Free The Killing Floor by Craig DiLouie Page A

corridor with gasps of revulsion and dread. Rod realizes he is alone.
    Pierce is still screaming: “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
    The words turn into a long keening wail. In front of Rod, the thing that folded Sergeant Ford into a neat box is now spinning him while shooting a stream of viscous webbing around the body. Another of the things picks up the shrieking radio operator, expertly lops the AN/PRC-119 radio off of his back, and then hacks off his limbs, chirping musically while it works. Its glistening wings tremble, making an oily, leathery flapping sound that gives Rod the skin-crawling sensation of cockroaches on his body.
    He fires the AA12, which discharges with a deafening boom. The thing cocooning Ford explodes in a spectacular splash of carapace and white slime. He fires again, blasting another of the things into wet pieces.
    Navarro’s voice buzzes in his ear: Hellraisers 6, this is Hellraisers 3.
    “Lieutenant!” he cries, ejecting the smoking twelve-gauge casing and chambering another round. The men in the elevator lobby have stopped screaming. The buglike things continue their grisly work on the bodies, ignoring Rod, their bulbous white eyes inscrutable and seemingly blind.
    Rod turns and sees his squad flinching away from the sight.
    “Fire your goddamn weapons!”
    Hellraisers 6, how copy?
    More of the things pour from the blackness of the elevator shaft and swarm across the ceiling and walls and floor in a single chittering mass, their wings trembling.
    chk-chk-chk-chk-chk
    “We’ve got to get out of here!” one of the soldiers shouts.
    Rod flicks the selector switch on his thunder gun to auto and rains buckshot into the things, splattering them. He backpedals quickly, reloading, as the squad opens up, screaming their heads off. The monsters fly apart under the storm of shot.
    For every creature they kill, another takes its place.
    Any Hellraisers unit, this is Hellraisers 1. Identify source of gunfire, over?
    Rod shouts into his headset, “All Hellraisers, all Hellraisers, this is Three. Six is down. We are engaged at the elevator lobby. Request assistance, over.”
    The voices of the other sergeants crash in his ear, talking over each other.
    Copy that. On the way, Hellraisers 3, out.
    Hang on, Rod. Wait one, out.
    The wall next to them begins to crumble. Through the hole they hear the buzzing of wings.
    “Fall back, fall back!”
    The squad turns and sprints down the hallway, their boots slamming the carpet, surrounded by an omnipresent scratching sound.
    The walls are dissolving.
    Rod pauses to fire his shotgun. The gunstock hums against his shoulder. Shell casings fly into the air. The bloated black bodies explode under the fusillade.
    The gun clicks empty.
    chk-chk-chk-chk-chk
    “Go, Sergeant!” Sosa roars, shouldering his SAW and opening fire. The tracers arc down the hall into the thickly massed creatures, splattering dozens of them.
    Bits of dust and paint sparkle in the air around him, almost beautiful as seen through his night vision goggles.
    Rod grabs the man’s collar and pulls hard as the ceiling collapses under the weight of a pile of the things, landing on the floor with a thud. The bodies explode on impact, spilling guts and organs across the carpet.
    Davis and Lynch wave the men through, shoot into the swarm and then run after the squad.
    Rod sees lights flickering ahead and calls out, “Third Squad here!”
    The squads almost collide at the corner. It’s Navarro and his shooters, wide eyed and gasping.
    “Where’s Jake?”
    “Don’t know,” Navarro tells him. “What the hell did you guys do? I’m being chased by giant flies, for Chrissakes.”
    “No time,” Rod says. “They’re right behind us too.”
    “If they are, we’re trapped.”
    “Then we make our stand here. See to your men. We got your back.”
    Navarro nods, paling. “Good luck, Rod.”
    Rod hears muffled gunfire erupt on another floor of the hotel. Whatever Lieutenant Pierce unleashed is spreading