Page 50 of Monsters within Men
“The rest of us will be defending, standard formation. Splat, get the drone feed live.”
Splat unlocked a small black box near his feet and began to fiddle with the contents.
Noah ordered them into a ten-men V formation, with Zeke and Frankie at the back, and Habib driving the quad bike on the far right. They set off towards a curve in the road at a cautious pace, eyes scanning to the left of them, where dark overgrown hedges spilled over onto the asphalt. Frankie nudged Zeke with her arm. He could just make out the shape of her smile through her helmet.
Noah, far left of the V, paused, holding up his hand to halt them. “Check out the drone cam before we turn the bend.”
Zeke focussed his eyes on the icon on his interface and pressed a button on the side of his helmet. His vision became partially obstructed by a video overlay. Sweeping low in line with the treetops, the drone camera glided slowly, panning in on the pavement. A pavementteemingwith typeAs. Zeke counted seven—no, eight—of them. Gathered in a small group, they were crouched in their typical animalistic stance, resting on their haunches. Their protruding eyes gazed up at the camera. Several jumped up, snatching their clawed hands into the air, as if the drone was a bubble they were trying to pop. Fanged mouths snarled angrily upwards, and he was thankful there was no audio.
Splat fiddled with the drone’s tablet. The camera swung wildly for a brief moment before settling down, zooming in on a dark rectangular hole. Sitting next to it was a drain cover so overgrown with moss, the grates were barely visible.
“There’s our target,” said Noah.
“Have they come out of there?” Zeke asked.
“Yep.” Habib pointed to the machinery in his trailer. “We’re here to fuck that plan right up.”
“Zeke and Frankie, I want you well back, staying with Splat in the centre of the road.”
Splat scoffed. “Aww, how come I’m on babysitting duty?”
“I thought you were excited to challenge Zeke to your drills?” Noah replied. Splat huffed out a resigned breath of air. “I mean it, Splat; I want you three at least a hundred metres away.”
“Got it, boss.”
“Ready?” Noah asked.
Everyone bar Zeke nodded. Noah started edging forward, and the others followed in formation.
Zeke’s stomach somersaulted as they turned the bend and he clutched his crossbow tighter to still his shaking hands.
Upon turning, the slight slope of the road allowed them a good vantage point to view the enemy. Although still a far distance away, the eight shapes were clearly visible—dark, writhing masses that were still jumping up at the drone.
“Number nine incoming!” said Splat, forcing the drone feed back onto their visors. Zeke watched in horror as a ninth typeA clawed its way out of the drain hole to join the fray. The liver spots on its scaly scalp suggested the human was in their late fifties when they’d turned.
“As soon as we start to shoot, they will charge us. Be ready,” warned Vitt.
“When are we shooting them?” asked Zeke.
“On the count of twenty steps.” Noah raised his gun, and the others copied in a ripple of movement.
They crept forward.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
A burst of noise shattered the quiet afternoon as the squad unloaded bolt after bolt at the cluster of types. Zeke aimed feebly, to at least look the part. He lined up a clear shot of a younger-looking typeA, between its bulging eyes, but it fell before he could pull the trigger.
“All down.” Noah’s voice was just audible over the racket. “For now,” he added, turning to Zeke and Frankie. “The racket we just made will likely draw dozens from the surrounding areas. We need to be quick.”
“On it,” said Habib, speeding off ahead of them on the quad bike, with Vitt sprinting alongside him.
