Slaughterhouse

TWENTY-ONE.

All roads led to Hell.

The column moved through Massachusetts as quickly as possible, stopping only when absolutely necessary. As the daylight dwindled, great flocks of carrion birds—crows, hawks, turkey buzzards, even stately eagles—filled the sky, converging on the greatest sites of carnage. The birds were of use; they told the battalion where it was safe to go, for the presence of so many dead meant the Klowns had already gone through the area, killing in a frenzy.

Destruction was everywhere. Cities and larger towns were nothing more than flaming wreckage, home to only rotting, defiled bodies and the animals that fed on them. Huge clouds of flies converged upon them, darkening the sky like some errant, haphazard rain. The battalion avoided the cities at all costs. Not only was the risk of engagement higher, so was the potential for infection by insects. Though there was no evidence to suggest the Bug could be transmitted by such simple hosts, avoidance was the order of the day.

Smaller towns fared better, though death had touched them all. The bodies of the infected lay in their streets, more often than not surrounded by those they had sought to contaminate. And on occasion, the convoy passed fortified farm houses, their windows boarded up, surrounded by sand bags. Several of those were encircled by rings of dead Klowns, shot down as they had attacked. The hardy souls inside these dwellings never called out to the convoy as it snaked past. They were either dead, or hardened enough to take their chances where they were.

As night took reign, the convoy continued on. Operating under the cover of darkness made things marginally easier; even though the Klowns still attacked, still drew blood, they were more easily slain by a unit that was well-equipped for nocturnal combat. In those areas where the Klowns set up ambushes, the advantage of night vision and heavy weaponry proved invaluable. Even the mortar team had some fun, popping altitude explosives into the air that emitted bright bursts of infrared light which allowed the lightfighters to visualize their targets as if they were in the middle of a bright, cloudless day. The Klowns paid a heavy price.

Still, they came.

And died.

The night grew deeper, and the horizon was lit by the glow of distant fires as towns and cities burned, consumed by maelstroms of violence-fueled fire.

The convoy continued on. Into the dark maw of death.