A shockwave shudders walls and floors, tiles splitting and rupturing. Walls cave outwards, sending shrapnel across a nearly empty hall. Plumes of smoke flare through the newly created portals of death, flames and murderous heat piping into the corridor at blinding speed.
We dart away, taking shelter behind a rotting half wall of brick and whitewash. What felt like hours passed as heat and smoke surged above our heads, realistically only taking a few seconds for the rain of death to end. I was the first to look up and over the wall. Where destruction brought hell to walls stood a figure cloaked fully in black. His hooded face showed a sickly green slit where eyes would be on normal men. And arm outstretches, pointing in our direction. But it was no arm; no hand was at its end. Barrels started spinning.
I rip my partner from our cover and half run, half mad dashed past a corner as bullets stormed our previous position. I slam my back against the wall, my partner following my example. The whirling sounds of the chain gun began to subside, and I let out a soft, nigh inaudible sigh. I pull the clip from my assault rifle, checking ammo capacity as Aaron did. Weapons checked, I slip the clip back in and cock the hammer, preparing for the assault to come. Aaron barely finished clipping his in as the whine of the chain gun started up again.
There, turning the corner and facing us, the figure raised his arm once more.
Story and illustration:
(C) Richard Piland