When Dan saw what was left of the two Humvees, his face turned pale. "Oh, hell—ugh! Urghh—" He bent over, spewing up in the sand.
Bang! Bang!
"Contact! Three o'clock! Incoming fire!" A soldier shouted from the fifth Humvee on the other side of the burning wreck. "Yaaahhh!"
Gunfire roared through the smoke and heat. Brian squinted through the haze, trying to make out what was happening, but the air shimmered with so much heat he could barely see. Sergeant Walsh peeked over the flaming wreckage and spotted them—a mob of men in black robes, screaming like lunatics as they charged with rusted shovels in their hands.
"God, what the hell are these psychos on?!" one of the soldiers yelled from the other side.
"Shoot for the head!" Dan shouted, running forward with his rifle. The terrorists' eyes glowed bright orange when bullets tore into them. Their wounds burned from the inside, glowing like molten metal. The stench of alcohol mixed with blood filled the air.
"What the fuck are these things?!" Dan yelled, gagging on the fumes. Brian rushed forward, rifle up, aiming straight at one of the black-robed attackers. "Drop the fucking knife! Now!" he ordered.
The man's reply was a manic scream. "The land is ours! You thieves won't take it! God grants me strength!" He swung the blade wildly, forcing Brian to fire. The man's head snapped back—one clean burst from Brian's rifle.
"Shit," Brian muttered under his breath, staring at the body.
Walsh laughed grimly. "Well, congrats, kid—you just popped your cherry." He raised his sniper rifle and began picking off the rest of the attackers one by one. Brian sprinted over to drag a wounded soldier out of the open. Nearby, another marine emptied an entire mag into a robed fighter, mowing him down before his gun clicked dry.
"Die, you sons of bitches!" the marine roared, pulling out his sidearm to finish the job.
But before he could shoot again, the corpse on the ground started swelling. "What the—?"The body expanded grotesquely, glowing from within before exploding in a fiery blast. Both men vanished in a puff of burning dust.
"These fuckers must've used drugs or 'roids. Goddamn lunatic." Walsh cursed, snapping off another shot—bang!—dropping the last of the glowing-eyed maniacs. One by one, they collapsed, and every body that hit the ground began to bloat and burst, setting off chain reactions across the sand.
"Fall back! Don't get close to the bodies!" Walsh shouted, waving everyone away as the explosions echoed across the desert. Brian fell to his knees in the hot sand, panting hard. Around him, there were only thirty-seven marines left standing. The smell of burnt flesh and diesel filled the air.
Dan wiped the sweat off his forehead, eyes wide. "What the fuck did Karz feed these guys, man?"
"Some voodoo shit," a random fellow replied.
Walsh ignored him and grabbed the radio, calling it in. "Alpha Spin to Command. We've lost Alpha Two, Three, and Four—vehicles destroyed, personnel killed in action. Requesting further instructions. Over."
A few seconds of static, then a voice crackled back. "Copy that, Alpha Spin. Proceed using compass bearings to Research Facility 'Jakabe.' Distance: eight miles east. We received intel from the Warfly rebels—hostilities have reportedly cooled off, and SIZ's forces are in temporary retreat. Move fast. Get there ASAP. Out."
"Roger that," Walsh sighed, lowering the radio. "Damn it all."
He turned to the men. "Alright, listen up! Drink some water, shake it off. We move again in ten minutes. Eight miles to the Jakabe Oil Research Facility—that's our next stop."
"Yes, sir!" the survivors replied in unison—though their voices carried none of the confidence they'd had earlier. Three vehicles remained. Engines growled to life again, cutting through the silence of the burning desert as the convoy rolled out toward the horizon—toward the unknown waiting at the end of those eight miles.