's hope Mike doesn't radio anything while their gone, he thought. If he does, I'm royally fucked.
"Davis. Hey -- Davis!" he waved a hand to a large-bellied man talking with another troop. Davis Rhodes turned around, his bushy beard dripping with beads of rain.
"You already send someone?" asked Davis.
"Two guys."
Davis and said something to the soldier, and the soldier nodded and walked back down the line to reassume his position. Then Davis started to walk toward Miley.
"Who or what in the fuck would be down there?" he asked mildly. "I mean, you don't think they're gonna ambush us, do you?"
"If they were, why would they make a noise like that? Maybe it's just an animal. In any case, get ready. I gave my radio to the soldiers, and they're set to your frequency."
"It just don't make sense to me. There ain't hardly no wild animals in this -- "
A screaming in the distance. Absolutely bloodcurdling. The smashing of glass. A loud thump.
No more screaming.
The soldiers began to stir and get up, mumling in fear among themselves.
"Everyone stay put!" said Miley, hardly hearing himself. His blood had run cold. Then the radio came on.
It was one of the soldiers. He said: "Miley. Get the fuck out of here, now! Do you hear me, sir? The fuck out now!"
Miley grabbed the radio from Davis's limp hand and twisted the knob.
"What the hell's going on, soldier?!"
He didn't know the man's name. There was no reply. Off in the distance, through the dark and the rain came a wailing cry. Then a sound like a baseball swatting tin.
Miley tried the radio again, but it was no good. Of course it wasn't.
"Everyone, just stay put!" he cried.
"Look, we need to get ahold of SIS right away..." Davis began.
"I fucking know! Just let me get this dial back on the right fucking number..."
Miley's shaking hand twisted the knob right, and then he pushed in the button.
"Calvin," he panted. "Calvin, this is Miley."
There was nothing. Either they had entered the warehouse or they were dead.
"Try Mike." said Davis. He was holding his rifle and looking into the shadows.
"Alright, alright, give me a damn second here..."
Suddenly the soldiers on the line began to scream and Davis's gun went off six times in rapid sucession. Miley looked up and felt the radio slide from his fingers. Racing toward them was a group of about ten brown skeletons in cloddhoppers.
One of them was limping along with the remains of its leg. Bullets had penetrated the leathery skin, and torn away most of the bone and muscle. Stips of meat hung down from the would-be calf like fly tape smeared with lard and ketchup. Something that might have been a lengthy, disfigured penis swung from side to side like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. Two large bullet holes high in the creature's head.
While Miley watched, Davis fired again, and this time he hit it dead center in the face. It's pale orange (or were they crimson?) eyes exploded together, and the thing fell down. It's disfigured face thumped the dirt.
It was dead. Had to be. It it had any life left in it, it would have still been coming after them.
Then everyone was shooting.
Miley's hand slipped down to his hip and he drew out a pistol; he couldn't remember where his rifle was. He felt a sense of complete unreality as he pulled the trigger the first six times. Four of the six hit his target in the stomach, and the other two missed completely. His had was shaking so bad... And he hand once though that he operated quite well under pressure.
The creatures came to them, and within seconds the great line of soldiers, a proud section of the military for the Rock Bottom Rebels, was almost completely wiped out. Swipes of claws through the rain severed the heads off men. Teeth gnashed bone and skin. Cries of agony horror. Senselessness.
Miley had four of the six bullets in the chamber, when a claw swiped arcross the top of his scalp, removing his mullet, and the skin beneath completely. He fell down in the dirt. His head felt like it was on fire. A bloody pink film over the tip of his skull, filled with screaming nerves.
As a teenager, when Miley had first started sporting his mullet, his mother had constantly nagged him to get a haircut. His last thought was that he had finally, in some sick way, obeyed her. Then there were claws all about him, and he was gone.
Everyone was dead.
The tall, spindly creatures marched downward to the city. No time to stop and observe the kill. Behind them, in a messy pool of gore, lay the only dead one.
The one that Davis Rhodes had shot.
From behind him came a sound like chalk scraping across a blackboard, but magnified to the point where it physically hurt to hear it. It was coming from the trucks.
"Ahh, fuck. What is that?!" his arm reached over the top of his head to cover both ears clumsily, while he turned and rose to a crouching position with his rifle.
The two Rebels close on his side were covering their ears as well. Squinting their eyes with distast; both of them scientists with guns. Then the sound stopped, leaving the atmosphere on the cliff more silent than it had been before it came.
"Someone's fucking around with the trucks back there," said Miley. "You two, why don't you go take a look?"
He turned a dial on his radio, and then handed it to the soldier/scientist closest to him.
"It's on Davis's frequency. Radio us when you get over there."
The soldier seemed a little dazed. He stuttered: "...Y, Yes, sir! Right away!"
Miley wasn't listening. He walked over to the oppostie end of the line, recieving puzzled looks from troops crouching in the grass and by the trees.
Let's hope Mike doesn't radio anything while their gone, he thought. If he does, I'm royally fucked.
"Davis. Hey -- Davis!" he waved a hand to a large-bellied man talking with another troop. Davis Rhodes turned around, his bushy beard dripping with beads of rain.
"You already send someone?" asked Davis.
"Two guys."
Davis and said something to the soldier, and the soldier nodded and walked back down the line to reassume his position. Then Davis started to walk toward Miley.
"Who or what in the fuck would be down there?" he asked mildly. "I mean, you don't think they're gonna ambush us, do you?"
"If they were, why would they make a noise like that? Maybe it's just an animal. In any case, get ready. I gave my radio to the soldiers, and they're set to your frequency."
"It just don't make sense to me. There ain't hardly no wild animals in this -- "
A screaming in the distance. Absolutely bloodcurdling. The smashing of glass. A loud thump.
No more screaming.
The soldiers began to stir and get up, mumling in fear among themselves.
"Everyone stay put!" said Miley, hardly hearing himself. His blood had run cold. Then the radio came on.
It was one of the soldiers. He said: "Miley. Get the fuck out of here, now! Do you hear me, sir? The fuck out now!"
Miley grabbed the radio from Davis's limp hand and twisted the knob.
"What the hell's going on, soldier?!"
He didn't know the man's name. There was no reply. Off in the distance, through the dark and the rain came a wailing cry. Then a sound like a baseball swatting tin.
Miley tried the radio again, but it was no good. Of course it wasn't.
"Everyone, just stay put!" he cried.
"Look, we need to get ahold of SIS right away..." Davis began.
"I fucking know! Just let me get this dial back on the right fucking number..."
Miley's shaking hand twisted the knob right, and then he pushed in the button.
"Calvin," he panted. "Calvin, this is Miley."
There was nothing. Either they had entered the warehouse or they were dead.
"Try Mike." said Davis. He was holding his rifle and looking into the shadows.
"Alright, alright, give me a damn second here..."
Suddenly the soldiers on the line began to scream and Davis's gun went off six times in rapid sucession. Miley looked up and felt the radio slide from his fingers. Racing toward them was a group of about ten brown skeletons in cloddhoppers.
One of them was limping along with the remains of its leg. Bullets had penetrated the leathery skin, and torn away most of the bone and muscle. Stips of meat hung down from the would-be calf like fly tape smeared with lard and ketchup. Something that might have been a lengthy, disfigured penis swung from side to side like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. Two large bullet holes high in the creature's head.
While Miley watched, Davis fired again, and this time he hit it dead center in the face. It's pale orange (or were they crimson?) eyes exploded together, and the thing fell down. It's disfigured face thumped the dirt.
It was dead. Had to be. It it had any life left in it, it would have still been coming after them.
Then everyone was shooting.
Miley's hand slipped down to his hip and he drew out a pistol; he couldn't remember where his rifle was. He felt a sense of complete unreality as he pulled the trigger the first six times. Four of the six hit his target in the stomach, and the other two missed completely. His had was shaking so bad... And he hand once though that he operated quite well under pressure.
The creatures came to them, and within seconds the great line of soldiers, a proud section of the military for the Rock Bottom Rebels, was almost completely wiped out. Swipes of claws through the rain severed the heads off men. Teeth gnashed bone and skin. Cries of agony horror. Senselessness.
Miley had four of the six bullets in the chamber, when a claw swiped arcross the top of his scalp, removing his mullet, and the skin beneath completely. He fell down in the dirt. His head felt like it was on fire. A bloody pink film over the tip of his skull, filled with screaming nerves.
As a teenager, when Miley had first started sporting his mullet, his mother had constantly nagged him to get a haircut. His last thought was that he had finally, in some sick way, obeyed her. Then there were claws all about him, and he was gone.
Everyone was dead.
The tall, spindly creatures marched downward to the city. No time to stop and observe the kill. Behind them, in a messy pool of gore, lay the only dead one.
The one that Davis Rhodes had shot.