Camp Alien

by Gini Koch

  “Kitty,” Randy called, “she’s blinking a lot!”

  Pulled harder. Her head remained attached. This was truly disappointing. She ran us toward the others, presumably to explode and kill all of us at the same time.

  “Jump off,” Joe called. “Now!”

  Did as requested, but I didn’t have a good way to propel myself, so I basically let go and fell onto my butt. This worked out, since Rahmi swung the glowing end of her laser staff and took the Fem-Bot’s head off while Rhee did the same but took her down at the knees.

  Scrambled to my feet. “Think she’s going to explode?”

  “No idea,” Joe said. “Do we go back and help the marines?”

  “We had at least six superbeings the last time I checked, I think we go to them.” “Victorious” was still on, and could have sworn it was louder somehow. Paused for a moment and listened to the lyrics. Realized that Panic! was saying to turn up the crazy during the chorus of this song. Meaning I knew what to do.

  Hit speed dial. Happily, he answered right away. “Kitty, what’s going on? We got some garbled report from the TV news then it switched to a rerun of a Godzilla movie, and Lizzie has somehow put Centaurion into worldwide lockdown.”

  “Serene must have gotten Imageering on the case, thank God. But no time for that right now. I need the Flash and the former Head of Imageering when it was busy fighting superbeings, aka you, at Camp David like five minutes ago. But don’t come alone. Get Adriana and tell her we need Old Trusty. And bringing a rocket launcher yourself wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  “We have a superbeing?”

  “We have a plethora of superbeings that create new ones just like themselves, only a bit smaller, when they stab their tentacle claws into their victims. Avoid those. Get here. Now.” Hung up. My music went back to “Victorious,” though it had been midsong when I’d made my call.

  “That’s impossible,” Randy said. “Superbeings don’t do that.”

  “Yeah, well, we passed impossible a little while ago. And, trust me, this one does.”

  “Anything else we need to know?” Joe asked.

  “The original superbeing was the Iraqi President. I just dropped off the android Israeli Prime Minister with Siler and Wruck who are, thank God, alive, well, and here, fighting alongside the marines who are fighting a ton of these Fem-Bots.”

  “Let’s move,” Rahmi said. She reached behind her and unslung the big gun she’d had on her back. “Here. I’m happier with my staff and you were, ah, not as effective as you could have been in that last skirmish.”

  “I agree on the moving and the skirmishing. Thanks for the big gun, Rahmi, I appreciate it. Joe, Randy, you guys need to grab a hand to do the hyperspeed?”

  “Let’s find out,” Joe said, as he started running faster than I’d ever seen him do before.

  The rest of us caught up with him, and I took the lead since I knew where we were going. Was about to turn to my left to get back to where I was pretty sure Aspen was when my music changed. The band was still Panic! At the Disco, but the song went to “Emperor’s New Clothes.” Chose to grasp the clue and looked around. Spotted the small Shantanu portable city that was sort of to our right and relatively far from the Aspen Lodge. There was a Samarapus, Jr. and two Samarapus the Thirds flopping their way toward it.

  Turned and headed for them. “If they get the Planetary Council or the Vata, God alone knows what kind of superbeing will form. We need to destroy these before we can help the others.”

  “Are you sure they’re in there?” Randy asked. “Weren’t they at the thing everyone else was at?”

  “No, they were staying inside so as not to create a spectacle.”

  Rahmi snorted. “What do they call this?”

  “I have no idea. I’m not sure if they realize that things are dire, it hasn’t been going on all that long, really.” Seemed like forever but probably wasn’t more than fifteen minutes, maybe less. Time moved slowly when you were fighting for your life and totally high on adrenaline.

  The Samarapusses weren’t making a lot of noise, really, though they were leaving a trail of what looked like black ink. And the sounds of fighting weren’t carrying all that well. Probably due to all the trees or something. But if I listened hard I could hear the gunfire and the screams, but both were far away from where the Shantanu had set up their portable quarters. And Christopher had indicated that the news wasn’t covering this, thanks most likely to Imageering, and I doubted the Shantanu had brought a television along in the first place.

  “Any guess for how to kill them?” Randy asked as he got the big gun he’d chosen off his back.

  “Shoot them a lot. I have no idea if these are parasitic superbeings or if the Samarapus was lab created. I put nothing past The League of Evil Supergenius Megalomaniacs.”

  Joe did the lock and load thing. “Then let’s go hunt calamari.”

  We lined up abreast and started firing at one of the Samarapus the Thirds, since it was closest to us.

  Felt like we were in a Michael Bay movie, where the heroes are doing the slow walk toward their destiny. Our destiny happened to include giant cephalopods with claws and teeth in their suckers. We were lucky like that.

  The Samarapus was hard to kill, not that this was a surprise. We were using guns that shot lasers, and they were somewhat effective, but not as effective as I’d have liked. All the other in-control superbeings we’d killed had required something other than a hail of bullets to destroy them. Only I had absolutely no idea what killed a giant octopus or squid other than a fisherman’s net.

  Interestingly enough, these particular superbeings didn’t smell. I’d spent time with all the in-control superbeings during Operation Fugly and they’d all stunk to high heaven. The superbeings I’d killed during my tenure as the Head of Airborne were also no perfumed delights. I’d have expected the Samarapusses to smell like fish or stagnant ocean or something. But they didn’t smell like anything. Not even when we managed to shoot a tentacle off—no smell at all.

  A rocket launcher went off and another one of the Samarapus’ tentacles blew off. Turned to see Adriana and Christopher had joined us, both with bazookas. Christopher had a big bag over his back, like he was the NRA’s version of Santa Claus. In this case, I was definitely on the side of Ho Ho Ho.

  “Nice of you to join the party,” I called out.

  “You said a plethora,” Christopher said as he reloaded from the Sack O’ Goodies. “This is three.”

  “These are three that broke off from the pack. And I note that you’re only sort of denting them with our new weapons.” As I said this my music changed to John Mayer’s “Split Screen Sadness.” Kept on shooting while I pondered this particular clue. Considered the options and realized I didn’t have to think that hard. “Crap. I think Jeff and the others need me. Can you guys kill these three without me?”

  “Not sure that we can kill them with you,” Christopher replied.

  “Good point. Think you’re fast enough to get the people inside this thing out without them all getting turned into intergalactic sushi?”

  “I can try.” He tossed his rocket launcher to Rhee and took off.

  Could wait and see what happened or get to Jeff. Decided that Christopher was actually the most experienced person here with this situation other than Jeff, and made the choice.

  “Someone tell Christopher and Adriana about the Fem-Bots. Don’t get stabbed, killed, or,” looked at where the Samarapus trail was, “inked, because I think that stuff is acidic.” The ground certainly didn’t look as good as it had when we’d arrived.

  Then I spun around and headed for the Executive Kraken’s Swimming Pool.

  CHAPTER 95

  REACHED MY destination quickly. It helped greatly that the helicarrier had decloaked and I had to figure it was hovering over the main superbeing population, so I navigated based on the g
iant ship in the sky.

  Took stock of the situation once I reached the perimeter. On the plus side, there were fewer people around. On the negative side, there were more Samarapusses around. And many of them were, like the three I’d left the others fighting, out of the pool and trying out for new sports.

  Despite the chaos, spotted Jeff easily—he was the one shouting orders to the other A-Cs and the human Centaurion agents, like Reader and Tim who weren’t complaining about rank or responsibility right now. No one was. This was one of those situations where you wanted the most qualified people in charge, period.

  The Clarence Clone was on the scene, keeping close to Jeff, but I didn’t see Brian. Then again, I didn’t see Serene, either.

  The gun I had had a heavy-duty pulse feature, so I engaged that and started shooting at Samarapusses randomly as I ran around, jumped over, and dodged under far too many tentacles.

  Reached Jeff in time to blow off the end of a tentacle that was about to hit him. “You need to move more,” I said by way of hello.

  “We have these things all over,” he replied as he pulled me back and we both leaped to avoid a tentacle that was whipping along the ground. “And you’re the only person with a gun that’s effective at all.”

  “We should have the flyboys drop some weapons down to us.”

  “They tried that already. The superbeings caught them in the air and ate them. At least I think that’s what they did with them. They shoved the guns up inside them, where an octopus’ mouth would be, so I’m saying they ate them.”

  Someone slammed into us right as my music changed to “Duck and Run” by 3 Doors Down. “Stop standing around chatting,” Chuckie said, as he dragged us away from some more tentacles that had just missed us.

  “Why aren’t you underground protecting my kids?” I asked as Jeff grabbed us both and ran off at hyperspeed, dodging tentacles and claws and teeth, TCC following right behind us.

  “Because Mort saw reason and he’s with them. I verified that, then stayed up here to help you and keep an eye on your older kid.”

  “Where is Lizzie and is she okay?”

  “I have no idea. I lost her along with Brian, Vance, and Abner when one of these things leaped between us. I heard Vance and Abner screaming as they ran into the cabin, so I’m pretty sure they made it underground. Brian and Lizzie, though, I haven’t seen since.”

  “Where’s Serene?”

  “I sent her to Imageering Main,” Jeff said. “Right before all hell broke loose. She called for a floater, so I don’t know if she knows what’s going on.”

  “She knows. Per Christopher, she’s stopped this from getting onto the news. Speaking of which, where are the news crews?”

  “Oliver and Jenkins are underground,” Chuckie said. “Only because Oliver’s not an idiot. The rest of their crews, though . . .” He pointed at the Samarapusses. “They really didn’t listen and fell under the spell of being behind the camera, where you can tell yourself you’re not part of what’s going on, you’re just observing it.”

  “Fan-freaking-tastic.”

  “James suggested we beat these things to death with the camera tripods,” Chuckie said. “I’m worried about him.”

  Jeff managed a chuckle. “It’s all right, he’s just having a nostalgic moment.”

  “What about the Iraqis and Israelis? And where are Leah, Oren, and Jakob? Not to mention Abby and Mahin?” And Lizzie. She was brave and trained, but I doubted that she’d ever faced a superbeing before. Tried not to worry about her. Failed utterly.

  “No idea,” Jeff said. “They probably went off after some of these things.”

  “There are more wandering the camp?”

  “Yeah, lots more. They’re really good at reproducing, and we had a lot of people here for them to grab.” Jeff picked me up. “I’ll hold you, and Chuck and I will handle the dodging. You shoot.”

  We did so, Jeff holding me in essentially a sitting position so I’d be able to aim. The gun had unlimited firepower because it wasn’t shooting bullets and was self-charging, but it didn’t matter—we weren’t going to stop all of these superbeings with one gun, even a gun made by Drax.

  My music switched again, right back to “Victorious.” Figured that meant that Algar felt I wasn’t utilizing my crazy enough. Pity that I had nothing.

  Spotted a Fem-Bot that had gotten through. So did Chuckie. “What the literal hell?”

  “Oh, yeah, there’s a Fem-Bot army that the marines on-site are fighting. Siler and Wruck were there, too. You can tell it’s not really me because they’re all wearing Rolling Stones shirts. Otherwise, they’re not as hard to kill as androids or superbeings, but they’re really bullet resistant. We had the best luck tearing them apart, and so far, none of them have exploded, so there’s that.”

  “Wish they’d explode over here,” Jeff muttered.

  “Put me down.” He did, and I headed for the Fem-Bot while dodging tentacles, Jeff and Chuckie behind me.

  Got up close and put some real effort into my shot placement. Ten to the head, ten to the torso, strafing fire to the legs. She went down. At this rate I could take care of all the Fem-Bots in three hours, four hours tops.

  The music got louder. Clearly I wasn’t thinking right. So—while I spun around and tried really hard to blow away a Samarapus the Third that had followed us and didn’t succeed in doing much other than removing one whole tentacle, which didn’t slow it down so much as piss it off—thought about why the music had gotten louder.

  “What are the chances that the Samarapusses can turn a Fem-Bot into a robotic version of themselves?”

  “No idea,” Jeff said.

  “Ditto,” Chuckie added.

  Tossed Chuckie the gun. “Let’s find out.” Grabbed the Fem-Bot’s head and tossed it at the Samarapus the Third. It ignored it. Tossed the Fem-Bot’s body at the Super Squid. Ignored it again. “Well so much for that.”

  “Wait,” Chuckie said, as he aimed and shot, not at the Samarapus but at the torso I’d sent over. He fired a lot, but it finally exploded. And another tentacle came off.

  “It’s a good idea, but taking too much firepower to be effective,” Jeff said, as he grabbed the two of us and ran us to where Reader and Tim were standing back-to-back in a battle between them and their handguns against two Samarapus the Thirds.

  “Wish we had more of those,” Tim said, as Chuckie shot at the Samarapus nearest to him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I suggested as we all just missed being speared. I grabbed Reader, Jeff had Chuckie and Tim, and we hightailed it toward the portable city.

  We arrived just in time to see the Samarapus, Jr. wrapping itself around the portable house and engulfing it. On the plus side, as near as I could tell, Christopher had gotten everyone out. Those with weapons were in a circle around those without.

  “Why aren’t they shooting from the air?” I asked Joe as we joined the circle.

  “No idea. I’m down here.”

  Stepped into the circle and hit speed dial. He answered on the first ring. “Jerry, why aren’t you guys shooting?”

  “We already tried that. The targeting is good, but we’ve got too many people around. We caused three sailors to become superbeings because when we shot one of the small superbeings, its death throes flung it around and it stabbed them before we could shoot its tentacles off. Maybe if the Vata were flying this, things would be different, but we’re still learning.”

  “Is there a safe place to land or hover?”

  “Miles away, yeah. We can’t get any lower than we are—the bigger ones are big enough to reach us and we were almost grabbed. The best we’re managing is keeping them within the confines of what we’re laughingly calling Camp David.”

  “What about the Fem-Bots?”

  “Too small, too human-looking, and before you say that they’re not you, we kno
w. But we’re not A-Cs. People down there are moving too fast for us to see in many cases, the Fem-Bots among them. And I think there are more people aboveground than you realize, too. Some we know went into the underground passage to Raven Rock—Matt’s on with your Uncle Mort, so I can reassure you that Jamie and Charlie are okay.”

  “Well, there’s that.” And thank God, Algar, ACE, and all the other Powers That Be for that.

  “Yeah, but there are more troops nearby than I think you know about, and most of them are armed with only conventional weapons. There are a ton of Field agents down there, too. Meaning that we can’t just shoot into the crowd because we can’t risk killing one of you, Kitty. Not yet.”

  Knew what that meant. If this wasn’t able to be contained, I’d literally have to give them the go order to drop a bomb onto everything, or Uncle Mort would, in order to protect the world. Well, it would be a showy way to go. Thing was, I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want anyone else going, either.

  Checked my phone. My music might be paused, but it still hadn’t changed. “Jerry, I’m failing on the crazy thinking.”

  “I got nuthin’. We tried to give you guys weapons. Those Krakens grabbed them in the air and ate them.”

  “I am not fond of the Samarapusses, especially how they reproduce. Or really anything else about everyone attacking us.”

  My music changed. Couldn’t hear it because I was on the phone, but per my screen, B.O.B.’s “Bombs Away” was now supposedly waiting to be played. “We tried to toss the Fem-Bots to the Samarapusses, but they wouldn’t eat them. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe because they came from the ground,” Jerry suggested. “Or because however they eat, or think they eat, they grab from above. I mean, on the plus side, they haven’t tried to eat anyone on the ground, just spear them and create more.”

  While I stared at my phone, the music changed again. To “Bomber” by Motörhead. Then, a second or so later, to “Here Come The Bombs” by Ima Robot.