NEVER ALONE
Story by: Demicus_Maximus

PROLOGUE

A faint noise once again disturbed the ever silent city. Its echoes rang softly over the crumbling streets, weaving around battered cars like a breeze through dull brown grass. The same grass that grew fitfully from cracks in the scorched and tortured pavement.

The bleached white bones could hear the sound better, if only the flesh they had supported were still alive to listen. Immobile they laid, their final moments of life etched in the ground by marks from fire, the same fires that had silenced their pitiful wails in purifying flame.

Yet more sound was to be heard. It grew louder. Faint sounds now pealed past fading churches like the sounds their once proud bells had before rung. Yet these sounds were of battle and death, rather than of peace and hope. Grinning skulls faintly recognized the sounds as old friends, as they were akin to those that had returned them to death, a fate much kinder than the one they had once been cursed to.

The beach was deafened by these sounds. Feet that had just moments before been making less noise than a fish in the sea, now pounded back across the tainted sands. Burning brass and sprays of blood added to the other detritus strewn about, only to be tread upon by dozens of unfeeling, slow feet.

The noise rose to a thundering crescendo as black shaped forms roared across the now reddened water, and then faded back into the silence that had before clung to the city like a black veil. Yet it would be hours before the feet would once more trudge slowly and awkwardly into the necropolis. Back into the fading light.

Just another tiny footnote, in an already decaying reality. . . .

CHAPTER ONE

Swing. Address. Stab. Slide. Return.

Again and again Demicus drilled the bayonet into the wooden figure. This time from the left. Now the center. Up into its face.

Swing. Address. Stab. Slide. Return.

He'd been doing it for almost an hour. Sweat dropped from his face like morning dew. But he refused to stop.

Swing. Address. Stab. Slide. Return.

. . .

"Hey, would you mind turning that down?"

Trio twitched the dial lower... slightly. He didn't care really. The cab dampend the noise a lot. Trio and Undead were out in front of the line of vehicles that raced through the city center. Four all told. Two trucks, one large truck, one van. All painted to not stand out. All beat up.

Something caught Trio's eye.

"HELLS YES!"

He swerved as he saw one of the zombies starting to meander into the road. Not away. Right at it. The zombies’ body flew up and over the truck, just to land in front of the larger rig. A faint stain was all the third vehicle saw.

Trio grinned at Undead. "Another freakin undead put back to death! ...oh, sorry Undead."

Undead sighed. "You know, if I would have known what would happen, I would have picked Fluffy Bunny as my name."

. . .

Koopaling couldn't take it anymore.

"Trio! Will you STOP laughing like a little girl and try NOT attracting every zombie on the planet!?"

Undead's voice crackled back over the radio, Trio's laughter still audible. "Sorry, he's busy right now. Can I take a message?"

She screamed in frustration. "Okay you little piece of-"

"Something going on I should know about?"

Scott Jacobson leaned in the doorway to the ops center, his colonel's pins freshly polished. His boyish grin didn’t match the cleanly pressed uniform. He had obviously just gotten away from a video conference with the A.N. generals, else the grin wouldn't so out of place.

Koopaling flushed, but rather than freeze up like most people, she burst out laughing. "Sorry J... I mean Sir. Just....."

"I can guess. TRIO!"

Trio's partially inaudible cursing, mixed with Undead's laughter, crackled from the radio, almost drowned out by the faint sniggering coming from the rest of the convoy.

"If you don’t mind....."

. . .

Wireboy stood motionless on the balcony. How peaceful it was today. The blue sky, white clouds, ripples on the lake.... and the twenty meter high watchtower that blocked part of the view. He liked Demicus's decision to place the base where the old Lutherhaven camp had been. Simple walls and spiked pits in a mile radius had stopped the tide of undead, until even their unbelievable attention span was expended.

He liked how quiet it was, compared to the sheer terror of only a year back. On the run, cut off. Leaderless. Wireboy's brother walked up beside him, and passed Wireboy a Mountain Dew. Strictly against the regulations regarding conservation of supplies. Dew's were few and far between these days. The two brothers could care less. They were enjoying the peace. While it lasted.

. . .

"...and hitting them is plain stupid! That body could have landed on the truck behind you and killed the driver!"

Colonel Jacobson's rant was reaching epic proportions. The rest of the ops center was loosing the battle to keep a straight face. Already hands stifled laughter as he ranted at the microphone, all the while the same boyish grin on his face.

"...So maybe NEXT time, you'll stop and use you brain for something other than bashing things with! You don’t see anyone else doing things that stu-"

"Sorry to be the one to break up this party, sir."

Demicus stood in the doorway, a sweat drenched towel tossed over one shoulder. He held a printout sheet.

"Looks like we've got some killing to do."

. . .

CHAPTER TWO

"So, General, you want us to launch an op into the city, locate these elite soldiers, and then assist them in their task, all without any Intel? To say nothing of the fact you won’t even tell us what this is all about?"

Colonel Jacobson was not happy. From the moment he had read Demicus's dispatch and all -throughout the argument with General Kolbe. The way the vague sense of boyish enthusiasm had disappeared spoke volumes.

General Kolbe sighed. His white hair, Texan drawl, and kindly appearance didn’t quite match up with the rows of campaign ribbons and medals that weighed down his chest. "Look son, I don’t even know what’s going on. All that I can say is that we believe that some of them survived, and need extraction. And if I have too, I’ll send in some flyboys from the base in Utah. But you're closer, and I have every confidence in you, and the men and women you command."

Jacobson pinched his nose and sighed deeply. "You don’t have to say anything else. I'll get a team together straight away."

Kolbe tried a faint smile. "Look at it this way, colonel. You might know a few of them, once you pick them up."

. . .

"Men, in the beginning, there was god. All else, was darkness!"

Wireboy grinned. Slightly. He had heard Demicus give this speech every time there was a battle to be had.

"As you know, he then created the Earth, and filled it with all sorts of creatures. The slimy creatures of the sea, he called the Navy, and dressed them accordingly."

Demicus paced up and down the line. This was his favorite speech, and it showed. Not to mention he actually acted like the rank he held when he gave it. The large CSM patch on his shirtsleeve was usually the only way you could tell he could pull that much rank.

"The creatures of the air he called the Air Force, and gave them uniforms that were ruffled and fowl. And the other creatures of the land he called the Army, and gave them uniforms with pants too short, and shirts with pockets to keep their hands warm! But God was not happy! So he created two new species to fill the Earth. One, he called the Marines, and to them he gave uniforms fitting to fight Satan, and Evil!"

Everyone grinned. This was the best part.

"And to the final people, he gave a controller and a disc drive. And he called them Gamers. But WAS GOD HAPPY!?"

"NO SIR, SGT. MAJOR SIR!"

"Damn right he wasn’t! Because he realized that they could then enter cheat codes, and change reality the way they saw fit! But he was content, because not everyone could be a master gamer. Now get out there and show me why Gamers are the bane of every death fearing zombie in existence!"

While the others raced off to the armory, Demicus pulled a large trunk out from beneath one of the bunks. He retrieved something long and wrapped in camo netting from its dark recesses. Now he was ready. Ready for war.

. . .

"Alright people, we've got a real mess. SOME people went and got themselves into a huge bunch of zombies, and now WE have to go and get them OUT of said mess. Any questions?"

Nobody responded to Colonel Jacobson's question. Not that they could have been heard that well anyway. The area was a frenzy of activity. Trucks growled past, taking ammunition and supplies to the boats tied up on the docks just down the hill. The single Blackhawk helicopter they had flew overhead, making for the helipad some distance up the hill. Pockets of soldiers the Army had also based there jogged past, carrying large cases of explosives. The whole scene looked like a one big anthill that had just been kicked.

Demicus stood at parade rest in front of the rest of the rescue team. Much larger than he would have liked, but it would have to do. Wireboy, Undead, Moonchild, Chaos, Vizo, and The Man. Seph would be leading team two, whose job was to watch the boat. Nothing would be more embarrassing than actually getting the soldiers out, just to find the boat crawling with undead.
They didn’t look at all like the warriors they claimed to be.

Wireboy wasn’t the best. The fire red hoodie would have been grounds for a serious death wish were they fighting anything but the zombies that littered the planet, sight being less important than smell to them. The laptop bag certainly didn’t fit the idea, but with the med pack on his back, he had to find alternate means of carrying things. A single grenade was attached to the bags strap.

Undead was better. Sporting fatigues of he same type as Demicus, he had swapped the tac-vest for a more subdued ranger vest, pockets filled with the odds and ends of war. Several more items hung from his belt, including pouches of explosives.

Jacque looked the part. Her long brown hair was tied behind her head, with a camouflage headband to keep it out of her eyes. She had fought tooth and nail in the first invasion, and had become one of the Resistance's best snipers. But that didn’t mean she was to be trifled with up close, two well-worn daggers saying that quite clearly. On the outside she was still the hyper person she had always been, but the war had given her her own set of personal daemons inside.

Chaos was pretty good too. He hadn’t seen nearly as much action, but had proven to be a good fighter. Demicus couldn’t say if he was better or worse since the war began, as he hadn't really known him. He was dressed much like Jacque, but without the headband. His bastard sword hung over his back, sprayed a dull back to hide the shine better. A P90 sub machine gun hung from its strap on his shoulder. To make room for the sword, extra ammo clips were strapped to his leg and cut-down kitbag.

Vizo. Where to begin? One of the smallest of the bunch, there weren’t any fatigues to fit him without going to female clothes, something he refused. Instead, he wore plain black pants, a nondescript shirt, and a safari vest. He gripped his silenced MP-10 in his hands.

The last man of the team was The Man. His long black trench coat was decorated by a black and white American flag patch on one shoulder, while the twin bandoleer's sported magazines for his Beretta 9mm pistol and M16. Besides the small pouch for carrying grenades for his rifles grenade launcher, he also carried the team’s heavy weapon, something his thin frame and glasses didn’t quite match with. One of the few flamethrowers in the whole camp, extra tanks were strapped and taped to his kitbag to avoid clanking together. He had an antique WWI helmet hung from a clip on his belt.

...to say the team was a little mis-matched was an understatement. But it was their turn on the list.

Besides, Colonel Jacobson thought as the team started trudging down the hill, the people of this base had been fighting in and around the broken city for some time now. And Demicus wasn't a bad leader at all. They would be fine.

As long as they got out before sunset...

. . .

CHAPTER THREE

"Okay! Okay! I get the picture!"

Koopaling and Avron both took turns glaring at Trio. The ops center was deadly quiet, except for the occasional snigger from the upper level. Avron didn’t look happy either.

Not that he looked happy much these days. In fact, calling him a hard, mean, and tough as nails man would almost be an understatement. Fresh black fatigue pants, black tank, black belt..... Hell, even his soul was black. He had been appointed to be a middleman between the resistance and other military forces that shared the base. General Kolbe had wanted Demicus for the job, but Demicus had turned down the offer, and suggested Avron instead. This came as a surprise to the General, Colonel Jacobson, the others in the Resistance, and Avron himself. In fact, to this day, Demicus says he can't remember why he had done it.

"Listen," Avron began, "I've told you. Attacking the zombies just attracts more. That’s why..."

"...why we only leave the compound when we HAVE to. I know, I know!"

"Then why can’t you just do it?"

Trio snorted. "Because I don't take orders from idiots."

Enough eyes shifted over to watch as Avrons fist slammed into Trio’s stomach that nobody noticed a small red dot appear on one of the large screens. It flickered a few times, and then vanished. The computer logs would later record the anomaly as a malfunction in the motion sensors. It was nothing to worry about.

. . .

The yacht certainly didn't look like the luxury boat she had once been. The once white vessel had been repainted into an aqua-camo style, grey on a washed out blue. M-60 machine guns had been bolted onto her railing, and sheets of metal acted as makeshift armor plate. A four barreled anti-aircraft gun, World War Two vintage, took up a large section of the forward deck, while a smaller pair of twin linked .50 cal guns took up the back. She wasn’t a pleasure craft anymore. She was a warship.

Even her name had been altered. She was the Nightshade.

Demicus stood on the deck as the blat slowly moved along. It would take well over an hour to reach the Resort Marina at this speed, but the boat was almost silent. And silence was the key. What little Intel General Kolbe had given them led the Colonel to believe that the other soldiers had hidden themselves, or perhaps fled.

Considering it had taken the General almost twelve hours to give them the order, the Colonel had decided stealth was the better option here, reasoning speed was pointless at this stage. Demicus had thought much the same. Even now, three decks below, members of his team were jumping up and down, taping down anything that squeaked, rattled, banged, or made any other noise. He himself had already done so, and was now simply steeling himself to war.

A good leader did such things often. He loved every man and woman he led into battle as much as any brother had loved another. But he had to be able to send those brothers and sisters into hell, and be prepared to loose them. On the railing below, Seph was quietly laughing with his own men. Demicus envied them. They hadn't suffered any casualties yet, and their morale was the highest of any Resistance team to date. And they were good.

Demicus sighed, and started talking to himself. Chanting litanies of purity and accuracy. Prayers of victory and hope. Prayers that would all too soon be added to by the roaring prayers made by his guns to the gods of battle.

. . .

Jacque stood one deck above, watching the water's slow ripples. Without looking, she slowly slid her twin blades in and out of their sheaths, making sure they wouldn’t stick. On the outside, she was still the same hyper person she always was. But her small frame hid a terrible dread. Some of her close friends hadn't been seen since that fated day over three years past. And she dreaded that one day she might meet them again, only to have to end their wretched existence. No matter how many times she told herself it was for their, and her, good, deep inside she was afraid she couldn't do it. That she might get the others killed, or worse, because she wouldn't be able to strike the killing blow. But she couldn't think about that now.

So she watched as the faint dawn began to clear the light fog. She watched Demicus as he battled his own inner daemons. She watched Seph laugh quietly with his men. And she forced herself not to think of what might be.

. . .

The Nightshade slid, nearly silent, alongside the still foggy dock. Ladders swung down, and team one descended onto the slowly deteriorating wood. As soon as the last boot had touched down, the ladders were raised, and the boat slowly began to move once again, gliding out away from the marina.

Demicus glanced at the HUD of his personal command circuit, its tiny screen forming a faintly glowing square over his right eye. A blue triangle blinked slowly where the last contact had been, the old public beach. With a slight gesture, he motioned Jacque to the nearby hotel. Two members of Seph's team would join her, and with a little luck, be able to keep team one clear of enemies while they searched. They moved off, and he signaled to the others.

As the Nightshade moved slowly into the fog, Demicus moved silently onto the land, and back into Coeur d' Alene. Into the city of the dead.

. . .


CHAPTER FOUR

"Gamma two dash one to base, Big Daddy has reached the Little Nest and the Life vest is searching, over."

Iggy leaned over and hit the mic key. Several of the people in the ops center were bust breaking up the fight between Trio and Avron, while the Colonel was busy in the other room.

"Okay gamma two one, I hear ya. J says to keep us posted on anything you find. Have fun out there! Base, clear."

As Iggy turned back to watch the fray, the small red dot started flickering again on the monitor. The computer still thought nothing of it. It did not fit specified parameters for an automated alarm yet, and until then, it would remain silent.

. . .

Team one moved deeper into the city. The beach hadn't revealed any secrets of value, other than the hundreds of empty shells, and the noticeably absent boats the Soldiers had used. Demicus hadn't believed the mission would be that easy. They followed the trail of the Soldiers, and considering they had been fleeing a horde of undead, the trail was easy to read.

His radio faintly popped.

"Demicus, two zombies, hundred meters to your left."

He froze, one fist in the air. The rest of the team also stopped, completely devoid of sound or motion. Not two, but three zombies shuffled into view, searching for food. It took several minutes for them to shuffle past, and for the team to continue on their way.

The path stopped. A large truck had carried the Soldiers this far, it seemed. Black tire marks showed where the driver had nearly lost control from some event. Dents in the front seemed to suggest a zombie had been hit, and bounced into the windshield. But the Soldiers had not had it all their way. Mangled bits of clothing and blood soaked equipment showed where at least one man had fallen to the ravenous horde. Demicus looked past the desecrated corpse and peered into the closed rear.

...and fell back, cursing quietly. More than one man had fallen. To say the soldiers had been killed was as much of an understatement as saying a sun goes supernova. It conveyed nothing of the horrific violence involved.

Blood still dripped down the walls and roof, running out holes in the floor and saturating the ground below. The soldiers had been ripped apart so quickly their body parts were strewn about, still showing marks from teeth, fingernails, and the rough metal of the truck. They had been ripped apart with almost explosive force by dozens of ravenous zombies. He had never had to count deaths by counting helmets before. After finding only three, he began to doubt his old science teachers and their lectures on the relatively small amount of blood in the human body.

"Hey Demicus!"

Slowly he drew himself away from the carnage, leaving The Man staring blankly at the scene.

"Yea?"

Wireboy walked up. "Check it out!"

He held out a piece of paper. It was a map.

. . .

Jacque had just about had it with the two guys with her. They wouldn't shut up! She slowly panned the rifle scope across the city, noting the various zombies, and trying to figure out where each one was going. Their lack of any real purpose made the task almost impossible. If only those two would SHUT UP!

One of them, she couldn't remember his name, leaned down and put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off at once.

"How’s it going?"

She could have screamed. "GOD! Just shut up up and go keep a lookout!"

He hastily withdrew. "Okay, okay, no need to get all worked up." She sighed angrily. J... sorry, Colonel Jacobson... she hated calling him that, would have a field day once he heard of this. Suddenly, he practically fell on her. That was IT! She was going to...

Blood.

Why was there blood?

She looked up and saw it. Right there. No way to get her rifle up in time, and she couldn't draw her blades with his dead weight on her.

She grabbed the rifle that was still strung over his back, twisted it around, and yelled; "DIE YOU SON OF A-!"

. . .

Demicus squinted at the map. Wireboy had found it in the cab, and the soldiers had drawn on it. Their red ink was hard to make out over the small, but numerous, splatters of blood. But it looked like they had circled something...

"Hey! Listen!"

As Vizo's voice died, Demicus could make out another sound. Gunfire. Just then, The Man started cursing like a madman, the staccato report of his sidearm drawing everyone back to reality. A zombie had loomed up behind him, now paying the price of its stealth as the fat pistol blasted holes through its chest. Demicus saw movement. He snapped up his rifle and fired a quick burst.

Yep, more undead. The rest of the team began to fire in earnest, their booming reports echoing over the necropolis. The Man had finally untangled his flamer from its strap, opened the valves, and lit it. Gouts of orange light created a wall of flame. The zombies shuffled a few steps forward, only to fall as the flames melted what sinew and muscle that remained. But more and more were looming out of every crack and doorway. The wall of flame had given them a brief respite, but the undead would quickly extinguish it under the weight of their flesh.

So Demicus did what any person not weighed down by a death wish would do. Ran.

The team broke into a run as the undead began to cut off their escape route. Undead, the human, pulled a home made stick grenade out of his bag and lobbed it at a group of zombies. Though the flash of light and sight of tiny bits and pieces flying was gratifying, they couldn’t stop to enjoy the view.

The gap in front of them was growing smaller. Hundreds of the beasts were flooding out of broken houses, crumbling ruins, and from slowly decaying shrubberies. Row upon row of undead fell to the withering fire coming from the team, but more and more followed behind. The Mans flamer roared its defiance again and again, sending dozens of the monsters back to death.

But each spear of fire came weaker and weaker. His fuel tank was almost empty.

Vizo pulled out his knife and started sawing at the taped on spare tanks, trying to free one. Chaos control slung his SMG, and brought up his bastard sword. The long blade swept through the zombies like a hot knife through melting butter. Demicus too slung his rifle. He grasped over his back until he found the blade he had wrapped in camo cloth. It hadn’t been designed to be drawn like this, but he did it anyway. And what a blade it was. An officers sword from Russia, its curved blade had seen its share of war, and, with pistol in one hand, blade in the other, he charged the beasts.

Again and again his and Chaos's blades flashed in the sunlight, as it now hung high in the sky, all traces of fog vanished. Fetid limbs and dark, coagulated blood flew in all directions, but the tidal wave of undead didn’t lessen.

Then, a small knot of the undead opened up to reveal a new zombie, one so horrifying, even the other zombies could not bear its presence. It was Kiragirl, or what was left of her. She opened her mouth, and a scream that nearly blew Demicus's brains out tore out of its decayed face.

Thankfully, he was spared that grisly fate, as from out of nowhere a large flatbed truck reduced the zombie to little more than an unpleasant stain. Jacque hung out one window, neatly exploding heads neat as can be, the surviving member of Seph's bodyguards behind the wheel.

"GET IN, DAMNIT! NOW!"

Nobody argued. They flung themselves onto the flatbed, grasping handholds as best they could.

All but Vizo. Just as he grabbed a hold, an undead sunk its rotting teeth into his leg, while more clung to his small frame. Time seemed to slow, as his face changed from a defiant glare to shock. He slid out of reach as the driver floored the motor. His tiny screams were drowned out by the engine, but they were there.

Demicus wasn't going to leave him to be eaten though. He grabbed The Mans last spare tank, and threw it over the mob. As the truck bounced and jerked, Jacque squeezed off one last shot. It hit dead on. The super copresses fuel in the tank erupted in a massive fountain of liquid fire, its white hot core incinerating Vizo's already dead corpse. Hundreds of the undead exploded from the sudden shang in temperature, the gore being turned to vapor before it could spray the others. He certainly went out with a bang, Demicus thought.

. . .

As the boat pulled out of the marina once again, the pillar of smoke and still visible flame had both teams in a somber mood. One little piece of paper had cost two lives. And they weren’t' even sure the markings even led to the surviving soldiers. But now the mission was personal. They picked up speed, leaving the city to burn.

. . .

CHAPTER FIVE

Red lights started flashing, and an insistent klaxon was hooting out its warning. The ops room seemed to flash into a rush of activity, as everyone who had been watching the fights aftermath dashed back to stations. The main monitors showed where the computer had finally registered the contact it had seen hours before as an alarm.

Koopaling finally uncovered the alarms silence toggle, and the room grew quieter. "

What have you got?"

Major Silva, commander of the Army regulars at the base, and Colonel Jacobson walked up. It was the latter who had spoken. Silva didn’t hide the fact that he believed the Resistance was a weak link, and that HIS men should have been deployed into the city. "

Colonel, Sir!" Koopaling felt stupid saying it, but when other officers were present, Jacobson had insisted she say it. "Automated alarm. Unknown contact tripped the sensors, here."

She highlighted the area. "Camera is offline there, so we don’t know what it really is. Its really, reeeeeallly close to the wall though, and hasn't moved."

"Right. Captain, take Trio and go check it out. Major, put your men on standby, just in case."

Silva scowled. He didn't return the courtesy of a reply, and with a half salute, walked out.

. . .

"Jesus, why do I have to go w-"

"Just shut up, and we'll get this over with. I’m driving."

Avron and Trio jumped into the Jeep Wrangler that was parked just outside the door, and roared off down the path. The alarm had gone off to the west, so they could only follow the road for so long before they had to leg it. In fact, they only were on the road for about one minute before it ended in a slew of holes.

A year back, one section of wall had been compromised by a storm, and they had used an artillery battery to wipe out the undead that had come through. They didn’t have a lot of time though, so Trio pulled a slightly battered dirt bike off of its rack on the Jeep's back, and roared off, leaving Avron to walk. Slowly.

. . .

"Arrow Point. That’s where they marked the map. Come to port! Get us there, full speed!"

"That would be starboard... sir."

"STARBOARD then! Just go!"

Demicus, Seph, Jacque, and Eric Johnson stood around the navigation table of the yacht. A few feet away, Derelicy was driving the boat, sketches he had drawn laid unfinished on the control panels.

Seph was not happy. This was the first time he had lost a man. He was dealing with it very well though. His other men weren’t so well collected. Their angry shouts were audible three decks above. Demicus was angry. Even as annoying Vizo had been, he deserved better. Jacque still had blood on her pants, but she really didn’t notice. She and the other survivor of the side group had blasted their way down the stairwell, only to find their exit blocked. They had found the truck in the parking garage, and had used it to rescue both groups.

But they had found a possible location to the missing soldiers. Perhaps they were still alive. Maybe they could make this whole trip worthwhile. It took them about five more minutes to reach Arrow point. It had been abandoned since before the invasion. Old, dilapidated buildings stood defiantly. The location had been considered two years back as a place the Army regulars at the base could set up, but the idea had fallen through. It was hard enough keeping one base active, let alone two.

This time, there were no set teams. Demicus, Seph, two of Seph’s men, Wireboy, and Undead were heading in this time. Jacque would stay on the boat and cover their advance with her rifle, while the others manned the various heavy weapons the boat sported. Two of the boats own crew, also Resistance members that had been at Lake City during the invasion, set up a two man rocket launcher on the roof. They were taking no chances. Derelicy pulled the boat alongside the main dock, and before he had even brought the big yacht to a full stop, the team had swung down. They speed walked up a short set of stairs, and across a patch of overgrown lawn.

They spotted two black dinghy’s that had been pulled up out of the water, and could see where three or four sets of footprints led into the nearest building. Demicus wasn't in the mood for subtlety.

"Hello! Anyone there? This is the Resistance! Come on out! Quickly!"

A head appeared from the second story. For a moment, Demicus wondered why they had hidden there. Then the coin dropped. The stairs had fallen through, or been hacked apart. Two ropes were flung over the railing, and four grey-clad figures slid down. For some unfathomable reason, each had a gasmask on, and the uniforms were military hazmat suits. The first Soldier spoke, his voice muffled by the mask.

"I didn’t think anyone was out here. Our radio man was lost in the city, and we have an incredible find we have to tell command."

Demicus was startled. These people didn’t seem like soldiers. They didn’t move, talk, or otherwise feel like people who had been Army or Marine corps.

"Yea, we've got a radio. What’s so fethin-"

A burst of fire from Seph made everyone spin around. Undead were approaching. But they weren’t normal. These ones were faster than normal zombies. Everyone broke into a run, shooting and shouting as they went. The four soldiers pulled out...

AK-47's? Those weren’t normally issued weapons for Soldiers. Not at all. No time to think. There weren’t many of the beasts, but they were as fast as a normal human, and they looked angry. Demicus slung his rifle and unsheathed his sword, his pistol exploding one of the undead's head like an over ripe fruit, then slicing clean through another’s chest. Behind them, the yacht's auto cannon opened up, while .50 cal guns laid down thunderous suppressing fire. Zombies heads exploded like cans of tomato soup as the big rounds from Jacques' rifle ripped into the onrushing mob.

More guns opened up, as everyone on board but the driver opened fire on the zombies, giving Demicus and the others a brief respite to clamor up the ladders. The big boats engines screamed in protest as Derelicy threw them into maximum reverse, but they were solidly built. As the boat pulled out to the water and began to turn itself around, the Soldiers pulled off their masks. Demicus stopped dead. They were...

…the last people anyone expected to see alive. Matt Beck, Madman, Jamari, and Tyler Jacobson.

. . .

"How did you four-"

Demicus couldn’t believe it. All four had been thought dead for years. Many of Lake City High's students had only survived because of the actions of a brave few. Matt hadn’t been at school that day, and Madman, Tyler, and Jamari had already graduated. Nobody had heard of them since. To see them all alive.... it was amazing.

They were below deck, and the four had stripped out of the chem-suits, revealing standard Army fatigues. They had been wearing the suits to try and keep the undead from smelling them as well, and were exhausted. It explained their rapid speech, and poor accuracy.

Matt launched into a tale of how he had been in Boise, and had just seen the other three when the invasion hit. The four had joined up with a National Guard platoon and had been fighting alongside for two years. Just a week ago, they had been pulled out of the group at the Houston base, and had been selected as "expandable" people to assist a researcher named Richardson. Richardson claimed to have found a way to stop the war, but needed an armed force to locate several "beacons." They had found two beacons so far, and were close to finding the last. These beacons were strange devices. Clearly man made, the first two had been found in a missile silo in Texas, and another in a rotting backpack very near to the Washington Monument in D.C. Each had been the site of only a small invasion force, but both had been focused on... something. Richardson wasn’t sure of what at this stage. The third he had finally located in Hayden Idaho. But here the device was still partially active. It revealed a set of coordinates.

Jamari's team was pulling out when the second group that had stayed with the truck had been attacked. Jamari's team had repelled the attack, and had been heading to the boats when one of the "super zombies" had leapt onto the hood.

After that, Tyler continued now, they had fled on foot to the boats. Arrow Point was supposed to have been their fall back point. And now there were here. Derelicy had turned the big boat back to base, and was moving along at a clipped pace. They would be back in just a few...

Jacque dashed down the stairs from the upper level, a worried look on her face. "Something’s awry. You had better come hear this."

. . .

--------------------------------------------------

INTERLUDE


His minion had found something. Its message was unclear, as usual. They weren't as intelligent as his old minions. He had to work to decipher its odd speech.

he/she/it was sad/sorry to put/say that there were (present) some/many...

He stopped. It couldn’t be. Not...

He blinked. His hands tore loose from where they had lain for millennia. The area began to shudder as he rose from his ancient seat. His minions went wild, roaring, screaming, shouting. The noise was deafening. But his anger was worse. It radiated out like a miasma of poison gas, or a river of sludge.

His victory was undone! This was impossible! He ordered his legions to arms, to kill...

No. He would go himself this time. He began to slowly walk from his ancient resting place.

It was time.
----------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER SIX

Avron was getting annoyed. Trio was taking too long for such an easy job! He was going to kill that little…


An explosion of monumental proportions erupted at the wall. Even a hundred feet away, Avron was tossed back like a rag doll by the shockwave. Debris was raining down, flattening trees that had instantly been stripped of all their needles.

Out of nowhere, Trio appeared, running as fast as he could back to the Jeep.

“Bad day, bad day, BAD DAY!”

With a string of curses that would have given pauses to the most hardened sailor, Avron stood.
And just as quick, began to run. He fumbled with his headset. Whose idea was it to use a wired set anyway? It had come loose…

Screw it, he decided, and pressed a little button on the bottom, once, twice, three times.

. . .

Red lights were flashing everywhere in the ops center. Avron’s distress beacon had lit up, and a large section of wall had just dropped off the sensors.

“Base to Avron, base to Trio, please respond! Damnit, stop screwing around!”

Nothing. Koopaling had been trying, but nothing. The symbol that was the two’s cycle was flashing red, but the jeep was still green. Icons showed their positions, moving fast.

What was going on?

A roar of static that evened out into a low screech blared from the speakers.

“…art…ike…us, rig… ow!”

She frowned, and yelled back, “Say again!”

“Nee… cking … illery strike, ri… ow, or we’re de…”

Artillery? But there wasn’t anything…

“DA…IT, GET IT RI… DEAD!”

. . .

He could hear the klaxons from a mile away. Literally.

Demicus stood on the prow of the yacht, listening. Surly they hadn’t meant for it, a drill perhaps.

Raid-sirens joined in, their banshee howls adding to the din. Factory grade hooters and horns began to blare out their own voices, making a thundering creshendo echo over the lake.

The base was screaming with every one of its voices.

. . .

Everywhere, hazard lamps began to flash, and automatic storm plates cycled down over windows. Data feeds and terminals went blank. They fuzzed for a few seconds, and then the words ‘please stand by’ scrolled across in regular repeats.

Soldiers and Resistance members ran hither and nether, some only half dressed, fumbling with weapons and trying to not panic. A tank crunched its way along the gravel pathway towards the source of the disturbance, while the Blackhawk’s rotors began to turn, crew still bolting down the miniguns it sported.

Colonel Jacobson stood outside of the main building, shouting instructions, and trying to get back to the ops center. The bases artillery battery began to fire, and thunder ripped across the blue skies.

. . .

“All ahead full, squeeze those engines! Come back to battle stations, ready the guns, and prepare to take on extra passengers!”

Demicus tightened his weapon belt, pistol already in hand. The radio was flooded with calls from ops to units in the base. The computer screen on the bridge showed multiple distress beacons, and the roar of the artillery was deafening.

Finally! A terse message scrawled across the monitor.

Under attack. Unknown number of hostiles.

Daemons.

. . .

Trio and Avron felt the teeth rattling explosions from the HE shells behind them. Avron was still trying to reach the Colonel, or even the Major. They had to retarget on the breach! It was a Gate!

Daemon Gates were manifestations of hell itself. These blood drenched iron gibbets could let an unending tide of horrors through. It had been years since the last! Why now?

They ran straight into the Jeep before they even knew they had reached it. Avron flung himself into the drives seat, while Trio simply dived into the back. It roared into life, loose gravel spraying behind it. Not anywhere near fast enough.

The Jeep lurched to the left as a hole in reality opened up to the right. Avron flung the wheel back as another rift opened. Trio struggled up, firing a sub machine gun with one hand. Though the dirt and rock flung up from the artillery blotted out much of the area behind them, faint figures could be seen, moving quickly. Some were being felled by the potent shells, but others were more lucky.

Avron rounded a corner in the road. The base was up ahead. Just a few more yards. There! He could see…

…the short cliff. He had taken the wrong road. He slammed on the brakes, and tried to power slide to a stop, but a small tree grazed the front bumper. The Jeep was tossed to one side, and rammed a thin tree full force. The tree behind that one caught both the first tree and the Jeep, but the force flung its two occupants out and over…

…right into the passing boat.

. . .

“Good God…”

Plumes of smoke rose from the base, and the sound of gunfire was everywhere. Derelicy brought the yacht up close to the dock, and a few people disembarked. Demicus, Jacque, Chaos, and Madman ran towards the base. Wireboy had planned to go with them, but the sudden and oh so unusual entrance’s of Trio and Avron had left him with two cases to treat already. The others would stay on the boat, manning weapons and prepping the boat in case they had to bug out in a hurry.

Demicus and the others all piled into another of the many Jeeps that littered the Resistance area of the base, and roared up the hill.

It was only a moment before they all jumped out again. Just past the old church building was the mess hall and ops center. Colonel Jacobson was dueling one of the daemons. It was a regular one, roughly human, but with above human senses and grotesque appearance. Next to him, Koopaling buried the head of her two handed axe into another daemon. More Resistance were trying to form a hasty firing line between the buildings.

As Demicus eagerly dove into the fray, he knew the situation was very, very bad. The base was MUCH larger than this. Had the others fallen so quickly? Before he had even landed his first blow, he got an answer as the daemon in front of him was ripped apart. One of the AN Tanks was roaring its way past the old work shed, a battered Bradley AFV and AN infantry following just behind. Without pausing to even acknowledge Demicus’s arrival, the Colonel dashed back into the building.

Inside was chaos. EM pulses from the daemon gate were interfering with the radio, leaving strung-out personnel trying to organize a proper evacuation. General Kolbe was visible on one of the screens, trying to converse with Iggy while the picture and sound kept coming in full of static and other interference.

“Demicus!” The colonel had finally noticed him. “I had hoped you all would show up. Now listen, the AN has air support on the way, but with all that artillery fire, we aren’t sure where that gates even at! Take one of the Jeeps and go the long way. I really don’t care if you trash the car, so long as that gate gets closed ASAP. Can you handle it?”

Great. Another mission with the odds stacked worse than a bobsled ride off of Everest.

But what he actually said was, “You got it. Lets go!”

. . .

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Well, I’m sure I’ve done SOMETHING more idiotic than this before.”

“Yea, I believe you.”

Demicus, Jacque, Iggy, Chaos, and Madman were in another of the many Jeeps that littered the base. They were racing along one of the dirt tracks that ran all over the base. Iggy was standing in the back, clinging onto the roll bar for dear life, as the bouncing and rattling made the M-60 E4 he had braced over the bar all but useless.

Major Silva and the other AN troops had finally driven back the horde of daemons and undead, but not far. They were counting on Iggy and Demicus to supply a target for the air strike. With so few planes or heavy ordinance, they had to make it count.

At least there were blessedly few undead around, and the Daemons were too busy playing “kill the human” to notice a single vehicle driving in the woods.

The ride was altogether too short. They rolled to a stop at one of the great buttresses that were placed along the wall. Demicus and Iggy left out and began to climb the narrow ladder, while the others keep watch, the clearing that stretched twenty meters between forest and wall providing little cover for advancing daemons.

Demicus reached the top. All clear. Iggy was right behind. He carried a backpack radio set, able to communicate directly with the inbound aircraft, as well as a guidance laser to guide the payload in. With a little luck, they would make it all the…

Nope. A three round burst caught a Daemon in the head before either it, or Iggy, knew what happened. More were climbing the wall behind the first. Demicus shoved Iggy in the direction of the gate, slinging his rifle, and drawing sword and pistol.

“Go! I’ll do some redecorating here! Go!”

So Iggy ran.

. . .

“Three more, coming left!”

“Bloody hell!”

More Daemons were charging the hill. Not just the nearly human anymore, either. Beasts that could be described best as fleshless children with wings flew in and out of the battle, long claws ripping flesh. Almost angelic, yet horrifying ones who were indistinguishable from humans picked up weapons from fallen AN soldiers, returning fire with the precision of the elite. Great mastiff hounds with jaws like steel and flame designs painted on their hairless flesh.

It didn’t matter much now. Everyone was too busy fighting for their lives.

Colonel Jacobson and a particularly persistent daemon were dueling each other just outside of the AN’s office, steel clashing against iron that was as cold as ice, and a burning as the hottest fire. Tyler was right next to him, a shotgun in his hands, raining death upon the enemy. Koopaling’s axe bisected one of the flying daemon’s neck, dark blood spraying out like a fire hose.

This was war.

Wireboy and Avron, a bandage still on the latter’s forehead, were quite enjoying themselves with seeing who could kill more Daemons. The Nightshade was getting full with wounded now. Her AA gun, and the two rear .50 cal’s, were slicing the waning sunset to pieces. Everyone who could stand was firing their weapons as a mob of undead and lesser daemons cut past the main line. The other large boat, the AN’s ship St. Elisa, was already pulling away, filled to the max. Its own guns were booming and chattering, tracer rounds forming long fingers of death that gripped the onrushing mass.

Not long now, Avron thought. Not long till the end of this, one way or another.

. . .

Iggy couldn’t believe his luck. He had made it!

The huge rend in the wall was a mere sideshow in the carnival of horrors that had gripped the base. There was the gate.

Blood wept down its iron sides, lesser daemons having thrown themselves on the blades and spikes that adorned its two columns. They screamed with ecstasy, even as their life blood drained away.

Focus…

Iggy slowly pulled his guidance laser out of its pouch, and highlighted the blasphemous structure. He tugged the boom mic of his headset closer to his mouth.

“Charlie foxtrot, this is…”

. . .

Jacque fired again. The daemons had finally figured out they were there. Madman was laying down withering fire from the M-60, but it only had a few belts of ammunition left. Demicus had better hurry, or she was so going to kill him for being so slo…

Iggy slid down the ladder, pistols still smoking from fighting his way back. The radio had taken a hit, so he cut the straps with a slightly battered swis army knife.

He looked around. He and Jacque both looked at each other and asked the same question.

“Where’s Demicus?”

. . .