The Pilot

by Michael Cole

  He turned to the right, dropping to a kneeling position as a humanoid ran at him from the side. He fired two bursts, shredding the creature’s abdomen. It fell forward, blood spraying from its wounds. Its mandibles flailed over its mouth, and its pointed arms reached forward. Desperate to get to its prey, it crawled forward.

  Nagamine pointed the MP5. Like a hitman executing an assignment, he pressed it to the creature’s head point blank and fired. The head burst into several shell fragments and blood, the severed mandibles twitching in the mixture of brain matter and mud.

  It was his last shot, running his last remaining magazine dry. With no more ammo, he discarded the weapon and drew his Sig-SaurP226.

  He ducked under vines and branches as he struggled to run through the terrain. He had heard the explosion and could barely see the orange glow of the fire. Gunfire echoed throughout the jungle, though he couldn’t precisely pinpoint where it was coming from. Nagamine followed his best instinct, which told him to go for the light. He didn’t have much time, as the rain was quickly killing the fire.

  He ran through the terrain, watching the orange glow become evermore dim. He found himself surrounded by smoke, indicating he was near. The glow nearly disappeared, almost down to simmering embers. Nag snatched a flare from his pocket and ignited it. The tip broke into a flame, lighting the way as he stepped into the clearing.

  The flare flashed a red glow onto the clearing, bringing to view the carnage and devastation. Nagamine saw the ravaged remains, immediately realizing they belonged to Rex.

  Two creatures reared up from the mud. Both were humanoid in appearance, charred entrails dangling from their mandibles. Nagamine tossed the flare at them, causing both creatures to spring to their feet.

  Nagamine grasped his pistol with both hands, firing multiple shots into the nearest alien. It took six rounds in the chest, before it fell to the ground. Nagamine pivoted to aim for the second one as it sprang. Despite taking three rounds in the abdomen, the creature closed in. Nagamine fell into a somersault, rolling out of the creature’s path. It swiftly turned to pursue.

  As Nagamine rolled to his feet, he drew his ninjato from its sheath. He turned, swinging the blade in a horizontal line. Bubbling blood burst as the blade passed through the creature’s neck. The mandibles continued to flail as the head fell from the body. The headless figure twitched on its legs before finally dropping into the mud.

  Cast in a red glow from the flare, Nagamine drew a quick breath. A new smell entered his nose. He glanced to the flare, seeing a shadow emerge from the tree line. He turned to the left and fired his pistol.

  Bullets crushed against its armor as the Pilot launched itself at him. It swung its pincer glove, knocking the pistol clear from Nagamine’s grasp. The stinger protruded, and the alien shoved its right arm toward its prey.

  Nagamine swiped his blade up and across, in a windshield wiper movement. The Pilot screeched, withdrawing its arm. The severed stinger dangled from a tiny strand of tissue. Venom and blood spilled from the stump. The creature hissed violently, stepping back. The stinger broke away as the stump sank back into the palm.

  Seizing the opportunity, Nagamine lunged forward. Clutching the handle with both hands, he struck down vertically. The Pilot raised its left arm, deflecting the blade with the strange metal glove. Nagamine immediately struck again, the blade generating sparks as it was again deflected by the glove.

  The Pilot hissed as it retaliated. The pincer opened, and the beast lunged back at its enemy. Nagamine shuffled back. The tips struck together as the pincer closed inches from his face. He yelled as he slashed the sword in a low, horizontal strike. The blade clanged against the body armor, and the Pilot moved in.

  Its claw opened and thrust forward. Nagamine thrust the blade out, clanging it into the center of the glove. The pincer closed, locking in on the blade. The two stood mano-a-mano, locked in a deadly embrace.

  Nagamine sneered, trying to pull his sword free from the claw. The creature, by far superior in strength, slowly pulled back. Nagamine kept his grasp, looking into the face of his enemy, which seemed to stare back. Though there were no eyes, it clearly was looking at him.

  The pincers tightened, resulting in a loud crashing sound. Nagamine stumbled back. The blade of his sword broke just above the hilt. He dropped the handle and reached for his knife.

  The three fingers on the Pilot’s right hand clenched into a fist. The beast snarled and swung its arm downward, catching Nagamine in the temple. He fell several feet backward. Blood spat from his mouth as he lay on his back.

  The creature clicked its pincers as it marched toward him.

  ********

  Terrie ignited a flare, sparking a red glow into the trees. Seymour blasted his rifle at the incoming creatures. Bodies fell from the canopy, only for others to arrive in their place. Shooting upward, his magazine emptied.

  “I’m on my last mag!” he shouted.

  Hawk fired several rounds from her Beretta. The slide locked back. She ejected the mag, grabbing the last one from her pouch. She too, was on her last.

  “We’re not gonna last,” she said. She slammed the mag in, and pulled the slide to chamber the first round.

  Seymour struggled to think of a plan. With his weapon set on Semi-auto, he picked and chose his shots carefully. Soon he’d be out, leaving him only with his revolver. And that wouldn’t last long either.

  A thought then stuck in his mind. The flamethrower. Not his first choice for jungle warfare, but it certainly beat having no ammo at all.

  “Withdraw!” he shouted, leading the team through the path back toward the hill.

  The team retreated, with Terrie providing cover support. Creatures rained onto the ground, pursuing the team through the jungle. Terrie held her rifle from the waist. A humanoid creature closed in from a yard away, barbs protruding from each hand. She tilted the barrel up, sending a round into its chest. The beast fell backward, only for several arachnid creatures to crawl over it.

  Snatching a grenade from her vest, Terrie pulled the pin and dropped it at her feet. She turned around and sprinted to catch up. A blast ignited behind her, shooting shrapnel throughout the surrounding jungle.

  Seymour glanced back, making sure Terrie was still with him. He saw the cloud of smoke behind her. The explosion had driven the horde back, though he could still hear them scurrying through the woods.

  He turned his eyes forward, keeping track of the path before him. They were almost there.

  ********

  Nagamine reached again for his knife. He yanked it from its sheath as the creature stepped over him. It raised its clawed boot and stomped it down onto his wrist, pinning it into the ground. Bones in his forearms and wrist snapped, drawing a yell from Nagamine.

  Its pincer clicked, then opened. The Pilot thrusted the apparatus downward, clamping the pincers around Nagamine’s neck. He felt the sharp edges close in beneath his jawline, sinking into his skin.

  The Pilot stepped back, lifting its prize. Nagamine’s feet kicked nearly a yard off the ground as the Pilot lifted its arm high. Slicing and choking sensations tormented the tracker as he dangled from the claw. Grabbing the claw with his one functional hand, he tried in vain to pull the pincers apart.

  Blood gushed from his neck as the pincers began to tighten. The constriction was slow and torturous, as though the Pilot was punishing him for the severing of its stinger. The edges sliced through muscle and vocal tissue, and clamped down hard on the spinal column. Applying extra pressure, the neckbone snapped, and the two pincers met.

  ********

  The red flare still blazed as Seymour arrived in the clearing. He stopped dead in his tracks, seeing Nagamine held up in the creature’s grasp. A moment later, the metal clang of the pincers rang out, and Nagamine’s head and body fell separately to the ground.

  The Pilot turned its gaze, spotting him as he raised his rifle. It raised its glove, shielding its face from the bombardment Seymour rapidly fired at the creature’s
head.

  Terrie and Hawk arrived behind him, and immediately started firing at the beast. The Pilot turned and retreated into the jungle. Yelling in anger, Seymour ran after it, firing his last burst of ammo in the creature’s trajectory. He drew his revolver, ready to run after it.

  “No, stop!” Terrie yelled. Seymour kept his gaze on the dark canvas, desperate to kill the creature and avenge his men. He stepped back, allowing reason to overtake his emotion.

  CHAPTER

  32

  The team quickly checked behind them. The creatures appeared to have given up their pursuit. However, with the thick terrain, and howling of the wind, they could be anywhere. Hawk and Terrie watched the perimeter as Seymour inspected the flamethrower. He pressed the trigger, determining the root of the problem.

  He bled the pipe, clearing it of the air that jammed the flow, pointing the nozzle into the jungle to test it. At the press of the trigger, a stream of fire shot into the trees.

  After strapping the harness over his shoulders, he looked down at Nagamine’s beheaded corpse. A few feet away from it was the severed stinger, and the broken sword. At least the bastard didn’t get away unscathed. However, considering the creature’s healing process, he knew the injury was likely not permanent.

  Seymour lifted the shaft and sprayed a stream of fire into the woods. The flames did not trigger any motion nor screeches, indicating the creatures were not in the immediate proximity. He looked to the ground, seeing Nagamine’s pistol. He picked it up, then walked over to the body. He gave a brief moment of silence, then dug for any remaining contents in Nag’s vest. He had one grenade left over, and two extra mags for the pistol. He held them out to Hawk. “Here, take these.”

  A wave of guilt swept over the agent. She reluctantly accepted the gun and magazines, replacing her empty Beretta.

  “Why aren’t they making another run at us?” Terrie whispered.

  “They’re probably regrouping,” Seymour said. “That alien, the Pilot, it’s like a tactician. It ordered its soldiers in and flushed us out. Even just a few minutes ago; it diverted us. Its spawn…how it made Ivan call out to us…they knew they were setting a trap. They seem to understand our language.”

  “They’re an invasive species,” Hawk said. “The Pilot goes planet to planet, infecting the indigenous life with its spore. It spawns its own little army, and they wipe out the population, propagating the species. When they do, they probably face resistance, and have to learn tactics to overcome any defenses.”

  “We’re probably not the first intelligent species it’s come across,” Seymour said.

  “No…God only knows how many worlds this thing has wiped out,” Hawk said. She put a hand on her head, stunned by the realization. “We’re lucky to have made it this far.”

  “It probably didn’t expect us to have these.” He tapped the flamethrower.

  “They definitely don’t like fire,” Terrie said.

  “The younger ones…They’re smaller. They can be killed much more easily than the Pilot,” Seymour said.

  “It might be due to maturity,” Hawk said. “Or it could just be different characteristics. As you saw, some looked much different than others. Hell, some are as small as a cat. The insect-looking ones seem to take more damage than the humanoids. Plus, none of them have the technology the Pilot possesses.”

  “Maturity?” Seymour said. “You think, the longer these things live, the more they evolve?”

  “I’m learning just as you are,” Hawk said. “Like I said, I only suspected a threat. I wasn’t aware of HOW this thing would bring disaster.”

  “Speaking of how… HOW are we getting out of here? Do we have a plan?” Terrie asked.

  “We can’t stay here,” Seymour said. “We need to find a place to hole-up until morning.”

  “I say we make our way to the harbor,” Hawk said.

  “In this storm?” Seymour said. “Not a good idea. We’ll make our way to the construction site. There’s weapons, and ammo, and we can hole up inside the remaining bulldozers…”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Hawk said. Seymour glared at her.

  “You’re learning as we are, eh?” he said. “Seems like there’s something you’re already aware of that we’re not purvey to.”

  Hawk lamented, looking up to the sky. “There’s an air-strike scheduled to begin tomorrow.”

  “Ohhh…an airstrike! Well, that’s just LOVELY,” Seymour said. “And just when were you gonna tell us about that?”

  “I didn’t know we were gonna be attacked,” Hawk said. “I called after we discovered the embryo. I figured we’d last the night in the bunker, then leave a little before dawn when the storm let up. As long as we made a straight shot to the harbor, we’d be gone in time.”

  “Obviously we weren’t supposed to know about it,” Terrie said.

  “Another part of the coverup,” Seymour said. “Let me guess; they’re going to coat this island in napalm, aren’t they?”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Hawk said. “Look how fast they’ve spread! Even the North Koreans understood this. You saw that those helicopters had been shot down by their own people and torched, by the looks of it. If these things get off the island…if they got into a major city…just imagine!”

  “I think the C.I.A. is more concerned with the coverup aspect,” Seymour said. “But luckily, it does solve that issue.”

  “When does the strike begin?” Terrie asked.

  “Noon,” Hawk said.

  “I guess we’re going to the harbor,” Seymour said.

  “Are you able to contact Charlie?” Terrie asked. “I know he doesn’t want to fly in this storm, but…”

  “I lost the radio in the bunker,” Seymour said. “Ivan had the other one, AND the transponder.” He looked at Hawk. “You still have that satellite phone?” She shook her head, as it too was lost during the chaos. “Alright, let’s get moving. We can contact him from the Zodiac…assuming we make it there alive.” He turned and led the way through the jungle.

  Every few meters, he would spark a flame, hoping to deter the creatures from another attack.

  CHAPTER

  33

  “Eagle Nest to Hatchling, report status, over,” Charlie said into the transmitter. It was his tenth attempt to make contact. He had flown seventy miles south, keeping out of range of the typhoon. His plane bounced along the waters, as the edge of the storm still battered the Philippine Sea. The worst of the storm was now passing through. The winds had decreased to forty miles per hour. By the time he would arrive at the island, the storm would have passed almost entirely.

  Seymour was thirty minutes overdue for his zero-five-hundred check-in. It was unlike his leader to miss such a deadline. These were his rules, and he above everyone else followed them to the letter. The radio silence made Charlie increasingly uneasy.

  Charlie started pondering the possibilities. He hoped for equipment malfunction. Considering the weather and terrain, it was a possibility. He debated in his mind what to do. Each time he felt the urge to fly to the island, he would recall Seymour’s instruction; “Do NOT attempt to come here unless you’ve heard from us.” Charlie leaned over the console again and pressed the transmitter.

  “Hatchling, this is Eagle Nest, acknowledge transmission,” he said. No answer came through. “Hatchling…Seymour…Anybody, please respond.” He depressed the transmitter. Nothing. “Shit!” he said to himself. He stepped away to pace along the first compartment. He stopped to look at his various monitors. He had managed to get a satellite image of the island. He glared at the center, knowing that’s where the bunker was located. His eyes trailed down to the peninsula, where he would dock the plane at the harbor.

  Seymour’s instruction replayed in his mind again. At the present, there was nothing he could do. He took a seat in the cockpit, watching the waves roll about in the seemingly infinite ocean.

  A low-pitched beep sounded from one of the computers. Charlie stood up and walked i
nto the compartment. One of the monitors switched on, displaying a digital global map sheet. A red dot appeared on the western Pacific, seventy miles north of his position.

  The emergency transponder had been activated.

  A fuzzy static crackled over the radio, causing Charlie to run back into the cockpit. He quickly pressed the transmitter.

  “This is Eagle Nest. Did not receive your transmission,” he said. “I repeat…did NOT receive. Please repeat.” Static came through once again. Charlie could recognize the sound of howling wind. Wherever it was coming from, it was not within the bunker. “Seymour?”

  “…me…” a voice spoke through the static and wind.

  “Please repeat,” Charlie said.

  The voice came through again, spoken extremely slowly. “Re…quesssst…piiccckuup…”

  “The fuck?” Charlie muttered. He clicked the transmitter. “Ivan?”

  “Y-Y-Y-Yes.” His voice was very slow. The brief levity Charlie felt dissipated, replaced by increased nervousness. Even when drunk, he’d never heard the brute speak so slobbery.

  “Where’s Seymour? Where’s the others?” he asked. Static crackled over the radio, but no answer. “Ivan? Please respond.” He waited, but there was no response. Something was wrong. He feared the team was in trouble. The fact that Seymour himself was not answering was already a bad sign.

  Charlie moved back to the map. He manipulated the touch screen to zoom in on the island. The blip was flashing near the north side. He then compared the location to the satellite image on the island, and the images he saved from his drone. It was the flat plain near the northern cliffs. It would be a bumpy landing, but he felt he could pull it off. He hurried back to the cockpit.

  “This is Charlie,” he said, dropping the formal etiquette. “I’m on route. Stand by.”

  The engines roared to life, and the propellers twirled. The plane skidded forward along the surface, until finally the nose tilted upward. In seconds, the plane was airborne, moving north toward Kuretasando.