Flash Fiction Challenge Short Story

Jet watches from his overwatch perch as two shadows lumber their way up the hill and stop in front of the stairs.
They’re here.
He turns and alerts the next-nearest sentry, who passes the information down the line until the boss is told.
“Let them come” is quickly transmitted in the reverse direction.
The heavy rain that had fallen all day has finally stopped, and soon, light gives way to darkness.
“Oh man, I gotta take a leak,” Rodney mutters.
“Well, hold it. I wanna see if the package is where they said it would be so we can get outta this place,” his colleague, Tony, says as the street lights begin to wink on. From their vantage point, at the highest point in the city, looking down the street, the lights look like a giant pearl necklace that stretches into infinity.
“Man, I hate those things. Showin’ people our business.”
“I know. What we do is best done in the dark.”
Tony watches with annoyance and grudging approval as Rodney pulls his Custom 1911 from its shoulder holster. After fumbling with a Banish 45 suppressor, he finally gets it seated onto the threaded barrel and unleashes five well-placed rounds. With each ‘thump,’ as a suppressed .45 caliber slug leaves the barrel, a streetlight dies, and glass and shards of metal rain down onto the sidewalk like lethal sleet in a glass thunderstorm.
“Nice shooting. Now put that thing away. This is a simple pick up, no dead bodies, got it?”
Rodney laughs out loud as he responds, “It’s nothin’ but dead bodies here.”
Jet takes note of the gun, as does every other set of eyes in the cemetery.
With a grunt, they move their large frames up a set of concrete steps that seem designed to fall apart with each step. Tony notes that fog is building, forcing him to assume his wanna-be weatherman personality. Placing one hand to his ear, he pretends to hold a microphone with the other as he pantomimes answering a question posed by his imaginary news anchor colleagues. He chuckles slightly as he begins to speak.
“That’s a good question, Jennifer.” He turns, points at the gathering fog, and continues, “Now that the rain has stopped, we’re seeing fog forming condensed water vapor that normally occurs close to the ground. Fog happens when warmer air interacts with cold air. The cold air can hold less water vapor than the warm air, so the water vapor condenses into liquid water to form fog. It makes this place pretty creepy if you ask me. Now, back to you . . .”
“Oh my god, you doing that stupid weatherman bit again? It needs to be retired. Permanently retired.”
“So, you’re saying you don’t like Mr. Weather?”
“It’s old, and you need to move-on-dot-org, as Millennial Mike says. We all hate it.”
Above, Jet is curious about these two.
They gotta be complete idiots. But maybe that’s giving them too much credit.
Tony looks hurt at Rodney’s comment and pretends to hit him with a right hook, which, if Tony had connected with Rodney’s chin, might have rearranged his face.
Rodney smirks, “You gorillas are all alike. You think everyone’s afraid of your right hook. Well, we’re not . . . wait, what was that?” he said, a bit too much fear evident in his voice.
Both stop and listen.
“Maybe the dead are rising out of their graves.”
“Not even funny.”
Jet, on the move, joins the others near the grave that groundskeeper Billy dug up yesterday, though, after the all-day storm, it is full of rainwater.
“Are these two who we were told to expect?”
“Yes,” the boss says. “Everyone get ready, we’ll only get one chance at this, and we’re being paid handsomely, so no screw-ups, got it?” Then, turning to the shock troops, he reminds them of their immediate assignments, “Remember, go for the eyes first. Then, the big guys will push them into the water.”
Every head bobs up and down, so the boss sits, waiting for the two to approach.
“Where is this thing?” Rodney asks, kicking over a recently placed stone.
Jet sees Rodney kick over the headstone, which makes him very angry.
No respect for the dead. I’m gonna enjoy this.
“What was that?” Rodney asks again. “Who’s there? Come out, come out wherever you are,” he yells, his hand reaching for his gun.
Rodney and Tony pause, but the crickets and other bugs of the night do not, and a cacophony of animal noise fills the air.
“Prolly nothing,” Tony offers.
“Better be. I’m primed to go,” Rodney says, a bit too loudly, as they find the empty grave. “Ah, perfect, now, all we gotta do is get the stuff and bug outta here.”
Leaning over the empty grave, Tony clicks on a flashlight and exclaims, “Hey, it’s full of water!”
That’s when both hear a sound that makes their respective hearts skip a beat.
“Ambush,” Rodney spits out.
Tony yells too, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from being sliced to ribbons.
Rodney rubs his eyes, trying to understand his ruined vision. Then, gun in hand, he fires indiscriminately into the air and hits nothing of value.
Without warning, they are struck from behind and plunge into the water. Thrashing around, they try to find purchase on the sides of the grave, but every move is met with razor-sharp resistance. Soon, they ingest enough water to mean something terrible and sink to the bottom, never to be seen again.
“Who paid for this?” Jet wonders aloud as remnants of air from two sets of lungs bubble to the surface.
“The giraffes. Not sure what those two gorillas did, but it had to be bad for them to want us to do this.”
“Amazing. They died pretty quickly.”
“Yep, everyone knows gorillas can’t swim,” the boss purrs from above as he spits out a hairball and starts yet another night of grooming.