Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  The two A-Men follow. They begin disassembling the tripod when the whine of a Malignant transport grows louder overhead. They look up as hell is unleashed on the four A-Men searching the gear of the dead Malignant. Moon Glare watches in horror as lasers, rockets, and high-caliber bullets atomize the area where Beast Mode, Refract, Flashbang, and Amorph still stand.

  “No!” Moon Glare screams. “Hot Box, take him down.”

  Moon Glare stares at the pilot inside the transport as Hot Box directs invisible heat beams at the spaceship. Moon Glare watches as the transport wobbles, then tries to flee before plummeting straight into the freeway. The entrance ramp crumbles as the transport rolls down it. Next, a violent explosion lights up the night sky. Moon Glare would cheer, but her thoughts are full of concern for her team.

  The surviving A-Men rush to their fallen comrades. Her heart plunges as she sees an assortment of body parts mixed with the armored remains of the Malignant. The four A-Men are dead.

  “Let’s go,” Moon Glare says as she swallows her emotion. “We’ve still got a planet to protect.”

  “Shit,” Stun Lock says.

  “Look,” Hot Box says.

  He points at a golf ball in the crater of multiple colors. It looks unusual and definitely out of place. The ball begins to relax itself. It stretches and fills until the diminutive and innocuous object reveals itself to be an unconscious and nude Amorph. Hot Box places two fingers on his neck.

  “He’s still alive,” Hot Box cheerfully announces. “His augmentation saved him.”

  “Alright, we get him back to base, then the three of us go back out there and serve up some payback for Roger and the rest of the guys.”

  “Hell yeah,” Hot Box says.

  “Cover our asses, Hot Box,” Moon Glare says as she and Stun Lock lift Amorph and begin the long trek to medical attention.

  Nick, kitted up in tactical gear, rides in a military helicopter. He looks his carbine over and confirms that his night vision goggles are fully powered. His pulse quickens as he looks at the other Special Forces soldiers sitting with him. The ODA is nervous. Normally they’re among the best warriors on the planet, but the alien nature of their attackers is not lost on them. The normal bravado leading up to a mission is noticeably subdued.

  Nick listens to his headset as the pilot gives him a time estimation.

  “Three minutes!” Nick relays to his team.

  They nod and give a last visual inspection of their own gear. It’s an unnecessary task. The equipment is good, but it’s habit.

  The helicopter, the first in a chalk of four, lowers itself over a smoking crater in the desert west of Colberton. Just a few dozen miles to the west is a massive green wall of energy that spreads as far as the eye can see in both directions.

  Nick feels the wheels of the helicopter connect with the desert ground. He leaps out the side and kneels as the remaining soldiers also offload. The helicopters take off again and fly circuits over the desert.

  “This is where the explosion was,” Nick explains. “I’m not sure what the Malignant wanted here, but it looks like they didn’t get it.”

  The soldiers lower their night vision goggles and search through the debris. As Nick gets closer to the edge, he sees the remains of a large spaceship, twisted from devastation, mixed with the coarse sand from above.

  “Can we get down?” Nick asks.

  “Looks like it,” a sergeant answers. “It’ll be slow, but we can do it. Wait—”

  The sergeant loses his head as a round catches him between the eyes.

  “Take cover!” Nick says as he dives out of the way while more bullets fly up at them.

  Two more soldiers are wounded from the attack below.

  “Who’s shooting at us?” Nick demands.

  “It looked like one of them is still down there, but I think he’s wounded. He looked pinned under rubble.”

  “Screw this shit,” Nick says. “Call in a missile strike.”

  Nick has his guys move back as the radio operator relays the coordinates for a strike from their air support. After five minutes, Nick hears the scream of a missile. It slams perfectly into the hole. The ground rumbles beneath his feet. It takes several minutes for the sound of screeching metal to settle below.

  Nick cautiously edges to the limits of the crater. He peers over and sees nothing but smoke and dust.

  “I think we got him,” Nick announces.

  He stands and looks again. It’s impossible to see down there, but Nick’s gut tells him that the survivor isn’t alive any more.

  “Alright,” Nick says, “set up a perimeter, and we’ll wait for orders. If the Malignant want this place so bad, we need to figure out why.”

  Maria watches as people huddle with her in a vandalized building from the sound of approaching Malignant marines. She holds a shotgun but knows it’s worthless against them. She understands the Malignant disgust for humans. She’s one of them, and she hates most of her peers and the people she swore to protect.

  Maria looks out the window of the storefront and finds it ironic that so many people who just days before had nothing but contempt for her now look to her to be their protector. None have specifically approached her, but she can see the misplaced hope in their eyes when they peer at her from behind racks of discount bathing suits.

  Several people in her selected hiding spot scream as shots ring outside the shop.

  “Shut the hell up,” Maria warns.

  Too late. The cowards just alerted a pair of marines as they move toward Maria’s position. She suspects she’s looking at the people who will kill her now.

  Maria points her shotgun at the young woman with the loudest screams who alerted the Malignant to their presence.

  “Go and surrender,” Maria whispers.

  “What?” the terrified woman asks.

  “You run now and draw them away, or I’ll shoot you,” Maria specifies.

  “You wouldn’t,” the woman stutters. “You’re a cop. You can’t.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people have said that to me lately. I’m going to count to three.”

  The woman cowers among the strangers around her, but none are willing to intercede on her behalf. Maria isn’t sure if the people thought she was bluffing or if none actually listened to her count, but true to her word, on “three,” she shoots. The buckshot spread from her shotgun and kill the woman.

  As Maria suspected, the shot and the murder terrifies the remaining cowards. They bolt for the door. The people are easily cut down by the Malignant outside, but then something surprising happens.

  A military helicopter, but not one belonging to the United States, flies by and pelts the pair with rocket blasts. Both Malignant are thrown into the air and come down hard. 30mm rounds slam into the bodies as another attack helicopter strafes past.

  The Enterprise, Maria hopes. It has to be.

  Maria doesn’t squander the opportunity to escape out the back door as the Malignant marines try to evade a third strike on them. Their armor can only protect them from so much at those higher calibers.

  Benji fires the last three rounds in his 9mm pistol at the Malignant. Like the dozens before, they bounce harmlessly off the marine. Benji ducks back around the corner of the brick building that has provided him cover. The three police officers who came with him are dead in the street. They were all rookies, and Benji can barely remember their names.

  Benji listens as heavy footsteps fall. The Malignant take their time advancing on the last holdout on this street.

  The arrogant bastards, Benji thinks.

  Benji waits for the killing blow to swing from around the corner. He thinks of Claire and takes hope in the fact that he’ll see her soon.

  Benji is awoken from his thoughts as he hears a skirmish. Benji wills himself to peer around the corner and sees an unusual
sight. Two Malignant fight with each other as two more lie dead on the ground. Benji is so perplexed that he innocently steps out from around his protection and watches the battle with a gaping mouth.

  One of the marines hurls a lightning bolt at the other, but he dodges. The second one then transforms his body. Benji watches as the second marine becomes a boiling hot liquid that reminds him of fryer oil. The oil monster splashes into the lightning marine. The screams Benji hears as the first man is burned to death will haunt Benji for many nights, if he’s lucky enough to have them.

  The oil marine returns to the orange-armored body of the Malignant military. He turns and clearly notices Benji. Benji leaps back behind cover and searches frantically for any ammunition that he may have misplaced.

  Benji is still searching when armored legs stop right in front of him. Benji looks up at the man and forces himself to stand. His voice shakes as he speaks.

  “Screw you.”

  “Here,” the marine says as he presents Benji with a futuristic pistol.

  “What?” Benji says. “Is this a trick?”

  The marine turns his left shoulder to Benji. Benji notices for the first time that it isn’t a uniform orange. This single shoulder is gray.

  “In Father we trust,” the marine says.

  “Great?” Benji says, thoroughly confused.

  “You will equal more success with this,” the marine says as he thrusts the pistol into Benji’s hands. “It fires penetrators. They will defeat our armor.”

  Benji examines the weapon.

  “It functions as your firearms do, but do not take any from our fallen. They will explode if not configured for universal use like that one is.”

  “Why are you helping me?” Benji asks.

  “I am helping the Gudz.”

  “Who?”

  “The Templars,” the marine corrects. “The battle still rages above us. You must fight with diligence, but you may save your planet. That pistol is my contribution to your cause for the bravery I regarded tonight on this boulevard.”

  “Thanks,” Benji says.

  The marine leaves without further discussion. It takes Benji several minutes to realize what just happened. What should have been his death just filled him with hope of superhero proportions. Benji holds the weapon properly and walks toward another Malignant patrol he knows of.

  Benji moves slowly but eventually comes upon a pair of marines who are searching inside a dumpster. Benji levels his pistol on the back of the first and takes a breath. He holds it as he squeezes the trigger.

  The penetrator fires with minimal kick, and the round slams squarely into the back of the Malignant. He lurches forward and leans on the edge of the dumpster with his upper half dipping inside. The lack of movement from his legs indicates that Benji just killed him.

  The second marine turns to determine the source of the attack. Benji fires again and catches the second marine in the face. The Malignant’s head jerks back, and he bounces off the corner of the dumpster before falling to the ground.

  Benji slowly advances on the two dead marines and examines their bodies. Benji can see that his round went through the front of the second marine’s helmet and out of the back of it.

  “That was for Claire,” Benji says.

  Benji looks with awe at his new weapon.

  “It’s Christmas in July,” Benji says aloud. “Merry Christmas to me.”

  Benji slowly advances through the streets and looks for more marines to ambush or gray shoulders to ask for support. The thought occurs to him that he doesn’t know how many rounds he has until his weapon is exhausted.

  Keith suddenly wakes up. He lies on his back and shivers from wet clothing. The urge to vomit overwhelms him, and watery leftovers erupt from his mouth. Some of it bounces back and hits Keith in the face. It confuses him. He reaches up to wipe his mouth and feels something in front of him. When Keith opens his eyes, he sees the shimmer of a soap bubble surrounding his face.

  “What the hell?” Keith asks.

  He pushes at the bubble. It pops, which spills the vomit down his shirt. Keith doesn’t care. He sits up and scans his surroundings. He lies on the bank of a river or a lake or something. He isn’t quite sure. He hears a car honking obnoxiously on the road above him, followed by a flurry of curses coming from Jenny.

  “You bastard! We need help! We’re just kids!”

  “Jenny?” Keith whispers.

  He tries to remember what happened and why he’s soaked. His head hurts, as do several other parts of his body. He rolls over onto his hands and knees and sends a second wave of puke into the mud.

  Keith looks up and wipes his mouth. He sees the path that Jenny must have taken to get back to the highway. Keith slowly moves and confirms his confidence of climbing up with a few test steps. Satisfied that he won’t kill himself, he walks up. He watches as Jenny gives the middle finger to a van that speeds by her and barely swerves to avoid an accident.

  “Asshole!” Keith shouts.

  His voice immediately draws Jenny’s attention.

  “Keith!” she screams as she rushes him.

  She throws her hands around his neck and plants a kiss on his lips. Keith pushes her away but not as quickly as he would have earlier in the day.

  “Sorry,” Jenny says as she wipes some of Keith’s vomit from her own lips. “I’m just glad you’re awake.”

  “What happened?” Keith asks.

  “We crashed into the river. The water poured in, and we were trapped. You don’t remember?”

  Keith concentrates; slowly the details that Jenny revealed come back to him.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I remember, but we couldn’t get out. How are we alive?”

  “You passed out, but moments before I did, my augmentation put a bubble around my head. Once I realized I could breathe inside of it, I put one on you, too.”

  “Thanks for that, but how did we get out?”

  “I was a superhero,” Jenny says. “I remembered we had a lug nut wrench behind the rear seat, and I pulled it out. I smashed out the windows and swam us to shore.”

  “Thanks for that, too.”

  Jenny smiles. Keith has to remind himself that she betrayed him but doesn’t believe it as much anymore.

  “If only one of these assholes would stop,” Jenny complains. “Something’s going on because nobody cares about us. Not even the rapists out there. I guess it’s not as important now that you’re awake.”

  “Yeah, we can just freeze to death instead,” Keith jokes.

  “I heard this thing about body heat saving people,” Jenny seductively says.

  “Jenny, just stop.”

  “What?” she asks. The hurt is evident in her eyes. “I just saved your life.”

  “For the second time,” Keith admits. “I want to love you again. I want to take you back, but I can’t.”

  “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

  “I realize Percy is more at fault for what happened than you are. Hell, I’m even more at fault than you are, but I can’t look at you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Tears fall down Jenny’s cheeks. It breaks Keith’s heart even more. He wants to take it all back, but he knows he can’t until he’s positive he won’t regret it. By then, it may be too late to get Jenny back.

  “Jenny, I love you. I know I do. You make me better, but right now all I see is betrayal when I look at you. If I ignore that feeling, I feel the day will come when we resent each other like my parents did when they first got divorced. As long as you represent betrayal, you can’t simultaneously represent love and affection. I’m sorry.”

  Jenny turns her back on Keith and waves at another passing motorist. She doesn’t stop either. Jenny sits on the ground and waits for the next flash of headlights.

  “Shit’s real emotional right n
ow. Almost dying will do that,” Jenny says without facing Keith. “I think we should wait until tomorrow when things are normal again. Until then, I’m just going to hold on to the fact that you admitted to still loving me.”

  “That’s fair,” Keith says.

  He sits down, too, but faces traffic coming from the other direction. Both teens let several vehicles pass without bothering to flag them.

  Mr. Polite hovers about fifty meters back from the edge of the green laser wall. He lowers himself to the ground. There are several people huddled on the eastern side of the barrier. Many throw rocks and empty beer cans into the barrier and laugh as they’re immediately disintegrated. There are some highway patrolmen present, but they seem uninterested in containing the situation.

  Some professionals, Mr. Polite thinks.

  A reporter speaks into a camera that Mr. Polite doubts is being relayed anywhere on the planet.

  “As you can see, many people have gathered here in awe of the Malignant weapon, but still none have provided a solution to defeating it.”

  Mr. Polite takes a deep breath and aims both hands at the laser wall. He grits his teeth and grunts as he imagines a force shield underneath the entire thing. Nothing happens. Mr. Polite is forced to give up and gasp. It’s simply too big. He looks both left and right for an end and can’t see one. Mr. Polite rubs the ring on his right hand.

  “Please help me,” Mr. Polite says.

  “What was that?” the reporter asks.

  Mr. Polite ignores him and tries again. This time he focuses on just what he can see. He stresses every muscle in his body and raises his hands. He becomes nauseated by the effort, but the cheers from several onlookers compel him to open his eyes.

  A sizeable portion of the Malignant energy lifts from the desert ground and floats into the sky. The cheers grow louder as people surround Mr. Polite and wish him encouragement. He wonders if they know who he is and don’t care or simply haven’t recognized him.

  The laser field climbs higher into the sky and vanishes from sight. It forms an arrow point, and onlookers can see the beams vector downward from the apex that Mr. Polite focuses on.