Which is when the Can Heads leapt up from their feast and made a mad rush for Jack.
Jack was on automatic now. Job straightforward. The reward clear.
Kill them before they kill you.
Can Heads coming right at him, inches away, he began firing, holding the M-16’s trigger down so it just kept spitting out bullets. His handgun—only a few shells left.
And they fell.
One down, then another Can Head climbing over it, still trying to get at Jack, and Jack made that one’s head explode. Would they turn on themselves, take the easy pickings, or keep coming at him?
He thought of Christie. Then Simon, Kate.
And he knew that, unlike his partner, there’d be no one to spare him.
No one to help end
In that moment, the other two had gone to either side of Jack; he looked both ways, trying to decide which posed the biggest danger.
All in seconds.
Choosing the one on the left, he tried to aim his handgun but suddenly felt that Can Head’s arm shoot out and its claw hand grab his throat. But the hand slid off the protective covering, and Jack both fired and awkwardly jabbed the thing with his pistol.
Then he wheeled to face the last Can Head.
His handgun clicked. Empty. And not a chance of being reloaded. He backed up against a wall of the living room. Now only one gun to keep the Can Head at bay.
Still a chance to get out of this.
Unless there were more of them, already drawn by the noise, the gunfire …
The machine gun jammed. Or maybe it was out of ammo too. How long had he been madly firing, his finger locked on the trigger?
The thoughts again.
Christie, Kate, Simon.
The neck protector reduced the sound around him. The grunts, the near-human sounds they made. The Can Head nearly hopping toward him seemed to flash on the fact that the gun had stopped firing.
The thing opened its animal-like mouth, screamed, and leapt forward boldly.
Jack stood his ground.
Not from bravery on his part.
He stood his ground. There was nothing else he could do.
The Can Head grabbed at Jack’s face but Jack turned away, the clawing fingers only inches away, now pawing at his armored body.
Those protective layers needed to be peeled away.
If he was to be eaten.
Another squeeze of the trigger. Still jammed.
The tugs threatening to rip Jack’s arms and his legs right out of their sockets.
The Can Head held Jack’s right leg fast. Armor roughly peeled off. Then it bit down hard.
Jack screamed, kicking at it with his other leg, pounding the useless gun against the thing’s head.
The pain—a white heat that made the apartment vanish.
Instinctively, he pulled the useless trigger again.
And now the gun responded with the oh-so-beautiful
“Fuck you,” Jack said, pressing the automatic rifle’s muzzle right against the head of the thing eating him. He watched the head explode into a fireworks display of bone and blood and smoke.
A look over his shoulder.
More could come.
He hacked out the words: “Command!”
He locked his eyes on the door and hallway outside.
Telling himself amidst the pain and blindness of his seeping wound,
But the white electric light of the apartment, of blood and bullets and bodies, gave way to a blackness that Jack, for once, could do nothing about.
4
Kings County Hospital
Jack woke up to the sound of someone’s voice, speaking low, but still it made him open his eyes.
He saw Captain Brandt talking to a nurse, hushed tones, unaware that they had already awakened the patient.
“Thank you,” Brandt said to the nurse. Then he looked over at Jack. A big smile, and he came to the bedside.
“Jack. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
Jack forced a small smile. “All I do is sleep, so it doesn’t take much, Captain.”
Brandt’s hand went out as if to pat Jack, then hesitated, as if any spot on Jack’s battered body might hold a painful wound hidden under dressing and bedclothes.
“Looking good, Jack. They say your recovery is going great. They even have your rehab scheduled.”
“Terrific. Can’t wait.”
Jack regretted the sarcasm as soon as the words passed his lips.
Too easy to beat himself up these sleepy days in the hospital. Replaying the way things went down, what he could have done different.
“Did they say when rehab would start?” Jack said.
Brandt pulled up a chair and sat close to the head of the bed. Jack gave the bed controls a push and elevated his head a bit.
“Work begins tomorrow. In bed. Then depending on how the leg does, you’ll start the real work with physical therapy.”
