by S. A. Lusher
“If only,” Allan muttered. He glanced up, opened his eyes. “What kind of landing abilities does this thing have?”
“Not as much as I'd like. It's really more of a last-ditch kind of thing. But I'd suggest you hold on to something because the survival rate-”
The cockpit smashed into the ground.
Despite having held onto whatever he could find, Allan shot forward and rolled across cramped interior of the cockpit. A sharp bark of pain escaped him and he smashed into some of the instrumentation panels, his head banging against the inside of his helmet, his bruised and tired limbs seeming to cry out at the abuse.
All was still, then.
They'd crashed, and he was still alive. Allan groaned as he rose shakily to his feet.
“Come on,” he said. “Help me find a way out of here.”
He looked around the top of the cabin for a long moment before realizing that there hadn't been a response. He looked down at the pilot and saw the man was still sprawled across his workstation. The straps holding him had broken. Blood was leaking slowly out of him from some wound. Allan reached down, grabbed the man by his shoulders and lifted. The pilot's head hung at an awkward angle and he could see at once that not only had his throat had been cut fatally by some debris, but his neck had also been broken.
“Fuck,” he whispered, laying the man back down.
He was alone now. Truly alone. Well, except for the killer. Who was probably on the way. Never enough time. It took him a moment, but he soon remembered the easiest way to escape one of these things. Glancing up, Allan spied the escape hatch. He reached up and opened it, a weary smile growing on his face as he stared up into the sunshine. Quickly, he clambered up and out of the hatch, staring around him, expecting to see the killer.
Several hundred meters back, he could see the smoking wreckage they'd created. He thought he could see a shape coming towards him. When he turned his gaze back in the way he had to go, his eyes fell on a jeep, manned by two soldiers in tank-tops and fatigue pants. They were both leaning against the exterior, staring at him.
“Hey!” he called, hoping off the cockpit and hurrying over to them. “I'm with Special Operations, I need your jeep.”
Both men seemed to pale at the mention of Spec Ops. One of them glanced down at a rolled up joint in his hand.
“Uh...” he managed, then he threw it away.
“Look, just...get in the jeep,” Allan said, throwing open the driver's side door and hopping in. The others hesitated further, then hopped in after him. He spied the distant shape of their outpost, which happened to be in the direction he needed to go, threw the jeep into drive and took off, stomping on the gas pedal.
“What the fuck's going on?” one of them asked.
“You don't need to mention the weed, right? I mean, it was just a little,” the other said timidly.
Allan laughed. Even though it was legal now, weed was most definitely off limits when you were on-base or on duty.
“I don't give a shit about your weed. I'm dropping you off at your base and taking the jeep. Officially Spec Ops business,” Allan replied. He hesitated as a thought occurred to him. “Also, listen, I need you to get in contact with...someone high up. Colonial Authority. Someone who runs this fucking shitheap of a planet. I need you to order a planetary evacuation. I'm destroying this planet. Do you understand me?”
There was dead silence in the jeep.
“Do you fucking understand me!? That's a fucking order!” he snapped.
“Yes, sir!” they both replied in unison.
“Good.”
They drove on until they'd reached the base, at which point he shouted for them to get out. Once they were gone, he stomped on the gas pedal once more, hurrying across the desert, hoping against hope that he could somehow get this done.
There was only one thing left to do now. Just one more thing. Start the last destabilizer, and then...what?
What exactly was he supposed to do next?
Allan supposed it didn't matter.
He drove on.
Chapter 16
–Planet Killer–
Alone for the last time.
Allan watched the miles of sun-drenched wasteland roll by as he sped as quickly as the jeep would allow. There were no structures. No people. No vehicles. Nothing to indicate that anyone had ever lived on this miserable planet. Only the desert and another mountain rising up in the distance, presumably where he had to go. He'd activated Poet's database and pulled the information from it. The final destabilizer was in another cave system.
He tried to stop looking in the rearview mirror, but it was a difficult thing to break. He kept expecting to see a cloud of dust, a speck of a vehicle on the horizon. The killer was coming for him. Somehow, someway, he was coming. And if Allan died, so did everyone else. For a moment, he lamented his task.
It wasn't just not fair, it was insanity. He hadn't asked for this crap, didn't want to do anything more than have a normal life. But what was a normal life? Trying to find it here, on backwater Lindholm, had failed utterly. But what could he do? What was there to be done? Part of him was angry. This was the fucking twenty three hundreds, for fuck's sake! How did they not have answers to problems like his at this point!?
But what was his problem, anyway?
He couldn't quite pinpoint it, except that anything resembling 'life' grew harder and harder to maintain, even on a basic level, while the job got easier. Fear was important to have in a job where you were there was a good chance you were going to die at any moment. But there had to be a balance of it. Not too much, not too little. Too much, and you froze. Too little and you ran off like a dumbass into the field of fire because you thought nothing could happen to you. Sometimes Allan thought he'd found that equilibrium.
But now he wondered if he'd gone too far into the other side. He still afraid, but even the most gut-wrenching moments of blind terror didn't feel as powerful as they should have. It was less fear he was feeling and more the memory of fear. Allan could distinctly remember thinking, several times in fact, that he didn't care whether he lived or died. Was that still true? Examining the notion during a quiet period, he reluctantly decided it was true.
But...reluctantly?
How did that make any kind of sense? If he was reluctant about not caring about dying, didn't that very reluctance mean the exact opposite?
Allan wondered if this is what insanity felt like.
He realized that he was nearly at the base of the mountain, and that someone had beat him there. A jump ship was nestled not far from the entrance of a cave. It leaned lazily to one side, and Allan realized that one of the landing struts had been broken. The cargo ramp was down. As he drew closer, he saw a body, encased in black-and-silver armor, leaning half-in, half-out of the back of the ship. Allan stopped the jeep a few feet from the ship.
He hopped out, hurrying over to the corpses. In all, he counted four. He found one in the pilot's seat, another local like the man who had been flying his own vessel, a Security-Investigations man. His neck was crushed to the point of ridiculousness. Besides the body hanging aslant along the ramp, there was a third on the floor of the main cabin. Both Spec Ops troops. One man was missing his head, another both his arms.
He patted them down for any kind of weapons, hoping that Montgomery might have gotten them some of those special nano bullets, but found no such luck. He stepped out and began making for the cave entrance. There, he found Montgomery, her faceplate broken, one green eye, cloudy with blood, staring up into the sunshine.
“I'll get it done,” he said quietly to her as he passed.
No time for grief, no time to hesitate. The killer was coming. He'd be lucky if he could get down and back up again.
Allan ran through the cave system, remembering the simple map that was in Poet's database. He listened to the dull sounds of his boots hitting the uneven ground, threading his way through the tunnels and caverns, trying not to think about his encounter with the killer and Spe
c Ops for the first time in a similar location.
Before he knew it, he was at the elevator, tucked away into a dead dark natural room. He stepped onto the lift, activated it and plunged into the earth. No time to think. He recalled the ignition sequence and unlock code he'd memorized. The lift came to a halt and he traversed the short distance between it and the final terminal. Working quickly but carefully, Allan brought the old terminal online, then punched in the code.
The screen flashed green, then went dead.
Allan turned and hurried back to the lift. He hopped onboard and hit the up button. As he ascended, he thought he could feel light tremors, but decided that it must have been either his imagination or perhaps just the old elevator. Then the lift finish its ascent and locked into place. He stepped off and hesitated, waiting, trying to feel for shifts in the earth around him. He could feel very faint vibrations, but couldn't decide if he was just imagining it.
Either way, he didn't want to be in this cave. Allan moved as quickly as he could, retracing his path through the empty tunnels, eager to be back out in the sunlight and...doing what, exactly? The logical step seemed to be to escape the planet. Should he? Did he deserve to? Well, first he'd better at least find out if it was possible.
By the time Allan emerged back into the sunlight, he knew that the tremors were not his imagination. A low-level earthquake was shaking the area. And it would likely only get worse...the sun would get brighter...everything would begin to get hotter...
He tried not to think of it.
Allan glanced back the way he'd come and spied a not-so-distant dust cloud. The killer was coming for him. He didn't have long. Allan slid into the driver's seat of the jeep and booted up the navigational database. Working quickly, feeling the press of time from both the killer and the planet's approaching demise, Allan checked to see what was in the area that he could work with. He only had one hit, and it should have been obvious.
The military base he'd dropped the two soldiers off at. As he glanced up through the windshield, thinking for a second, an even more obvious answer hit him.
“I am getting very stupid,” he muttered.
He hopped out of the jeep and tore across the sand towards the jump ship. Hauling himself up into the leaning mess, he hurried into the cockpit and pulled the pilot out of the seat. His hands flew over the instrumentation panels, and those that hadn't been smashed in the altercation flickered weakly to life. He ran a quick diagnostic on the ship. Precious seconds passed as the internal database worked. He counted off thirty heart-pounding seconds.
The answer came back: the ship was useless.
It couldn't fly in its current condition.
“Oh come on!” Allan shrieked, shooting to his feet, turning and running back to the jeep. The killer's own vehicle was much closer now.
Allan hopped into his jeep, fired it up and hit the pedal. Spinning around, he shot off directly into the path of the killer. For a moment, he found himself wondering why the fuck the killer hadn't gone down and destroyed the destabilizer terminal. He'd obviously found out what they were doing, or he wouldn't have killed Montgomery and then gone after Allan and Poet. Did he think he'd have enough time to kill Allan instead?
Considering it, he decided that it must be the killer's mental instability. Hell, he'd done some pretty stupid things when he was just tired. But the killer...this entity had been locked away in a box for...how long? Thousands of years, hundreds of thousands? He couldn't remember, but he knew it was an absurdly long time.
Honestly, given the circumstances, Allan was surprised that the killer was as together as he was. He shook his head. This didn't matter. Who cared why the situation was as it was, it only mattered that these were the circumstances. Sitting there wondering why your house was on fire was always a worse idea than actually fucking doing something about it. Why and how could come later, if at all. Sometimes, all you could do was react.
He could see the killer now, driving another jeep, coming right for him. When they were within ten meters of each other, Allan swerved, giving the killer's vehicle a very wide berth, ensuring that he couldn't make any last second changes that would fuck up his escape plan. The killer's jeep began to swerve with him, but all it could do was make a course correction and follow him. Allan sped away as quickly as he could.
The military installation wasn't all that far.
All around him, the planet continued to shake, heading for its demise.
* * * * *
Allan threw the jeep into park and hopped out just short of the main gate that would allow him access to the military base. It was slightly ajar. That didn't bode well. Not that it mattered, anyway. His heart pounding, tension clawing at his sanity, he pushed through the gate while casting one nervous glance back the way he'd come.
The killer's jeep was kicking up a cloud of dust not all that far away.
He hurried across the concrete perimeter between the fence and the main structure. This was his last chance. If he didn't find some way to get the hell out of here...well, that was it then. As he stepped into the structure, Allan pulled out the pistol. He took a moment to count his bullets. Setting down both his pistol and Poet's, he extracted the magazine from Poet's and took out the nano-enhanced bullets, then fed them into the magazine of his own pistol.
He had six shots left.
Not much to work with, especially considering the fact that each time he used them, they bought him less and less time, as the killer's body was no doubt working up a resistance to the technology. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use them.
Loading the gun back up, he set it into its holster and set off into the base. It was abandoned, and he couldn't find any evidence of corpses or assault. It seemed that the soldiers had taken him seriously at least. He wondered how they were doing, if they'd managed to get some kind of evacuation plan going or if it even mattered.
Hurrying through derelict corridors, past an empty mess hall, a lonely infirmary, he hunted with a hectic terror for the hangar. His hope hung by a thread. A part of his badly bruised and battered rational mind asked again why bother? He'd done his job. Why not just give up and give in? Lay down and just die? It'd be so much easier.
Allan decided that survival instincts were bullshit, but undeniable.
He finally stepped into the hangar and stopped. As he laid eyes on the jump ship that was nestled in the center of the large room, he felt the urge to get the fuck out of there and really be alive burst forth from within him like a supernova.
Allan took two steps towards it before the killer burst into the room via punching a hole in the far wall. Debris and bits of the wall exploded into the room as the killer made his entrance. Allan raised the pistol and fired. The killer moved swiftly, narrowly avoiding the bullet, but Allan was ready for that. He tracked and fired again.
The bullet embedded itself in the killer's neck and instantly the killer went limp, collapsing to the ground. Allan sprinted across the hangar, reached the back of the jump ship and hit the button for the cargo ramp. It began to lower. He glanced back and screamed in startled terror as he saw that the killer was already back up and coming for him again. Allan aimed and fired once more. As he watched the killer collapse to the ground again, he noted that he only had three rounds left. Would it be enough? Somehow he doubted it.
Allan clawed ship, his skin crawling with apprehension at every second that fell back. As he hit the cockpit door and smashed the open button, he heard the thud of the killer's boot on the cargo ramp. He turned and fired again. Not even waiting for the killer to fall, he scurried into the cockpit, his hands flying over the instrument panels, bringing the ship online. His heart hammered in his chest. He felt like it was going to burst.
All around him, the planet was shaking.
He heard a sound behind him. Allan turned and fired again, buying himself perhaps another thirty seconds at best, watching the killer fall again. He only had one bullet left. One fucking bullet. There was a beep, the ship was ready to go. Fa
ster than was safe, he brought the ship out of the hangar and into the sky.
The killer was up again, boots thudding as he stalked the length of the cabin, coming for the cockpit. Allan brought the ship skywards, pointing the nose almost perfectly vertical. He heard a sharp thud and glanced back, seeing that the killer had fallen and was now tumbling out the back. He began laughing victoriously, then froze as he spied the killer's hand grab onto the cargo ramp. His other hand came up, gripped the ramp as well, and he began climbing back into the jump ship. Allan looked down at his pistol.
Only one shot.
He turned around fully in the seat, momentarily letting go of the wheel, and took aim. Without hesitating, he fired as soon as the killer's body was in sight. The nano-enhanced bullet hit him square his broad chest. It wasn't enough for him to go entirely limp this time, but it was enough for him to lose his grip.
The killer tumbled back the way he'd come and disappeared, plummeting. Allan knew he'd survive the fall, but it didn't matter, the planet was doomed anyway. He spun back around and snatched the controls, steadying the vessel.
As he began to escape orbit, he closed the back ramp.
* * * * *
It seemed impossible, like some kind of feverish delusion or faraway fantasy, but he had made it. Somehow, he'd survived.
As soon as Allan had broken orbit and was free of the planet, making sure that he wouldn't be disturbed by its gradual path towards the local star, he collapsed backwards, boneless like a ragdoll, into the pilot's chair.
Alone, he was truly alone now.
He simply sat there for a long, long moment, not paying any attention to the seconds ticking by, morphing slowly into minutes. Instead, he focused on the planet, on Lindholm, making a slow burn towards the sun. It was too difficult to tell if there were any ships coming off of it, but there was no indication of the mass exodus he'd been praying for.
How many had died?
How many had he killed?
