Metal Boxes - Trapped Outside

by Alan Black

  A second shot was fired from the same position, sending a second alien crashing backward. Stone wasn’t an expert in marine sniper protocol, but he knew enough to know that no sniper would stay in the same position to fire his second shot. A marine would shoot, move, and then fire again. A small rocket lanced out from a shuttle weapons pod, slamming into the location where the shots had originated from. A geyser of twisted metal and plasticrete fountained away from the explosion. There wasn’t any pink or reddish mist to indicate the remains of a non-functioning human sniper.

  Two more alien teams leapfrogged out of the hole. Two rifles fired at them in such quick succession sounding almost like one shot. One of the rifles continued firing at its target. The Hyrocanian was blasted backward sending a dozen shots into the dead creature while its living compatriots ducked for cover. Two more rockets lanced into the firing positions scattering debris.

  Allied said, “Unmanned robotic automatics.”

  Stone nodded as understanding sank in, “Major Numos is trying to draw them in.”

  A series of anti-aircraft missiles streaked upward from the compound rubble. Most of their targets were out of view, yet he could hear a series of explosions. That indicated more than one Hyrocanian shuttle had survived Charlie Platoon’s ambush. A couple missiles curved back toward the shuttle hovering over the north crater end. They slammed uselessly against the heavily armored outfacing weapons side.

  A flood of suited Hyrocanians dropped from the central shuttle over the crater and swarmed up and out of the hole. Another camera caught a shuttle piece dropping to hover twenty feet above the ground. It disgorged a horde of suited aliens, dropping them onto the second story of the abandoned compound. They flowed over and into the buildings like water seeking lower ground. As many humans as there had been in the compound, such a force would have subdued them with little effort. Escaping had been the best of their bad options.

  An unarmored shuttle component settled onto the ground in the middle of the compound. A mob of unsuited aliens raced out of the machine before the dust settled. The first few bunches held ropes and nets with the obvious intent of capturing humans. Four-armed freaks carrying scanners, recorders, and other equipment too bizarre to identify followed them.

  This was the first sighting of live Hyrocanians most of the human watchers had ever seen. There were no gasps, exclamations, or curses at the sight. The humans around Stone were so silent they heard the babble of Hyrocanian voices picked up by the camera feed.

  Hyrocanians were almost humanoid. They had facial features in approximately the same places on their head as humans have. However, their eyes were small and beady within thin, bare slits. Their ears were hinged, seeming to move on their own, swiveling about seeking noise like an antenna seeking a signal. Their noses were too big for their faces, at least from a human perspective, although Stone imagined that to a Hyrocanian, a human nose looked too small. Hyrocanian mouths were jammed with four full sets of teeth. The upper and lower sets chewed horizontally and the side sets chewed vertically.

  The unsuited Hyrocanians were topless, wearing only knee high boots and the most hideously colored pants Stone had ever seen. Either their taste in clothing was as inhuman as their looks or they saw colors in a different spectrum from humans. Their upper torsos were, as far as Stone could tell, completely hairless with pasty skin oozing slick oil. The Hyrocanians came in a variety of sizes, but no more than a foot taller or shorter than Stone. They all massed much more than most humans of their approximate height. Most of their bulk was rolls of fat.

  The most noticeable difference from humans was Hyrocanians had four arms. The second set grew out of the same shoulder socket as the first set. The first set of arms was jointed to grab forward just like humans. The second set was hinged to grab behind. It didn’t look as if they could swivel their heads around to see behind them, but the second set of arms held a variety of equipment and weapons that were passed to the front arms when needed.

  A few particularly fat Hyrocanians with empty hands waddled from the shuttle and began shouting over the noise. No one appeared to be paying any attention to them, nevertheless a small pile of human technology began to collect near their feet. Whether they were scientists or military leaders was unsure, but they squatted down and began pawing through the pile, picking up this or that.

  Stone saw one fat greasy alien mumble something and shout to another fat greasy alien as it fingered what any human would recognize as a common kitchen blender. It stuck a thick finger in to wiggle the cutting blades at the bottom.

  One of the watching marines grunted with disgust. “Well, I’ll never make another margarita in my blender again.”

  Boom.

  The dataport beeped and blanked.

  A bright flash lit up the sky to the north.

  A second later, a roar washed over the area, numbing ears and boggling the mind. A second after that the ground rumbled and vibrated like an earthquake, followed by a hot blast threatening to rip down their camouflage tarps. Men and women leapt to their feet to grab corners and lash them tighter, pounding stakes deeper into the ground.

  The sky was littered with flying creatures of all colors and descriptions, each racing to get away from the noise and heat. Ground creatures raced across the meadow, their feet generating a small thunder of hooves, claws, and talons ripping up the ground in their haste to get away from the explosion.

  Numos raced into the meadow bracketed by three unsuited marines and a herd of what looked like scaled gazelles with corkscrew horns jutting from the top of their snakelike heads. The marines skidded to a halt. The gazelles continued through the meadow, bounding over obstacles, running through tarps, knocking down humans in a stampede going south. Humans began moving quickly around the compound. The gazelles were followed by a torrent of fauna, all running south in a panic.

  Suited marines stood as barricades protecting wounded or injured personnel too hurt to quickly dance out of the way of stampeding creatures. Jay and Peebee crashed through the crowd surrounding Stone, pushing people out of the way to lay whimpering at his feet, huddling together, crouched as low to the ground as they could get. A trio of adult female drascos raced across the edge of the meadow, running fast, swiveling their heads, looking at the humans with eyes filled with curiosity before disappearing into the jungle again.

  As his ears bled away the noise of the blast, he could hear the screech and roar of creatures racing away from the blast. Human voices joined the din, shouting to watch out, look out, and get the hell out of there. In the midst of the turmoil, Agent Tammie Ryte bent down to a pack at her feet. She pulled out a pair of what looked like small torpedoes. Twisting their tails, she threw them skyward. They raced north and disappeared before they were out of sight. He wondered why the navy didn’t have anything to camouflage something so small. With a flash of insight, he realized one Hyrocanian who had been shot in the compound didn’t fall to the ground, but floated. He wondered why the Empire didn’t have the same anti-gravity design on their suits.

  A small cluster of night stalker creatures raced from the jungle into their midst. They were not as fuzzy in full daylight, looking more like an elongated, earth-style grayish-purple panther. That is, if panthers had knobby hides, horns, and fangs like a wild boar. These weren’t the panicked herd beasts racing through the meadow. These were killers, hunters, and carnivores. They weren’t currently hunting humans or any of the other creatures in the meadow, however, that didn’t stop them from clawing their way through groups of marines, tossing great chunky pieces of humans in all directions. The marines fired back with weapons at hand, using an amazing assortment of guns, but nothing stopped the creatures in their run across the meadow to the jungle southward. The marines and medical staff immediately jumped to help any wounded. Nevertheless, anyone who’d been in the way of the night stalkers was dead or would be soon.

  The ground thundered as a giant creature rushed into the clearing. Stone had seen one of these before. All he co
uld think to call the creature was a house-sized, tree-eating, shit monster. He shouted to get out of the way, not to shoot, just get away from it. The creature spun about, confused and scared. It had been too close to the blast and its backside was scorched black, smoke oozing from its cracked hide. It screeched, sounding more like an electronic whistle than an animal. It spun about again and ran around the meadow’s edge, still racing to go south. It spun every few steps trying to distance itself from its burning hind sides. It crashed into the jungle to the south, ignoring trees and plants, running through them as if they were no more than twigs.

  A wild variety of creatures stumbled into the meadow. Many were crippled, hobbling away in panic. Some were burning from the heat of the blast, flames consuming them as they ran. The suited marines raced to the meadow’s north side. No commands had been issued, yet they formed a barrier, turning away or shooting any creature attempting to run through the gathered people.

  Allie raced to stand behind the barrier. Poking an arm between two massive marine combat suits, she shot a burning creature in the head, more to put it out of its misery than to protect any human in its path. A deep-throated roar scattered all the animals, some even turning back north, heedless of the unknown danger in that direction, all to escape the male drasco rumbling into the clearing.

  The huge beast appeared, undamaged from the blast, but angry. Stone had only seen one other male drasco and that one had also been angry. He wondered if maybe they were angry all of the time. This one raised itself to its full height and bellowed at the tiny creatures in the meadow. Even though Jay and Peebee had grown larger than their mother, this monster was still twice the size of Stone’s pets.

  At the male drasco’s challenge, both female drascos leapt to their feet. Stone had seen a male drasco kill a female and as tough and strong as his girls were, this creature looked twice as tough, twice as big, and twice as angry. Before he could order them to get back, to run, to hide, and stay away, Jay and Peebee rose in challenge, bellowing their response, stretching to their full height, and flapping their tiny wings.

  The male roared, stepped into the line of suited marines brushing them aside like they were scraps of dried twigs. He spat in Jay and Peebee’s direction, not showing any concern for the marines scrambling around his feet. One marine got too close. The drasco grabbed him by the helmet and tossed him aside.

  Allie found herself face-to-face with the beast. Unsuited and already wounded, she stood her ground and shouted, “Fire at will.” Blasts from her pistol didn’t have any effect on the creature’s tough hide except to annoy him. It dropped to its feet, almost engulfing Allie. It grabbed her in its mouth, shook her, and spit her aside.

  Jay and Peebee rushed into the fray. Bellowing challenges, they charged the giant beast, their bony tail spikes curving over their heads, ready to strike at any vulnerable spot. They crouched low, their tails whipping through the air. Pushing through suited marines, they tossed them aside none-too-gently.

  Stone wanted to shout at them to come back, to run away, but his breath caught in his throat when he saw Allie thrown away. He couldn’t see her in the chaos of the meadow. Marines, suited and unsuited, armed and unarmed, healthy and wounded were racing toward the male drasco. Numos shouted orders, dragged wounded away, and formed up defensive firing lines.

  Stone ran toward where he had last seen Allie thrown. He was blocked by both his drascos and the raging male. His rifle was strapped to his back, but he couldn’t shoot. His line of fire was blocked by a group of unsuited marines scrambling to protect their wounded comrades and by his baby girl drascos. They were still babies, barely past a full-year-old. They were large, but they didn’t have any experience with creatures like this male, exactly like the one who had killed their mother and chased away their mother’s two companions. Something in the male’s roar angered his pet drascos. Something on an instinct level or some survival switch was thrown. They were in combat mode, not acting like playtime with marines, but in a killing frame of mind as they had been on the Hyrocanian ship.

  He shouted at the girls to run away. They weren’t listening. Jay and Peebee were trying to spear the beast with their tail spikes, pushing it away from the tiny humans. Jay’s spike fenced and crashed against the male’s spike. The male was twice her size and it looked like a bee crossing swords with an elephant. Peebee took aim at the male’s head, but she was unable to hit him as he waved and snaked his head around.

  The male slapped Jay’s spike aside. His tail curled around her, slipped behind a knee and yanked. Jay was flipped upside down, exposing her vulnerable underside. Quicker than she could turn back, the male jammed a huge foot onto the middle of her chest. Bellowing, it spit in her face. The spit was more of a spray, soaking her head. Jay whipped her head back and forth trying to clear the goo. She was coughing and gagging, making noises Stone hadn’t ever heard from her.

  Stone shouted, “She can’t breathe!” He tried rushing forward. Strong arms grabbed him and threw him backward away from the beast. People were racing around in what looked like complete disorder. Numos’s voice bellowed over the noise, shouting for this or that. Unable to see who had thrown him, Stone rolled to his feet and rushed forward again in time to see Peebee’s tail spike finally make contact with the male drasco. It skittered across the beast’s face, raking a deep gouge through the thick hide.

  The male roared in pain, anger, and some primal screech. He turned on Peebee, ignoring Jay on the ground struggling to breathe. His tail slammed into the female drasco, connecting on her damaged leg.

  With a wounded cry, Peebee’s leg collapsed under her. Quicker than Stone could move, the giant male flipped his pet over and sprayed her as he had Jay, the goo splashing across her face and splattering Stone. Whatever the male drasco sprayed, it clogged Peebee’s eyes and mouth. She whipped her head about in frustration, clawing at the male with her feet and hands, but she was unable to reach him as he pinned her to the ground.

  Stone hadn’t realized his rifle was in his hands when he fired at the huge beast. The rifle shot would have missed by an embarrassing distance, except the male took that moment to raise his head, stretching to his full height. The bullet splattered on the beast’s head, not causing any serious injury, but scraping into the gouge Peebee’s tail spike had opened.

  The beast charged forward in a mindless rage, not knowing where the pain came from, but angry at the tiny humans dancing around it. It crashed through a group of marines under Numos’s command. They were trying to set up a mortar stand, bringing more firepower into the fray. Marines scattered and were scattered.

  Stone looked up. He was flat on his back and had no idea how he had gone from standing and shooting to laying down. The sky was blacked out and he couldn’t see. He was rolled along the ground and rolled back. Struggling to catch his breath, he realized the male drasco was on top of him, pressing him down like an insignificant insect.

  A flash of diffused light caught his eye. He twisted sideways and pulled the trigger on his rifle. The old style TDO-960A had a trigger selector and was designed to fire one shot at a time unless the shooter held the trigger down. Then, it would blast a steady stream of bullets until the shooter eased up on the trigger or the magazine ran dry.

  Stone held the trigger down jamming the muzzle toward the faint light.

  SEVENTEEN

  The rifle chattered in his hands, spitting bullets. Stone could hear ricochets ping off the tough drasco hide. They wouldn’t penetrate! He held the trigger down anyway.

  He could barely breathe with the weight of the beast sandwiching him to the ground. He tried to shake his head to clear it, hoping to find an air pocket, but only felt skin peel away from his face. A sharp piercing pain in his right buttock caused his leg to twitch and he cried out. A ricochet sliced deeply down his right arm, digging a deep furrow through the flesh and muscle. He would have shouted in pain, but whatever was chewing into his butt from underneath him burned like a hot poker. He kept holding the trigger d
own.

  All he could think of was the beast had half-eaten his girlfriend and killed his two pet baby drascos. Marines had died, so now this fight was personal. He wasn’t going to live, but he would do his damnedest to take this s.o.b. with him. He felt warm fluid gushing across his arm, wet and sticky. It was a race now whether he suffocated or bled to death first. He continued holding the trigger down.

  He felt more than heard a muffled bellow cut short by a rumbling explosion. The pressure on his chest released as the giant male drasco rolled off him, its twitching body lay so close the blood oozing from its belly flowed across his chest. He took a gasp of fresh air, air smelling of smoke, burnt flesh, blood, offal (human and otherwise), with a hint of mint. Stone wondered at the mint odor as he lay there staring at the sky.

  He thought to move, to run, to hide, to get inside somewhere, even if it meant crawling back under the male drasco. Outside was more dangerous than any metal box he had ever lived in. Today proved it. He wanted a decent ceiling over his head, but he couldn’t move except to breathe. He still held the trigger down, the rifle continuing to fire and chitter although the magazine was long since empty, cycling through empty chamber after empty chamber. He tried to relax his trigger finger, but his right arm wasn’t listening and his right hand was even more recalcitrant—frozen into position.

  A huge suited marine hovered over his face, thankfully blocking the horrible view of the sky. The faceplate popped open and Corporal Tuttle’s face peered down at him. She grinned and gave him a sly, sleepy looking wink. “Still with us, boss?”

  She reached down with her left hand and pried his finger off the trigger. Her gloved hand could have ripped his finger off with little to no effort, yet she was as gentle as a butterfly dancing from flower to flower. Reaching under him with her right arm, she raised him enough to unsling the rifle and set it to the side.