Free The Killing Floor by Craig DiLouie

Jody’s guts. If Rod wanted to demonize the enemy and help his boys find humor in the horror, he couldn’t do any better.
    “Well, then I guess he had it coming,” he says, sending the squad into hysterics.
    Everyone is looking at the corpse. None see their sergeant wincing, blinking tears.
    This isn’t war. It’s murder. Genocide. And Rod is no longer a soldier. He’s an exterminator.
    I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry I had to end your life, whoever you are. Please consider it a mercy and recommend me to God as a friend.
    God, karma, whoever is out there, he prays, at the end of this I will answer for anything I’ve done. Do not punish my family for my actions, for they are innocent.
    Amen.
    “Ice cold, Sergeant,” says Sosa, glancing at Rod with new respect.
    Hellraisers 3, this is Hellraisers 6.
    “Hellraisers 3. Go ahead, Hellraisers 6.”
    We got people in the elevator, over.
    While the Lieutenant talks, Rod hears a metallic boom in the background. Someone is pounding his fists against the elevator doors, trying to get their attention, wanting out.
    “Copy that, Hellraisers 6,” Rod says. “Are they infected, over?”
    No way to know until we get them out of the elevator, over.
    “Hellraisers 6, do you need assistance, over?”
    We could use you pulling security in the hallway, Hellraisers 3. Stay close, over.
    “Roger, Hellraisers 6. Hellraisers 3, out.”
    More hurry up and wait. They’ll have to finish clearing the rooms later.
    Rod leads Third Squad back toward the elevator lobby. Turning the corner, he sees Weapons Squad prying open the elevator doors while the Headquarters guys cover them with their rifles. He wonders how long those people have been trapped inside the elevator. Infected or not, they will be too weak to stand up.
    Refugees are going to defeat the invasion, Rod believes. Thousands of people are still alive in Arlington alone, he is sure of it, barricaded in basements and other safe places. Hundreds have already reached the airport. They need food, water, shelter, medical care. Many of them are so psychologically damaged they present a danger to themselves and others.
    The worst part is the military took their guns. Never did this country need a draft more than it does now, but the government has not yet done this. Many of the refugees are willing to fight alongside the Army, but they are not allowed, not even as mules, not even behind the lines. So they sit around and drain resources the military needs to win this war. It’s a giant waste, and just thinking about it makes the old rage boil inside him.
    A strange smell—a dry, antiseptic scent, like rubbing alcohol—strikes his nose, making him cough. He keys his headset in alarm. “Hellraisers 6, this is Hellraisers 3, how copy, over?”
    Hellraisers 3, Hellraisers 6. We almost got it open. Wait, out—
    The elevator lobby fills with the crash of gunfire and strobing muzzle flashes.
    ♦
    The firing stops, replaced by screams.
    “Move, move!” Rod roars, surging forward with his automatic shotgun up and leveled.
    The lobby fills with chittering black creatures swarming over the bodies of the soldiers. They look like giant flies, their backs covered in greasy mesh wings, their limbs sharp edged and hairy, their eyes massive and pure white, their bodies ranging size from as small as a dog to as big as a cow. They smell like rubbing alcohol. One of them hunches over Sergeant Ford, its multiple limbs folding the man into a box shape, ripping flesh and bone like cardboard.
    Ford screams in agony.
    “Jesus Christ,” Arnold says.
    “Don’t shoot!” Rod says. “That’s our people in there.”
    “What do we do, Sergeant?”
    “Follow me!”
    They’re going to have to kill these things at close quarters.
    A voice calls from the elevator lobby: “Fire!”
    “We’re coming to get you, sir!” Rod says as he rushes forward.
    “That’s an order!” Pierce shrieks. “We’re done!”
    The squad hesitates in the