Trapped. Like rats. Gerhard gave the order for a full-throttle retreat, and he triggered his rifle into the approaching horde of dead things. His rounds, smashed their shields and tore into their bodies, killing them again, but there were too, many, and soon they mobbed the tunnel entrance, ignoring the brutal barrage and their wounded companions. The shale shields were brought together in a V-shape that…
“Shit!” Gerhard tried to pull back on his trigger but he wasn’t fast enough, and a half-dozen rounds bounced off the shale slabs and came back at the grunts, bouncing crazily inside the tight corridor. Two of the deformed bullets chopped through Gerhard and another grunt.
The lucky grunt fell dead. Gerhard’s back had been sliced open, and both shoulder blades were fractured. Despite all that, he couldn’t help but wonder where had these naked dirtballs learned a trick like that?
“Get in close and shoot those fuckers!” he exploded, and staggered at the mouth of the corridor, pushing his rifle around the stone shields and unleashing a burst that ended prematurely when the gun was yanked out of his hands.
The shale shields crashed into Gerhard’s face, shattering his night-vision goggles. He lived for another minute or so in darkness punctuated by an occasional muzzle blast.
He swung his arms at the attackers, but they swarmed him and bored him to the ground, their savage fingers stripping him bare of his clothes and gear.
The gunfire died soon, then the last of the scuffles ended with the crack of somebody’s skull against a rock floor. There was a lot of eager snuffling, and the sound of activity moving back to the open cavern.
“Grunts?”
“Here, Ger,” said a muffled voice. It was Yeep!
“They pinned me, then they left with all my stuff.”’ That was Lay!
“Are you people the Marines?” asked a stranger’s voice, far back in the utter blackness.
“Who are you?” Gerhard demanded.
“One of the prisoners. I’m supposed to translate their orders. The cavemen don’t talk very well.”
“Fuck their orders,” Lay groaned.
“Are any of you bleeding?”
The two grunts said they were only bruised. “My back ripped wide open,” Gerhard said. “You got a kit?”
“Stay where you are. You other men come with me right now.”
“Hey, buddy, we don’t take orders from anybody but Ger. Not from you, and sure as shittin’ not from them cavemen.”
“Do it for your own good,” the faceless man pleaded.
“Go to hell!” Yeep growled. “We’re staying with Ger.”
Gerhard heard the hasty clatter of their soldier gear getting dumped in the cavern, and he knew what was next. The cavemen wouldn’t want a wounded prisoner slowing them down. “Grunts, go with him,” he said, struggling to get to his feet. His shoulders had frozen up, and he couldn’t even turn onto his stomach.
“No way we’re leaving you, Ger.”
“Go now and that’s an order!”
Gerhard knew the cavemen would kill him. Very soon. That was okay. He was resigned to death. They gathered around him, snuffling. The rock would bash his brains out any second now.
What he felt next wasn’t a rock at all. It was teeth.
Gerhard was lunch.
The CO heard the gunshots.
“Coming from a half klick upstream,” the shellshocked communications operator blurted. “There’s a shotgun mike on the retransmitter there.”
“So we’ll hear them when they retreat!” the lieutenant colonel cried optimistically.
“I suppose so.”
The special forces commander was reporting to one of the many officers who were demanding an explanation. “When they start the retreat we’ll be able to hear them, General, even if all their radios are inoperable.”
The CO listened and his voice grew pale. He covered the mouthpiece. “Can you patch the audio feed into the phone line for the general?” he asked the communications operator.
“Give me an hour,” the operator said over his shoulder disdainfully.
“It will take some time, General,” the CO said. He. was at his smarmiest. Smarminess was what got him the high-profile special forces assignment.
“Hold the phone up to the speaker if he really wants to hear it,” the frantic operator said with a sneer.
“I have an idea! I’ll hold the phone up to the speaker. Okay. Here you go, General. We should hear the grunts any second now.”
He was correct. Almost as soon as the phone was against the speaker, it vibrated with the sound of Gerhard himself, screaming. And screaming.
The billboards were still there:
YOU’RE GETTING CLOSE TO TOTAL AMAZEMENT
YOU’RE ONLY A MILE FROM THE MARVELS—AND ICE COLD REFRESHMENTS
PULL OFF NOW TO SEE THE MOST INCREDIBLE ATTRACTION ON ROUTE 66!
Somebody with a can of red spray paint had defaced the last billboard with the message, CLOSED 4 GOOD.
The sign out front was still there and was mounted with a harsh security floodlight, making Fastbinder’s Museum of Mechanical Marvels look even more desolate.
