The Few, The Proud, The Undead

V

Sergeant Torrence ran over to his Army-issued tent and ripped it open. He reached into his bag and grabbed his M-16 A2 assault rifle and three magazines of ammunition. He stuffed them into his pockets, and then looked over at Vicman.

The Private was holding his M-4 Carbine combat assault rifle tightly in his arms. He looked inside Buff's tent, but found nothing but a fetid pool of warm blood. He poked his head back out and looked at the Sergeant.

"Buff's not here, sir."

Torrence slung his rifle over his shoulder, then without a word turned and sprinted off into the forest. Vicman gritted his teeth, as he assumed the Sergeant was purposely not acknowledging him. He chased off after his superior officer.

The two soldiers rushed through the forest with guns drawn. They were angry and determined, like two dogs chasing after a mailman.

They sprang over fallen logs and dodged hanging branches without breaking stride.

After fifty yards or so, Torrence had taken a substantial lead on Vicman.

The younger soldier got enraged. He was determined to show his superiority to his commanding officer. He pushed himself harder, willing his body to move faster.

It was working. He was catching up to Sergeant Torrence. He got closer and closer, close enough to reach out and grab him, but...

He ignored his footing, tripped on a tree root, and landed face first in what little remained of Spooner's disemboweled stomach. He had stumbled right into the dead soldier's bloody, twisted, headless body, the remnants of which were scattered all over the ground. It was the kind of rank, disgusting mess that Joe Rogan would feed one of the contestants on Fear Factor.

Shocked, Vicman leapt backwards and scrambled onto his feet.

He looked stunned. Torrence looked pissed.

"Aw, shit," said the old soldier, with an air of resignation.

The Private was mumbling incoherently. The fear and terror he'd worked so hard to mask with machismo and blood lust was starting to bubble up to the surface.

"That's Spooner, man," he ranted. "I mean, that was Spooner!"

Torrence pulled another cigarillo out of his pocket.

Vicman kept rambling. "This can't... I killed that thing. I know I did."

The Sergeant fished through his pocket until he found a wooden match, struck it against a rock and lit it. The flame rose, and Torrence brought it up to his lips. The tip of his cigarillo burned bright red, and cloud of wispy smoke wafted up towards the treetops.

Vicman stared dumbly at what was left of the body as Torrence savored his cigarillo's sweet flavor. They both sat in silence for a long time, mourning in their own ways.

They were interrupted by the distant howl of a wolf, or at least something that sounded like a wolf. It echoed through the forest, like the haunting call of looming danger.

Vicman raised his gun and cocked it.

Torrence looked at the Private and snickered. He lifted his hand, motioning for him to put his weapon down.

"We're not staying," the Sergeant said.

Vicman looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

Torrence didn't bother answering. He was the officer in charge, and the men under his command were going to do as he said, for their own good. He grabbed Vicman by the collar and started walking away, pulling the young soldier with him.