by J. F. Halpin
“At least it tastes the same as what we have back home,” Nowak said, tearing a chunk of cooked meat from the bone.
“Didn’t know you were a big game hunter,” Summers responded, tentatively chewing on a piece of flank.
“My family did this kind of shit every Christmas. Said we were going out to find Santa’s reindeer.”
“Guey, seriously? That’s a little fucked up, even for me,” Cortez said. The rest of the group gave various noises of agreement.
“It was fun! You didn’t do some crazy shit with your folks?”
“Nope.” Cortez shook her head. “Not opening that Pandora’s box. Me and my family have an understanding: they stay away from me, and nobody gets hurt.”
“Summers, what about you? Let me guess, you probably had some suburban wet-dream shit?” Nowak looked over, still chewing.
“I’ve worked every Christmas since I was fifteen,” Summers answered.
“Shit, really?”
“Single mom, shithead dad. Do the math,” Summers responded.
“You sure we can eat this?” Cortez asked.
“Asle’s been eating MREs and she’s fine. We’re probably okay. Besides, I know game. It looked healthy.” Nowak emphasized this point by taking another large bite. “How ’bout the rest of you?”
“Happy Christian church-going fun times for me.” Adams raised his hand.
“Good for you,” Cortez spat.
“The hell you mad at me for? I’d pay for them to leave me alone.”
Cortez just grunted in response.
“Same. Protestant,” Logan provided. “Also, you people desperately need therapy. For so very many reasons.”
“Hey, Asle, do you have family?” Summers looked at the young girl eating a piece of meat the size of her head.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Okay. I mean, do you have family we can take you back to?” Summers and the others looked at her with sudden understanding. The 63rd had probably taken Asle from somewhere around their “main” base in Nevada. If they were heading that way, anyway . . .
“No.”
Summers saw a flicker of sadness flash across her face. That was . . . new. He’d never seen her show any kind of emotion short of body language.
And it was clear she didn’t want to continue their talk, which spoke enough on the subject as it was. Logan carefully guided the conversation away from Asle as they ate, leaving her to stare into the fire.
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They hit the red zone only a few hours into the next day. It was what Nowak was calling “DEFCON 1,” which meant Cortez was on the roof, freezing her ass off with a tube the size of her leg cradled in her arms. A MAAWS, actually. They’d scavenged the rocket launcher from the remains of the 63rd, and she had three more just like it at her side.
Adams was still handling the wagon, a duffel bag of grenades beside him with very stern orders to not throw them anywhere near the Humvee. That left the rest of them to drive and hope that whatever lurked in this part of the forest wasn’t hungry. They’d gone with the assumption that whatever was out there was on the same level as the shambling moss creature they’d first encountered. So, while one could say they were perhaps being overly cautious, Summers would point out that that same attitude had gotten an entire platoon killed.
The road was still relatively clear, winding through mountain valleys and rivers. Throughout their trip, they’d passed some forks the map hadn’t covered, but with little interest in exploration, they stayed on the road that led straight toward the city. To its credit, it did seem to be the quickest way there.
To everyone’s surprise and relief, they made it through the first leg of their journey without issue. That didn’t mean they were letting their guard down as they made camp, however.
That afternoon, Summers watched over Cortez as she worked, eyeing the detonator in her hands warily. She was wrapping it with a few lengths of wire.
“Are you sure—absolutely fucking sure—that this isn’t going to kill us?” Summers asked.
“Mostly,” Cortez replied simply.
“Do I need to explain why that answer worries me?” Summers looked at the perimeter of the camp. They’d decided to settle against a small alcove in the mountain, just at the edge of the tree line. Cortez had wire running from tree to tree in some kind of trap he was hesitant to learn the details of.
“What do you trust more: that we’ll get lucky and whatever’s out there won’t come looking for us, or that I know what I’m doing?”
“Fair point. But just how are you planning on taking this all down in the morning?”
“Very carefully,” Cortez murmured through gritted teeth as she jammed another stake into the ground. “Relax. We’ve got a good distance from camp. If anything, this is the riskiest part.”
“So . . .”
“So stop distracting me.”
“Got ya,” Summers agreed, backing away as he saw Cortez pull out another long wire.
He headed over to Nowak instead, who was keeping watch from the top of the Humvee while cleaning out a few spent cartridges.
“Hey, you got any brass?” Nowak asked.
“Should I?”
“Guess not. I should have thought about it earlier, but I realized that not every shot we fire is something we can resupply. I figured we could try to reload some rounds later.”
“How? We can’t make gunpowder or blasting caps. Hell, if we manage to get through all the ammo we have before we hit Nevada, chances are, we have a much bigger problem on our hands.”
“Maybe. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, though. Better safe than sorry.”
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That night, Summers was on guard, along with Logan. DEFCON 1, as they knew it, also meant even less sleep for everyone involved. It was another three days until they’d hit the city, by their estimates, and that meant they’d have to stash their Humvee soon. He was not looking forward to riding in the wagon. If Adams’ experience was any indication, it would be a long trip filled with bumps, bruises, and cow shit.
He stared out into the dark, watching the scenery with his gun at the ready.
This world had already kicked them in the ass more than once. He had no intention of giving it another shot.
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Through the forest, a creature of pure black stalked toward the strange lights in the distance. It crouched low to the ground as it weaved its way through the underbrush.
It had been tracking the scent of this particular prey for the better part of a day. It was a predator, and these were its hunting grounds. Though it had been following this prey at a great distance, it knew these woods better than any, and nothing could outrun it for long. The only puzzling thing—if it could be called that—was the scent itself. It was . . . unfamiliar.
It was still a kitten by its species’ standards, less than a century old. But it had learned the merit of caution when dealing with the unknown. So, it moved slowly through the darkness, alert for anything out of place.
And as it approached the tree line, it paused. It had come upon yet another unknown.
The creature had no way of understanding what it faced, but the last thing it saw before a blinding explosion were the words: “Front toward enemy.”
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Summers shot up at the sound of a loud click, followed by a deafening boom.
“Holy shit!”
The entire forest lit up with one concentrated explosion, as if something had just dropped a miniature sun five hundred yards away.
As his eyes adjusted, he could see trees bent in ways he wouldn’t have thought possible. At the center of the carnage lay a large black creature. Clawed wings folded over a pitch-black hide that only highlighted its long, wormlike head as it clawed at the ground, writhing in pain in a way that reminded Summers of roadkill he’d seen as a child.
Summers didn’t take
long to admire the absolutely terrifying thing in front of him. He emptied his gun into its chest.
“Wake the fuck up! We need to kill this thing!”
The creature didn’t recover so much as throw itself at the camp, blood gushing from the shrapnel in its head and side. It was met with gunfire from its left, and as it tried to cover its head with its wings, Summers and Logan unloaded on it. Their fire seemed only to annoy it.
A grenade landed beneath it, but in its already injured state, it couldn’t move fast enough to get away, even if it had known what was coming. As the grenade detonated, the creature lurched to the side and into a tree, crumpling to the ground where it lay, unmoving.
They didn’t stop firing until two minutes later.
Better safe than sorry.
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“You’re going to get us all killed, Cortez! Do you really think using all our claymores is necessary?” Cortez started in a mocking tone. “That fucking thing took everything we had, and we still needed to put it down ourselves.”
“I will never question your paranoia or love of explosives ever again,” Summers replied.
“Goddamn right.”
They stood, wide-eyed, in front of the corpse of the creature. It was about as big as the Humvee, with black scales covering the whole of its body. The damn thing looked like a cross between a dragon and a roided-up lion. With just enough alien physiology in its strange, tube-shaped head and worm-like proboscis to ensure that Summers would have nightmares for the rest of his life.
“Asle, I don’t suppose you know if there are more of these things? Or what it is?” Summers looked over at the young girl, who was just as surprised as the rest of them.
“Don’t know,” she muttered.
“I’m no biologist, or zoologist . . .” Logan explained. “I don’t know much about animals, but an ecosystem cannot sustain many things this big—not for long, anyway. I think we’re safe.”
Nowak looked at the creature, then the mostly empty wagon beside the Humvee.
“What do you think about taking this thing with us?”
“I don’t know if we can eat all that, Sarge,” Summers cautioned.
“No, I mean, this is some big mean son of a bitch, right? At least to the locals,” Nowak ventured. “So, if they see that we killed it, they might rightfully assume that we, too, are big, mean sons of bitches. And the scarier we are, the less likely it is we’re going to have someone fuck with us.”
Summers nodded, staring at the easily three-thousand-pound creature. Then he looked to the wagon, whose cow was still idly chewing on some grass, paying no more attention to what had just happened than it would to a passing flock of birds.
“Any ideas on how we get it up there?”
“Same as with anything.” Nowak took out his boot knife, feeling the balance of it in his hand. “Piece by piece.”
Chapter 9: Inn for a Penny
“Smoke up ahead, Sarge,” Summers noted.
“I see it.”
Nowak looked out at the valley ahead. It was noon, and the road had been clear for the last few days. That had changed, however, as the path in front of them was now dotted with signs of campfires. In the distance, they saw small rectangular shapes breaking up the skyline. Summers could only assume they were the walls of the city—which meant it was time to leave the Humvee.
“Hey, I was thinking, shouldn’t we be worried about spreading diseases or something?” Adams thought aloud. “Like with the Native Americans?”
“Eh, people back then weren’t big on hygiene. Also, that shit didn’t start until infected people were getting on ships. We’re probably fine,” Nowak replied.
“If anything, we don’t have protection against whatever kinds of diseases they have. So, don’t get too handsy with the locals,” Summers cautioned.
“Do not shack up with the first elf you meet. I’m serious. It doesn’t end well,” Cortez agreed, giving a passing glance to Adams.
“She’s right. We’re still strangers here. Don’t let your guard down.” Nowak looked in Adams’ direction, as well.
Actually, they were all looking at Adams.
“I sorta feel attacked here,” Adams retorted.
“We’ve all been in your shoes, and we’ve all seen our buddies try to marry the first thing dumb enough to smile at them,” Nowak called back.
“I’m not going—” Adams started, but Cortez cut him off.
“You will. We all know you will.” Cortez looked back at Adams. “We’re just giving you fair warning that we’re going to shut that shit down as soon as we see it.”
Logan smiled at the private. “You’re what, nineteen?”
Adams was doing his best to keep up—and failing. “Almost twenty.”
“Back at my old base, they had a gift shop. It sold wedding rings for ten bucks. It was one of their best sellers.”
Nowak turned back to Adams. “Look, we’re going to be in this town for a while if all goes as planned. Part of you might start thinking it would be a lot easier to just stay here. That’s your choice. We just want to make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons and not because you’re trying to get laid.”
“And so you don’t get shanked by your new father-in-law because you’re some weird foreigner,” Cortez said. “Seriously, I got stories.”
“I got transferred to base because of relationship . . . complications,” Summers added. “I know Cortez had a similar story. So just . . . take our word on it.”
Cortez laughed. “Any ‘relationship’”—she used air quotes—“was wishful thinking on that asshole’s part.”
“Still counts,” Summers prodded.
“Fine. And for the record, it was worth it.”
“What did—?” Adams began.
“You do not want to know. Trust me,” Summers interrupted.
Cortez smiled at Adams in response. He didn’t return the sentiment.
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They found a ditch big enough to fit the Humvee. After some work with a couple branches, it blended into the forest seamlessly. Cortez still rigged a shotgun to a tripwire in front of the largest branch, just in case some nosy locals happened upon it. Maybe that was heartless, but it was a better alternative to letting all those weapons fall into some stranger’s hands. Nowak had carved the words “shotgun” into the nearby tree, in case they forgot about their little surprise. Last thing they needed was a chest full of buckshot.
Summers was busy trying to move the corpse of the monster out of the way for some supplies. Nowak had field dressed it the day earlier, so they hadn’t wanted for fresh meat—at least, not after they experimented by feeding some to the cow. It didn’t look like it had any issues, so they had deemed it safe. Strangely enough, the monster tasted like duck.
Nowak turned to Summers as he finished. “How are we on gas?”
“I’d say we have another week,” Summers answered. “They didn’t build these things with mileage in mind.”
“Think we’ll hit the coast?” Cortez asked. They’d hoped to reach this world’s equivalent of Anchorage by the time they had to leave the Humvee behind.
“Probably.”
Nowak checked the map one last time. “I’m hoping we can follow the road to some port town, maybe charter a ship.”
“With what money?” Summers wasn’t thrilled with the idea of getting on a boat. He was never a great student, but most history classes stressed just how uncomfortable—and deadly—sailing was back before the conveniences of modern life.
“Hopefully, whatever we get from trading will be enough. If not, we can try to find work in town,” Nowak explained. “We’d probably have to hide the guns until we needed them, but that wouldn’t be too hard. We got the bandits’ crap. With cloaks, we could probably pass for locals.”
“So, you want us to wear disguises?”
“I want to look armed. Those bandits didn’t even register us as a threat. I’d like to do a
s little killing as we have to.” Nowak tossed Summers one of the bandits’ metal-rimmed helmets. “And you said it yourself, we should try to keep a low profile. That means not standing out. Get some cash and supplies, and then get on our way.”
Summers turned the steel helmet in his hands. It smelled like blood and sweat. Nowak had the right of it, he knew. But something told him they wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile for long.
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“No, you can’t squint,” Logan instructed. “Stop. Just keep your face neutral. Cortez, you still look pissed.”
They’d learned, or rather Logan had learned through his many talks with Asle, that elves were not big on facial cues. Not that they didn’t understand them, apparently—they had similar tendencies as the rest of them; happy, sad, it all translated. They just didn’t show those kinds of responses in public. A display of emotion like that was reserved for the people closest to you, in the privacy of their home. Asle had explained that it was considered barbaric to do so freely, in public, and with people you just met.
“That’s my normal face,” Cortez replied.
“Yeah, well, don’t do that,” Logan insisted.
“I have a spear.”
“Cortez, cut the shit and just let him help you, please?” Nowak called over.
Logan was trying to coach them on blending in, with Asle acting as his assistant. They were getting mixed results.
Summers was walking alongside the wagon in the bandits’ scaled armor. There had been about five sets they’d scavenged from the bandits’ bodies. It didn’t look the best, but at least they wouldn’t be seen as easy prey.
“Be like Adams.” Logan gestured to the private.
“What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Adams admitted.
“Yeah, okay, so do that without zoning out,” Logan suggested.
The severed remains of the monster took up the bulk of their wagon, which meant they had to walk. It was large enough that the head of the creature poked out over the front. If that weight was a burden to the brawny cow, however, it didn’t show it. It just marched merrily along the trail, occasionally stopping to graze where and when it felt like before getting back on the road. Given its size, they had no idea how to stop it from acting on its whims short of putting a bullet in its head, so it was allowed to continue as long as it kept pulling the wagon.
