The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5)

by Daniel Arenson

  I just wish I could see you one more time, Leona, he thought. I love you as much as I love Earth.

  A soldier behind him trembled. A young boy. Cheeks soft. "Sir. I'm scared. I don't want to die."

  "Neither do I," said Tom. "But I have seen many die like cattle in the gulocks. Those are bad deaths. Today we can die as warriors. Today we can die proud—on our feet, on our planet. That is a good death." He gave his soldiers a thin smile. "But don't only die well. Fight well. Fight like mad. And try to win."

  The drills pounded through the barricades, ripping off the final blast door. Claws grabbed chunks of metal and concrete, shoving them aside.

  And the hellwolves barged in.

  Tom fought them. With his rifle. Then his pistol. Then his knife. Around him, his soldiers screamed, fired, and died. The young boy wept as a hellwolf tore out his entrails, but he kept firing his gun, killing as he died. An old man charged into the enemy, setting off his grenades among them. Fur and flesh splattered the walls.

  As Tom fought, as fangs and claws tore at him, he thought of a grassy world far away. A world where a young shepherd would play his flute, would roam under a golden sky. He remembered fighting smaller wolves, protecting his flock of sheep.

  He thought of his wife, pregnant, dying in the gulock.

  He thought of Ayumi, a precious child.

  He thought of beautiful Leona, of the mountains and fields of Earth. Of blue skies.

  Nearly thirty years had gone by since that distant world of grass, since he had shepherded his sheep. But Tom Shepherd was still fighting wolves. He was still protecting his flock.

  A hellwolf pounced and knocked him down. More of the beasts stormed into the tunnel. Tom lay on his back. Above him, the alien bellowed, his massive head of fur and metal spraying saliva and blood.

  Tom raised his blade.

  Goodbye, Earth. Goodbye, Leona.

  He thought of her noble eyes. Of her smile, so bright yet tinged with sadness. The time he had spent with her, the night they had made love—those were his most precious memories.

  Tom thrust his blade at the beast, ready for a good death.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Bay dived toward Port Addison in his Firebird, the G-force pummeling his body. Thousands of aliens spread below, covering the ruins, flowing into the tunnels. Only several meters above the surface, Bay leveled off. He fired his Firebird's machine gun, strafing the enemy lines.

  He didn't have to aim. The aliens were everywhere. His bullets tore through a mass of Upidians. The giant caterpillars reared, howling as they died. Beside Bay, Starflare flew her own starfighter—a slick vessel painted green and yellow, rusty and dented but still deadly. Its cannons blasted through crowds of basilisks. Other starlings flew their own motley fighters, tearing through other alien brigades.

  Bay rose and swooped again, strafing another line of aliens.

  The damn creatures seemed endless.

  Bay didn't even know if anyone underground was still alive.

  Damn it!

  "We're gonna need more starfighters," Bay muttered. He sent a call up to space. "All starfighters—if you can make your way down here, join us at Port Addison. Porter, you there? We're gonna need more troops."

  He rose high, then dive-bombed a swarm of advancing blobs. The gelatinous creatures were sweeping across the ruins, sucking up human soldiers, and digesting them. Bay's bombs tore through the quivering aliens, scattering chunks of jelly.

  As the starfighters fought, hellwolves crouched below, cannons on their backs. Missiles flew upward. Bay swerved, dodging one missile. Another hit a starfighter at his side, and the starling inside briefly screamed in Bay's comm before his vessel exploded.

  Sneering, Bay flew close to the ground—only a few meters over the aliens. Too low for the cannons to reach him. He charged toward the hellwolves and fired his machine guns, tearing the beasts down. Their cannons fell. One hellwolf released its missile on the ground, and the rocket scuttled across the soil, ripping a line through basilisk formations.

  Bay rose higher and spotted a heavy cannon. Aelonians were operating the weapon. The tall humanoids wore dark robes, hiding their luminous bodies. Bay fired from a distance, tearing them down. An ammunition crate exploded, and a mushroom cloud rose above the colony. The ground cracked. The air shook.

  "Starflare, see that crater?" Bay said. "We'll land the shuttles there. Help me cover them!"

  She flew nearby in her green-and-yellow starfighter, a ship that bared a striking resemblance to a hornet. The starling saluted Bay through her cockpit. They flew in rings, bombing the enemy, clearing out the crater. The Porter's shuttles began to land, one by one, and spilled out fighters. The armed refugees ran, firing their guns, heading toward the tunnels.

  "Porter, how are those extra fighters coming?" Bay said into his comm. "Any refugee with a gun—hell, even with a damn pointed stick. We need 'em!"

  "We're loading another company," came the reply from space.

  "Hurry," Bay said.

  He fired again, taking out an advancing line of basilisks. But his Firebird was almost out of bullets. And the single company of infantry he had brought would barely make a dent in this battlefield.

  He was rising toward the sun, prepared for another strafing run, when a basilisk rose from a hole and aimed a cannon.

  Bay pulled his joystick, trying to dodge.

  But the cannon fired a heat-seeking shell. Bay cursed, tried to flee, but he was already halfway into a dive, and—

  The shell hit his wing.

  His starfighter careened. The engine burst into flame.

  Bay cursed, tugging the yoke. Another shell flew and slammed into his stern.

  Fire filled the cockpit.

  "Bay!" Starflare shouted through the speaker in his helmet. It was the first time Bay had heard her sound frightened.

  He was going down. He tried to open the canopy, but it was jammed. The fire washed over his armored spacesuit. With a curse, Bay drew his pistol, winced, and fired.

  The canopy shattered, spraying him with shards, chipping at his armor.

  Bay leaped out as the Firebird fell below him. He ignited his jetpack and rose. Below him, his Firebird crashed into a line of aliens and exploded.

  Bay descended slowly, firing his pistol, taking out aliens below. He took grim satisfaction taking out the basilisk who had shot down his Firebird. Starflare circled him in her starfighter, her engines roaring, her guns taking out more basilisks.

  As more shuttles landed in the crater, Bay joined them. Fifty meters away, past a stretch of scorched earth, a hatchway led down into the bunkers. A battle raged around the hatch. Humans and basilisks were clashing, dying, littering the entrance with their corpses.

  Bay loaded a fresh magazine. More troops ran out from a shuttle behind him. They were refugees, fresh from space. They wore no uniforms. They had never set foot on Earth before. But they had guns. They had been fighting for years in space. And they would fight now.

  "For Earth—forward!" Bay cried. "To the tunnels! Cut the enemy down!"

  They charged, guns firing.

  Basilisks fell.

  Behind them, more shuttles landed. More starfighters swooped. A wall of fire rose across the field.

  Bay reached the tunnels first, hurled a grenade, then leaped over the destruction. He plunged into the darkness, hoping he'd still find life inside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The basilisks raced through the tunnels, howling for blood.

  People fled before them. Children wailed. Survivors trampled the dead.

  Emet walked among the survivors, heading in the opposite direction. He marched toward the enemy, rifle in one hand, pistol in the other. Behind him walked a squad of warriors.

  Ramses walked behind him, eyes hard, holding an assault rifle.

  "Mairead!" The Pharaoh was speaking into his comm. "Mairead, where are you? Damn it, Firebug, answer me!"

  "Ramses." Emet gently lowered the man's comm
. "We'll search for survivors later. Right now we have an enemy to kill."

  Ramses nodded, face gaunt and tight with concern. He was not unique among the troops. Everyone with a comm was reaching out to loved ones. Emet didn't know where his children were fighting, if they were still alive. Nobody had heard from Rowan and Mairead since their mission to space. Thousands were missing husbands, wives, children, parents.

  If we survive this, we'll seek the living, and we'll count the dead, Emet thought.

  He knew the death count would be horrifying. But right now, he had to save whoever he still could.

  He entered a large chamber. It had once been a medical clinic, a place of healing. Now it was a place of death. Human and alien corpses lay across the floor. Blood covered the rough stone walls. Severed legs, arms, and claws draped across overturned beds.

  A single alien was still alive here. The hellwolf—a beast of fur and spikes—was leaning over a human, clawing at his armor. The human was covered in blood but still alive, weakly stabbing with a knife.

  Emet fired his rifle. Blood spurted from the hellwolf's head. The beast reared, enraged, showing fangs the size of swords. Its eyes were gone—the knife had taken them—but it still roared with fury. Emet fired again. Ramses and the rest of his squad joined him. The bullets slammed into the alien canine, knocked it back against the wall, and shattered its skull. Still it lived. The troops kept firing, emptying their magazines, loading fresh ones.

  Finally, riddled with hundreds of bullets, the hellwolf slumped down dead.

  Emet rushed toward the wounded man, then gasped.

  It was Tom.

  Oh Ra.

  Emet's heart nearly stopped.

  His friend was barely alive. The hellwolf had cracked Tom's armor. Had torn into his chest. A rib was visible. A gash bled across Tom's cheek, revealing the molars.

  Emet tightened his jaw, struggling not to vomit.

  "Emet …" Tom whispered, mouth full of blood. "Did you get him . . .?"

  "I got the bastard," Emet said.

  "I … held them back." Tom coughed blood. "I held back the enemy."

  His head hit the ground. Emet checked his pulse. Tom was still alive, but barely. He only had moments.

  "I need medics!" Emet said into his comm. "Track my location. Hurry!" He turned back to Tom. "Hang in there, my friend. You're going to be all right."

  Emet looked up at a shattered doorway. Tom and his squad might have stopped the initial assault. But hisses and clatters rose. More aliens were approaching.

  Emet barely reloaded his rifle before the basilisks swarmed in.

  The soldiers fought, slaying the serpents. The aliens curled up on the floor, twitching as they died. As the guns boomed, medics rushed in, placed Tom on a litter, and carried him deeper into the tunnels.

  Live, Tom, Emet thought. And knew that if he failed, everyone farther down would die.

  Finally they slew the last basilisk. The corpses lay in a scaly, steaming pile.

  "Is that it?" Ramses barked a laugh. "Is that all you've got, Xerka?" The pilot grinned at Emet. "We did it. We repelled the attack! Bay must be finishing the job aboveground, and—"

  A deep laugher echoed in the tunnel.

  Ramses shut his mouth and stared, the blood leaving his face.

  In the darkness, metal clanked and scales chinked.

  "Emet …"

  The voice came from the darkness. Impossibly deep, rumbling, shaking the walls.

  Emet sneered and raised his rifle. His troops stood around him, guns in hands.

  A new basilisk slithered into the light. The beast was enormous, far larger than a typical basilisk. Armor covered his long, thick body, bristly with spikes. An iron helmet hid his head, covering even the eyes. Jaws emerged from this metal trap, large enough to put the mightiest shark to shame. The basilisk reared like a cobra about to strike, his scaly hood flaring. Here crawled Naja, Prince of Basilisks, high commander of the alien assault.

  Emet and his squad shouted and opened fire.

  Hundreds of bullets slammed into Naja, but they shattered against his armor, his scales, his fangs. The beast laughed and extended his arms.

  But he was not invincible. One of those scaly arms ended with a stump.

  Mairead told me, Emet remembered. She blew off his hand. In the tunnel below New York. He can be hurt. He can be killed.

  Emet drew a grenade.

  "Fire in the hole!" he cried and hurled it.

  Emet and his soldiers hit the ground.

  Naja grabbed the grenade and tossed it back.

  Emet cursed and leaped behind a pile of basilisk corpses. The grenade exploded, splattering the dead serpents. Emet roared as shrapnel slammed into his armor. A chunk drove into his thigh, and he howled.

  He rose from behind the corpses, firing Lightning. The bolts hit Naja but bounced off harmlessly. Several soldiers lay dead or dying. One man was clutching stumps where legs had been.

  Naja pounced. He leaped toward two men with machine guns, grabbed them, and ripped them apart. One man raised a flamethrower, and fire washed over Naja. The prince screamed. His armor heated up. He grabbed the soldier, bit with his powerful jaws, and ripped the man in two.

  "How the hell do we kill it?" Ramses cried.

  Despite his girth, Naja moved at incredible speed. He pounced toward soldiers. Bullets sparked against his armor. He grabbed the men, ripped arms out of sockets, tore out entrails, tossed dying men aside.

  "You son of a bitch!" Ramses cried, lifting a grenade. "Mairead took your hand, didn't she? And I'll take your head!"

  He ran toward Naja, grenade in hand.

  "Ramses!" Emet cried.

  Naja spun toward the Pharaoh, hissing. The alien mouth stretched into a bloody grin. Severed arms and strips of flesh dangled between his fangs.

  "Ah, you must be Ramses," Naja hissed. "Mairead was dear to you, wasn't she?"

  Ramses pulled the pin off his grenade. "I'll make you swallow it, you filth!"

  The Pharaoh lunged. But Naja swung his tail, knocking Ramses against the wall. The grenade rolled away.

  Emet and Ramses hit the ground and covered their heads. The grenade burst, tearing corpses apart.

  Both men came back up firing.

  Emet realized: They were the last two soldiers alive in the room.

  "Yes, Ramses." Naja turned toward the Egyptian, chortling. "You do love her. That whore Mairead. My mistress killed her only hours ago, did you know? She squealed like a pig in heat when she died."

  Ramses stared, eyes wide and red.

  "Liar!" he screamed, lunging at Naja again. "Take off your helmet! Show me your face before I carve it off!"

  Ramses leaped through the air, drawing a knife.

  Naja grabbed the officer in midair. He held Ramses up and licked his lips, a predator about to feed.

  "Ramses!" Emet shouted, running toward his friend.

  The basilisk prince laughed, holding Ramses up by the throat. The Pharaoh's legs kicked in midair. His face was turning blue.

  "Watch, Emet," Naja hissed. "You're next."

  The beast opened his jaws wide, shoved Ramses in, then bit down hard.

  Ramses shouted, kicking as the teeth tore into him.

  "No!" Emet howled, firing his gun in a fury.

  Naja lashed his tail, sending Emet flying. He hit the wall, and his gun clattered to the floor.

  The basilisk kept biting, ripping flesh. Ramses howled in agony, caught in the hungry jaws.

  "Mairead!" Ramses cried, tears in his eyes. "I love you. I love you, Mairead. I'll see you soon. We'll play poker again. I love—"

  The jaws snapped shut mightily, and Ramses spoke no more.

  Naja tossed back his head, guzzling down his victim. Ramses disappeared into the snake's belly.

  Emet stared, horror clutching his chest. For an instant, he could not move.

  Mairead is dead.

  His breath shook.

  Ramses is dead.

  His eyes burne
d.

  The rest of us will follow.

  He could not use bullets against this beast. Emet knelt and lifted a flamethrower from a dead soldier.

  So I die fighting.

  He walked toward Naja, flamethrower ready.

  "I am Emet Ben-Ari!" he said. "I am the President of Earth. I am the leader of humanity. I brought my people home—and I will cast you out. Leave, snake. This is not your world. Leave or die!"

  Naja hissed, laughing.

  "The Egyptian is dead inside me," he said. "But you I will keep alive. You I will digest for years."

  The serpent lunged, jaws opening.

  Emet blew a torrent of flame.

  The blaze slammed into Naja's jaws. The snake screeched. He pulled back, twisting. His helmet turned red with heat.

  Emet took another step closer. Another. Bathing the beast with fire.

  Naja screamed in agony, burning.

  I've got you now, worm, Emet thought.

  Naja's tail swung out from the blaze.

  Emet tried to leap aside, but he was too old, too tired, and the shrapnel twisted inside his leg. The tail drove into him, knocking him down.

  His flamethrower clattered against the floor. Naja's tail slammed down, crushing the weapon.

  Emet was out of bullets—not that they were useful here anyway. His flamethrower was crushed. His leg was badly wounded.

  But he would not retreat.

  He drew a knife.

  "I fight," Emet said, "to the death. Mine or yours."

  Burnt, dripping saliva and globs of melted flesh, Naja slithered closer. The monster's jaws opened wide, prepared to feast.

  A shout echoed in the tunnel.

  A man leaped into the room behind Naja.

  "Bay!" Emet cried.

  His son was roaring, covered with blood, eyes mad. He held two laser blades—short knives, their blades crackling with electricity. The young officer vaulted off a dead hellwolf, soared through the air, and landed on Naja's back.

  Bay drove the knifes down.

  The laser blades did what bullets could not. They seared through Naja's helmet.

  The beast screamed.

  Emet knelt and grabbed a new rifle from a dead soldier. He raised it, daring not fire yet, worried he'd hit Bay.