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the town, get
them into cover. I’ll join you soon; I need to recon ahead and see what’s going
on here.”
    Brad looked at him
confused. “What else is there to see?”
    “Primals didn’t
fire those rockets and kill those vehicles. I want to see who did this—now find
these guys some cover,” Brooks said.
    Brad attempted to
argue, but could see by Brooks’ closed expression that the order was not up for
discussion. He turned and looked into the scared face of the man to his right. Brad
scooted back on all fours, and then rose to his knee. He looked at the soldier.
The man stared at the ground absently.
    Brad looked at the
man’s chest; his armor concealed his nametape. “What’s your name, soldier?”
Brad asked.
    He answered without
looking up. “Roberts,” he said.
     “Listen up,
Roberts; we’re moving back down the hill. I need you to get your shit together,
you hear me?”
    The soldier raised
his head to look Brad in the eye. “Okay, Sergeant; I hear ya.”
    “Good, we need to
move. Let’s get the others.”
    Brad stood, then
reached down and pulled the soldier to his feet. He glanced back at Brooks, who
was still lying at the top of the hill, hunched over his rifle. Brad shook his
head then guided the soldier ahead of him; together they took off for the
bottom of the hill to regroup with the others. “Earlier, you said you’ve been
through this town before, right?” Brad asked.
    “Yeah, a few
times.”
    “Good; you know a
place we can hide in? Something we can defend?”
    “I know a place,”
he answered.
    Brad stopped just
short of the others and quickly got them on their feet. A short stocky kid with
the word Axe written on his helmet carried the squad automatic weapon. The
other, a lanky soldier with stubble on his chin cradled an M203, his vest
nearly filled with 40mm grenades. Brad began to speak when he heard the loud
roar of an infected moan. The sounds grew louder on the far side of the hill.
    Brad pointed ahead
to the small village. “Let’s move; Roberts has point.”
    “Where we going?”
Axe asked. “What about the others?”
    Roberts shook his
head and stepped off. “They’re all dead.”
    Brad put out a hand
and moved the two men out, and then stepped off next to them. “Come on, pick up
the pace; we need to get out of the open.”
    As if someone was
listening, a small group of three Primals broke between the buildings; still
over a hundred meters ahead, they moved quickly in Brad’s direction, although
they didn’t see the soldiers. Roberts dropped to the prone position—the others followed
his movement—then raised his rifle but paused before firing.
    “What do we do,
Sergeant?” Roberts asked.
    Brad knew if they
fired, the mob on the other side of the hill would be on them. “Any of you have
cans?”
    The men shook their
heads and looked at him absently.
    “Shit, of course
not,” Brad said. He reached into his hip pouch and retrieved his suppressor
then screwed the can to the end of his M4 barrel. He did not have subsonic ammo
so he was still going to make some noise.
    “You all hold your
fire and be ready to run,” Brad said.
    He raised his rifle
up and aimed center mass at the first jogging Primal and waited for another to
move in directly behind it. Brad pulled the trigger smoothly and felt the rifle
react; the report from the rifle was muffled, although the supersonic round
cracked as it moved down range. Brad lost the sight picture; he lifted his eye
away from the optics and watched as the lead runner tumbled forward. Then the
second runner stumbled and staggered, the round having successfully passed
through the first and into the second. Brad scanned left, finding the third
Primal that continued up the hill and not seeming to care about the rest of its
party. Brad locked onto it and fired again, watching the round impact it just
below the collarbone. The second Primal was still stumbling forward; Brad again
aimed center mass and pulled the trigger,