by David Coy
The alien brought the organism closer to Gilbert’s face. Gilbert thought he saw several of the dark, wet tendrils raise up in his direction as if pulled by static. If he didn’t answer, the alien would attach the parasite. That was certain. He had already surrendered all there was about the Earth’s major weather patterns. He had little to bargain with now.
He decided to do what he did best.
“The poison was produced from an . . . the base was derived from nicotine, a component of the cigarettes you provide. The tobacco was heated to extract the . . . nicotine. The nicotine was further heated to . . . to separate and . . . concentrate the alkaloid.”
“How?”
“It was heated in cans and . . . condensed out, on the inside of a short . . . tube . . . ”
“How much was made?”
“The entire supply of tobacco yielded . . . less than a gram of useable poison. Only enough to coat . . . two or three tips as you saw.”
“There is no more?”
“There is no more,” Gilbert said and prayed.
The alien raised the parasite up over Gilbert Keefer’s head. Gilbert moaned and shook so violently to get away from it that his glasses flew off his modified head. The tendrils touched cool, wet and still on his forehead then sprang to life and writhed and crawled on his face and head seeking greedy entrance. He screamed and flailed and the vines holding him tightened further. The first tendril, squirming stiffly, went up his right nostril into his sinus and down the back of his throat. The others crawled into his ears and crashed with the sound of dynamite through his eardrums. He thrashed and clamped his thin lips tight but the sharp, stiff tips of the tendrils found the corners of his mouth and worked in.
The pain that would not end began. His body stiffened.
When the alpha returned to its chamber, it summoned the others and told them that the danger was no danger at all. A few captives may have escaped and would be recaptured soon.
The strange one was no longer of use and was being made to suffer. The weather information was filled with untruth.
* * *
“That’s the lab up ahead,” Bailey said quietly, pointing to the large opening. “It’s so gross.”
“Get ready,” Phil said and plucked an arrow out of Seseidi’s quiver. Seseidi took the hint and withdrew another and mounted it in the bow.
Phil approached slowly and peeked around the edge of the opening. When he looked back at them his face was a mask of fear and hatred. He signaled Seseidi up with a wagging finger then guided him up to the edge of the opening by the shoulders as if showing a kid a display at the zoo.
Phil thought about just walking past the opening and continuing on. Something told him that just wouldn’t be right.
“Kill them,” he said calmly and made like shooting the bow at them.
Seseidi took aim and let the first arrow fly.
At the sound of the bow, the closest alien looked up with a snap of its head and the arrow struck it in the face. It squealed and grabbed the sagging shaft and held it there as if holding it up neutralized it. The second alien looked up and froze when it saw Phil and the Indian standing in the opening. Seseidi readied another arrow and took aim.
Too easy, Phil thought. Much too easy.
Phil stopped the Indian with an open hand and stomped—his rage boiling with each step—into the chamber.
The first alien was still squealing and holding the arrow by the shaft. In its other hand was a hissing cutter which the alien lifted in Phil’s direction. Phil grabbed the thin wrist and nearly crushed it with the force of his grip. The cutter dropped to the table. Phil picked it up, and still holding the alien by its arm, proceeded to cut the alien’s hand off with a quick zip. The spidery hand plopped to the floor.
“Doesn’t work so good on a subject who’s . . . not paralyzed, does it?”
The alien animal just stood there, and Phil grabbed it by the snout and, running the cutter under its head, nearly decapitated it. It collapsed on the floor, and Phil tossed the cutter down on it. He was a little pissed that it died so quickly and relatively painlessly.
There was still one more to try his secret weapon on.
The second alien was much more determined in its bid for escape and, like a frightened animal, tried to run away from the monster stalking it. Its sudden, shifting movements set off some primal predatory response in Phil, making him focus on it and increasing his rage. Squealing, it dashed around the table and tried to figure a way out of the lab, but the little Indian held it at bay by shaking the bow at it. Dodging and feinting, Phil worked it into a space between two pods and watched as it tried to press itself into the very wall in its attempt to get away. Terrified, its hands worked at the space behind the pod, trying to get into the impossible space. It hissed and bared its teeth and squealed. Its sparse coat of spines stood straight up.
This was the conquering race, Phil thought with disgust. A vicious, squirming little monster right out of a science fiction novel. Goddamn it!
He almost reached in and dragged it out, but the revulsion of touching it was too much. Besides, he could use his weapon on it right where it was just fine. He raised his booted foot as high as he could and stomped the alien under its arm once, hard, turning the squeal into a high-pitched heef! once again, and it fell to the floor mewing pitiably. He began to kick it with hard, carefully placed kicks to the head and mid-section until the sound stopped. Then he kicked its head several times more for good measure.
“Fucking piece of shit!” he hissed through clenched teeth and kicked it again. “Die!”
Mary and Bailey watched over the Indian’s shoulder.
“Jesus . . . ” Mary said.
“Cool,” Bailey added.
Seseidi watched and was much impressed with the fierceness of the white warrior. It was good, very good how he killed the ugly little spirit. He must get boots like that someday, too.
“Where the fuck are the incubation cells from here!” Phil yelled at Bailey.
Bailey thought about it and pointed.
“They should be right over there on the other side of the . . . uh . . . central thing . . . a few loops up. I think. Oh, can we . . . please?”
Phil knew what was on her mind: the same thing that was on his. His blood was boiling and that was all that mattered in the universe.
“There’s been a change in plans,” he barked. “Move!”
“Yes!” Bailey exclaimed.
Mary started to say something.
“Move!”
Bailey sprinted off in the lead.
16
R evenge burned and only the blood of those who had ignited it could snuff it. The big chamber where the extractions took place was divided into three areas: the impregnation cells where the captives were exposed to the wasps; a row of horizontal chambers against another wall where the captives were contained while the eggs hatched and grew to full size; and the open center area with surgical tables where the larvae were extracted. The chamber was large, about forty feet across with a twenty-foot, hemispherical ceiling. Two tubes emptied into the chamber.
There was a convenient bend in the tube just before it opened into the big chamber. As they approached, the air filled with the strained, plaintive groaning of the captives on the aliens’ tables. The sound was as tangible and oppressive as a wet blanket.
Holding the others back and sticking tight to the wall, Phil moved up to peek around the corner.
There were four witches working over the splayed-open bodies of captives, and two big bastards in the chamber assisted the witches. One of the goons was carrying a young woman with blond hair from the impregnation cells to the incubation cells. Her bare legs were bruised and one of them was smeared with what Phil took as the remains of a wasp. She must have been quick, or lucky; Phil had never heard of a captive smashing a wasp in the cells.
He pulled back slowly.
“Two bastards. Four witch-bitches,” he whispered. “Nothing leaves alive.”
Phil thought it out. “Look, the little brown dude can probably shoot the big pricks from here. As soon as he darts the second one, we charge in and take up positions in front of the far entrance to block the witches’ escape. The last thing we want is one of those fuckers getting out. Got it?”
Mary and Bailey nodded.
“Good,” he said.
He pulled Seseidi a little aside, then imitated a goon with his arms out wide and with his cheeks puffed. Then, he made like he was shooting the bow and the goon was taking the arrow in the gut.
Seseidi nodded, flashed a smile and pulled out three arrows from the quiver. He nocked one and holding the others against the front section of the bow, moved up into position. Shirtless, he was almost perfectly camouflaged against the brown wall.
Wasting no time, he drew the arrow back and took aim on the most distant goon’s back. He let the arrow go. The deep thrump sound from the bow was swallowed up by the groans coming from the chamber. No sooner had he shot than his quick hands were making another arrow ready to fly.
The arrow struck the goon in the upper center of the back. The goon snapped around to confront the source of the offending pain. When it did, the arrow came away from its tip and flew to the floor. It bounced soundlessly on the rubbery surface.
Seseidi took aim on the second goon.
When the Indian released the arrow, Phil, Mary and Bailey rushed by him almost before it was clear of the bow. The arrow struck the second goon in the shoulder just as the first one dropped dead. The aliens hadn’t seen or heard a thing until that moment, so intent were they on their jobs, but they saw the sprinting shapes of Phil and Mary. Sensing danger, they hissed at them as they streaked past. Phil was almost to the far tube when one of the aliens, smelling the trap, ran toward the opening to get out. Phil sprinted up behind it a few steps and was intercepted by the second goon and knocked face down to the floor.
When he turned, the big bastard was standing over him with the arrow hanging out of its shoulder like a stiff, paralytic arm. Phil could see the bands of ink he’d drawn on the shaft to indicate a possible weak dosage. The creature reached down and picked Phil up by the shirt as if he were stuffed with straw. Just as his feet left the ground, Seseidi’s third arrow flew past Phil’s head and stuck in the goon’s neck. The creature dropped Phil; and by the time its enormous hand found the tiny shaft, it fell over backwards, hitting the floor with a heavy thump.
When Phil looked down the far tunnel, Mary was standing with her foot in the middle of the back of the alien that had tried to get away, pinning it securely to the floor. Bailey was holding a dart to the thing’s neck with both hands.
“Kill it!” Phil yelled.
Bailey jammed the dart down hard with an animal grunt and the alien screeched like an oversized kitten.
“Yummy,” Bailey said with a psychotic twang, backing away from it.
The alien started to mew in a long, rasping monotone. Mary continued to hold it down and its thin arms flailed uselessly. Phil had been right about their fighting ability: they didn’t have any.
Phil tramped over to Mary’s position. He could see its contorted face, and its disgusting, lipless howl filled him with a lust to smash its skull. “Make it shut up!” he snarled.
Mary stomped down hard on its back a few times, but all she did was modulate the howling mew up and down a scale.
Phil brought his foot up and came down in a fury on the side of the thing’s long, pointed head. He felt bone click and break under his boot. It was one of the most satisfying sensations he’d ever felt. The hideous mewing stopped abruptly.
Phil stomped its head again and again, crushing it down until dark fluid ran out the thing’s nose and mouth.
He looked over at Bailey who, with the Indian, now had the other tube blocked squarely. Dart at the ready, she threatened the aliens, hooting and jabbing at them. The aliens formed up into a squirming knot in the center of the chamber.
Phil walked over to within arm’s reach and put a dart’s tip into the hissing parted lips of the closest alien.
“Bastards,” he hissed back.
He looked over at the woman on the closest table. Her torso was opened in several huge incisions, the flesh neatly stretched back and pinned by dark alien clamps. She was watching Phil and through the sickly veil of shock and pain, he could detect just the slightest smile on her face. She looked kindly and generous, and her eyes were wise and the deepest green in color. Phil was certain she was someone’s good and loving mother.
That was it.
“You mother fuckers!” he said and jammed the shaft of the dart hard up into the alien’s pallet. The alien choked and stumbled backward. When it started to mew, the sound caused Phil to snap. He grabbed it by the throat. The other aliens shrank back like fearful rats. Phil breathed deep and luxuriously through his clenched teeth and squeezed the thin neck until his fingers nearly touched. He could feel its spines pierce his skin.
In a most bizarre gesture, one of the other aliens reached out and gently patted Phil’s arm to try to make him let go, as if there had been some horrible, correctable misunderstanding. The action filled him with such hatred that he felt he would explode. He grabbed that one by the neck, too, and choked off its air like a living clamp. The sensation of their loose, spiny skin under his hands inspired him to crush even harder. Their stiff little fingers clawed at the thick, straining muscles in his forearms. Holding them by their necks, he stood there, squeezing them until his arms trembled with the strain. He grinned a clenched, feral grin and squeezed and squeezed until they hung limp.
Bailey moved up behind the last one, drew her club from her belt and brought it down on its head with such ferocity that its dark blood splattered Phil’s face. When the alien fell to the floor, she continued to bash it until large sections of bloody white cartilage showed through on its face and head.
She reached down and wrapped her arms around the alien’s short legs and with a deep growl, lifted it up. Using her strong legs and back as a counterweight, she proceeded to swing it again and again against the hard edge of the nearest table. She continued to pulverize it until she could no longer lift it.
They would have continued to strangle and homogenize the monsters forever if Mary hadn’t intervened.
“Stop,” she said. “They’re dead. Bailey. Phil. Stop.”
Now kneeling among the dead aliens and still choking them, Phil finally let go and got up. He shook the cramps out his hands and smiled sheepishly, crazily at Mary.
Seseidi had watched the whole thing from the safety of the farthest wall and thought only of how fierce the white warrior was to do this thing to the enemy, and he smiled. He had never seen such fierceness in a woman, however. This confused him. He smiled anyway.
Bailey gave hers one last kick. “Now I don’t give a shit what happens to me.”
“Well, there’s more to do,” Phil said shaking the circulation back into his hands. He picked up his darts and considered them. “These things work great!” He shook them in victory in Seseidi’s direction.
“Phil, we can’t just leave these people like this,” Mary said.
Phil looked over at the woman on the table and saw the look of thanks on her face. She must have seen the entire bloody bacchanal.
He pulled Bailey around and dug the plastic bag full of poisoned slivers out of the pocket of her quiver and gingerly took one out. He thought about it, then reached over and laid it gently into a deep incision on the woman’s abdomen. Then he reached down and touched the woman’s head and brought his face close to hers.
“It won’t hurt,” he whispered then held the bag out to Mary and Ned.
“Do the others.”
“I . . . uh . . . ” Mary started.
“Just do it, goddamn it!” Phil snapped.
There were four people on the tables. A moment later, they were dead.
He considered opening the impregnation and inc
ubation cells and killing the captives in them but decided against it. If they were successful, and Phil had his way, the entire ship and everything in it would be dead soon enough. Besides, the impregnation cells had wasps in them, and he had no idea how to remove them.
“Let’s go,” Phil said. “Where’s the spinal cord from here?”
“It’s . . . ” Bailey began but didn’t finish.
An all too familiar phoop sound filled the chamber. It was followed by a quick smack that made her jump, and Bailey looked at her arm. The burr had pinned her denim shirt to her flesh right at her bicep. She barked a crazy laugh and looked at Phil with a broad, silly smile. “Uh oh,” she said like it was a joke then collapsed like soft clay.
Phil looked at the far entrance. Standing in it were three goons, all armed with burr shooters. He roared a deep roar of rage and turned; but before he’d taken a step, they fired, and he felt the solid smack of the burr in the center of his back. The burr’s heat covered his back and neck instantly, turning his bones to putty. The black, rubbery floor came at his face in slow motion.
Mary was in mid-stride when the burr hit her in the left buttock. She continued for a few more steps before the paralyzing warmth drew the strength from her legs and sent her sprawling on the floor.
Her mind formed not a word, but a sound, like a wound-up thing running down.
* * *
Phil willed his muscles to move, to twitch; to work his will, but they totally refused.
He forced his eyes to focus.
He was upside down and could see his own arms dangling down and the floor of the tube beyond his limp hands. The motion stopped and his arms came to rest against the backside of the big bastard carrying him.
His mind was as numb as his body.
The words came through the damp cotton of his mind like thick drops and splattered, wasted on the dark rubbery floor.
I’ve lost it all. Linda . . .
He heard the tearing sound of a seam opening.
He could see past the tattooed arm of the goon into an enormous chamber. The chamber walls were covered with growths of some kind like long moles. Oblong, with one end tapered and a thicker end by which they attached to the wall, the growths were oddly familiar to him. Randomly spaced, they hung like loathsome fruit by the thousands and seemed to squirm and writhe, twisting and straining at the point of attachment.
