Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  The creature pulled back, then slammed against the windshield. The glass shattered.

  Bucky was wearing her battlesuit, but her visor was up. A shard scraped across her cheek, drawing blood. Jon was only wearing a coarse tunic, and shards of glass hit his chest.

  The creature crawled into the cabin. Its jaw unhinged, large enough to swallow a human head. The eyes blazed, and its foul breath washed over Jon.

  Before the mouth could devour him, Jon fired his pistol into the gaping gullet.

  Blood burst through the creature's mouth. It screamed and pulled back, gurgling. But its arms still reached into the cabin. Lumpy fingers closed around Bucky's throat and began to squeeze.

  Jon wanted to help her. But another bloated face slammed into the passenger window.

  The glass shattered. Shards landed across Jon like stinging snowflakes. A beast leaned through the window, and powerful jaws closed around Jon's arm.

  He screamed. He fired blindly. He couldn't aim. The jaws twisted, bending his arm. Jon yowled. His pistol dropped, clattered against the floor, and disappeared under the seat

  The creature climbed into the rumbling truck. It finally released Jon's arm, leaving ugly wounds. The mutant licked its fangs, savoring the taste of Jon's blood.

  "Hello… human…"

  Its voice was like smoke rising from a smoldering village. Its eyes were like artillery craters, still crackling with fire.

  "What the hell are you?" Jon whispered.

  The mutant pounced. It slammed into Jon, knocking his seat back. The hellmouth opened again, still hungry for Jon's flesh.

  Jon grabbed a shard of glass and lashed it.

  The glass tore through the creature's face, slicing the nose and one eye. It also cut Jon's hand. Right now, Jon barely noticed.

  The beast squealed and fell back. Bucky was still struggling against another mutant. It was choking her. She was turning blue. And yet she was still somehow driving the truck.

  "Bucky, count to three, then hit the brakes hard!" Jon shouted.

  He lashed his shard of glass, slicing the claws that were choking Bucky.

  The mutated hand tore free.

  Bucky took a deep, ragged breath.

  Jon snapped on his seatbelt. Safety first.

  Bucky hit the brakes hard.

  The two mutants in the cabin flew through the windshield. Jon and Bucky jerked forward, but the seat belts kept them inside the cabin. The mutants lay on the road ahead, shrieking.

  "Forward!" Jon shouted.

  Bucky pressed the gas, and the truck slammed into the mutants just as they were rising. The truck thumped over them, snapping their bones, and kept rumbling down the dark road.

  Take that, bastards, Jon thought, nursing his wounded hand. Before this ends, I'll need a cyborg hand like Lizzy.

  More shrieks rose.

  Metal cracked.

  The roof dented.

  Bucky's eyes widened. "More mutants on the roof! They'll fuck up the antenna!"

  She hit the brakes again. The creatures above screeched but held on.

  "Keep driving!" Jon shouted. "There are more in the trees!"

  They were everywhere. The mutants covered the branches, skulked between the trunks, and rose from craters and trenches. They advanced toward the truck, eyes like fire, faces like ghosts.

  Jon opened the passenger door. As Bucky kept driving, Jon rose from his seat. He leaned out the open doorway, only his feet inside the truck.

  The trees blurred at his side, twisted and decaying. Eyes peered and creatures skulked among the branches. A mutant leaped from the shadows, spread out its arms, and glided on flaps of skin. Jon fired. The creature fell.

  Howls tore through the air. Jon looked up and saw more mutants on the truck's roof. One was gnawing on an antenna. The other was clawing a satellite dish.

  As the truck rumbled down the road, Jon began climbing onto the roof.

  A mutant swooped. The truck plowed through it, then thumped over the body. Jon nearly fell. He clung onto the truck with one hand. With his second hand, he still held his gun. He tried to climb again. The truck jumped over another body, and Jon slipped. His head tilted back, nearly slamming into the trees.

  "Careful, Bucky!" he shouted.

  "Tell the mutants that!" she shouted from the driver's seat.

  Jon tightened his lips, pressed his boots against the window frame, and finally managed to scramble onto the roof. He swayed as the truck raced beneath him.

  Three mutants crouched on the roof. They spun toward Jon, hissing. White tongues dangled from their jaws.

  The bastards had seriously damaged the equipment. One antenna had snapped. A satellite dish was dented and covered with toothmarks.

  The mutants slunk toward Jon, arms spread wide. Veined skin stretched between their hands and hips, forming translucent wings. Their fangs shone in the moonlight.

  One leaped at Jon.

  He fired. His bullet tore the creature down.

  Two more lunged. Jon sidestepped, dodging one mutant. The second mutant fell off the truck, spread its wings, circled through the air, and flew back at him.

  The truck thumped over a fallen log. Jon crashed onto his back. Both mutants dived down, eyes ablaze.

  One mutant sank its teeth into Jon's shoulder.

  Jon screamed and pistol-whipped the beast. It opened its mouth to howl, releasing him. Jon clubbed it again, breaking its jaw. Teeth clattered across the truck's roof.

  The second mutant reared and licked its chops. Jon fired his gun, blowing a hole through its head.

  For a moment, he breathed in relief. The roof was his.

  Then three more mutants dived from the trees and landed on the truck.

  "For God's sake!" Jon blurted.

  He pulled his trigger, but his pistol clicked. Out of bullets.

  The three mutants advanced toward him, grinning, claws scraping the roof.

  And Jon realized—no, they were not three mutants. They were one creature with three bodies, with three heads, fused together. A bundle of twisting spines, sprouting limbs, and blinking eyes. The monstrosity moved across the truck's roof, hands and feet scratching the metal.

  The central head opened its mouth and spoke, its voice like ashes blowing over a mass grave. "Hello, human. We will feed on your flesh."

  Jon grabbed an antenna.

  "Bucky, the brakes!" he shouted.

  The truck screeched as Bucky hit the brakes. Sparks rose from the undercarriage. Jon clung on for dear life. The conjoined mutants flew off the truck, and Bucky plowed over them.

  Jon looked behind the truck.

  The creature was still alive!

  The wheels had crushed two heads, had ripped off an arm. But the bundle of flesh rose and began running in pursuit. It beat its wings, rose into the air, and howled. Its remaining mouth spewed yellow liquid, sizzling, malodorous. It sprayed like a jet of dragonfire.

  Mister Weird's poison, Jon thought.

  He leaped aside, nearly falling off the truck. The poison hit the roof beside him. Maggots squirmed through the sizzling brew. Each maggot had a tiny human face.

  The conjoined creature landed on the road, then leaped again, beat its wings, and came flying toward Jon.

  But he had just enough time.

  He reloaded his pistol and fired.

  A bullet shoved the creature back in the sky. But it kept flying. Jon fired again. Again. Bullets slammed into the beast. It would not stop. Wings churning the air, it landed on the truck. The mutant dragged its mutilated body across the truck's roof, leaving a trail of blood and skin, advancing toward Jon.

  "Join us…" it hissed, two of its head crushed. The third head laughed. "Become one of us…"

  Jon howled, ran toward the conjoined mutant, and barreled into it.

  The miserable creature fell from the truck.

  Jon grabbed an antenna, clinging on.

  "Bucky, reverse!" he shouted.

  The mutant tried to rise.

&n
bsp; The truck slammed into the wretched beast, knocking it back down.

  As the mutant lifted its remaining head, Jon fired his last bullet. The creature's eyeball burst. It thumped onto the ground, finally dead.

  Jon climbed back into the truck, bleeding, and slumped into his seat. His shoulder was a mess. His hand was worse. Shaking, he did what he could to staunch the bleeding.

  "Jon, I'll pull over," Bucky said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "I have a med kit, and—"

  "Keep driving," he said. "Those damn mutants probably woke up everyone back at Camp Apollo. They'll notice the missing truck. We don't have much time."

  Bucky nodded. "We're almost behind the mountain. We'll be hidden there in the shadows. I'll treat your wounds there."

  Jon was less worried about himself—and more about the damage on the roof. The antenna. The satellite dish.

  If we can't repair those soon, it's all over.

  The truck rumbled on through the darkness, and with every bump in the road, Jon imagined another body falling.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Blood on the Beach

  They drove the truck toward the beach. The ocean spread into the darkness. Asul Mata hung low in the sky, painting a blue streak across the black waters, while Pilak Mata hid behind the clouds. The truck rolled into the shadow of a mountain, and Bucky killed the engine. The truck stood on the sand between stone and water, hidden in the night.

  It was time to light up the darkness.

  Jon stumbled out from the truck. He spent a moment with Bucky's medical kit. He splashed his wounds with antiseptic, then applied Insta-Stitch strips for rapid healing. Finally he jabbed his thigh with a needle full of energy boosters. The hangover would hurt like a bitch, but right now Jon needed to be alert.

  Bucky stood beside him on the beach. She stared up at the truck's roof.

  "Goddammit, those mutants fucked up the hardware." She spat. "Bastards."

  "Back at the camp, you said you knew how wormhole generators work," Jon said. "Can you fix it?"

  "Of course I can fix it." She snorted. "Hell, I grew up among wormholes."

  Jon tilted his head. "Really."

  "Yeah, my dad's a master sergeant in Space Territorial Command. He was always bringing gadgets home to fix."

  Jon blinked. "He brought home wormhole generators to fix?"

  "Well, okay, usually not wormhole generators. Mostly robots and androids. They'd get banged up real bad. But one time, he took me to work, and he showed me a whole bunch of tech!" Her eyes lit up. "There was a real starship engine! They're huge! The size of this truck! But the real heart of a starship engine is small. Those massive engines have a tiny azoth crystal inside. Like wormhole generators do! The crystals can bend space and time."

  Jon cleared his throat. "Bucky, does your experience with wormhole generators boil down to seeing a starship engine that contains some of the same components?"

  Bucky gasped, frowned, shook her head mightily, then sighed. "Yes."

  Jon groaned. "We're fucked."

  "But I'm good at fixing things! Honest." Bucky climbed onto the truck's roof. "Jon! Get into the back of the truck. I'll need you to read me stats off the monitors inside. I'll fix what I can."

  Standing on the roof, she examined the equipment. She began cursing, clucking her tongue, and tinkering with the mangled machinery. Jon entered the truck, where he faced a dizzying array of control panels, switches, and levers. They centered around a vertical pipe that dominated the truck's interior.

  The pipe was transparent, revealing the priceless treasure inside. An azoth crystal. The purple jewel hung inside the pipe, suspended in midair. It was barely larger than the codechip in Jon's pocket.

  An actual azoth crystal, mined on Corpus! For a moment awe filled Jon. He gazed at the precious gemstone with wide eyes.

  Azoth was rare in the galaxy. Within the Human Commonwealth, Earth's galactic empire, azoth was found only on Corpus, a distant moon orbiting a gas giant. The way a diamond could refract light, an azoth crystal could bend spacetime itself, the fabric of the universe. Humans had discovered azoth two centuries ago, kick-starting the great Age of Exploration. With azoth crystals, starships could bend spacetime, create warp bubbles, and travel faster than light. Not as far as wormholes. But still pretty damn fast.

  Steam powered the industrial evolution. Fossil fuels ushered in the Age of Engines. Silicon lit up the digital age. Azoth enabled the current era of space colonization.

  "Without azoth crystals, we'd still be stuck on Earth, battling one another for little islands or lines on a map," Jon mumbled to himself. "Now we get to fly into space and battle for planets. Whoopee."

  "Jon!" Bucky's head appeared at the truck's open hatch, upside down. She was dangling from the roof. "I think I got the antenna aligned, more or less, but it needs some tweaking. Switch on the left monitor—no, not that one. My left! That one! There. Read out the numbers as I work."

  Jon nodded and switched on the control panel. Bucky returned to the roof.

  "It says, um…" Jon began.

  "Louder!" Bucky called from the roof.

  Jon raised his voice. "X vector delineation 12.367… Y vector is…"

  "Read me the Z vector!" came Bucky's voice. Jon could hear her banging around above his head, aligning equipment.

  Jon nodded. "16.712."

  "And now?"

  "16.054."

  "Getting closer!" Bucky said. "Just gotta keep tinkering with this. What are the satellite's deep-view calibration units reading?"

  "Um, what?"

  She tilted over the roof again, her upside down head appearing at the hatch. Her glasses began sliding off. She caught them just in time.

  "Central monitor!" she said.

  He kept calling out figures as she worked. It was like tuning the world's most complicated guitar. Finally everything seemed to align. The crystal inside the pipe lit up like a small star. Lavender light flowed across the truck. A message appeared on a monitor: WORMHOLE READY TO ACTIVATE.

  Jon stepped outside the truck.

  "Bucky, you did it!" he called. "You're a genius, you…"

  He frowned. Bucky was standing on the roof, very still, staring at the dark mountainside.

  The world suddenly seemed eerily silent. The buzz of insects in the rainforest died. The only sound was the whispering sea.

  "In the trees," Bucky said softly. "I thought I saw something. A shadow. But—"

  A bullet tore through her head.

  Blood sprayed.

  Bucky fell off the roof. She landed at Jon's feet, her skull blown open.

  "Kalayaan para sa Bahay!" rose a cry from the rainforest.

  Many voices echoed it. Guns boomed. And the world tore apart.

  * * * * *

  Jon leaped into the armored truck, heart pounding. Bullets pinged against its hull.

  Bucky. Oh God. Bucky is dead.

  Trembling seized him. His head spun. He forced himself to think, to stay as calm as possible. Those were no mutants who had shot Becky. They were something far more dangerous. Kalayaan warriors.

  And Jon knew he had a choice.

  He could drive the truck, try to escape. He might die in the attempt. But he might live to fight another day.

  Or he could stand his ground. He could send the damn message to Earth. He could broadcast Ward's confession to humanity. He might just have enough time before the Kennys blew his brains out.

  Jon pulled the codechip from his pocket and inserted it into the machinery.

  I'm staying.

  More bullets pounded the armored truck. The cries grew louder, closer.

  "Kalayaan para sa Bahay!" Freedom for Bahay!

  Jon began working in a fury. He flipped switches, tapped buttons, skimmed instructions. Without Bucky, he felt lost. He wasn't sure what he was doing. But it was working. Somehow, against all odds, he was figuring this out.

  The crystal grew brighter.

  A caption appeared on the monitor. WOR
MHOLE GENERATION IN PROGRESS.

  "Booyah!" Jon shouted. Even as terror pounded through him, he laughed.

  A little counter appeared. It read 1%.

  2%.

  3%.

  "Goddammit!" Jon said.

  Too slow. Too damn slow! He wasn't going to make it.

  He was out of bullets. He raced outside, knelt, and grabbed Bucky's rifle.

  A bullet hit the ground beside him.

  Another grazed his leg.

  Jon leaped back into the truck, loaded Bucky's rifle, and waited.

  He glanced at the monitor. It was only at 7%.

  The gunfire died for a moment.

  Jon stood by the truck's hatch, rifle clutched in his hands. His fingers were shaking. His heart was pounding. He barely dared to breathe.

  A shadow moved.

  A man burst into the truck.

  Jon fired. His bullet tore through a Kenny's head.

  He knew more were coming. He tried pulling the back hatch shut. Bullets had ravaged the hinges. It wouldn't close. And more bullets kept flying.

  Jon glanced at the monitor. 12%.

  He cursed. There was only one thing he could do now.

  He ran to the front of the truck, grabbed the communicator, and shouted, "Camp Apollo, lock onto my coordinates! I'm under attack!"

  They'll toss me in jail, he knew.

  He had no choice.

  A bullet drove into his shoulder.

  Jon gasped. He fell, rolled, and rose again, firing. He shot another Kenny. The guerrilla crashed down dead.

  Jon moaned in agony. More bullets whistled. They slammed into the truck. A bullet flew through the shattered windshield. Jon fired outside into the darkness. He couldn't see a thing. At best, he could lay down some suppressive fire, try to buy more time.

  He hurried to the back of the truck. He was bleeding. Close to losing consciousness. He shot another man dead.

  He looked at the monitor.

  WORMHOLE GENERATION IN PROGRESS. 53%.

  Progress. Good. But he needed more time. More time!

  He fired his gun. Bullets streaked toward him. They pounded the truck like a hailstorm.

  Jon cursed, spun around, and hopped into the driver's seat. He gripped the wheel, floored the gas pedal, and the truck roared across the beach. Jon didn't know if that would mess up the wormhole's calibration. He had no choice.