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"Dunno, I just... got a bad feeling."
Matt shifted, as he checked his combat hazmat suit for the fifth time, fingers brushing over his Beta-7 patch.
"What, because it's thirteen?"
The captain responded, leaning against the side of the helicopter's door, loading his Barrett sniper rifle. He sighed.
"It'll be another call, just like any other."
The captain looked at him, grinning as he patted him on the shoulder.
"Cheer up, lad! I'll even buy you all drinks after this, hah!"
The operative stepped away, looking around the helipad area, spotting his other teammates preparing their gear and checking their rifles and suits. His gaze lingered on one person in particular. He glanced back at the captain, who was already lighting a cigarette.
Something deeply wrong calls to him, warning him of a petrichor stained destiny.
People are going to die tonight.
Maybe even me.
He shakes it off, taking a few deep breaths. He flexes his hands for a moment, grounding himself.
He walks over to Alice.
"Any thoughts?"
She huffs, as she fastens her gas mask.
"What, beyond wanting to be in bed? Nah, not really. What about you?"
"I-"
"All good?!"
The captain called out, cutting him off, as the pilot boarded.
"Good!"
"All set!"
"Yes, sir."
His teammates called out in response, as they hurried over to the helicopter, boarding it.
Alice sighed.
"Well, another day at the office, right?"
She offered a humorless smile to him, ruffling his hair. She walked over to the helicopter.
His heart beat deeper, louder. He followed suit, getting on and getting in a seat, buckling up.
Each second passing felt like a step closer to doom.
The flight was a tense few minutes of silence, as they neared The Lake.
"What the hell is that...?"
The not-so-subtle or quiet comment came from one of his teammates, the sentiment shared by the others.
A mist, a thick blood-like mist blanketed the entire area. They could barely see anything in there.
"Landing in thirty."
The pilot called out, his voice ever so slightly shaky with anticipation.
"Let's get it, boys!"
The captain encouraged eagerly.
Thirty seconds was all it took.
"MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY, SPARROW-ONE IS GOING DOWN, SUSTAINED HEAVY DAMAGE!"
The helicopter shook violently, as the door gunners opened fire at the tentacles trying to bring them down.
"SHIT, WE'RE GOING DOWN! BRACE FOR IMPACT-!"
"Matt!"
"COLEMAN, MAY, GET OVER HERE!"
"GOD IT HURTS—!"
"ALICE, GET OVER TO BLAKE!"
"Coming over!"
"Fuck! Smitty's down, they got him!"
"Jerome, pick up the slack on my right-"
He came to in the midst of pandemonium, lying in the snow, a few meters away from the burning wreck of a helicopter, gunfire ringing out. One of his teammates, Alice, slapped him wide awake.
"Matt! Get up!"
A scream, from one of his teammates, as they were ripped apart by red monsters with claws. The flesh torn off like a brisket, bone itself exposed to the air. The monsters did not give mercy, the very face mauled to unrecognizable shreds. It took everything in him to not throw up, averting his gaze as Alice pulled him up and shoved his rifle into his arms, trying to focus on Matt to ignore the gore.
"Don't die."
She spoke, teeth grit as her tone conveyed everything she needed to in two words. She ran off to Blake, already preparing her sutures.
"I say again, this is Task Force Venus, we are compromised! Situation is FUBAR, we need immediate backup-!"
His head hurt like hell, and his vision became clear. He and the team were fighting desperately as they took firing positions at the hill they were on. The mist made it impossible to see anything past five meters, but he could clearly make out the crashed helicopter, and the fires and smoke trailing into the sky from it. The team was set up nearby it, digging in as they fought desperately.
He quickly came to, grabbing his rifle and getting up, running over to the captain who was currently trying to hold back a flurry of swears as any and all attempts to radio for help became futile, nothing but static, the radio practically becoming a paperweight.
"God fucking...!"
"Sir?"
The captain looked at him, as he drew his own sidearm.
"We're fucked, that's what! We're pinned and the gate's in lockdown, just hold out...!"
The captain fired off his own shots towards the endless amount of walkers that manifested from the mist.
The operative turned his attention to the threats, opening fire.
One, by one, they fell, each person slowly overrun, each loss degrading the others' morale and security, forcing them to cover more angles, more load.
Jerome fell, and he had to cover his sector too.
They were running out of ammo. They were running out of hope.
The captain himself lay dead in the snow, bisected and brutalized by their claws.
This is it.
They surround him from every direction, the last one. He lays against the snow, the painful claw swipes oozing with blood.
Every memory of importance flashes into his mind, timed with his own beating heart.
Every joke shared with his team, every drink clinked against each other in a cheer, every firefight.
Every promise.
He cannot bring himself to look towards their corpses (especially not hers), but only towards the sky. Red creeps into his peripheral.
Spiteful defiance flashes in his mind, grievous sorrow, too. If only he had spoken up to the others. If only he had spoken to her more than he did. Maybe if he was a more bold person, more courageous, he could have told her how he felt.
So much regrets, so little time.
He places the barrel of his pistol to his head.
"Don't die."
I'm so, so sorry.