Genetic Abomination

by Dane Hatchell

  “Dad, you ought to use a spoon,” Cole said, and then crammed in another mouthful of cereal.

  “Why dirty a spoon after one use?”

  “We could just leave a spoon in the bowl all the time.”

  “That’s unsanitary.”

  “We have a dishwasher.”

  “Yeah, that I load and unload. More work for me. You’re lucky I don’t make you do more around here.” Mark Rainwater wasn’t in bad shape for a thirty-five-year-old, but he could have taken much better care of himself. A widower and single dad for the last twelve years didn’t afford much personal time. He was a lineman for Midstate Electric. His normal eight-hour shift often expanded during weather events and his co-workers calling in sick or on vacation.

  “Uh, we need some more bananas,” Cole said, hoping to divert his dad’s train of thought.

  “Oh, really?” Mark’s sarcastic tone told Cole he picked the wrong thing to talk about.

  “Yeah, you know. I take one for lunch.”

  “I was walking in the woods the other day and guess what I found?”

  His gaze glued to the emptying bowl, Cole said, “I dunno.”

  “A banana, hanging from a string tied to a tree branch. Did you do that?”

  Barely audible, Cole said, “Yes sir.”

  “Cole, you shouldn’t waste food like that. There’s no bigfoot so there’s no need to leave bait.”

  “I had my wildlife camera set up in the woods. If bigfoot had taken the banana, I would have a picture of it. I’d be the first to prove bigfoot is real. Then, all the guys at school wouldn’t make fun of me. I’d be a hero. We’d be rich. I bet I could sell the picture for a million dollars.”

  Mark’s ire subsided, evident by his slumping shoulders, and his head tilting to one side. “Son, you should concentrate on more important things than bigfoot or UFOs or ghosts. Spend more time with your studies. If you want a good paying job, you’ll need to go to college. You’re a smart boy, but you’ll have to make an effort. Don’t go chasing rainbows. Work on your fastball. Who knows? You might be good enough one day to get a baseball scholarship to Mizzou.”

  “You really think!” Cole’s face brightened.

  Forcing a smile, Mark said, “Well…its possible. I wasn’t good at sports, but your Uncle George was before he got in the car accident and messed up his shoulder. Who knows? You may take after him.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Dad. I may be only fourteen, but I know how the world works.”

  Mark giggled. “You do?”

  “Yeah. It’s all about priorities. Do the important things first and then the fun stuff when you have time. I want a good job that pays lots of money so I can afford to look for crashed UFOs or go on hunts for bigfoot, and stuff like that.”

  “More power to you, son,” Mark said, and then raised a thumb. “Oh, the school sent an email saying that old man Douglas is complaining that some boys from the school are playing pranks on him on his farm. You don’t know anything about that, do you?”

  “No sir, I don’t.”

  “Well, stay away from the old codger. He spent some time in prison before buying his place. He doesn’t bother anyone and doesn’t like to be bothered.”

  “I don’t have time to do anything like that,” Cole said as he stood and took his bowl to the sink. “I’ll be home a little later today. It’s Tuesday, and I have baseball practice.”

  “Remember to do your stretching exercises before you throw any balls.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I got this,” Cole said as he raised a thumb up at his dad.

  Chapter 3

  The Future

  The maroon transmetal armor opened at the head, arms, chest, and legs creating a cavity waiting to receive Tarik in its cold embrace. He stepped up to it and turned around, reaching the hold with his right hand to pull himself up. His right foot lifted and slid onto the foot frame until his heel secured in place. Nestling his back and arms in position, he brought his left leg in its spot until his body fit in snuggly.

  In one swift action, the armor snapped together with the finality of a closing vault. Tarik had trained enough in the armor for it to feel like a second skin. Hopefully, all of the modifications to it would allow him to move stealthily among the Skinks. If not, the armor would become a transmetal sarcophagus.

  The shell hummed with power energizing the circuits and mechanical joints. The Heads Up Display quickly detected and measured everything in the room and showed tactical information in front of his face. Open door three point four meters to the left. Hudson’s body registered as dead. The HUD identified the monitoring equipment as non-threatening electronics. The treads on the soles of the mechanical feet dampened his steps as he left the room.

  Zax and three others of the team of twelve waited down the hall. Each wore rebel made battle armor that had never been field tested. The scientists who started the rebel nest thirty years before had focused on recreating humans, not building a war machine. With the disappointments of their failures, they were forced to shift their efforts toward creating a strike team with offensive and defensive mechanisms capable of competing with the Skink forces.

  “There’s only one scout ship on the perimeter. Not more than six or eight on board. I don’t think they know what we’ve been doing. Probably found our parasite connection on the energy system and are coming to investigate,” Zax said as Tarik approached.

  The only time Tarik didn’t feel inferior around the Nu-Mans was when he wore the armor. They commonly towered two feet in height over him and outweighed him by four hundred pounds. “The others?” Tarik asked.

  “All the scientists and the rest of the support team are evacuating to safe-houses. We’re going to have to stay and hold this place as long as we can to give them time,” Zax said.

  “No, we have to beat these stinky lizards and take their scout ship,” Tarik said.

  “That’s easier said than done,” Bref, one of the older members of the team, said. “That armor’s tough.”

  Tarik felt a twinge of guilt. His comrades weren’t nearly as protected as he. Their arms and legs presented vulnerable targets to the kinetic slugs slung by Skink guns. “We’re going to have the element of surprise. It’s been years since those slimies met any resistance.”

  “Yeah, now that we all have a death sentence, almost everyone no longer cares about tomorrow. It’s all about living it up for today,” Bref said.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m not scared,” Willet said. The Nu-Man’s blondish hair singled him out from the others. “Why delay the inevitable?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid and get us all killed,” Garrad said, the Nu-Man had a habit of treating everyone like he was their mother.

  “Oh, I’m going to get all stupid on those Skinkers.” Willet closed his eyes and curled his fingers into a massive fist. “I wish I could rip each and every one of them apart with my bare hands for what they’ve done to us.”

  “Scout ship has landed,” came over the Nu-Mans’ helmet tel-coms and inside Tarik’s armor.

  “Time to move,” Zax said and chambered a round in his blaster. “Put up a fight but don’t get yourself killed. If we want to see the mission to the end, we need numbers.”

  “I’m with Tarik. Hit ’em hard and fast. Kill them all.” Willet turned and led the group down the hallway leading to the main entrance.

  Boots hitting floor echoed off the walls. The fifty-or-so civilian personnel who pioneered and solidified the project scurried to evac vehicles. They would be leaving for the final time. Their years of sacrifice and dedication to the cause transferred to the shoulders of the strike team.

  “Scout team’s on the ground. I count five of them,” came over the radio. “Can’t get a frequency to hear what they’re saying, but their scanners have one of them pointing toward the concealed entrance.”

  That didn’t take long, Tarik thought. Located in the Ozark Plateau, the rebel nest’s access was camouflaged to be undetected from drone or satellite
surveillance. Hand probing the area would discover it in no time.

  “Forward unit, stay clear of the door,” Zax said, the whole team’s tel-com system connected.

  *

  Bix commanded the outside unit of four. Hidden in the terrain, he edged out of his cover to sight in his shoulder mounted compact railgun on the scout ship’s chin. The ship’s pilot sat in the cockpit, his hands busily at the controls. The railgun was good for one use. He wouldn’t get a second chance.

  The laser sights chirped when it focused on its target. Bix launched the missile.

  The projectile flew with blinding speed and hit the ship, creating an artificial clap of thunder. Burning metal streaked like fireworks in all directions. Bix only took a half second to gloat, knowing knocking out the ship’s communications was only the first step to winning this battle.

  A Skink warrior reacted quickly to the attack, turning from the others and running toward Bix, who dropped out of sight once again.

  A high pitched whistle cut through the air announcing a counter attack. The Skink’s grenade detonated close enough that the percussion from the blast felt like someone had hit him in the head with a brick.

  Two of the Nu-Mansgave away their positions as they relentlessly fired at the Skink. Slugs pelted his armor with one in five hits showing any signs of effectiveness.

  By this time, another Skink had joined the fray, peppering the terrain with slugs, and launching more grenades.

  The scout ship’s heavy gun swung around and pointed at the entrance.

  “Inside unit, entrance hot! Entrance hot!” Bix yelped over the tel-com.

  The ship’s gun hummed to life and spat out an ordinance that practically disintegrated the entrance door.

  The earth vibrated underneath Bix. Anything in the direct line of fire was sure to be destroyed. He could only hope that none of his teammates had met an untimely fate.

  The heavy gun swung toward the rebels’ outside position. Gunfire from the Skinks had Bix hunkered down and considering taking the tunnel leading to the evac vehicles.

  The fourth member of the outside unit sprang in abandon from his hiding hole. In full view of the Skinks, he quickly aimed and fired his compact railgun.

  No sooner had the missile left the tube than Skinks’ slugs pounded into his body. Jem, the youngest of the team, fell backward in the barrage. A grenade exploded within arm’s reach above his head, shredding flesh, and burning hair.

  Jem’s death wasn’t in vain. The railgun slammed its discharge into the ship’s heavy gun. The missile hit with such impact that both Skink warriors firing into the hillside suddenly found themselves smashed to the ground. The pilot’s blood streaked across the ship’s windshield.

  Bix and the two others shook off the impact enough to take advantage of Jem’s sacrifice. The Nu-Mans fired on the two warriors before they had a chance to try and get up.

  Only one moved, and one remained down. Bix saw a breach in the Skink’s armor at the torso; a hole big enough for even his hand to fit in. “Skink pilot and warrior down.” Four more alien menaces to go.

  Another of the Skink warriors left the entrance and joined in a scorched earth assault on the outside rebels.

  The Nu-Mans were severely outgunned. To resist any further would be suicide. Bix knew he was destined to die in the near future but didn’t want to make this his day. “Outside unit, hit the tunnels and evacuate. Zax, it’s up to your team now.”

  “See you at the rendezvous point,” Zax called back.

  “You damn well better! All of you!” Bix crawled back into the tunnel. The reverberations of battle faded as he fled to safety.

  *

  When Bix sounded the alarm warning of the imminent breach, the rebels peeled to either side of the hallway and braced themselves for the worst. The zero energy propelled missile pulverized the entrance door and streaked down the hallway until it crashed into the limestone wall hiding the base. The whole sanctuary shook. Dust billowed back down the hallway creating a fog thick enough to where Tarik couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. No matter, his HUD and his companions’ tel-com helmets had sensors painting what was blocked from sight. Problem was, so did the Skinks.

  Kinetic slugs proceeded before the Skink warriors. The Nu-Man team took defensive positions and let their blasters respond. The slugs flew so thick that the entrance leading to the outside looked like it was swarming with angry insects. The Skinks’ armor had incredible firepower. Tarik’s armor did too, but Skink slugs were designed to be ineffective to Skink designed armor. That way the aliens had no chance of getting taken out by friendly fire. Nu-Man scientists specially made Tarik’s slugs, but it took several slugs even to begin to chip away at the alien armor. The thing Tarik had to fear the most were the Skinks’ grenades. A direct impact was sure to do major damage, if not totally disabling him, and bringing death.

  One of the rebels hugging the wall collapsed face first. It was Trant, poor guy. The Nu-Man had a wife and family.

  The quarters were too tight for the vulnerable Nu-Mans to hold out for very long. None of them had been in an actual firefight before either. Training took place in the confines of the rebel base. Tarik’s confidence induced by rage ebbed quickly.

  He thought about storming the entrance but realized that would be the worst thing he could do. The Nu-Mans would have to stop returning fire, and the Skink warriors would outnumber him. Their slugs would bounce off his armor, but if he ate a grenade, it would all be over.

  There was only one shoulder railgun with the inside team. Reder had it a few meters in front of Tarik. The Nu-Man stood on edge as if he were waiting for the right moment to spring into action. If they had more of the powerful weapons, they could have easily defeated the Skinks. No such luck, as the guns were modifications from a weapon housed on Skink cruisers. Only three had fallen into the hands of the rebels. Even if Reder did get off a shot, it was a sure suicide mission. That would only reduce the warriors by one, at best. If he missed, well, losing both Reder and the gun would be a tragic waste.

  To get out of this alive was going to take quick action with fear shoved out to the side, and, a whole lot of luck. “Reder! Throw me the railgun,” Tarik said.

  Reder shot his gaze toward Tarik but made no move to comply.

  “Do it now!” Tarik said; there wasn’t any time for him to explain himself.

  Zax was looking his way. Tarik knew that his friend must have been wondering why the most protected man on the team needed their deadliest weapon, but he was counting on it that Zax knew him well enough not to question his demand.

  “Give him the gun,” Zax said.

  Reder bent to one knee and placed the railgun on the floor. A quick shove had it within Tarik’s reach. He picked it up and ran from the hallway toward the nearest escape tunnel.

  “Tarik, where the hell are you going?” Zax asked.

  “Hold your position,” Tarik said. The Skink armor was a fine piece of machinery, but running in the bulky suit took concentration. He bounded through an open escape door and ran down the tube until coming to the crossway. Instead of heading toward the evac vehicles, he ran the other way until he came to the exit on the mountainside near the entrance door.

  Tarik heard the Skinks blasting away as he slowly pulled the concealed door open. He would have to use the terrain to hide his suit’s signature from their sensors for as long as he could. The warriors were only thirty or so meters away. Mountain rock would shield his approach until he was almost right on top of them.

  With swift determination, Tarik tried to push any doubt out of his mind. His plan was simple, and the element of surprise would be in his favor. Each step brought him closer until he was a stone’s throw from the Skink warrior in the rear.

  After two deep breaths, Tarik dashed straight for the aliens, covering the distance faster than he thought possible.

  His armor’s signature must have lit up their electronics because the remaining four Skinks simultaneously stopped firi
ng toward the entrance and looked his way. Before they had time to react, Tarik dropped to one knee, awkwardly sighted in the railgun, and let the missile fly.

  Firing the weapon while wearing the armor was something he hadn’t practiced. Still, his aim was true. As he had planned, the projectile knocked a hole through his first target and his second before striking limestone. Two dead, two to go. That bit of luck he had wished for had come true.

  The rock façade above the entrance door shook at the missile’s impact and began to crash down in chunks, separating the Nu-Mans and the Skinks, and Tarik too.

  The warriors wasted no time in unleashing slugs at Tarik. Even though his armor was impervious to damage, the pounding was enough to upset his balance, and he hit the ground.

  Scrambling to get up, he set his grenade launcher ready to fire. The HUD picked the nearest target, and he shot the grenade the few meters toward it.

  In a split second the Nu-Man designed weapon hit the unfortunate alien’s armor, sounding a dull thunk. The plaz-epoxy fused the grenade into the transmetal shell.

  Tarik flattened back on the ground by his own choice this time.

  The grenade exploded, sending bits of transmetal flying, and pulsing a shockwave forceful enough to liquefy the alien’s organs.

  The last warrior was knocked to the ground but alert and agile enough to be back on his feet just in time to attack Tarik before he had a chance to make a move.

  The Skink swung with a right hook and caught Tarik on the left side of his neck. The HUD inside his suit blinked momentarily but returned to its normal function. The Skink was trying to blind him. Tarik was at a severe disadvantage. He had never trained in a hand-to-hand battle with a Skink warrior. The alien knew how to go for the weak spots. No matter, he still had more grenades. But before he could set a new one to launch, the Skink sent a crushing blow to his left shoulder, right on the grenade’s launch port. The HUD immediately registered equipment failure. The situation was not good.