Post Collapse II

[Continued from previous post...]

The scene outside was, unfortunately, similar to what he had envisioned; the truck was in the process of turning around, Tim in the driver's seat. Seven others were dispersed around the area in a haphazard semicircle, facing away from the cave's entrance, weapons drawn and firing. Except for the truck's high-beams and superheated gas exploding from the muzzles of weapons, the night was pitch-black. Michael ran to the Chevy pickup as Tim whipped the tail around, throwing his pack into the truck bed as he passed it. He raised his gun and ran toward his shouting, shooting comrades.

"On the left!"
"Two more coming from two o'clock! Riley, pop 'em!"
"Mike, help me out here!" yelled a woman on the right.

Michael turned and was able to barely make out the figure of Alissa, AR-15 pressed tightly to her right shoulder, looking down the steep rocky slope ahead of her. He rushed to her side and looked down the grade, straining his eyes for targets. Shadowy humanoid figures were climbing awkwardly, yet swiftly up the rocks. Something in the way they moved was... wrong. Michael had already known what he would find outside the cave, but seeing those things still somehow made it worse. He aimed his pistol and opened fire as Alissa reloaded her rifle. He had practiced moving target acquisition at length, even before the "Day of Reckoning", but shooting at moving targets during the day was significantly different from shooting down a dark slope with the imminent threat of death gnawing at the back of his skull. It made it almost impossible to focus.

The slide locked on his Beretta. Seventeen shots already. Three targets incapacitated. Dozens more still coming from the looks of it. He released the magazine with his right thumb, pulling a full one from his belt. He thumbed the slide release, and flipped his laser sight on at the same time. As he brought the pistol back up, though, a humanoid shadow launched itself up onto level ground, howling and snarling. Michael took a step back and fired at its head; he missed. 'Stupid!' he thought, 'Never aim for the head first, always the center of mass.' Alissa jumped back and opened fire. The thing advanced a few more steps before collapsing in a gurgling heap, not three feet from Michael. He saw motion from his right and heard quick, uneven footfalls. Three more assailants were running wildly toward them from the road, arms flailing, foaming at the mouth, screaming and roaring incoherently; apparently the traps they had set weren't enough to deter the bastards from taking the obvious route into the camp.

About the same time he spotted the new threat, Michael heard the roar of the truck engine. The big Chevy hit the three runners doing at least 25 miles per hour, sending them flying off the side of the steep hill. He barely heard Tim's voice over the engine and the gunfire:

"We're all set, let's get the hell out of here!"

Michael motioned to Alissa and immediately bolted for their second vehicle: an unmarked white van. Before the disasters that had befallen their civilization, it might have been used by a small school, or perhaps an airport. Now it was used to high-tail it out of trouble, and hopefully live another day. He reached the van, found the keys in the ignition, and started it up as Alissa opened the side doors. Michael laid on the horn for a full 10 seconds, followed by short, percussive honks. The others began backing away from the edge of the clearing toward the van. As they loaded up, he saw shadowy figures climbing up onto the level ground and running toward them. The door slammed shut, and he floored it, steering toward the road that Tim and the truck were already tearing down.