“Nothing is over yet," she told herself. “The cat's still inside.” ― Emily St. John Mandel

“You two stay here and stand guard!” Malcolm hustled passed the door and down the stairs. Even through the confines of the building, the reverberations of gunshots mixed with the echoes of their boots on the metal steps. Soon, echoes could be heard from the bottom of the stairwell; the clamor of panicking troops.

“COMET!” Malcolm called.

“STAR!” A familiar voice called out. “SECOND DIVISION! NOVEMBER COMPANY!”

“BEUREGUARD!” Malcolm announced. “GET UP HERE! EVAC IS COMING!”

Without skipping a beat, the rapidly climbing footsteps began again. The shadows could be seen in the light. An entire squad came into view, and each man or woman seamlessly fueled by adrenaline. Malcolm pressed his backs to the wall, allowing the line of ten, now growing to fifteen soldiers, to pass them unobstructed; sandwiched in the middle was the frantic head of Question Mark.

“They’re coming!” He shouted in Malcolm’s face.

“You get on the chopper as soon as it lands!” Malcolm ordered. “MOVE IT!”

Beauregard continued his sprint up the stairs. Malcolm and his troops came to the bottom floor, past the windows, the garrison guarding the building were posted on the windows and outside the door. Another squad came into view from outside Malcolm recognized the faces as members of ‘Haphazard’ Edward’s Platoon D.

“COMPANY!” Malcolm bellowed. “On me! Guard! Everyone else get to the roof!

Nearly two full squads were at any adjacent window facing the parking lot, bashing the windows out with their rifles and preparing to shoot any hostile. Four soldiers moved to symmetrical points on the staircase to the parking lot. First Sergeant ‘Foster’ Harrison was at the door repeating Malcolm’s commands and placing each soldier at their post.

“Sergeant!” Malcolm ran to his side, “Where’s Haphazard!?”

“We got split before we heard your transmission sir! I saw him running to the opposite end of the airstrip with Clairet!”

Malcolm could see out the doorway. The only discernable humans were the ones shooting in the direction they ran from. When Malcolm stood at the top step, another squad rounded the building’s corner to his left. They numbered eleven and was discerned to be Lieutenant No-Nut McGee’s platoon.

“ON ME!” Malcolm commanded. “COVER OUR MEN!”

McGee repeated Malcolm’s commands and his squad assembled to Malcolm’s nine and three o’clock.

“Where’s the rest of your platoon?!” Malcolm asked his lieutenant.

“Behind us!”

Malcolm surveyed the mass of figures crossing the lot.

“I CAN’T TELL THEM APART SIR!” McGee bellowed.

“HONE YOUR FIRE!” Malcolm responded. “CONTROLED BURSTS! SHOOT WHEN YOUR CERTAIN!”

The grunts of McGee’s platoon switched their fire setting as the first wave of panicked troops were in arm’s reach. “TO THE ROOF! NOW!”

They funneled up the stairs and Malcolm heard a rifle burst to his left. When he looked, there was a man who was in the process of unloading his magazine at a screamer. The screamer wore a uniform and had his sights on the grunt. He flailed his arms in the air as blackened blood spewed from the exit wounds. More rifle bursts followed and another group of soldiers from Platoon A rounded the left corner of the building. The remnants of Platoon A entered the building with McGee and they climbed the stairs.

Malcolm saw Johnson making a beeline from the parking lot at one o’clock with the bulk of Platoon B. Corporal ‘Bullet Tarry’ Garth was at Johnson’s flank, and he seemed to be directing an entire squad. Corporal Garth halted and doubled back, checking on the retreating troops. He darted right and used his rifle as a club to crack the skull of a charging Berserker before it could grapple a nameless grunt. Soon as it fell to the ground, Garth aimed at the ground and decisively splattered the skull into fragments. He then turned around to unload a volley in the direction they ran from. He cut down one of the shambling figures before doing another about face to flee while he reloaded.

Malcolm was sick of standing in place, he charged out into the parking lot, he tapped the fleeing troops on the shoulders to motion them to the door and kept alert for hostiles coming from any direction. “GET TO THE ROOF!”

He gunned down a berserker towards eleven o’clock as it was preparing to grapple with a corporal. Around the same moment, Johnson was upon him along with Bullet Tarry and Slit-Wrist.

“WHERE’S CLAIRET!?” Malcolm demanded.

“IT’S FUCKED!”

Malcolm grabbed Kenneth’s collar. “THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER!”

Kenneth spun and pointed to beyond the crowd of Berserkers where pockets of troops were still bursting through and knocking the enemy to the ground. Dozens of them shoved and shot their way through what seemed like angry husks. Clairet was spotted more than fifty yards in the distance, and she accompanied seven faces that Malcolm recognized as members of Edward nd Clairet’s platoons, along with soldiers from Bravo Company. He stood witness to one getting tackled from behind and the rest nearly scattered among the encircling Berserkers. One tried to double back to save their comrade, only to be pulled back by Clairet.

Malcolm, with Bullet Tarry joining him, began a dash to rescue Clairet and her squad while Johnson and the rest of his platoon continued to the door.

Malcolm and Garth weaved through the growing crowd of indiscernible figures. They could hear and had to ignore the various men screaming in agony as they were pinned by screamers Bullet Tarry approached one, an unfortunate private who was on his stomach and helplessly flailing his elbows against the face of a berserker that was chomping on his face and neck.

He begged as Bullet Tarry mercifully placed five rounds into the pair, with two penetrating the private’s skull. They were then upon the second and Bullet Tarry repeated the same process with a short burst. He shot a sergeant who was using his arm to hold a berserker back; the arm was in between the screamer’s teeth; it was tearing and mangling the uniform.

Malcolm signaled Garth. “LIGHT EM UP!”

Clairet and her soldiers were now within twenty yards of them; They were nearly cut off by now, dozens of Berserkers that were trying to encircle them. Malcolm had one second to notice to his ten o’clock.

Only the uniform confirmed that he was American, his chest and neck had been seemingly ripped open and Malcolm thought he could hear a dreading moan emanating from what was left of his vocal cords as it charged. Malcolm fired a single round into its forehead.

“GARTH! ON YOUR SIX!” Malcolm commanded as he reloaded. He caught Garth hopping atop the Humvee after blowing away two Berserkers. Garth hopped into the minigun emplacement and immediately unleased a vapid spray of bullets into the thick crowd of infected.;Garth mystified the lot with black blood as his face remained stoic.

Malcolm caught several Berserkers charging the Humvee’s rear, he stepped over and took shots beneath Garth’s field of view, killing four more infected.

“MOVE IT!” Malcolm dropped off the jargon. He ejected his empty magazine and reloaded it as he ran. The rest sprinted through the field of corpses as Garth ran behind them.

They were less than a hundred yards away from the building when Malcolm spotted figures running alongside the opposite wall where Price came from. The figures grew into a spreading pack that caught the garrison’s right flank off guard. The outermost man was sacked by three of the berserkers and the others spun around too late to save their comrade from being ripped into. The growing crowd was quickly too many; the watchers on the staircase had to turn around, too late to save their right flank.

The berserker group had swelled. Malcolm gave the order, “CONCENTRATE FIRE! ELEVEN O’CLOCK!”

As they sprinted, a wall bullets exploded from the combined strength of their rifles. The berserkers ruptured and contorted as their internal organs flayed for all to see. Many were knocked down; others were cut down and dead once more.

The squad fell up the stairs into the building. Malcolm halted at the top and unloaded his Crystal into the trickling mob. A fresh group of berserkers came charging from the building at seven o’clock. The gunners at the windows all had to reload. They waited for just the right moment before spraying a volley at Macolm’s command. As the berserkers sprinted beneath the windows, they were shredded by the limbs, and they fell to the ground with their jaws snapping.

One by one, the garrison fell through the door, and each was sure to empty their magazine on the way in. Malcolm was the last to walk backwards through the door.

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Liam came right bound and shoved a Berserker to the ground as he beelined to the door. Malcolm could feel the man’s panicked pants and he halted. Malcolm reloaded his Crystal and switched to a single burst setting. He then proceeded to deliberately hone his aim at the infected who were setting their focus on Liam.

“CAPTAIN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” A voice behind him screamed. Malcolm brought down seven infected in the process. Liam finally flew up the steps in stride. He fell into the building and Malcolm could retreat as well. Two troopers shut the door behind him, and others were moving furniture to barricade the doorways.

Malcolm took a deep breath; his gasmask contorted the sound to make him ominous. He checked his body for potential biohazards; no one spoke a word as the moment passed and the doors began to bang and rattle under pressure. The window gunners continued their work to thin the Berserker herd.

“I saw our men out there!” Liam yelled. Malcolm turned and saw him pacing the room with his hands against his head. As the sound of propellers could be faintly heard. “I-I can’t raise the rest of Bravo! I could’ve rallied them…”

Clairet stood forward and slapped him. The air sucked out of the room. “Get it together! We’re all here!”

“I saw Bravo turning into those things!”

She shook him by the shoulders. “You’re acting high and mighty NOW! I just watched Haphazard get swarmed and I had to run away! That’s all there is to it; there’s nothing we could’ve done!”

As Malcolm watched, Clairet’s stoicism outweighed the news of Lieutenant Edward’s death. Malcolm focused on Liam, whose head was dragging beneath his neckline, he was so morose and his eyes wandering. It was a feeling Malcolm could relate to.

He stood parallel to Liam’s ear. “It doesn’t matter what you did.” Malcolm hushed to the last officer of Bravo Company. “You’re alive. This. Is. Precious.”

Liam’s eyes shot to where Malcolm stood; they looked like he wanted to reject his premise.

“Say something!” Clairet commanded. To which Liam’s mouth began to stammer with no words falling out.

Suddenly, a scream came. When Malcolm looked, a man was being dragged out the third window. By the time the closest soldier slid to recover him, his legs were kicking the air as they dragged out. The man’s screaming turned to vile shrieks; the sense of panic among the soldiers became near mania. A Berserker’s hands grasped the base of the window, and it began to pull itself upward, revealing its snarling face.

Malcolm broke from Liam to draw his sidearm and blew the Berserker away. He fired three more shots into the moaning crowd. The gunner was buried in the Dead and Malcolm was unable to give him mercy. He could see at least a score of berserkers against the walls with many more coming.

Liam took command. “The choppers are here…Up the stairs! GO!” The entire company fell back. Clairet and the ones closest to the stairs were the first up and the troops by the windows were standing against the inner wall, shooting at any berserker who dared rear its head.

Malcolm had to move along the line, tapping each man by the shoulder and replacing the bursts of their rifles with his pistol. One by one, Malcolm had each grunt falling back. When he looked again to his right, he could see November Company swarming around Liam as if he were Moses in the Ocean. He was then at the window, he shot a roaring face and proceeded to empty his mag and he threw it at them in a petulant act of defiance. A tug on his shoulder almost made him draw his blade.

“You’re getting off on this!” Liam said. “Let’s go!”

Now Liam was pulling on Malcolm, and it guided him away from the sight of the undead. They entered the stairwell, and when Malcolm looked behind him, the infected started crawling through the windows. He faced the winding staircase, facing the backs of his retreating company and blinding himself to the encroaching menace. Their howling echoed through the tight chamber.

“MOVE IT!” Malcolm bellowed as he began to skip entire sets of stairs. He and Liam were in lockstep, and they were rearing on the sluggish mass of grunts ascending and bonking shoulder to shoulder. They were stampeding like sheep; it was a miracle no-one was trampled. By now, they hadn’t climbed half the length of the building and Malcolm was already at their backs. He took a gander at the stairwell beneath him.

The Dead were coming.

There was a Berserker bellowing a bloody roar from the base of the stairwell. This was compounded by the near dozen Berserkers creeping up the stairs and nearly twenty of them entering the stairwell behind the screamer, almost knocking it to the ground. They grasped the railing as if they were still people and their feet skyrocketed upward, shoulder to shoulder.

Malcolm then faced the crowd before him. He wanted to shove them forward and knew he would be more likely to trip one of them. He looked at Liam and his eyes were filled with trepidation. “Don’t do it!”

Malcolm halted and pushed Liam forward. “Get them on the fucking helicopter!”

“I literally can’t without you!”

“Get the hell out of here!” Malcolm pointed up the stairs then he spun around. Malcolm cranked the chamber on his Crystal as he glided downward. He proceeded to click his magazine to ensure it was stable. Soon, all he had left was the case of stairs between him on the right and the mass of infected to his left.

Malcolm took advantage of his angle and proceeded to fire a volley where the Berserkers were going to be. The bullets rained on them like hail and their skulls were flayed to shreds. Those who were now truly dead collapsed where they ran or were thrown into the wall. The bodies pummeled and Malcolm was now directly across from them on the forward staircase.

It was the quickest reload of his life, for the dead were busy crawling over their own. Malcolm’s second volley aimed at the lower neckline. The Berserkers were blasted back and began to roll down the stairs, tripping the undead behind them. Malcolm twisted his aim from a straight line to a spiral, taking out the berserkers caught on the metal stairs and buried by the rotting meat.

One had absorbed the shots in the chest and Malcolm had to eject his magazine as the Berserker pushed past the falling bodies. With all his two hundred pound might, Malcolm bashed the berserker’s skull with a leftward swing using the stock of his Crystal. It was just enough force to send the berserker over the railing; down it fell, roaring all the way.

Malcolm drew his pistol with just enough time to halt the next berserker with the grip of his right hand. He used all his strength to keep the snapping jaw shut. He pulled the berserker to the side and fired three rounds into the next one. Malcolm then shot a berserker that was buried beneath the corpses, attempting to crawl out. He now had the freedom to push the berserker he held. Malcolm slammed it into the wall and began the process of bashing the base of its head. By the second bash a loud crack sent its eyes to the back. Malcolm tossed the bloody ball over the railing and it too, fell to the base.

The sounds of the ravenous still echoed from the bottom of the stairwell. Malcolm started back up the well and glided over each case with precision. With a near winding dizziness, Malcolm was quickly circling the stairs as if he were being pulled up into the eye of a tornado. He looked back to see he was gaining ground on the undead. The blades of propellers could be heard whirling as the last of the company entered the roof.

“KEEP THE DOOR OPEN!” Malcolm screamed. He had five staircases between him and the door.

“HURRY!” one soldier called out. Malcolm passed the doorway and could practically feel the air decompress around him as he squeezed past Henrick and Aaron who were training their sights down the steps. They shut the door behind them; they locked and braced it with their backs.

The roof had room for one Chinook at a time, and the last was still loading the final scores of November Company. Malcolm looked for his lieutenants and there was only Clairet, who was hustling the squads into the Chinook’s hold. Liam was now in his face, and he shook Malcolm’s shoulders as the sonic boom of jets broke the sound barrier.

“You’ll get us both killed!” Liam shouted.

“I didn’t see you covering the retreat!”

Liam closed in. “That’s because I don’t have a death wish!”

Malcolm winced. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

The first clamor banged against the door and the privates panicked. One turned around and pressed forward against the door with his rifle. Liam went on. “They’re here! See how little your rampage mattered. I’m not turning my back on my people just so I could get a goddamn fix!”

“NELSON!” Clairet called out, “LET’S GO!”

Liam movedto grab the soldiers off the door. He shouted. “It’ll hold! RUN!”

They bolted and Liam began to usher in the remnants of the company. A squad-sized unit. Malcolm ignored Liam and followed Clairet onto the chopper. The dozen grunts funneled through, and Liam was the last of the company on board. The ramp shut and the troops of forty-two had begun to take their seats as the Chinook ascended from the roof.

Malcolm remained standing and observed the dim lights of the shrinking base through the porthole. The shapes of the infected and those left behind became stick figures as the distance grew into the scores of meters. The chopper banked east, and the view of the base shifted towards the freeways surrounding Uijeongbu. Both oncoming lanes of the Korean interstate system were clogged with headlights and the civilians congested the thin spaces between the cars as they all tried to flee in both directions; there would be no escape, only reprisal by teeth.

The silhouettes of the tall buildings were slowly hugged from the base upward by series of orange bursts that closely resembled the hues of lava. The grunts were once again joining Malcolm in staring out the windows, some sharing a porthole.

As they passed over the freeways, the jet pilots dropped more bombs on the congested mob of civies and Berserkers. Hundreds of people who had abandoned their cars and were running for the nearest exit were now burning like charcoal. To Malcolm’s eyes, their essence filled the hue of the depiction. Its energy multiplied as a thousand souls were deleted from existence. The fires rose and the cinders rained on those outside the vicinity of a dozen blasts. Their skin would melt to the touch and their lungs would contract on the vapor of gaseous napalm.

Even the compartment’s guarding fire team had taken part in staring out the portholes on either side of the chinook. Malcolm took notice of them with his eyes when he noticed the sounds of trembling fear. Some grunts were muttering prayers ranging from traditional Christianity to Judaism, many buckled under the knees as they crouched on the seats, and others just muttered the same expletive repeatedly.

There was Clairet at the front of the chopper by the first porthole. Her face rose from the palm of her right hand and her head turned towards Malcolm. She seemed to swallow a gulp before taking petty steps to him; she kept a hand on her elbow. With her head tilted to the ground, Malcolm could still see the tears dripping to the cold floor.

Clairet came to a pause when she stood before him. “You were right…about everything. I’m…stupid…”

It finally occurred to Malcolm that he was the only one who had bothered to equip a gas mask. Without contemplating the risk of contracting the disease, he felt compelled to remove it.

Liam came upon them from Malcolm’s right with one hand stopping him. “You go ahead and keep that on…” was Liam’s cold entrance. “You have done far more than enough. Don’t pretend to feel guilty.”

Malcolm was stunned. It was like being in high school all over again, the words dissipated from his mind. Liam turned his head to Clairet, who finally acknowledged him.

Liam soothed. “We made it…everything’s going to be okay...”

After they turned around and went to the front of the chopper; Malcolm hovered like a ghost.

I suppose you’re right about one thing. I don’t feel guilty. I will Never apologize for doing what I’m supposed to do, nor will I bother with feeling sorry for the past. I survive; everyone under my wing will make it through.

…I’m going home no matter what…My son needs his dad.