“Uh, H-Henry-,” he stammered, his voice catching. Just then, the tanker's massive engine roared to life, drowning out his words. Ethan, still perched on top of the tanker, stumbled back toward the cab, unable to tear his eyes from the oncoming swarm of monsters.
He tripped on a metal rung on top of the tanker and fell with a loud bang. The fall shook him out of his paralysis, and he scrambled along the top of the tanker and slammed his fist down on top of the cab. Henry’s head popped out the driver’s side window a moment later. The second he saw Ethan’s face, he went alert.
“Henry!” he yelled over the loud engine. “Monsters coming from Azalea!”
Henry checked his side-view mirrors, his eyes first squinting then widening at what he saw.
“Hang on, kid,” he said loudly, yet still exuding calm as he put the tanker into gear. Ethan gripped one of the metal rungs on top of the tanker in a death grip, his face a mask of terror as the massive vehicle slowly started to rumble forward.
Definitely not fast enough, Ethan thought desperately as he looked back at the rapidly closing mass of nightmarish creatures. I have to do something.
He flipped around so he was prone on his stomach and hooked his foot into the metal rung to steady himself. Unslinging his rifle, he pushed down the hopeless feeling threatening to suffocate him as he looked at the number of monsters racing toward them.
“Do the job that’s in front of you,” he whispered to himself in an attempt to calm his shaking hands and frayed nerves.
Ethan checked the chamber, confirming the first round, and took aim at the tidal wave rushing toward them. He fired into the mass, clipping one of the creatures, sending it sprawling into its comrades in a spray of black blood and flailing limbs. He felt a grim satisfaction, but wasted no time in cocking the lever on his rifle, ejecting the spent casing and taking aim again.
He took a deep breath, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils as he took aim on the mass of horror again. He squeezed the trigger and felt the buck of the rifle against his shoulder. Not waiting to see if his shot landed, Ethan began to pump round after round into the mass of monsters, only taking a moment to aim between shots.
The tanker accelerated at a painfully slow pace, and the monsters were still gaining on them. Ethan gritted his teeth as he loaded more rounds from the quiver mounted on the stock of his gun.
Henry’s M16 would be a much better tool for this, he thought grimly as he thought of the fully automatic capability.
He shot as fast as he could, not taking much time to aim at the cluttered jumble of monsters. Even as red orbs flew toward him from his slain foes and a trail of monster corpses was left in their wake, the wave rolled toward them. They were close enough now that Ethan could hear the demons’ chittering and clacking. Terror seized his chest, and he had to clamp down on the panic threatening to swallow him.
Suppressing that instinct, he sighted one of the lead monsters and put a well-placed shot right in its nightmarish face. He whipped his head around and saw that they were only a few minutes away from the farm. Already? he thought desperately. He began to shoot even faster.
The thought of bringing this mess to the farm filled his heart with anger and dismay. They’d seen a monster here or there, but the farm had been a refuge until now — unmarred by apocalypse. Ethan set his jaw in determination as he thought of Scuppers, Joel, and the rest of the farm.
You can’t have it, you bastards, he thought, his anger reaching a boiling point. I’ll die before I let that happen.
Ethan silently prayed that Henry had a plan and wasn’t leading the monsters back home just to be overrun. He decided to trust the old man and focus on doing the job in front of him — killing as many of the scuttlers as possible.
A few of the faster scuttlers raced ahead of the rest of the wave and were about to reach the tanker. Ethan reached for his handgun in its holster and was acutely aware that he was on top of several thousand gallons of gasoline. Thinking better of his choice of weapon, he unslung Quynh’s garden hoe.
The irony of how he’d used the tool to bring life until now was not lost on him as he prepared to use it to take life. He got to his feet, spreading them wide to balance himself on top of the rumbling tanker. The act of running his hands along the haft of the garden hoe reassured him amidst the chaos.
Finding purpose in protecting the farm granted him focus as the lead monster drew alongside the tanker in a loping gait. Its drooling maw opened, and it released a piercing scream, but Ethan refused to be cowed. He released a scream of his own as the monster leapt and scrabbled to find purchase on the tanker.
Before it could secure itself, Ethan swept the garden hoe in a looping arc along the side of the tanker — the speed of the strike creating a whistle in the air before colliding with the monster with a loud thwack.
“Eat shit, you stinky bug!” Ethan shouted, teeth bared.
The blow sent the creature cartwheeling off the side and into a jumbled heap before it was stampeded into a pulp by its brethren. Ethan’s head whipped up as he saw another scuttler mounting the back of the tanker, using the ladder to heave its awkward body upward.
Ethan carefully rushed forward and gave a mighty spear thrust into the monster’s center mass using the flat end of the hoe. The part-push part-strike sent the scuttler tumbling off the back of the truck, where it slapped to the ground and skidded along the asphalt, leaving a long, black streak in its wake before it was also trampled by the wave of monsters, tripping several of its fellows in the process.
Now surrounded by loping scuttlers, Ethan dashed along the length of the tanker — hacking, swiping, and pushing monsters off in a dance of flailing limbs and snapping mandibles conducted by the garden hoe belonging to Henry’s late wife.
Ethan glanced ahead, seeing the turnoff for Thompson Farm closing in. The stampede of creatures was almost on them, its momentum turning it into a wave that surged toward them. Ethan swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight before turning to heft a powerful two-handed swing at the scuttler that had crested the top of the tanker.
“Get down, kid!”
Ethan barely heard the warning before he looked back at the cab and saw Henry drop something out the window before yanking the steering wheel hard to the right to send the tanker careening onto the dirt road that led to the farm.
He had only a moment to throw himself onto the nearest rung, thrusting his arm through to secure himself as the tanker swung hard to the right. The momentum and speed of the turn caused his legs to fly out to the side, so he was parallel to the ground as they turned.
Ethan gritted his teeth as he clung on for his life. His shoulder felt like it might pop from its socket as they completed the turn, and his body slapped hard against the side of the tanker. He looked back just in time to see the wave of creatures fly past the turnoff — their collective momentum carrying them further down the road in a tumbling heap.
An instant later, a massive explosion emanating from the center of the mass of monsters slammed against Ethan, jostling him painfully. His mouth dropped open in shock as the explosive combined with the scuttler’s combined momentum sent them into a whirling tumble of limbs and debris.
Was that a freaking grenade? Ethan thought as he recalled that Henry had dropped something out the window right before the explosion. He shook his head, regaining his focus as the remaining monsters began to untangle themselves from their dead counterparts and continue their pursuit.
Ethan’s stomach lurched as Henry slammed on the brakes, sending the tanker into a skidding fishtail in one of the outer fields of the farm. The wheels screeched along the gravel road, throwing up a cloud of dust in their wake before coming to a rocking halt in the field. Ethan looked toward the farmhouse. It was less than a mile away — too close for comfort, as he considered the farm, the animals, and Scuppers.
Henry’s arm shot from the driver’s side window with his machine gun in his grip. He reached up to slap it on top of the cab before opening the door and clambering up himself, much more nimbly than Ethan would expect for a man of his age and size.
Ethan jumped to his feet when he saw what else Henry was holding. Two more grenades.
“Uhhh, Henry… we’re standing on-”
“Eight thousand gallons of gas,” Henry interrupted as he walked toward him along the top of the tanker. “I know.” The old farmer pressed one of the grenades into Ethan’s hand. He clutched it in both shaking hands as tightly as he dared, trying not to panic.
“This is an M67,” Henry said, glancing up and squinting at the approaching horde. “It has a four-second fuse, startin’ once you pull this pin.” Henry pointed to a small pin. He didn’t rush as he explained, taking his time to make sure Ethan understood as if they were standing in the garden discussing fertilization tactics. Even as his heart threatened to pound out of his chest, Henry’s calm competence reassured Ethan.
Ethan could only nod along dumbly as Henry turned back to the horde, his eyes analyzing their trajectory. Ethan squirmed as the old man took his time studying the terrain and their foe. It was apparent that Henry was drawing from his experience as a soldier as he calmly analyzed the situation. After what felt like an eternity, Henry turned to him.
“In about thirty seconds, Victor Charlies are going to start cresting that mound of dirt,” Henry said, pointing to a small mound about fifty yards away. He knelt and placed four extra magazines within grabbing distance as he took a kneeling stance and pulled his M16 tight against his shoulder. Ethan gingerly put his grenade down and mimicked Henry’s stance.
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“I’m going to unload three magazines,” Henry said so calmly that Ethan almost laughed. “When I finish the third, I’ll holler frag, and you’re going to throw yours right at that boulder.” Henry pointed and made sure Ethan saw the boulder he was referring to.
Ethan, for his part, was nodding and breathing rapidly as the reality of what was about to happen overwhelmed him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the swarm — his vision narrowed to a point, and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his head. There were still so many of the monsters.
“Son!” Henry shouted, placing a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. He jumped at the contact, his wide eyes turning to Henry.
“We got this,” the old man said, still inexplicably calm as he stared unblinkingly at Ethan. “I got you,” Henry said with a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. Ethan nodded and took a deep breath, trying to draw from Henry’s calm energy.
“Remember, I yell frag and you pull the pin and chuck it right at that rock,” Henry said, pointing. “After that, cover my six and don’t use your gun.” The old man raised his rifle in his kneeling stance in a way that looked as comfortable and practiced as anything he’d seen him do on the farm when tending to crops.
Ethan took another deep breath and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants before readying his own weapon as the clamor of the scuttlers grew louder.
“Contact in ten,” Henry called, almost lazily. The longest ten seconds of Ethan’s life passed, then suddenly the first scuttler crested the mound. Henry instantly placed a shot in its center-mass, sending it careening backward into its comrades. Three more monsters took its place.
Ethan opened fire, the rifle kicking back into his already sore shoulder. He wasn’t even sure if he hit anything as he levered the spent cartridge out and took aim again. The wave was now cresting the mound in a swarm, prompting Henry to switch his assault rifle to fully automatic and begin sweeping back and forth in a barrage of bullets.
Scuttler after scuttler fell to their combined fire — Henry ravaging the onslaught, and Ethan picking off any stragglers that made it through. The base of the dirt mound began to fill with the corpses of monsters, creating a mire that impeded the progress of those that followed.
Henry’s devastating efficiency with the M16 was such a contrast to everything Ethan knew about the old farmer. He took long sweeps, short bursts, and single shots like an artist would use different brush strokes on a canvas.
This was exactly the kind of thing Henry was very, very good at, Ethan thought, with a healthy amount of trepidation.
“Frag!” Henry yelled, startling Ethan into jumping to his feet. His heart did a flip in his chest as he pulled the pin and froze. He locked eyes with Henry, frozen by the fear of the now live grenade in his hand.
“The ROCK, son!” Henry yelled at him. Ethan startled and instantly obeyed, drawing his arm back and flinging the grenade directly at the rock Henry had pointed out to him. Henry waited to see where Ethan’s grenade landed and threw his own, evidently calculating where to place the explosive for greatest effect.
There was a moment of stillness punctuated by the clamoring of the monsters. Ethan looked at Henry, fear etched across his face.
“Why didn’t th-” Ethan was cut off by a massive boom that sent a shower of dirt and scuttler bodies flying, followed by a second explosion that devastated the ranks of monsters. A double geyser of dirt, limbs, and squawking scuttlers flew high into the air, creating a cloud of dust that obfuscated their view.
“Hit 'em while they’re down!” Henry yelled above the din. He already had his M16 in hand and was picking off stragglers as they became visible through the smoke screen of dirt and debris. Ethan shook his head. There was a ringing in his ears, and everything sounded muffled as he scooped up his rifle and took aim at a stumbling scuttler, and pulled the trigger.
Time blurred as Ethan took shots at the monsters with his rifle, with varying degrees of success. He was finding it hard to stay focused, as if he were watching someone else’s actions. His ears were ringing from the gunfire and explosions. His rifle clicked a few times before he realized his gun was empty.
“Keep ‘em off me, kid!” Henry called over to Ethan from his kneeling position. The old farmer was surgically selecting target after target and putting well-placed shots to prevent the monsters from organizing into a wave again.
With no time to reload his rifle, Ethan scrambled up in a daze, unslinging his garden hoe from his back and casting around for any would-be ambushers. One of the scuttlers was pressed up against the tanker, weakly scrabbling and screeching. Ethan noticed it was missing several legs and likely would soon bleed out.
Still in a fog, Ethan walked over and swept his hoe down in a wide sweeping arc. The sickening sound of metal on flesh caused him to cringe and break the spell he was under. Ethan peered around, making sure no scuttlers would threaten Henry’s grim work as the old man continued to surgically pick apart the monsters.
The grenades had killed the momentum of the scuttlers, and they were in disarray as they staggered blindly through the smokescreen, some heading in entirely the wrong direction.
We might just make it, Ethan dared to hope as he chopped at another monster that’d been scaling the front of the tanker.
As he straightened, Ethan felt a forceful tug on his left leg that sent him sprawling, causing him to drop his hoe. As his hands scrabbled for a handhold, he looked down to see that one of the scuttlers had his boot firmly clasped in its maw, and it began to pull him down off the tanker in sharp tugs.
Off guard and off-balance, terror pulsed through Ethan as he slowly lost the battle to stay on top of the tanker.
“Henry!” he squealed as he was pulled from the tanker and crashed to the ground on his back. He didn’t have time to see if Henry had even noticed he’d fallen, as his head swam from the collision and he struggled to catch his breath.
Through the dust cloud, he saw the scuttler release his foot and place a clawed foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Ethan’s eyes went wide with fear as the mandibled mouth lowered toward his face. He screamed and flung up his arm, which the monster greedily clamped down on him in a crushing grip.
Ethan’s scream of fear turned to pain as he scrambled for anything that could help him get his arm free from the increasingly painful grip. Through the pain, he remembered the knife he’d gotten from Trailhead Outfitters. He fumbled the thigh holster open as he pushed the monster back with his trapped arm.
Finally freeing the large hunting knife, Ethan plunged it… somewhere into the monster's body. It released his arm, granting him blessed relief from the crushing pain in his arm. Wasting no time, Ethan followed up his attack with a blow to the creature’s head. His knife pierced something vital, and the monster went limp, collapsing its full weight on top of him.
Ethan grunted as he rolled the monster off and sat up, gasping and clutching his arm in pain. A moment later, a red orb rose from the monster's corpse and shot into his chest, relieving his pain somewhat.
His eyes snapped up as another scuttler appeared from the dusty murk directly in front of him at a loping pace, its hateful eyes locked on him. He could only scramble backward and raise his knife in a trembling grip as it closed the distance.
When it was mere feet from him, an impact slammed into the monster and sent it sprawling. Ethan looked up to see Henry pointing the smoking barrel of his M16 at the scuttler. Ethan stared up at him open-mouthed. The old man was as calm as if they were in the fields digging trenches, not fighting off a horde of monsters.
“On your feet, kid,” he said placidly before turning back to his deadly work on the other side of the tanker truck. Ethan got shakily to his feet, sheathing his knife and spotting the garden hoe he’d dropped.
He walked over and scooped it up, ignoring the pulsing pain in his arm. Apparently, the healing hadn’t fully healed him.
The rage he hadn’t felt in weeks now began to build within him, drowning out his fear. The injustice of these… beasts threatening Thompson farm, when all they wanted was to live in peace. Ethan knelt and touched the soil. A sickly green wave of translucent light emanated from where his hand contacted the soil, and Ethan was repulsed by what he sensed.
X-Tier Soil: Corrupted. Soil structure compromised by foreign organic matter. Nutrients warped, microbial life eradicated. Residual energy unstable. Faint traces of monstrous ichor detected.
Suitable Crops: None.
Yield: None. Crops planted will wither or mutate unpredictably.
Warning: Contamination spreading laterally. Immediate containment or purification recommended.
[SEEDER SYSTEM ALERT] System Advisory: Prolonged exposure may result in degradation of local fauna, flora, and mental stability.
Reclamation Possibility: Low
As the information streamed into his mind, Ethan staggered back at the wrongness of what the monster’s toxic ichor had done to the soil. As if trying to kill him wasn’t enough — no, they threatened the very ground he walked on. Ethan gladly let his rage stoke into a burning inferno.
He banked the last thing the system said into the back of his mind as he stood with the garden hoe clasped tightly in his hand. Reclamation Possibility: Low… he had no time to ponder further as he rounded the tanker to face the remaining monsters, embracing his anger.
The monsters were still in disarray as he walked toward the chaotic scene. A stumbling scuttler missing limbs stumbled toward him, and he swung his hoe in a mighty upward crescent arc, the speed of its passage causing the wind to whistle and warp in its wake. The impact was thunderous as the blow connected in the center mass of the scuttler — the force of it launching it into the air, even as it left several limbs behind.
Ethan’s face contorted in a rictus of angry pleasure at the sight of its crumpled form splatting to the ground.
“You wanted me! Now come get me!” he screamed maniacally as he charged forward. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, Ethan heard Henry yelling for him to get back, but he was beyond caring about anything except crushing his foes. He swept forward like an angry cyclone and swung about him in great, sweeping arcs at the disarrayed scuttlers.
Monster after monster fell before him as he slashed limbs, hacked bodies, and chopped at anything that moved. A ringing in Ethan’s ears deafened the surrounding noises, and he entered an almost trance-like state as he swept around himself in killing blows. He waded into their midst, killing anything that stood in his path.
This is what I should have done all along, Ethan thought as he slammed his hoe onto the back of a scuttler in a mighty chop that sent it into the ground with a spray of dirt. Finally, he’d been able to take a stand and show these monsters he wouldn’t lay down and be food for them. He swung to his right as if he were wielding a baseball bat and sent a scuttler flying.
His body felt strong as he absorbed another red orb from the creature. Weeks of labor on the farm and now the dearth of red orbs had made him strong in a way he had never felt before. His body tingled with energy, begging to be used. Ethan obliged by sweeping the legs off three scuttlers on the mound above him in a single strike.
He stepped up the slight incline and looked around for the first time since he started his rampage. He blinked. Behind him, there was a trail of dead scuttlers that wound throughout the battlefield. Dozens were dead or dying in what had appeared to be just a few moments.
As quickly as the rage had come, it left him in a rush that only left a hollowness that was quickly being filled by a feeling of disgust for what he had just done. Even though he hated the monsters, the carnage he’d wrought sickened him.
As his horror and disgust built, he caught sight of Henry atop the gas tanker. He stumbled toward him as he saw three scuttlers overwhelming him, one of them pulling him off the back of the tanker.
“Henry,” Ethan croaked as he sprinted back toward Henry as he disappeared from view in a tangle of scuttlers.
