Apocalypse unleashed

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Goose drove his boot through the frail wooden door of the burning house. The door ripped free of its hinges with a loud screech that nearly drowned out the noise of the flames greedily consuming the structure. With an arm wrapped around his face to protect it from the questing, twisting flames, he dashed through the doorway.

Inside the small room, he looked for the people he was certain he’d seen through the window during his approach. Smoke blurred his vision and stung his eyes.

He pulled his assault rifle to his shoulder immediately and assumed a profile position that streamlined his body to make a smaller target. He’d been carrying the weapon for so many years the M-4A1 felt like a part of him.

“I’m First Sergeant Gander of the United States Army Rangers,” he said in his command voice, stern and direct. “I’m here to get you out.”

Two teenagers hunkered down beside a patchwork chair that was probably a castoff from a hotel in Sanliurfa. They stared at Goose. The older one, a girl of maybe sixteen, held a hand over her mouth and nose and the other hand over her younger sister’s.

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