by J. F. Halpin
The explosions had taken care of their problems in one fell swoop, as explosions tended to do. Say what you want about the army, when you need something blown to hell, accept no substitutes.
“Got the helmet?” Nowak asked.
Summers handed over a helmet filled to the brim with dog tags they’d taken off the bodies. Nowak nodded and started heading back toward the Humvee. Pragmatic as they were, they still felt some level of respect for the dead. If they lived long enough to make it back home, at least the families would have something left to bury.
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The Humvee was hard to see at this point under the sheer mountain of ordinance strapped to it. Some were quite literally strapped. With duct tape. Summers looked over at Cortez, who was securing even more crap onto the increasingly ridiculous-looking pile.
“Almost done packing your toys?” Summers asked.
Cortez just beamed in response. “I’m going to get to blow up so much shit. I can just feel it.”
“I appreciate the optimism.” Summers smiled back.
Cortez hopped down, her smile dimming.
“How’s our boy doing? He said anything yet?”
“Nothing coherent,” Summers responded. She was talking about Logan. It had only been a few days since the fight, but his condition wasn’t improving. They’d managed to wire him up to an IV and get some new blood into him. Summers’ blood, actually. Turns out, he was the only O-negative in the group, so he’d be acting as the resident blood bag for the foreseeable future. Which was just dandy, as far as he was concerned.
“Nowak knows we’re not going to be able to do it on the road, right? Why’s he dragging his feet?” Cortez asked.
“How’d you feel if you woke up missing a leg?” Summers responded. They’d hoped that Logan would have been awake by now. His leg had taken a turn from “terrible” to “god-awful” to “Jesus Christ” in the span of a few short days. They needed to take it off, but Nowak didn’t want to do it without some sort of consent from Logan himself—a stipulation that was proving to be more difficult than anticipated.
“You’re right, though. Guy’s not going to last much longer,” Summers responded.
Cortez gave him a long, even stare. “Fine. We’ll talk to Nowak. If it helps him sleep better at night, he can blame me.”
“How ’bout this, we’ll put it to a vote, all right? If Logan has a problem with it, he can blame all of us.”
“Fine,” Cortez agreed. With a sigh, Summers headed back to the cave’s entrance.
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The vote was unanimous. Even Asle agreed, once they’d explained the situation. The poor kid had done her damnedest to stay at Logan’s side for as often as she could manage. Nowak worked quickly after that, and they managed to stitch up Logan’s leg just below the knee. He didn’t scream. He didn’t react at all—which was, in some ways, more worrying than the alternative.
After they got him settled and ensured his stitches wouldn’t be popping open in the back seat, they loaded up in the Humvee and took off due south.
“You sure he’s not going to wake up?” Adams asked. He glanced at Logan in the back, where he was propped up on a makeshift bed of ammunition and a briefcase Summers could only assume housed something equally deadly.
“Sure as hell hope not. We gave him enough morphine to kill an elephant,” Nowak called back. He was riding shotgun, while Summers drove.
In the rearview, Summers noticed Asle fidgeting. “It’s just an expression. He’s just going to be asleep for a while.”
Her expression didn’t change, but her shoulders relaxed. He’d noticed that happened a lot. Maybe elves, or whatever she was, were more expressive in body language than anything else. Which meant she could have been terrified after the ordeal earlier and none of them noticed. Just one more guilty fact to file away in the dark recesses of his mind and never revisit again.
Nowak looked over a journal with scribblings of rivers and maps. The idea was that they would head due south until they hit the coast. Lacking GPS, or any map more detailed than what they could copy from the few laptops and personal phones that had survived the initial massacre, their best bet was to find recognizable landmarks.
It was almost a given they’d hit a snag somewhere. Maybe the coastline was different, a mountain wouldn’t exist, or a river would take a slightly different turn. More likely, they’d run into some monstrosity that would put an end to their little road trip. All in all, it was a slim hope they’d ever make it all the way to their destination, but it was still hope.
Thump!
The Humvee kicked up for a split second and Summers slammed on the brakes. That was odd. He could have sworn the path was clear. He checked in the rearview to see a small lump in the road. It was . . . bleeding? Shit, did he hit an animal? He hadn’t even seen so much as a deer so far. Then it picked its head up—it was one of the skin-walkers.
“Shit, got more of those . . . things up ahead,” Nowak said. Summers saw small groups of the pale creatures coming from the tree line around them.
“I got ’em,” Adams said as he popped the door to the Humvee and stepped out. The creatures made no move to attack. Something told Summers these things were starving—they were always so thin—but their movements were sluggish compared to what he’d seen before. He even saw a few bullet wounds in their sides. Survivors of the battle?
Adams let loose with a burst of fire into the closest. It toppled over without much trouble. He moved on to the next with similar results. After a few more like that, he dropped the barrel of his gun and stepped back into the Humvee.
“You know, we could have just rolled on by,” Summers called back.
Adams thought that over. “True. Counterpoint, fuck those things.”
“Fair enough,” Summers said as he shifted the Humvee back into gear.
As Summers passed the corpses, he noticed that their ears were pointed like Asle’s. He should have seen that before. But even as he looked, they were taking on a rounder shape. Or at least, that was true for the few still breathing.
“Hey, Asle, you said these things come from corpses, right?”
“Yes. Dead,” Asle said. “Skeen don’t kill, mostly find bodies.”
“So why aren’t they . . . you know? Why did some of them sound like us? A couple even have our ears.” Summers asked.
She quirked her head at the question. “They copy. Speak. Face. Body. All copy. Animals, too.”
“But they were who lived around here?”
“Yes.”
“And they died? Somewhere around here?” Summers looked in the rearview. Asle was fidgeting again.
“Yes. Lots,” Asle said.
“What killed them?”
“Don’t know.” There was a definite tension in her voice now.
“Great,” Summers said, with all the sarcasm he could muster.
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They made camp that night in a clearing by a cliff’s edge. The idea was that they’d have somewhere to put their back to, but Adams later pointed out that they had no idea if the predators here could fly, climb, or phase through the damn floor. With that little revelation, they decided to leave two on watch at all times. Summers didn’t like to sleep much, anyway.
The “camp” used a mishmash of what they’d been able to cobble together from the remains of the 63rd, mostly standing tents and sleeping bags. They’d assembled it around the Humvee, which Adams had managed to rig up with some LED lights and heaters that charged with solar batteries—useful since it meant they could go without a fire. Summers didn’t trust having an open flame near the Humvee. It was cold, a thin blanket of snow covering the ground, but unlike his base back in Alaska, it was nothing life-threatening. Maybe it was a “mild” winter on this world. Whatever the explanation, he was happy to make do with a bit of discomfort if it meant they avoided blowing themselves up.
Nowak was on watch with Summer
s that night. Summers had found a little spot on top of the Humvee that didn’t shift when he sat on it, so they were using it as an “elevated position.” Which is to say they had planted their asses in the softest spot they could find. Far down in the valley below, a fog rolled in through the forest. It moved almost as if it were alive.
He looked down at the others in their sleeping bags, then at the miles of forest ahead of them. He thought about the strange machine that had stranded them here, replaying what had happened in his head over and over again. That was a habit the military drilled into you: learn from your mistakes. But every time he ran through it, he couldn’t see what he could have done differently.
After a while, Summers heard the quiet snoring of the rest of the team below them.
“Hey, Sarge.”
“What is it?” Nowak answered.
“I really am sorry about all of this.” Summers looked at Nowak, trying to gauge his response.
“All right, why?”
That wasn’t the response Summers was expecting.
“Because I’m the reason we’re here?”
“Really? You ordered us here?” Nowak responded, side-eyeing him.
“I stranded us here, man.”
“No, you made a decision in a shit situation. We weren’t getting back to the base, not without casualties, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to make the run with a civilian and wounded with us.”
“But—”
“The only way we were getting back to base was if those monsters chased the rest of the guard topside. Then we might, might have been able to sneak in. But then what? We’d have been hunted one by one. That thing wasn’t going down for anything but heavy ordinance—certainly nothing we had on hand.”
“Okay, but—”
“How ’bout you shut the hell up and stop feeling sorry for yourself?” Nowak said. Summers looked to see he had a smile on his face. “You want to make it up to us, help everyone get home safely, all right?”
Summers considered his sergeant for a long second.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good.”
Summers let out a breath, then tensed at the sound of someone approaching. It occurred to him that he no longer heard snoring below them.
“Please, for the love of all that is holy,” Cortez said from below, “shut the fuck up before I do something I’m probably not going to regret.”
They were silent after that.
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Summers stifled a yawn as they packed up camp. Their first day “roughing it” in the wilderness wasn’t terrible, but there was definitely something unsettling about the alien forest they found themselves in. It had taken him most of the night to place it, but he eventually realized what it was.
It was quiet. Too quiet. Normal forests are sources of constant noise. He hadn’t seen anything but a few rodents and some flying creatures all night. He’d hesitate to have called them birds, maybe more like dragonflies. Whatever they were, they didn’t make any noise.
Which is what made the gunfire that broke the silence even more jarring.
“Weapons!” Nowak called up. Summers let the tent he’d been carrying clatter to the ground as he went for his M4. He swiveled on the source of the fire and saw Adams holding his gun to the woods behind them.
“Wolves!” Adams shouted.
Something resembling a howl came from the woods in front of them. It was picked up by half a dozen others just like it.
“Left!” Nowak yelled.
“Got it!” Cortez answered, picking off something that looked like a wolf, minus the fur. It had been trying to circle around camp to get in their blind spot.
Summers saw three more directly in front of them. He quickly picked off all three. Or he thought he did.
He’d put half a clip into the three of them, but somehow, the damn things were still moving. Or rather, crawling toward him. That stopped when he put a round into two of their three heads. The third had to wait while he reloaded.
It looked like a furless dog, with a leathery red hide that covered its entire body. Even as it bled out, it was still doing everything in its power to kill him, still crawling forward on one good leg as Summers chambered his next round. He watched the angry, blood-shot eyes staring up at him.
He ended it as quickly as he could, looking up for more targets. There were none.
“We clear?” Summers shouted.
Nowak had jumped onto the Humvee, which Summers belatedly realized was probably a smart plan. Dogs weren’t really known for their climbing skills. He took a second to scan the area around them. “Think so.” After a beat he made his over to Adams. The private was sweating bullets, looking down at the dead wolf-thing in front of him. Nowak gently placed his hand on the private’s shoulder.
“What is it, Sarge?” Adams said, half-surprised to see the man standing there.
“You shot first. What was it doing?”
“It just came straight at me. I looked up, and it was already charging,” Adams said. Summers had only just noticed that Adams’ wolf was practically on top of their camp. He must have been seconds away from Adams himself.
“From now on, we’ll have one person keep watch at all times, even when we’re awake. We got sloppy. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
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They had settled into a comfortable routine by the end of their second day on the road: wake up, drive for eight hours, set camp—and shoot anything that looked at them funny along the way. They hadn’t seen any native life besides a few more of those strange wolves, some burrowing creatures, and some birds that had flown high overhead. Even those were few and far between. It was almost as if the forest was abandoned.
Summers was busying himself setting up a tent. He glanced up as he saw Asle trying to feed Logan. They’d started rationing his pain meds, so he’d been talking for most of the day. Cursing, mostly, and in his more lucid moments, directing it at Summers’ driving. Bumpy roads probably weren’t a pleasant experience given his condition. Logan groaned a bit louder.
“How you doing over there, sleeping beauty?” Summers called over.
“Fuck you,” Logan responded.
Summers nailed the tent in, then headed over to check on the man. Asle looked up as he entered the standing tent they called the infirmary. “I’m serious. How is it?”
“I’m fine.” Logan said.
Summers redirected his attention to the young girl at his side. “Asle, how is he?”
“Breathe hard,” Asle said. Summers nodded in response and started to change out the man’s empty IV bag.
“Is it just your leg, or you feeling lightheaded?” Summers asked.
“Just the pain. I’m fine,” Logan said through gritted teeth.
“I can give you something now, but I think you’re gonna want to wait until nightfall, or our supply isn’t going to last.” The truth was that Summers couldn’t really do anything but keep the guy comfortable. Nowak was in charge of bandages, and Asle was helping with the less . . . glamorous parts of medical care. The extent of Summers’ medical knowledge was “don’t rub dirt in it” and “the blood belongs on the inside.”
“Save it,” Logan responded.
“Suit yourself.”
“Summers. It’s Summers, right?” Logan asked. “Be straight with me, please. What are my odds here?”
Summers considered that. His leg had been cleaned and tied off, his stitches were holding, and he wasn’t showing any signs of a fever.
“About the same as the rest of us. So, you’re probably screwed. But you’re more likely to get eaten by something than to die from infection at this point, if that helps,” Summers answered without a hint of sarcasm.
Logan just stared at the man, trying to decide if that was good news or not.
“Hey, you’re the one who asked for no bullshit,” Summers said.
“All right. Fair enough.”
Summers smiled in r
esponse. He saw Nowak leaning over the Humvee to hear. They’d been wanting to ask Logan a few questions, and now was as good a time as any.
“Since you’re feeling so chatty, think you’d mind answering a few questions?”
“You want to know about the 63rd?”
“More or less.”
“I can’t tell you much. Brass just sends us in to guard the civilians. All I know is that this place is dangerous,” Logan said after a moment. That was about as helpful as Summers was expecting.
“Is it true there’s another one in Nevada?” Nowak called down.
Logan looked up. “No idea. I know we got some experienced people transferred to our detail. So, they had to come from somewhere.” He paused. “Look, they’re big on the ‘need-to-know basis’ crap. If I’m going to be honest, this here was my first trip to this world. And no one talked with us rookies about it.”
“Great. Anything useful you can tell us?” Cortez called over.
“My job was to watch Asle. You want to know more about this place, ask her. Best thing I can tell you is how the general likes his coffee.”
Another wave of pain must have hit the man. He closed his eyes in a look that screamed frustration and general anger at the world itself.
“All right, fine. Do you know if the forests are usually this dead? Either of you?” Summers asked. He tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but his patience was wearing thin.
“No. Something ate everything,” Asle replied helpfully. “Or something kill,” she added.
“Same thing that killed those people, the skeen things?”
She shrugged in response. Great. She knew how to shrug.
Summers stood. “I’ll be back before night for your pain meds. If you can soldier through for now, we can ration them for sleep.”
“Thanks. For everything. Seriously, man. But could it kill you to avoid some of the bumps tomorrow?”
“I’ll think about it,” Summers said as he turned, heading back to work on the tent.
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Summers swerved to avoid a fallen tree. He heard a curse rise up from the back but chose to ignore it. You just couldn’t please everyone. It had been two days since Logan woke up. He was doing a lot better, which was good because they were lower than he’d expected on morphine.
