Ship Wrecked

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Two hundred feet out, he saw the Loth. Strapped down onto a hovering transport sled, the creature’s numerous appendages were straining against individual bindings. The Loth was desperately trying to lift its head up. “Hold on, Loth … I’m coming.”

  The narrower the gap between his truck and the procession, the angrier Cameron became. The creature was clearly terrified—bellowing into the air high-pitched honking noises. At this close distance, he could see the Loth was facing backward. Eyes wide, it was staring right at him.

  Cameron turned his attention to the parade of robots leading the hover sled. Unlike any he’d seen on the ship, they easily were just as tall as him. They walked upright, like humans, but their stride was somewhat herky-jerky. Legs and arms were nothing more than a bundle of thin tubes—fingered hands were metal and curled into fists. Their torsos, also, looked to be a conglomerate of various sized tubes. Where each limb was affixed to the body, there was an oversized, cylindrical, canister-like thing. Cameron figured these were the power sources for each appendage. All in all, the robots looked to be of a highly simplistic and ultra-lightweight design. Moving closer now, he saw that their heads were super tiny—shrunken-like—reminding him of Beetlejuice, in the old movie. They looked ridiculous.

  The long procession covered the width of the entire ridge road, leaving no way to pass the hovering transport sled on either side. Cameron, falling in behind, tried to plan what to do next. When he noticed the Primion, coming into view a half-mile ahead, he slammed his fist down on the steering wheel in frustration. Continuing to look for some way around them, when … there! He just might have found one. Up ahead, the ridgeline briefly widened out, maybe five or six extra feet. The only problem: it narrowed down again pretty quickly. He’d have to really gun it and hope there was enough room to pass before that occurred.

  Cameron smiled. Actually, he only had to pass the hovering transport sled. After that, the apparently unarmed robots would have to fend for themselves—either get out of the way or tumble over the cliff. He really didn’t care which.

  Thirty feet before he had to make his move, he waited and contemplated on something else. How on earth did they ever capture a Griar Loth; one that overcame a Greely Beast so easily? Perhaps they weren’t just any robots. Maybe their skinny arms and legs and shrunken heads were misleading. With only twenty more feet to go, Cameron wiped perspiration off his left hand and onto his jeans then did the same with the right. He studied the robots. Like soldiers, they moved in unison: left, right, left, right. He noticed that within the tubular arms one appeared thicker, shaped slightly differently from the others. Maybe a weapon?

  Ten feet to go. The Loth had freed one of its tentacles; all the while its honking tirade had only increased. Wait, not freed—torn away. The Loth, in its frenzy to escape, had pulled lost a limb. Cameron’s intense focus on the Loth almost caused him to miss the road’s brief widening. Now or never! Go or no-go—he had to decide.

  Chapter 41

  The robots’ procession, marching in the center of the ridge road, veered to the right when the road widened up. Cameron stepped on the gas. Passing by the hover sled, he avoided looking at the Loth, instead concentrating on the road and robots ahead.

  Clang! Clang!

  The Ford’s front bumper collided with two robots, marching along the far left edge, which sent them flying over the cliff’s side. “Oops,” he said, not meaning it. Driving close into the robots midst, he watched their little heads swivel around like tiny tank turrets. Half-expecting to see some semblance of recognizable facial features, perhaps like the plastic-y-looking appearance of Lutous Bright 953, back within the Juvinate Plastron, he found these bots had no such features—wore no faces at all.

  Their reaction was fast. Four of the nine remaining robots lifted their left rod-like arms and pointed them in Cameron’s direction. But he was ready for them. Having buzzed down the right-side window already, he leveled his own weapon, targeting the robot closest to the truck. He inwardly said a silent prayer the gun had recharged. He squeezed the handgrip, and a bolt of plasma hit the robot’s right arm. A useless shot, really, since the bot still was able to fire with its left. Cameron ducked below the dashboard just as a series of flashes illuminated the inside of the cab with bright strobes of light. From his somewhat prone position, he could see most of the windshield had melted away, along with the cab’s rear window and part of the roof. This might go down as my most stupid idea, he mused. What was worse, he couldn’t see the road ahead from his new position, mostly lying flat on the seat. Venturing a peek over the dash, he quickly adjusted the wheel’s steering, just in time to avoid driving off the side of the mountain. In the mad frenzy, he wondered why the robots hadn’t fired on the truck—only on him. Maybe, he thought, because they’ve never encountered an out-of-place, twenty-year-old F150 before. He placed the plasma gun in his lap and, yanking the wheel to the right, gave the truck more gas.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  The truck bounced and clattered over strewn metallic objects. Three more robots down for the count. Cameron peered over the dash, and re-adjusted the steering again to avoid moving too close toward the right side of the mountain. Spinning the wheel quickly left then right—back and forth—he swerved the truck like an out-of-control drunk driver.

  Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Only now did the remaining robots—Cameron guessed there were still four—begin to fire directly at the truck. Still lying down on his right side, his feet fumbled until he found the brake pedal, bringing the truck to a complete stop. The eruption of constant plasma flashes—the sound of his truck being pummeled from more than one angle—kept him hunkered down on the seat. He waited for a reprieve, but it didn’t come. The Ford’s roof, at this point, riddled with holes, was little more than Swiss cheese. Several metal mangled sections, after the plasma strikes, glowed fiery orange. Cameron could feel warm heat emanating downward. He heard a crashing noise at the front of the vehicle then caught a glimpse of the truck’s hood flying past overhead. A tire exploded, and then another, as the truck violently rocked with each plasma strike. The engine suddenly quit. Mere inches above his head, a plasma bolt eviscerated the top section of the passenger door.

  Reaching for the weapon on his lap, he discovered it was no longer there. He leaned up, just enough to see it lying now on the other side of the cab, on the floor by his feet. The robots hadn’t yet let up in their attack. Any moment now, one of their plasma strikes would find its mark: him.

  With nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide, Cameron—his face buried into the passenger’s seat cushion—waited for the final killing shot to come. Still waiting, he soon became aware that their plasma fire was no longer directed at what remained of his truck. He could see bright flashes of light now striking outside. Something about the Loth’s painful honking had also changed. No longer desperate and pleading, it sounded … angry.

  Slowly, Cameron raised his head—just enough to glance through the jagged hole in the door’s frame. Within this limited field of view, he saw a blur of motion. Plasma fire had significantly reduced. Cameron, raising his head high enough to see over the roofless door, did a double take. The Minal Loth, missing two of its tentacle limbs, was moving freely around with incredible speed. Two of the robots, splayed into small pieces, lay on the ground. The Loth was now in the process of dismembering a third. The last remaining robot, firing continuous plasma bolts at the creature, was using weapons on both its arms.

  Feeling seething-hot rage overtake him, Cameron sat up straight and reached for his own plasma gun. With the roof of the truck all but shot away, he only had to stand upright on the seat and take aim. He fired continuously, until the last standing robot was nothing more than a puddle of hot molten metal. The Loth stared up at Cameron—a robot leg clutched in one tentacle and a robotic arm in another. The creature’s torso was a mass of black scorch marks, but its head was surprisingly unmarked. Its two oozing, bright-red tentacle stumps glistened in the sunlight.
Cameron stared, not knowing what to do for the young creature.

  The Loth, dropping the dismantled robot onto the ground, moved fast. The passenger door was torn from its hinges, and within an instant Cameron was swooped up into the tight clutches of the wounded creature. Only then did it occur to Cameron that the Loth might be blaming him for this whole ordeal. Might think he held some part in it. Now twirling around, held high up—his arms pinned to his sides—there was little Cameron could do to fend off what was sure to come.

  The swipe of a sloppy wet tongue plastered his head with mucus. Then, Cameron felt the Loth’s purring vibrations envelop him. The constantly spinning around creature was apparently ecstatic. Happy to be free; happy to be back together with him, whatever role he’d played.

  “Okay … okay … stop with the licking, with all the spinning around. I’m going to throw up!”

  It took a few minutes before Cameron was finally released, could shake circulation back into his arms and legs. The Loth continued to scuttle about. At one point it stooped, picking up the shattered robot’s parts in its four remaining tentacles. High-pitched, victorious honking echoed loudly into the valley below.

  Cameron’s smile faded when he glanced up toward the stern of the Primion. He saw the familiar four ginormous thrust cones, two on each side of the large rear, closed hatchway. He knew that somewhere inside the ship was the XI drone. The same drone that no doubt sent out the small army of robots to capture the Loth. Probably gave them orders to kill him if he tried to rescue it.

  The Loth, finally tiring out, settled down beside Cameron and began to lick its gruesome-looking stumps.

  Cameron said, “From what I’ve heard … they will grow back, be as good as new.”

  The Loth didn’t give any indication it heard him. Studying his truck, Cameron felt both sadness and guilt. “When I somehow get back inside that ship, I’m going to tear that droid to pieces,” he said.

  The Loth stopped long enough to make eye contact.

  Part III

  Hard Choices

  Chapter 42

  One Month Later …

  Heather had to lay her head back on the seat and close her eyes. She was feeling nauseous. Always the first in the family to get carsick, and today—even at twenty years of age—things weren’t any different. Sitting in the backseat of her mother’s minivan, with her mother driving, her father’s voice, sitting shotgun beside her mother, sounded impatient.

  “Use your blinker… That’s what it’s there for,” he chided his wife.

  “I would, if I were going to turn here, but I’m not. Park Way is far less crowded this time of the day,” Heather’s mother replied back, her voice screaming passive aggressiveness.

  Everyone was on edge—and why shouldn’t they be? Heather thought. They were being evacuated by the military. Take what fits in your car—that’s it! Nothing more, they were told. Although their small neighborhood was still untouched by the Octobeast, the creature had reemerged close by on three different occasions. Killing and terrorizing the populace, the huge beast was causing further massive destruction. Expected to eventually leave the area, find some other part of New York to put down stakes and call it home. But no, it seemed Larksburg Stand would continue to hold that singular distinction.

  “Mom, I’m feeling sick. Like I’m going to throw-up”

  “Roll down your window. Deep breaths,” her father said.

  Heather glared toward the back of his big, domed head. “I was talking to Mom. I thought maybe she had something in her purse … like to settle my stomach. Unless you have a purse up there too. I’m not particular.”

  “Being a smartass is not becoming,” he said.

  Making a face at his turned-away head, she caught her mother’s smiling eyes in the rearview mirror. “You’re just jealous I got my cast off before you, Dad.” Heather watched him uncomfortably shift about in his seat. She could see his now grayed and battered fiberglass leg cast stretched out before him.

  “Guess I can’t argue with that, Squeak.”

  She turned her attention back to her laptop. She was in the process of writing an email letter to Cam. One she knew he would never see—would never read. Even if he was still alive, he undoubtedly was light-years distance from Earth. No email on Pluto. But her therapist had suggested the act—which seemed futile to her—would be beneficial. Perhaps give her some closure. Therapist—ugh. She couldn’t stand that patronizing old bitty. As if someone in her seventies could relate to someone barely out of her teens. Before leaving the hospital, it was recommended that she and Ginger both see someone. But she didn’t want to talk anymore about the Octobeast. Or the fact the love of her life was probably as good as dead. And she didn’t want to talk about the growing number of life-long friends she’d lost due to the latest attack.

  Her fingers hovered over the computer’s keys.

  Dear Cam,

  If, by some miracle, you ever get the chance to read this email, let me first say how sorry I am. If I had known about the crazy shit headed our way, I would have done things so very differently. I would have packed up all my crap, driven across the country, and moved in with you. Would have made a new life in San Jose. I know I would have loved it. Would have loved you more and more every day, too. I guess it took an alien monster, from friggin’ outer space, for me to see things clearly.

  We’re being evacuated as I write this letter. The creature you left behind, (thank you for that, ha ha, by the way), what we call the Octobeast, has been terrorizing Larksburg off and on over the last four weeks. Half the town is gone, wiped out. And it seems the creature has cultivated a taste for humans. Horrible! There’s a massive military presence here. But that’s enough depressing talk. I wish I knew if you were alive. If you are able to use any of the scientific trivia you have stored in that handsome head of yours. Maybe your present status is the adventure of a lifetime, not that bad for you. Hope so!

  Well, I’ve been told I have to move on. Yeah, I know we’re broken up. But I hope you know I was only yours, even though I did everything I could not to show it. Now I guess I have to think about the future. I want to go to a university out of state, finally leave the nest. I bet you never thought you’d hear that! Don’t be mad, but Dad’s deputy, Kirk, has been coming around a bit. Ya’ know, coming by to see if I’m okay. Coming by to see if I want to play Trivia Pursuit. Okay, he’s not as smart as you are … but he is nicer than I gave him credit for in the past. Just giving you a heads up, so you better get back to me!

  Well, I guess I’ve rambled on long enough. I’ll try to write more in the future.

  Love you,

  Heather

  She hit send …

  Chapter 43

  Cameron, lounging on a folding chair beneath a bright-yellow beach umbrella, finished writing this morning’s journal entry on his laptop. Perched on one of the stubby aft wings of the spacecraft, he had an incredible vista to enjoy, and a substantial separation from what he called Scants. Similar looking to ants, they had twelve legs and exuded a really bad odor. And they nipped, leaving welts on the skin.

  Four-and-a-half weeks had now passed since the Primion crashed landed onto the exoplanet, Sang-Morang. Most of that time, Cameron had been locked out of the ship—had seen neither hide nor hair of the elusive XI droid.

  Since his confrontation with the killer robot procession, when heading up the mountainside, and the subsequent escape of the Minal Loth from its bindings, all had been relatively quiet. The Primion was sealed up tight. It soon became evident to Cameron that gaining access into the spaceship was no longer an option. The contents within the bed of his bombarded pickup truck were little more than charred ashes. The one exception was the trinious bundle, and its enclosed contents. Apparently, the alien composite material was impervious to the white-hot temperatures from multiple plasma blasts.

  Cameron and the Loth had trekked by foot all the way down to the valley floor, back to the middle peninsula of three streams. He’d set up camp
on the sand, right next to the duplicated F150. For three weeks he lived there. His five-year-old sleeping bag made the nights more comfortable, and only when he ran out of Top Ramen did he have to start hunting for food. The plasma gun became an indispensable aspect of his survival. A campfire was always lit. Every evening, part of Cameron’s routine was to scrounge up kindling along with larger pieces of timber. There were fish aplenty in the largest of the three streams. He’d gotten pretty good at picking them off while sitting atop the roof of the truck. He felt it gave the fish more of a competitive edge if he had to work for the shot.

  The Minal Loth, gone for a good part of each day there, always returned by nightfall and would sleep close by Cameron. The creature by now was huge, even larger than its mother. Cameron guesstimated it was about forty-five-feet tall when it stood upright. Its two torn-off tentacles had grown back, looked just like the other four. But what was most interesting, exciting, even, was that the creature—with its multi-octave honking—was beginning to communicate. Cameron spent countless hours either pointing things out or explaining various actions and saying the associated names: truck, rock, human, Minal Loth, eat, stream, mountain, climbing, spaceship, sleep, etc. Only once did he reprimand the creature, as one would a small child. The creature’s nearly insatiable appetite drove the Loth to spend most daytime hours away—hunting and eating. Cameron once found the half-eaten remains of a small Dalima Climber, not far from their encampment. With sad reluctance he turned the carcass over, relieved to find it wasn’t Lalik. He brought the towering Loth over to the corpse and screamed till his voice was hoarse: “There are plenty of other species to feast on, but not Dalima Climbers. They are not to be on the menu … ever!”