Summers checked his gun. Their watch had been much like every other night. Quiet, save for the sound of Tank chewing in the corner.

Adams was leaning on the warehouse door when his head turned towards some unseen noise.

“Hey, Summers, you hear that?”

Summers stopped to listen. After a moment he could hear footsteps approaching through the snow.

A lot of footsteps.

“It’s too early for shift change, right?” Adams asked nervously.

“If that’s you then speak up!” Summer called.

The footsteps stopped. There wasn’t any reply.

Summers chambered a round.

“Safety off, watch my back.”

Summers stepped out into the road that led from their warehouse. He raised his gun almost instantaneously as four guards came to a stop.

“Shit, just guards.”

His relief didn’t last long. The elf in the lead recovered first, saying something in his own language. The group started to fan out around Summers and Adams, forming a semi-circle around them.

“Adams back up.”

The two put their backs to the warehouse itself. The guards were shouting but for all the time he’d spent with Asle Summers couldn’t piece it together.

Then the first guard thrust a spear at his chest.

“Shit!”

Summers fell backwards out of the reach of the thrust just as he saw another guard to his left step forward. He angled his gun and fired a burst into the man’s armored chest.

The man crumpled to a heap on the ground. The first guard’s eyes went wide as Summers heard more shots coming from behind him. Adams had at least gotten the message. He rolled to a knee and fired into the guards’ head. As he looked beside him, he could already see the other two guards were smears against the snow.

“Fuck!”

Summers spun just as Adams went down, gripping an arrow in his neck.

On the wall, a guard with a bow was readying another shot. Summers raised his gun and fired, cutting the archer down before he had the chance.

“Adams, can you move?” Summers checked the area, they looked to be alone, but he didn’t expect that to last long.

“Shit. Shit! Yeah.” Adams grabbed at his neck.

“Hold still.”

Summers snapped the arrow off near the head.

“Get in the wagon, we need to go.”

“What?”

“We just killed a shitload of guards. We need to leave now.”

Adams managed to climb into the wagon with some help. He was bleeding badly. Summers could only hope he’d missed the artery.

He pulled up a towel from the back and shoved it into Adam’s hands.

“Keep pressure on it, we’re going to get the others.”

Summers snapped at the reins of Tank’s bridle. Adams groaned in the back. The streets of the city were all but abandoned this early in the morning, but still the damn thing wouldn’t move faster than its usual brisk walk.

“God damnit move!”

He could feel the cool anger still simmering in the back of his head, what the fuck were those guards trying to do? Rob them? They’d seen Nowak and the others spending money in town. With just two of them watching the wagon they might have looked like an easy mark. Hell, they nearly were.

“Come the fuck on!” Summers briefly considered kicking the damn thing but doubted it would do them any good. He needed to calm down.

“Summers!” Nowak called out.

He could see the man in the distance, up the street. Cortez, Logan and Asle with him.

“We heard shots, what’s going on?” Logan looked at the wagon. “Where’s Adams.”

“In the back, he’s hurt. I’ll explain on the way.” Summers hopped down and let Logan take the reins.

“I’m fine.” Adams mumbled.

Adams was, by everyone’s estimates, not fine. His face was getting paler by the second.

Summers checked the wound. He was still losing blood at a worrying rate.

“Sarge, I think we need to take it out. We can’t bandage him like this.” Summers moved to Adams side, he said something, but it was too quiet for Summers to make out over the sound of the wagon moving.

“I’ll handle it.” Nowak looked at the wound. “He needs blood, get the kit and hook yourself up while I work.”

“Right.” Summers mentally kicked himself, that should have been his first move.

He quickly found the red box that was their first aid kit and plunged an IV into his arm. He missed the vein three times before he got lucky and blood started to flood into a plastic pouch at his side. It was one they’d recycled after Logan’s injury, then sterilized. Probably not ideal but it was what they had to work with.

As he waited, he saw Nowak take hold of the arrow’s broken shaft and pull in one quick, precise motion. His other hand immediately clamped down on the wound with a tight grip.

Already the bag was nearly half full.

“Guys, we have visitors!” Logan called back.

Summers poked his head outside, the north gate looked to be manned by about twelve men, eight with bows on the wall, much like the setup they’d seen when they’d arrived. More importantly, there was a patrol running from the direction of the warehouses.

“Do not fucking stop, you hear me?!” Nowak called over.

“Sarge they ain’t going to let us through without a fight.” Cortez replied.

“I know!” Nowak leaned over and returns Adams’ M4 to his hands.

“Asle tell those assholes to stand down or we’re going through them.”

Asle yelled something as loud as she could manage.

“So, not even going to try talking our way out of this?” Summers looked to Nowak.

“We’re strangers, and we killed their own. I don’t like our odds.” Nowak looked at the patrol getting closer. “Besides, Asle’s a smart kid but I don’t think she’s up to defend us for murder.”

Summers swapped out a magazine and checked his rifle. Fine, if they were going to do this, they were going all in.

“Cortez, I need a show of force!” Nowak called over.

“Oh, not a fucking problem, sarge.” Cortez hopped down from the front and aimed her weapon at a very large, very old tree near the front gate. Summers heard a ‘thump’ followed by an ear-splitting explosion. What remained of the tree was now a trunk surrounded by a few smoldering piles of splinters. One guard that was within twenty feet of it was on the ground holding his head.

“Tell them to stand down!” Nowak shouted, pointing his weapon at the archers on the wall. “Anyone draws on us we will kill them!”

Summers aimed his gun at the wall, watching for movement through his scope.

Asle relayed the message, one of the guards ignored them and pulled an arrow from his quiver. Summers fired a burst into that man’s leg almost instantly.

“Repeat what I said Asle!”

The girl screamed her warning. The patrol that was heading their way scattered, grabbing cover where they could find it.

Their wagon rolled slowly past the gate. Summers kept an eye on the archers, none made a move to attack after the first man.

Summer found the bag at his side full.

“Stay with me.” Nowak muttered, he grabbed the bag and hooked Adams up to an IV.

They were a good distance from the gate by now. No one had made a move to follow them, but Summers didn’t expect that to last long.

Loas had been a guard at the north gate for about three months. It was, all in all, a terrible job. Not only did he have to deal with traders, farmers, and all kinds of country trash causing trouble, but more often than not he’d had look the other way while his colleagues took bribes or stole from the few smaller merchant bands, those the others wouldn’t come to help.

A man screamed above him.

He didn’t dare move. A runner had arrived with orders to stop a wagon coming from the west wall. He’d heard the strange booming noises and assumed one of the more unscrupulous traders had released a beast of some kind to cover their escape. He was wrong.

“Help me! Someone help me!” The man at his right yelled.

A shard of the tree was lodged into his shoulder. It had gone through his armor, burying itself far enough that the other end was visible around the bent remains of his pauldron. A piece of wood had torn through steel.

Nothing made sense.

He knew that soon the guard captain would be here soon. Once he arrived, they would be forced to pursue the strangers.

He knew if it came to that, it would mean his death.

Loas got to his feet and ran.

Summers watched for pursuers. He only saw a few guards running to the forest in the east, far out of their way.

The homes outside the walls were slowly coming to life. People were looking out onto the street, even a few of the braver, or more curious civilians stood in their doorways, trying to figure out just what was happening.

A grunt caught Summers’ attention.

He turned in time to see Adams’ arm twist in an unnatural way. His entire body tensed.

“Adams? Adams talk to me, man!” Nowak looked at the private as he shuddered, then stopped.

Adams bolted upright.

“Slow down!” Nowak tried to put a hand on his chest, but Adams wrenched away and pounced on the sergeant. Blood gushed from his neck as he attacked with both hands, trying to tear at Nowak’s face.

Summers didn’t understand what was happening. He grabbed Adams, pulling him off Nowak, but the man twisted in his grip, his hand going for Summers’ rifle. Shit.

Automatic fire tore through the bottom of the wagon. Summers grabbed the barrel of the gun and swung it away from his body. A woman screamed and before he knew it Adams was rolling on the ground behind the wagon.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Summers muttered.

Adams still had his gun in his hands, he was working the action even as he fell. What in the fuck was happening?

Then he saw Adams’ eyes, they were red. Just like his were in the fog. His face animalistic.

Another scream, Adams got to his feet, head swiveling towards the source of the noise. A woman whose husband had been hit in the leg by a stray shot. When had that happened?

There was a boy next to them, he must have been at least thirteen. He was trying to staunch the wound.

Adams raised his gun.

“No!” As Summers shouted Adams turned on heel and fired. Summers only just managed to cover behind a crate as he sprayed it down.

“What the fuck?!” Cortez yelled.

“Adams put the gun down!” Nowak called from beside him, his face was covered in small cuts.

“Adams!” Summers tried to call out to the private, but he refocused on the injured man. Summers could smell the blood in the air. “Adams look at me! Please!”

The father had grabbed the young boy, shielding him with his body. The mother was on the ground, shouting in a pleading tone.

As Adams raised his weapon, Summers fired.

…

The man that had been known as Patrick Adams died that day at the age of 19.