“Doctor?”
“Ah, Commander. Excellent. I was just about to contact you.”
“Do you have anything useful to report?”
“Well, I guess that depends on what you mean by useful.”
Before FronCar could respond, the doctor continued. “Here, let me show you the results of the autopsy. Or perhaps necropsy is the better term. After all, the subject is closer to an animal than a person.”
He reactivated the 3D scanners, which projected a holographic image of the indigene into the center of the bay at the doctor’s waist height. He pointed at the transparent image of the torso. “We still don’t know exactly what all the internal organs do, especially with the damage from weapons fire. It would be much easier to tell with a living patient. But some functions are obvious.
“There are two lungs. Less efficient than our three, but serviceable. This organ, in the middle, pumps the blood. The configuration is different from our two hearts, but it’s larger and obviously does the job. There are several other organs lower down that seem to purify the blood and other bodily fluids of toxins—judging by the quantity of the toxins in the organs—digest food, secrete hormones and enzymes, reproduce, and the other usual functions. There are one or two we haven’t figured out yet. This little one, for example, in the lower right abdomen, doesn’t appear to do anything. Maybe it’s vestigial, like our belj. Their blood appears to use iron-based hemoglobin, hence the reddish color, rather than our cobalt-based coboglobin.”
“That’s all very fascinating, doctor, but is there anything that can help us kill the indigenes easier?”
Dr. ZemBleth shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. I can tell you that they’re shorter than we are, with much denser bones. That’s probably due to this planet’s twenty-percent-higher gravity. Most likely they’re stronger than we are, and faster afoot.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Yes, but the most interesting thing I’ve found is in their brains.”
“How so?”
“The brains are clearly well developed. They’re slightly larger than our own, with two large lobes versus our three smaller ones, and significant folds and wrinkles. Typically, the more convoluted a brain is, the more intelligent the creature. It’s impossible to tell for sure from a dead body, but I would estimate that the intelligence level of the indigenes was approximately equal to our own, give or take ten to fifteen percent.”
“Was?”
“Clearly, there is significant brain damage. I can’t be sure what caused it, disease or trauma, but this creature certainly wasn’t born this way. There’s clear indication of damage. See how some parts of the brain are light gray in color and others are white? But these areas here, here, and here, are darker. That’s where the damage occurred, in what I would estimate to be areas that control the higher brain functions. Some of the tissue appears dead. There are even a large number of lesions—holes and tears—in the brain, mostly here in the front. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that before.”
He paused for a moment before continuing. “You said these creatures acted feral, like wild animals, attacking your men with ferocity. Obviously the autonomic and basal functions of the brain are unharmed, which leaves only the higher functions. The thinking part. Well, there’s your answer. With this degree of damage, if all the indigenes are like this, you won’t have to worry about them firing sophisticated weapons at you. Rocks, sticks, and teeth are about as fancy as these creatures will get.”
FronCar nodded in thought. “Thank you, doctor. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Anything for the Empire, Commander.”
“Please keep me informed if you find anything else that might be of interest.”
“Of course. By the way, what’s the planet like? I haven’t had a chance to get a look.”
FronCar shrugged. “It’s bigger than Draht, mostly water, with several large landmasses, rather than many small ones. Very blue. Pretty, one might say. Extremely hot in places, very cold in others. Not at all like the fairly uniform conditions at home. But the temperate zones are certainly suitable to our kind. Once we eliminate these parasites infesting the planet, we’ll have plenty of room to grow into.”
Dr. ZemBleth smiled. “Excellent. I can’t wait to make landfall and see for myself.”
* * * *
With sounds of Drahtch weapons-fire echoing in the distance, the quintet got close enough to watch as the golden aliens retrieved their dead. Afterward, they moved in on the warehouse to see if they could learn anything about the invaders.
Taking care, they slipped in after dark. Their flashlights illuminated the immediate area, but wouldn’t be visible from a distance.
“I guess we can forget the idea that the aliens are friendly,” Daniels said.
Chrissy shook her head. “We can’t assume that. Maybe they were just defending themselves.”
“Maybe.”
Peter DeBerge was the first to spot the blood. “Huh,” he said pointing. “It’s yellow-orange.”
They spread out to follow the blood trails, each wary, listening for the sounds of returning Zoms—or aliens.
“Over here,” Chrissy called out. When the others arrived, she showed them the piece of wet, blood-soaked fabric she had found. “With this blood on it, it should feel cool; but it’s warm to the touch, like it’s being heated somehow.” She passed the piece to Daniels.
“Definitely not like any fabric I’ve ever heard of,” He said. The others agreed when they had a chance to feel it.
A few more minutes of searching revealed only one other thing of note.
Jesse found a dead Zom in the back, still clutching a shred of alien uniform and with a bit of flesh dangling from her mouth. That wasn’t the weird part.
“I don’t see what killed it. Unlike the other Zoms, this one doesn’t look like it has any gaping holes.” He and Daniels rolled it over. There were no wounds on the back, either, just a rash on her face.
Moose said, “I’ve never seen a dead Zom before with no wounds.”
“It doesn’t look old enough to have died of old age,” Jefferson joked.
Before the smiles even had a chance to fade, six Zoms launched themselves through the opening in the back that the aliens had blown in. Three headed for Peter, who was closest to the hole, two for Jesse, and one for Daniels.
Chrissy and Moose charged at the Zoms, knives drawn, and attempted to get them off the others. Moose stabbed one in the chest and Chrissy got another in the back.
“How do you like that, you piece of shit?” she yelled.
Daniels gutted his Zom, and Jesse had to kick one in the knee so he had a moment in which to draw his pistol and fire.
Peter was still wrestling with two, having dispatched the other. He stabbed one and Daniels shot the other.
Still panting, Peter dropped his knife and held his right wrist with his left hand. “Goddamn Zom bit me.” His shirtsleeve dripped with blood, and more trickled down his elbow.
Chrissy tried to cover the worry painted on her face. “Jeez, Peter, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’d better let us take a look at that.”
Peter let go of his wrist just long enough to slide back the sleeve. Even that was too long. Blood spurted from his wrist. He clamped down on it, Blood continued to ooze from beneath his hand.
“Artery!” Daniels shouted. “Quick, someone find something we can use as a tourniquet!”
Everyone dropped their backpacks and rummaged inside.
“Here!” Moose said, holding a sock. “It’s not clean, but it should do until we can find something better.”
“That’s fine.” Daniels wrapped the sock around Peter’s arm, just above the elbow and cinched it tight.
“Over here. Sit.” Chrissy led Peter a few steps to an overturned can.
Peter sat. “I’m okay. Just a little dizzy.”
Chrissy and Daniels exchanged worried glances. They didn’t have a doctor, after all.
“Jus’ gimme
a min to catch my breath, and then we can go. We can’ afford to stay here. We’re sittin’ du—” Peter toppled over.
Daniels knelt and checked his pulse. “It’s really weak. He’s lost too much blood.”
“We gotta do somethin’!” Moose said.
“Like what? A transfusion? Surgery?” Daniels sighed. “There’s nothing we can do for him.”
He, Chrissy, Moose, and Jesse, stood or sat, waiting, until Peter DeBerge’s heart stopped beating.
Chrissy dropped to the floor in a heap and sat there hugging her knees. “Shit.” She shook her head and cried softly as the others stood around moping.
After a minute, Daniels sat beside her and put his arm around her.
He sighed. “I know you’re hurting. We all liked Peter. We’ll take him out back and bury him.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes as she stood. They had lost people before, but she’d been close to Peter. He’d been a teen runaway, just as she had. They bonded over that. Now, she had just lost yet another friend. Over the past year, she’d lost way too many friends. Even losing someone she wasn’t especially close to was hard. There weren’t all that many humans left alive. Each death brought humanity that much closer to extinction.
She helped carry Peter’s body out the back door and to the dirt yard beyond. Daniels pulled the camp shovel he’d found weeks earlier out of his backpack and began to dig. The shovel was small and the dirt was packed hard. It took a while to make any progress. Sweating profusely, he turned over the chore after ten minutes and the others each took a turn. It took more than an hour just to make a hole three feet deep.
Although Peter deserved a decent burial, that was the best they could do without staying exposed for too long. They placed his body in the hole gently, placed a reasonably clean handkerchief over his face, and then covered him up.
Each spoke at an impromptu funeral ceremony. After more than fourteen months of fighting against the Zoms and losing so many friends, at this point they were emotionally numb. The speeches were short.
Chrissy went first. “Peter, you were a good friend. You had a hard life and deserved a better fate than this. I’ll miss you.”
Moose then said, “Dude, I know you’re in a far better place than this. Go with God.”
Jesse followed with, “If my father were here, he’d have a ready speech about how we deserved all of this. That the apocalypse was a sign of God’s displeasure and this was a means of clearing out the sinners and starting over. I don’t buy all that bullshit. You were a good guy and should have been rewarded with a better life than this. At least you can rest now. Your fight is over.”
Finally, it was Daniels’ turn. “I didn’t know you very long, but you were a hard worker who pulled his weight and rarely felt sorry for himself. It’s all too easy to fall prey to ‘why me?’ syndrome. But you stayed cheerful to the end. We’re better people for having known you.”
And then there were four.
Chapter Four
Over the next few weeks, several hundred soldiers entered the city at different points and systematically worked their way from building to building, shooting at anything that moved and was large enough to be a threat.
They killed thousands of Zoms. Many that survived learned to avoid the soldiers, in the same way wild animals learn to hide from the humans that hunt them. Some, because they were hungry, or to protect their territory, continued to attack.
They didn’t all charge the soldiers. Some had just enough brain power to lure a few soldiers into a building or alley, whereupon the rest of the pack would jump out from hiding or drop from above into the midst of the soldiers, where they couldn’t effectively use their guns for fear of shooting one another. It came down to a matter of teeth versus knives.
Many indigenes died that way, as did some soldiers. Still, the Drahtch had millions of soldiers to spare. The Drahtch army was winning, but not quite as easily as they had expected.
Of course, there were more than ten million Zoms still roaming the planet…
* * * *
“Sarge, look at this.” Chrissy pointed at several dead Zoms huddled in a corner of an alley. There was a small amount of red blood near one of them, and a lot of yellowish blood on their clothing and around their mouths.
Chick Daniels took a closer look. “Huh. Clearly they’ve been in a fight with our golden friends.”
“Yeah, but like that other one at the warehouse I don’t see any serious wounds on these guys. So why are they dead? These guys also have a rash on their face, like the other one. I wonder if that’s connected to what killed them.”
Daniels shrugged. “Maybe the aliens have some sort of weapon that doesn’t leave a mark. Poison gas, or sonic, or something.”
Chrissy didn’t looked convinced. “Maybe. That could be bad for us, but I don’t think they’d use gas during a close-in fight. Too dangerous for them.”
“Unless they had gas masks, or are immune to the gas.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe they died of indigestion. Who knows? Look at how they’re positioned. It looks like they crawled here to die.”
“Indigestion. Ha! Good one. Well, we’d better get what we came for and get the hell out of this part of town. There’s a lot more aliens around here than there were a few days ago. It’s getting harder to avoid them, and they seem inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.
“You got it.”
* * * *
Food!
Jay watched the small group approach from behind a dumpster at the end of an alley. Others of The Pack awaited on either side of the narrow side street that intersected the alley. Some hid behind closed doors, some behind wrecked cars, a few on a low rooftop.
Danger!
Operating on little more than instinct and vague shreds of memories, Jay somehow understood that the nine foods approaching from the left were anything but easy targets. His head hurt whenever he tried to think, so he didn’t try. However, sometimes ideas came to him anyway, bubbling up from the depths to what was left of his conscious mind.
He didn’t know why, but he knew these foods were dangerous. As the alpha, the rest of The Pack waited for him to give the signal to attack. He hesitated, as the open vehicle approached the alley, then gave the correct shriek and grunt to signal the attack.
Twenty-one pack members swarmed the vehicle. The soldiers opened fire.
The first volley killed four of The Pack outright, and grievously wounded two others. Three of The Pack jumped down on the vehicle from above, knocking four of the soldiers to the bed of the vehicle and disrupting the aim of the ones beside them. The rest of The Pack used the distraction to swarm aboard the vehicle and attack the soldiers.
Two of The Pack tore chunks of flesh from the arms or legs of soldiers with nothing but their teeth before being shot or stabbed. One Pack member attacked the hand of a soldier, biting off two fingers and causing the knife to clatter to the bed of the vehicle.
Jay, running toward the vehicle, saw the knife get kicked to the ground by a soldier struggling for his life. It clattered with a familiar sound. Jay picked up the knife and stared at it.
N— N— Ni—
The word wouldn’t come and the attempt to think of it hurt. No matter. He remembered what it was used for. He grasped the knife in his fist and jumped on the back of the vehicle.
Jay plunged the knife into the arm of a soldier, twisted it and sliced through the flesh. The alien screamed and turned toward Jay. As the soldier kicked Jay from the vehicle, the driver managed to fight off the Pack member lunging for his throat and gunned the vehicle forward.
One of The Pack and a soldier fell off the back as the vehicle darted for safety. The rest of The Pack pounced on the soldier, ripping at his clothing and tearing him to shreds.
While they feasted, Jay continued to stare at the knife. Something about it nagged at him. He forgot he was hungry. However, before the others could eat all the good parts, he took the knife, shouldered the others aside, and
sawed through the left elbow of the soldier. The forearm still held a fair amount of meat on the bone.
He let the others eat while he pondered the knife.
When they’d had their fill and picked up the rest of the carcass for later eating, he signaled for them to follow. With the forearm dangling from one hand and the knife in the other, he led the remaining thirteen members of The Pack toward something he had a vague memory of.
Minutes later, they reached the sporting goods store. Jay looked inside and spotted the display case containing knives, and the racks and shelves that held other useful things.
He smiled and picked up a large rock that lay nearby. Then he hurled it at the display window, shattering it.
The Pack entered.
* * * *
That night, as the quartet prepared for sleep in the back of a bakery, Chrissy curled up with her head on a sack of flour as a pillow. After a close brush with Zoms an hour earlier, her nerves were still jangled.
Goddamn Zoms!
As she drifted toward slumber, she remembered a time when she slept curled up like this with her head on a pillow with XXX embroidered on it. The hunting shack her dad and Uncle Jack owned in the hills of Tennessee had once been used for making moonshine. The XXX was a reference to the hooch they used to drink there on the front porch, rockin’ and smokin’ cigars.
Chrissy had learned to shoot there over the course of several hunting seasons, and had once shot an 8-point buck. Her dad had been so proud that he’d had the head mounted on a plaque and hung in her bedroom so she could see it and be reminded of her great day.
She often fell asleep looking at it and smiling. That is, until the night when she was fourteen and Uncle Jack slipped into her room while Dad was out on a beer run. She focused on that 8-pointer the whole time he raped her. She’d tried her hardest to fight him off, but she was small for her age. He was just too big and too heavy and too strong. If she told anyone, he said, her dad would kick her to the curb for being such a little slut, constantly teasing Uncle Jack with those short-shorts and crop tops and itty-bitty bikinis.
Aliens Versus Zombies Page 4
