we meet again ¹ - the 5th wave

XIX

zombie points out the embankment leading down to the water's edge. "all the way down to that walking trail," he says to ringer. "and don't wait for me." she shakes her head, frowning. he leans in, keeping his expression as serious as he can. "i thought i had you with the zombie remark. on of these days, i'm going to get a smile out of you, private."

very much not smiling. "i don't think so, sir."

i look between the two. jealousy. that's all i feel. i mean she's a gorgeous girl. and i'm just. me.

"you have something against smiling?"

"it was the first thing to go." then the snow and the dark swallow her. the rest of the squad follows. i can hear teacup whimpering beneath her breath as dumbo leads her off, going, "run hard when it goes, cup, okay?"

zombie squats beside the truck's fuel tank and grab hold of the metal cap, praying one of those counterintuitive prayers that this bad boy is topped off—or better, half-full, since fumes will give us the biggest bang for the buck. he doesn't dare ignite the cargo, but the few gallons of diesel contained beneath it should set it off. i hope.

the cap is frozen. he beats on it with the butt of my rifle, wrap both hands around it, and give it everything he's got. it pops loose with a very pungent, very satisfying hiss. he'll have ten seconds. should i count? nah, screw it. he pulls the pin on the grenade, drop it in the hole, "go!" he shouts, i take off down the hill him close behind. the snow whips fitfully in his wake. zombies toe catches on something and he tumble the rest of the way, landing on his back at the bottom, hitting his head on the asphalt of the paved walking trail. i look back before i sprint back at him then i hear a soft wuh-wuumph and the tanker jumps about two feet into the air, followed by a gorgeous blossoming fireball that reflects off the falling snow, a mini universe of tiny suns shimmering, and now i grab him up and chugging up the hill, our team nowhere in sight, and i can feel the heat against my left as we come even with the truck, which is still in one piece, the tank intact. dropping the grenade inside the fuel tank didn't ignite the cargo. do we throw another? do we keep running? blinded by the explosion, the sniper would rip off his night vision goggles. he won't be blind for long.

we're through the intersection and onto the curb when the gasoline ignites. the blast throws us forward, i fly threw a window, falling onto a table before rolling onto the floor. i can barely breathe from the impact.

huge jagged shards of metal rain down, pieces of the tank torn apart by the blast hurled a hundred yards in every direction at bullet speeds. i hear someone screaming as i fold my arms over my head and curl myself into the tiniest ball possible. the heat is incredible. it's like I've been swallowed by the sun.

the glass behind me shatters—from a high-caliber bullet, not the explosion. zombies voice is heard, "lana!" he shouts as he gets up to me, "i'm okay, i'm okay." i say quietly. he grabs my hand pulling me up. run! and we're going hard until we come across oompa crumpled on the sidewalk, poundcake kneeling beside him, tugging on his shoulder, his face twisted in a soundless cry. it was oompa i heard screaming after the tanker blew, and it takes me only a half second to see why: a piece of metal the size of a frisbee juts out of his lower back. i gag at the sight.

zombie pushes poundcake toward the garage—"go!"—and heave oompas round little body over his shoulder. i hear the report of the rifle this time, two beats after the shooter across the street fires, and a chunk of concrete breaks free of the wall behind me.

first level of the garage is separated from the sidewalk by a waist-high concrete wall. zombie eases oompa over the wall, then hop over and duck down. ka-thunk: a fist-size chunk of the wall blows back toward us. kneeling beside oompa, zombie looks up to see poundcake hoofing it toward the stairwell. now, as long as there isn't another sniper's nest in this building, and as long as the infested who got away hasn't taken refuge here, too...

a quick check of oompas injury isn't encouraging. the sooner he can get him upstairs to dumbo, the better.

"private oompa," zombie breathes in his ear. "you do not have permission to die, understood?"

he nods, sucking in the freezing air, blowing it out again, warm from the center of his body. but he's as white as the snow billowing in the golden light. zombie throws him back onto his shoulder and trot to the stairs, keeping as low as he can without losing his balance.

he takes the stairs two at a time till we reach the third level, where we find the unit crouched behind the first line of cars, several feet back from the wall that faces the sniper's building. dumbo is kneeling beside teacup, working on her leg. her fatigues are ripped, and i can see an ugly red gash where a bullet tore across her calf. i walk over to the two, dumbo slaps a dressing over the wound, hands her off to me, then rushes over to oompa. flintstone is shaking his head at zombie.

"told you we should abort," flint says. his eyes glitter with malice. "now look."

zombie ignores him. turns to Dumbo. "well?"

"it's not good, sarge."

"then make it good." he looks over at teacup, who's buried her head into my chest, whimpering softly.

"it's superficial," i tell him. "she can move."

he nods. oompa down. teacup shot. flint ready to mutiny. a sniper across the street and a hundred or so of his best friends on their way to the party. "he knows where we are, which means we can't camp here long. see if you can take him."

ringer nods, zombie jerks his head toward the street and turn to poundcake, "cake, go with ringer. take the sob out."

ringer and poundcake duck between two cars and disappear. i go to peak teacup off of me and hand her to zombie who was holding his bloody hands out, he strokes teacup's bare head—somewhere along the way she lost her cap—and watch dumbo gingerly pull on the fragment in oompas back. oompa howls in agony, his fingers clawing at the ground. unsure, dumbo looks up at zombie. he nods. it's gotta come out. "quick, dumbo. slow makes it worse." so he yanks.

oompa folds in on himself, and the echoes of his screams rocket around the garage. dumbo tosses the jagged piece of metal to one side and shines his light on the gaping wound.

grimacing, he rolls oompa onto his back. his shirtfront is soaked. dumbo rips the shirt open, exposing the exit wound: the shrapnel had entered through his back and slammed through to the other side.

i kneel down. my eyes weld up with tears. damn it. flint turns away, crawls a couple feet, and his back arches as he vomits. teacup gets very still watching all this. she's going into shock. teacup, the one who screamed the loudest during mock charges in the yard. teacup, the bloodthirstiest, the one who sang the loudest in p&d. we're losing her.

and we're losing oompa. as dumbo presses wadding against the wound in oompas gut, trying to stem the flow, his eyes seek out zombies.

"what are your orders, private?" he asks him.

"i—i am not to—to..."

dumbo tosses the blood-soaked dressing away and presses a fresh patch against oompas stomach. looking into zombies face. doesn't have to say anything. not to him. not to oompa.

eases teacup.

i'm still kneeling by oompa. his breath smells like blood and chocolate.

"it's because i'm fat," he chokes out. he starts to cry.

"stow that shit," i tell him sternly.

he whispers something. i bring my ear close to his mouth. "my name is kenny." like it's a terrible secret he's been afraid to share.

his eyes roll toward the ceiling. then he's gone.

i sigh before wiping a tear from my cheek. i stand back up in defeat. i look over at zombie tears in my eyes. teacup reaches for me, i hold my hands out, zombie hands her over, she cry's into my shoulder as he best friend his dead on the floor.