Down the Road: The Fall of Austin (8 page)

Sgt. Arnold was pissed. “I want to know what
sorry-ass excuse of a soldier threw an unauthorized grenade!” he
screamed as he rose to his feet.

“
I threw it
,” Spc. Rodriguez said
defiantly, puffing out his chest. Then he took the defiance once
step further, into impudence. “What the fuck are you going to do
about it?”

“I’m going to put my boot up your stupid ass,
you dumb fucking piece of shit!”

Spc. Garrison jumped in front of Rodriguez
and Sgt. Nickson grabbed Arnold from behind. The two sergeants
scuffled yet again before they each pulled out their sidearms. Both
stuck their weapons in the other’s face. Both men gently began to
tug on the trigger. Anger painted their faces in red and grimacing
wrinkles.

The fireteams stood dumbfounded, knowing one
of their leaders was about to murder the other.

Sgt. Nickson was the first to speak.
“Rodriguez is on my fireteam, Arnold. He follows my orders. Any
grenade he throws is authorized by
me
.”

“He almost killed us, Nickson. He almost
killed my men. You better whip his ass, or I’m going to.”

Both fingers applied more pressure on the
triggers.

“You handle your men your way. I’ll handle my
men my way. You got that, Arnold?”

Sgt. Arnold could visualize himself pulling
the trigger. He could see the bullet punching Sgt. Nickson right at
the bridge of the nose. He could smell Nickson’s blood. And on his
lips he could even taste Nickson’s death.

“Shoot him, sir,” Spc. Garrison
whispered.

“You shut your fucking trap, Garrison,” Spc.
Goodson stated, sternly, instinctively pointing his weapon at his
rival specialist.

“No,
you
shut the fuck up,” Rodriguez
said, looking for a convenient excuse to deliver pain with the SAW,
pointing it at Goodson.

“Fuck you, Rodriguez,” Noble said, training
her weapon at Rodriguez. It didn’t take long for the others to find
someone to point their guns at as well.

“You get
one
, Nickson. And you just
spent it,” Sgt. Arnold said.

“Put your gun down, Arnold,” Sgt. Nickson
demanded.

“You first.”

Spc. Knight chimed in. “Let’s just take it
easy, guys.”

“Shut the fuck up, Knight!” Garrison
shouted.

The men were close to applying that final
amount of pressure; the hammer was on the edge of spanking the
firing pin.

Their charges stood in fearful anticipation,
with Spc. Talltree again being the exception, feigning as if he was
aiming at someone, when in reality it was nowhere close. Instead,
Talltree was silently scanning the yard for more Virals, ignoring
the childish dispute while protecting his allies.

“Let’s lower at the same time,” Sgt. Nickson
said. “Would that float your boat?”

“No,” Arnold said. “You first.”

Nickson smiled.

“I’ve outlasted perched snipers, Nickson,”
Sgt. Arnold gritted. “So you can bet your ass I can stand here like
this all goddamn night. Long after your muscles have cramped up
like your grandma’s arthritis, I’ll still be standing here with my
gun aimed between your beady little rat eyes.”

“Oh hell, Arnold, we both know you’re not
going to shoot me,” Nickson stated, with the confidence of Titan.
He allowed his weapon to drift away from Arnold’s face. “You hate
me, but you need me.” He gazed over the barrel of Sgt. Arnold’s
pistol and locked eyes with his rival. He slid his pistol to rest
in its holster. “We need each other now. None of us know what’s in
the building. Correct?”

Fireteam Nickson and Fireteam Arnold held on
to their targets.

Sgt. Arnold stood silent, near to adding that
last bit of pressure to the trigger that would send a bullet
flying. He wanted nothing more than to fire a shot through
Nickson’s head, to level the arrogant bastard.

But he gave in to reason.

Sgt. Arnold took a deep breath and slowly
withdrew his weapon, stepping back several paces toward his
teammates, effectively disengaging the enemy.

There was a moment of tension, as if the
fireteams were about to watch a quick draw. Both sergeants’ hands
were still holding fast to the butts of their holstered pistols,
eyes searching through the eyes of their opponent like two big cats
meeting by accident in the wild.

Then, Sgt. Nickson slowly raised his hand,
forming a gun shape with his fingers. “Bang!” he said, and started
laughing. Rodriguez and Garrison joined in, mocking Sgt. Arnold and
his men.

Sgt. Arnold responded, “Get back to your
positions, men.”

The two factions parted, lined up again, and
continued their patrol of the yard in an air thick with unresolved
tension.

* * *

Once the squad reached the front of the
capitol, they broke into their respective fireteams and patrolled
the sides of the building. Neither team met resistance and
eventually met up again in the back of the capitol. A patrol of the
back lawn yielded two Viral neutralizations. The squad regrouped on
the capitol steps and waited for the helicopter to arrive.

The city around the soldiers was falling
apart. Screams could be heard on the streets coming from all
directions. Traffic traveled erratically in the surrounding area
under the black Texas night sky. Horns honked and cars wrecked
throughout downtown Austin in a fearful rush for survival. On
several occasions citizens ran to the gates and called out to the
soldiers for help. Both sergeants commanded their men to ignore
their pleas.

Spc. Noble almost changed her mind when a
young mother with her baby begged for assistance.

“My baby needs food. Please help me.”

It was hard for Noble to turn away from her,
and she found herself staring for several moments. In desperation,
the woman turned and ran before Noble could look away. She wiped a
tear from her face.

“Stay focused, team,” Sgt. Arnold said.
“We’ve got an objective to achieve and it stands behind these
doors.”

The familiar beating of the rotors of a
low-budget Huey could be heard making its approach.

“We’re going to secure this building floor by
floor, ladies, starting with the top floor. Listen to our
commands,” Sgt. Nickson instructed.

“There’s a series of rooms down this
hallway,” Sgt. Arnold added. “Fireteam Nickson will take the left
side. My fireteam will take the right. Ignore all locked doors for
the time being. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” everyone chimed.

The men dashed to the Huey that had landed in
the back of the capitol building. Both teams entered the chopper
and it swiftly rose off the ground. In moments, it was hovering
over the Texas capitol.

The sergeants secured the rappelling ropes
the team would be using. The “ready” members, Talltree and Noble,
went down first, followed by the “fire” men, Rodriguez and Knight.
The “assist” men, Garrison and Goodson, followed. Finally, the two
hateful sergeants joined their charges. A helicopter crewman pulled
up the ropes as the chopper returned to where it came.

In standard tactical fashion, the men filed
down the roof entrance and into the capitol building itself, the
two sergeants issuing hand signals in lieu of verbal comm. Fireteam
Nickson was to secure the northern portions of the floors, while
Fireteam Arnold was to secure the southern.

There was no resistance on the fourth floor,
but the level was nowhere as vast as the bottom three. After having
raced past the antique portraits of the Texas governors on the
fourth floor, the teams moved down the stairs to the third
floor.

Both teams secured various administrative
rooms before waiting by the balcony entrance to the large chambers
where the Texas senators and House of Representatives met. Fireteam
Nickson was standing by the balcony doors of the House chambers,
while Fireteam Arnold was standing near the locked balcony doors of
the senate chambers. There had been no resistance thus far. The
team leaders felt peculiar standing near the locked balcony
door.

“Senate security room clear,” Spc. Goodson
said, walking from the small office near the balcony door
entrance.

“House security room locked,” Spc. Rodriguez
said.

Both fireteam leaders ordered their
lockpicking specialists, Knight and Garrison, to pick the locks of
the antique balcony doors. They were hoping to get a glimpse of any
trouble that might be within.

Both lock experts opened the antique locks
with ease, and both teams entered the rooms.

On the House side, Fireteam Nickson spread
out across the balcony and looked over the railing to the House
chambers below. They saw no threats, Viral or otherwise, in the
balcony or the chambers.

“House chamber clear,” Sgt. Nickson
stated.

“Nickson!” came an urgent call from Sgt.
Arnold. “We need you guys over here on the double!”

The Nickson fireteam heard the message and
moved to the senate chambers. Passing the portraits of governors on
the third floor rotunda, they moved tactically into the hallway,
taking up positions as they scrambled to the wide open senate
balcony doors.

Spc. Talltree, the point man, observed things
were all clear and motioned for his comrades to advance into the
balcony of the senate chambers. They moved in, peering over the
edge.

A small group of senators had barricaded
themselves on the podium. Stacks of chairs and tables—as well as
senators brandishing large pieces of wood—were defending the hold.
Several bodies lay strewn on portions of the barricade, their heads
bashed in and turned to mush.

Along the senate floor, three separate groups
of Virals were kneeling on the floor. The Virals were tearing the
bodies at their knees to pieces and eating them in an orgy of
blood-spattered gore. Pools of blood and mounds of flesh, tissue,
and sanguine organs were scattered all around them, as if they were
picking out pieces and hoarding them for later. The fiends were
slowly dining on every inch of the bodies. Clothing was torn away
and blood, flesh, and bone were exposed and being consumed by the
monsters, like vultures tearing flesh away from a deer lying
bloated on the side of a Texas road, having been hit by a car in
the night.

Spc. Garrison threw up on his combat boots.
The horrific image made him think and feel as if the meat the
virals were eating was in his own mouth.

Fireteam Nickson noticed Arnold’s fireteam
crouching at different sections of the balcony and picking off the
Virals with well-placed bullets. Immediately, Nickson’s team took
up positions and began raining bullets indiscriminately on the
suspected Virals.

Still nauseous, Garrison stood and watched by
the doorway, protecting the backs of his comrades. It was a
convenient way to not look at the disgusting gorefest below.

It was a good thing, too. As his comrades
were firing away, leveling Virals with the skill of trained
killers, two people turned the corner of the rotunda and headed to
Garrison’s position.

“Stop right there!” Garrison shouted,
straining to be heard over the gunfire. None of the advancing
people acknowledged the command, and continued drawing closer.

Virals.

His automatic weapon joined in the glorious
cacophony of gunfire. Their weapons of war were singing like metal
demons in a satanic chorus of pain. Metal slugs from Garrison’s
weapon busted the skull, face, and chest of the first Viral,
punching through the body like a stone through water. The Viral
stumbled and fell to the ground face first. Its face, punished by
lead, smacked against the floor like a wet towel filled with eggs.
Blood splattered in a tribute to Jackson Pollock, spreading brain
and bone across the marble floor in an abstract portrait of
vengeful misery.

Before Garrison could train his weapon on the
second monster, three more Virals turned the corner. Garrison was
filled with an urge to panic, but maintained his control. His own
survival instincts were focusing his perception, creating a tunnel
vision at the approaching beasts, an intense concentration provided
by the body for its survival.

Garrison shouldered his weapon, aware that
prolonged bursts would waste ammunition, and he wasn’t sure he
could get to another clip in time. With precision, he began to pick
off the advancing ghouls. He hit two, sending them to the ground to
contribute to the abstract work on the floor. But his nerves were
put to the test as two more Virals turned the corner. After the
short blast to the first few Virals, Garrison was unaware of how
many rounds were left in his weapon. One more Viral was picked off,
then another. A missed bullet flew across the rotunda and cut a
portrait of the late Governor Hobby.

It took two shots to level the next, and two
more for the next. Garrison was folding under the pressure and just
knew the next round would be his last.

Three Virals remained and shuffled towards
him, stepping over the prone bodies of the fallen. Two wore classy
suits soaked with blood. The other wore a security uniform.
Garrison aimed, but could feel his body tensing up. His breathing
was severely erratic now. He began sobbing. No breath he took, no
matter how hard or how fast, seemed to provide enough oxygen. So he
breathed harder. And faster. His hands shook and his aim was as
untrue as a mainstream news report.

Garrison put his gun down and tried to steady
himself. The Virals advanced closer. He knew he needed to control
his breathing—stop the hyperventilating—or face his doom.

The creatures edged closer as Garrison took a
deep breath, feeling his breathing was as under control as it could
get at the moment, and shouldered his weapon again. One trigger
pull split the skull of the closest beast, spraying the one behind
it with blood. That one was put down by another perfectly placed
shot to the head. As the third was put in the sights of the weapon,
Garrison was greeted by a harsh, yet anticipated reality. A
realization he dreaded.