“I am dying. It won’t be long now. I’m fine with that … I’m ready. I speak the truth.”
“But that creature is out there …”
“A Griar-Loth,” Ramen gasped out.
Cameron shook his head. “Whatever. It’s now out there. It’ll kill people. Ravage the whole town …”
Ramen, reaching up a hand, grabbed a fistful of Cameron’s coat. His eyes bore into Cameron’s eyes with deep intensity. “The droid … is called XI. It is pre-programmed … programmed that humans are not yet ready for … the technology aboard this ship.” The alien grimaced as pain ravaged his body.
Cameron glanced at the hovering droid, then back to Ramen.
“I tried to countermand that directive. No use. There is no reasoning with … droids like this one.” Ramen’s fist released its hold, his arm falling to his side, as his breathing became even more labored. He coughed, and rivulets of blood trickled down the sides of his mouth. “Eventually, with the help of the Gods of Shannal, your people will kill the Loth …”
Gods of Shannal? Cameron was having a hard time tracking Ramen’s almost imperceptible murmured words.
“XI will soon ready the ship for lift off.”
Whispering, although the droid hovered nearby them, Cameron said, “I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to do here. I’m just a kid going to college …”
Ramen shook his head. “XI will be stationed on the bridge until the ship has lifted off.” He stared intently at Cameron, as if the words held a special meaning.” “You will need to hurry.”
Ramen’s eyes blinked, then closed, and he ceased speaking.
Cameron looked up to XI. “Isn’t there something you can do for him? Don’t you have like a medical bay? Don’t all starships have medical bays? Come on!” Cameron said, his voice heavy with frantic irritation.
“Yes, human. There is such a station onboard the spacecraft. It is currently offline.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say … that it’s offline? Why don’t you fix it? Why aren’t you doing something, instead of … of just hovering there, like a fucking big mosquito?”
The droid didn’t answer, instead reaching one of its two articulating arms out to touch Ramen. “The one you referred to as Ramen has expired.”
Chapter 9
Heather Christy’s shift ended twenty minutes earlier, but she’d hung around the Drake, a part of her hoping Cam would come back in. They had unfinished business. Doesn’t he get that? But why do I even care? She couldn’t imagine another person being anywhere near as aggravating.
“Did you remember to clock out?” Ginger asked, still doing her shift’s side work.
Heather stared at her smartphone, mentally commanding it to ring. “Oh … yeah, I’m clocked out. Thanks, Ginger,” she said to her friend without looking up.
“A watched pot never boils, you know …”
Heather glanced up at her friend. “Huh?”
“Never mind. Hey … look at that … That’s six now.”
Heather followed Ginger’s thick forefinger now pointing toward the window.
“The latest two are Jefferson County cruisers. There’s something big going on. Has to be when the county gets called in like that.”
Heather had also noticed a near-constant stream of police cars, plus other emergency response vehicles, zooming past on Horton for the last hour. “Let me find out what’s up,” she said, quickly dialing her father.
She heard it ring. Unanswered, it went to voice mail. She dialed again, determined to talk to him. Sheriff or not, he’d always found the time to answer her calls. Again, it went to voice mail.
A commotion began to take place at the counter. Several customers, huddling close together, seemed agitated. But maybe they were just concerned about something. Brent, the day manager, pointed a remote control at the lone flat screen located high up on the wall. The Mets game playing on the TV was quickly switched over to CNN. He turned up the volume, drowned out now by a loud droning noise coming from outside—what sounded like a full squadron of helicopters passing overhead.
Heather looked up, making a mystified expression.
“What is that?” Ginger asked, staring at the TV. “What the … What …”
Heather too was trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. Below the CNN Breaking News banner was an aerial shot of Larksburg Stand. She saw the high school and the now-closed bowling alley and Horton—where the Drake Café was located. She then saw her own light yellow VW Beetle in the parking lot. The aerial shot next changed to a jittery hand-held view, like one taken from someone’s cell phone or something. It was up on the mountain where there was a steep terrain and tall trees. Heather moved closer to the counter and the huddle of people to better watch the TV that hung above. “What is that?” she asked to no one in particular.
It loomed huge—all legs and head. She momentarily caught herself, thinking it must be a prank. Halloween was coming; actually, it was just around the corner. Had to be the local TV station, goofing around again. They occasionally did that sort of thing. She then remembered they weren’t watching their local yokel station. It was CNN. No one was laughing. She heard screams, men yelling on TV, and more police cars and flashing lights than she’d ever seen before—neither here nor anywhere else. The enormous thing, whatever it was, was moving fast. Heading right toward the person holding the smartphone, toward the long line of police cruisers.
A customer ran for the door, nearly knocking Heather over in the process. Heather, edging closer, leaned in—suddenly recognizing the big man centered on the screen. Holding a shotgun, he was barking orders into his shoulder mic. In the background, the thing was growing ever larger and approaching fast. The smartphone’s camera was jittering around so much it was hard to see.
Heather mouthed the word Dad …
The first car, in a long line of police cruisers, was trampled then flattened beneath what clearly had to be some kind of prehistoric animal—a huge monster. Sheriff Christy, along with the other law enforcement present, fired their service weapons—a barrage of both handgun and rifle fire. But the creature kept on coming—moving even faster now. Scooping two policemen up then into its mouth, it chomped down. Two sets of severed legs fell free below.
“Get away from it!” she screamed at the flat screen, her full attention focused on the lone, now somewhat distorted figure she knew was her father. Others in the restaurant that knew her—knew who her father was—glanced over at her, concern mirroring in their eyes. The monster loomed above everyone now—filling the entire TV screen. Heather, pleading, reached for her father with outstretched arms. “Please don’t hurt him …” she begged.
Chapter 10
Cameron looked down at Ramen’s ruined and now lifeless, body. He barely knew the alien, but the finality of his death was suddenly hitting him hard—like a punch to the gut. Throw in the added fact that he’d just witnessed the most disturbing horror of his life—the heinous attack by that ginormous monster, the Loth. A sense of unreality swirled around him, although it was all very real. Right now that thing was out there. There was little doubt about what it would do to the unsuspecting inhabitants of Larksburg Stand—the same place he’d counted the seconds to get away from mere hours before. Now he was desperate to find a way to save those same inhabitants; his mind flashed to Heather. I’ve got to do something.
“Let me out of here. I need to warn everyone.”
The dark shape’s movements were barely visible. As though swayed by some minute breeze, the droid continued to silently hover four feet above the deck. When it spoke, there was no emotion, no human likeness, in its tone. “Protocol 5128 has been initiated, human. The vessel has been adequately secured. Pre-flight functions are enabled, liftoff timetable activated.”
“What are you talking about? Open the door … the damn hatch. I’m getting off.”
But the droid, already rising higher into the air, was moving away.
“Hey! Stop. Let me out �
� now!”
The droid slowed then spun around to face him while continuing to float backwards. “I am now the commanding officer of this vessel. Protocol states that proper verbal discipline is mandated when speaking with one’s superior. I am issuing you your first verbal warning. Do not let there be a second.”
Cameron watched as the droid disappeared into the darkness. This can’t be happening. Scanning the area’s dim confines, he felt the enveloping darkness pressing in on him—the uncertainty of what to do, the weight of his own powerlessness. No! I am not going to sit around, waiting for whatever happens next. He rose to his feet, ready to head in the same direction he’d last seen the droid heading, then thought, I need a weapon. He spun in the direction of his pickup truck. What was it that Ramen told me? It holds items within it I will need: technology, communications apparatus, numerous supplies … a weapon.
Cameron, hurrying to the truck, trotted around to the bed on its right side. Lying atop the still snow-covered tarp was whatever Ramen had thrown in there before they’d driven the truck onto the ship—what he’d referred to as his trinious bundle. Whatever the hell that is. Now studying it, Cameron could see it was about four feet long by about two feet wide. Made of some sort of pliable material—neither cloth nor metal—it was some sort of new-age composite. He lifted it, turned it over, and tried to find a way into the thing. With no visible sign of either clasps or zippers, his frustration was quickly mounting. He began to pull—tugged on anything that looked like it could possibly open. The problem was it was too dark for him to fully see what he was doing. Remembering then that his smartphone was right inside the cab, he opened the passenger door and quickly retrieved it. Switching its flashlight feature on, he returned to better view the trinious bundle. With the aid of the bright LED light, he spotted a small seam running along one side. Again, he pulled and tugged but to no avail.
Taking a deep breath, Cameron consciously willed himself to calm down. Slowly now, he ran the tip of his forefinger along the seam—then two fingers along both its sides. The seam separated. Repeating the same two-finger motion in the opposite direction, the seam magically closed up tight again. He next ran both fingers along the length of the bundle and watched as the pack-like thing opened. Pulling the material apart he peered inside. Sure enough, there were all kinds of things inside; though nary a one was recognizable as a weapon.
Cameron suddenly stopped rifling through the bundle, sensing strong vibrations rising up through the deck and into his boots. Was the droid, XI, powering up the ship? Cameron intensified his search, pulling out various items then placing them on the snow-covered tarp. Everything appeared to be some sort of self-contained contraption. How was he supposed to decipher what was a weapon versus some kind of alien field toilet? Finally, now down to the last three items, he stopped and smiled. “There you are!”
The object was obviously a gun. More or less shaped like a pistol, it probably was some kind of energy weapon. It didn’t have a trigger as one would expect, but it did possess both a handgrip and a protruding muzzle—of sorts. Three slider controls were visible at the top of the thing; while two were slid backwards, in the direction of the handgrip, one was set in the opposite position. When he slid that slider switch, aligning it with the others, the weapon came alive in his hand. All of a sudden he felt a momentary hum pulsing and moving up his arm. “So how do I shoot the thing?” he muttered under his breath. Tightening his fingers, he felt the handgrip compress. A brilliant bright bolt of blue energy shot out from the muzzle. Startled, he noticed the top edge of the lift gate had erupted in a blaze of sparks, leaving a fist-sized hole in the metal.
He smiled. Whoa … Did I just witness the firing of an actual bolt of plasma? He knew a bit about that stuff from Volume P of his World Books, as well as his lab work at HyperCrell. Highly experimental, of course, but a ton of research was already in the works there—mostly government-funded, top-security things. What Cameron knew about plasma from working with the stuff was that it wasn’t all that practical—unless you wanted to cut sheet metal at a very short range. First of all, you’d need to start with pressurized gas—any of the noble gases would probably do.
He turned the weapon over in his hand. Inside the gun were electrodes, which would produce a very high voltage spark. The instantly ionized gas would transfer the energy from the spark to the gas. But that wouldn’t be enough. The electrons then needed to be stripped from the gas to become the end result—plasma. Reaching that point, the plasma needed to be contained, so a magnetic field was necessary to contain that blob of plasma. But how?
Cameron thought about that and then he shook his head. Plasma gets pretty hot. Like hotter than the core of the sun, which he knew was about 27 million degrees Fahrenheit. He looked at the still-glowing hole in the lift gate. The biggest problem was maintaining the plasma bolt’s shape after it left the barrel of the weapon. How did they do that? How would you induce a magnetic field to stay viable enough to contain the plasma after the plasma had left the gun?
Sidetracked, Cameron suddenly felt a new, much stronger vibration coming up through the decking. Undoubtedly, the spacecraft’s main engines were coming online. Cameron, now sufficiently armed, ran to where he’d last seen the droid hover off into the darkness. As he leaped over Ramen’s remains, a few more interior lights suddenly came on. Blackness replaced by eerie dimness. At any other time, he would have marveled at the slightly more visible technology he was now seeing around him. But he had only one life purpose—get the hell off the ship and warn everyone about the Loth. And, most importantly—save Heather.
Squinting through the shadowy confines, he saw that he was within a large corridor of sorts—quasi-circular in shape and paneled with wide bands of brushed-metallic surfaces. What lighting there was, was indirect and of a bluish-green hue. He was certain the Loth had recently traversed there as well; several heaping mounds of Loth shit, plus copious amounts of mucus, were piled high on the deck. Obvious evidence. There were intersections where either one or more corridors branched off in a different direction. In every science fiction movie he’d seen, and in every sci-fi book he’d read, the ship’s bridge was always located at the very front—at the bow. While running on, he thought about the fact that the ship once had a crew, nineteen in number, according to Ramen, but now was a ghost ship. A spaceship he could very well end up being a captive on—indefinitely. Picking up his pace, he wondered his proximity within the spacecraft’s interior. He mentally pictured the ship, how he’d seen it from outside. Big. He tried to guesstimate the length. Maybe three hundred feet long? He’d been running a good while. Figured he must be getting close to the forward bow.
It was gradual, but the corridor was definitely narrowing. Cameron slowed to a jog and, breathing hard, noted both sides of the corridor had open several hatchways with various compartments lying beyond in the darkness. Up ahead were stairs; he could see both the side railings angling downward. Upon reaching the top step, he found he was looking down on a large, oval-shaped command center, or bridge, on the level below him. He could make out four separate console clusters, each with enough seating space for four or five people, and they were all empty. A myriad of unrecognizable technology abounded there. Holographic display imaging was visible at each console station. All over the place, large projected images seemed to suddenly appear without rhyme or reason. Confusing, he found it almost too much to take in. How could anyone work here? he wondered.
Cameron scanned the space for the droid and almost missed it; he glimpsed it hovering off to his right. Similar to pretty much all of the advanced technology around it, the droid was easy to miss until it suddenly moved. Cameron slowly moved down the stairs, his energy weapon raised and pointed at the AI. By the time he’d descended halfway, the droid spun about, now facing him.
“Shut down the engines,” Cameron ordered. “Do it, or I’ll start shooting at everything … including you.”
Chapter 11
His iPhone began to ring. He�
�d forgotten he was still holding it in the opposite hand of the one holding onto the gun. Heather. He was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but with the Loth out there—and the spaceship readying to take off—he knew he might not get another opportunity to speak to her, or anyone …
Cameron kept the weapon trained on the droid as he proceeded down the stairs. Using his thumb, he accepted the incoming call.
“Cam!” Heather yelled, sounding hysterical. “Oh … thank God you’re alive. There’s a … fuck … I don’t know what it even is … coming down the mountain. It’s been on the news. I think my father … Oh God …”
“Listen, Heather …” Cameron tried to interrupt her, but unsuccessfully.
“People have been killed. Do you hear me, Cam? Killed!” Through her hysteria, he could also hear the sound of traffic—the hum of an engine. She was in a moving car.
“Where are you, Heather? Listen, whatever you do, do not come toward Gant Mountain. Do you hear me? You need to stay away!”
“What? I don’t …”
“Just stay away from the mountain! That thing—it’s called a Griar Loth—it’ll kill anything it comes into contact with. I’ve seen it … what it can do.”
“No … my father, I think he’s hurt. I watched it on TV. It was coming right at him, before the picture went black. I’m going to find him.”
“Listen to me carefully, Heather. I am on a spaceship. It’s where that creature came from.”
There was a prolonged silence on the other end. Of course, there was silence. Who would believe that such a thing was possible? Oh, by the way, I’m here stuck on an alien spaceship …
“Cam … I … I don’t understand. What’s going on? This is all getting crazy, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“Just stay away from Gant Mountain, Heather. Promise me that much. I’m sure your father is fine. He’s probably got his hands full dealing with everything, that’s all.” Cameron, on reaching the bottom of the stairs, approached the droid. He said, “Turn off the engines.”
Ship Wrecked Page 5
