The Ultimate Collection of Science & Speculative Fiction Short Stories (Short SSF Stories Book 5)

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  I rush to his side and check his wound. Shrapnel has hit him, but his body armor has absorbed most of it. He has multiple small cuts that don’t worry me, and a deep wound on his shoulder that does. “You’ll be fine,” I say as I empty a can of blood-stopping foam on the wound. Like magic, the crimson flow slows from a river to a trickle. The painkillers in the foam must be working, because his face relaxes.

  “Thanks, Doc,” he says and groans.

  “Don’t mention it,” I say and turn my attention back to the camp.

  The tower lies in ruins, but several of our men are lying dead. Under heavy fire, GI Joe and Ebony zigzag between the buildings until they reach the jail. They tear down the door and throw it to the side. The prisoner casually tugs his other cufflink before following them back to the camp entrance. His stride is confident. When Ebony throws his hands in the air and drops to the ground, the prisoner frowns and wipes blood droplets from his jacket. GI Joe shoves him through the gate and turns around to return fire. Bullets rip through his chest. They must be armor-piercing, because he drops to the ground like a lead mannequin. He never gets up.

  I search for the prisoner, but he’s disappeared. I take cover as another series of explosions covers me with branches and mud. My ears ring, which is probably why I don’t hear the young man approach.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  I jump out of my skin. His voice is deep and poised. For some reason, he sounds… amused? The guy hasn’t even broken a sweat.

  “We should get out of here, sir,” Granite says and bows his head with respect.

  The freed prisoner nods. I place an arm around Granite to help him to his feet. We hurry back down the slope. Behind us, sporadic gunfire and booming explosions suggest the remnants of our force are covering our getaway. We descend as fast as we can until we reach the wall. Keeping it to my right, I start the detour around it.

  “What are you doing?” the young man asks. “It’s just a knee wall. Surely you can scale it?”

  “It’s taboo,” I say, then notice Granite’s scolding face. “What?”

  “Forgive him, sir,” he says. “He doesn’t understand.”

  The young man brushes him off with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “That’s fine.” A carefree smile parts his lips. “When I’m with you, you needn’t worry about a thing.”

  Try telling that to GI Joe, I think, but decide it’s best if I keep my mouth shut.

  “Besides,” he continues, “this would make a splendid headquarters. Feels right, doesn’t it?”

  The place gives me the creeps, but I can take a hint. “Whatever,” I mumble under my breath and help Granite over the wall. We head straight to the middle of the enclosed area. The ground is moist and muddy, like marshland. Broken pillars jut out of the water like the fossilized bones of prehistoric monsters. I can see no trees within the compound. It’s almost like this area doesn’t belong to the jungle at all. Above us, the low rumble of thunder echoes. A frown etches my brow. It was clear a moment ago.

  All my hairs stand on end as we approach a raised stone platform. Some sort of crumbling altar sits at its center. I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched.

  Granite lets out a sudden yelp and slips right through my hands and into a hole in the ground.

  “Granite!” I cry out.

  The former prisoner cocks an eyebrow. “That’s not his name.”

  I ignore him and lean over the hole. I hear moans. “We’re coming,” I shout.

  “We are?” the young man asks in surprise.

  I glare at him. “We are.” I consider jumping after Granite, but have no idea how deep this hole is. Were I with someone else, I might ask them to lower me with a rope. But I have no rope. And I’m sure this guy would just leave me there to rot, anyway. My gaze darts frantically around. I spot stairs right before the altar. They seem to lead down below.

  I run to the platform and jump down a stone stairway. The uneven steps are slippery with mud, as I realize when my foot does a funky dance and ends up in front of my face. Letting out a curse, I land flat on my face in stinking stale waters. It takes me a moment to regain my composure. When I do, I notice an impatient hand waiting for me.

  I take it and the young man lifts me to my feet as if I were made of straw. There’s not a speck on his fine suit. Even Ebony’s blood has disappeared. Who the hell is this guy? The patron saint of drycleaners?

  “Thanks,” I mumble and scrunch my nose at my own stench. He stares at me, an amused twinkle in his onyx eyes.

  We are standing at the end of a crumbling corridor. Gunshots echo all around us. My head jerks left and right, trying to identify its origins. Long bursts. Then, the curt pow-pow-pow of a sidearm.

  “This way,” he says and marches down the corridor as if he owns the place.

  He snaps his fingers and a torch on the stone walls bursts to flames as we pass, blinding me for a moment, and almost giving me a heart attack. “What the…”

  Then another torch lights up. And another. I remove my goggles and rub my eyes. We reach a cavernous circular room. Yawning pathways lead away to corridors like the one we just came from, like spokes on a wheel. At its center lies Granite.

  “Snakes,” he hisses as I dash toward him. “I hate snakes.” He turns his handgun at his temple and squeezes the trigger.

  My eyes widen. “No!” I vault at him but am too late.

  Click.

  He stares with dismay at the empty weapon and throws it away. His gaze focuses on something behind me and terror fills his eyes. He lets out an inhuman shriek.

  I spin around and my jaw drops. A hulking, growling beast, covered in a crustacean shell is slithering toward us. Four sets of powerful claws snap at us. The lower part of the creature’s body is anaconda-like, and over thirty feet in length. Four insectoid eyes glare at us. Twin bat wings unfurl from its back. The whole thing looks designed by a drunken mad geneticist. On acid.

  It opens its mouth and a foul stench makes me cover my face with my shirt. The creature raises a claw to strike.

  “Not so fast,” the young man says and casually steps between us and the beast. “They are with me.”

  The beast cocks its head, making the writhing tentacles that cover its neck sway sickeningly. It lets out a long snarl.

  “Normally, I’d agree with you,” the young man says condescendingly, “but, like I said,”—he raises his chin and reveals perfect teeth in a threatening grin—“they’re with me. You don’t want to mess with another man’s property now, do you?”

  Property?

  The creature growls something back.

  “Great Old One, huh?” the young man says, smiling with mock pleasure. “Nice to meet you. They call me the Beast.”

  “I’m Benny,” I mumble, “but everyone calls me Doc.” Did I just say that?

  They both stare at me for a moment, then the monster puts two claws on its waist and snarls something.

  “I don’t care about no stinkin’ prophecy,” Beast says, glaring at it, “or how ancient you really are. This is my world to destroy.” He offers a lopsided grin, like the two sides of his face can’t agree on any one particular expression. “You ever heard of the Apocalypse, ol’ timer? Woe to you, Oh Earth and Sea, for the devil sends the Beast with wrath and all that?” He takes a mock bow. “At your service.”

  I take a step back, my jaw hanging. Wait, what? I’m trying to figure out if he’s deluded or worse. Much, much worse. The upturned cross on Granite’s chest, the crosses at the encampment—everything makes perfect sense. Despite the suffocating heat, cold sweat breaks out and covers my shivering body.

  The creature roars and stomps its claws against its chest. The whole room quakes. Dirt rains on us from the crumbling ceiling.

  Beast sighs theatrically and swats away dust from his shoulders. “Fine. Have it your way.” He removes his jacket, folds it neatly, and hands it to me. “Hold this, will you, Doc? This won’t take but a moment.”

  I nod and shuff
le away, unable to tear my eyes off of them.

  The monster charges at him with a combined attack from all its four claws. Beast cowers and a shimmering light covers him in a crackling red sphere. Sparks fly around him as the shield absorbs the brunt of the attack. For a split second, I swear the young man transforms into a muscular, red-skinned, horned demon, pointy tail and all. A bright red circle with three spokes shines on his forehead, forming three sixes. His eyes burn like amber coals. I blink, and it’s a perfect young guy cowering within the red sphere again.

  The monster recoils and the shield disappears.

  Beast dusts off his lapels with the back of his slim hand. “My turn.” He raises his arms, as if pushing against the creature. Flames burst from his palms, encasing the monster. In a split second, it rolls to its side in one swift motion, covering itself within its armored shell. The fire disperses safely around it.

  The creature lets out an angry roar and swivels its monstrous tail at us. Beast and I roll safely away, but Granite isn’t so lucky. The tail catches him as he’s on all fours, trying to get to his feet. He crashes against the far wall with a sickening crunch.

  I rush to his side.

  The light leaves his eyes. “Snakes,” he says and spits blood. “I hate…” With a sigh, his body slumps, lifeless, to the ground.

  Oh, crap!

  “I could take you with one hand,” Beast boasts and raises his right arm. This time, a volley of missile-like lightning shoots from his palm. The beast jumps to the ceiling. Two missiles bounce against the thick armor, but most of them miss their mark and end up blowing up part of the far wall. Again, the room quakes and debris rains from above.

  Screw this. I’m outta here. I steal one last glance at Granite’s dead body and dash off in the direction of the lit torches. Behind me, occasional booms echo, like faraway thunder. I climb the stairs two at a time and burst out and into the night. I drink the air in hungry gulps. Even the stale air of the marshland enclosure feels refreshing after the stench underground.

  I place the goggles over my eyes and make my way toward the dinghies. It’s downhill on the way back, so I make great time. My only worry is that the remnants of our team will have arrived before me and taken off.

  When I finally reach my destination and spot the boats, I let out a cry of relief. My lungs are on fire, but I don’t care. I push one of the dinghies into the water and jump inside. I turn the engine on, just as the first rays of the sun make a tentative appearance, sending bands of pink to blend into the dark purple of the horizon. I’ve made it.

  In the distance, thunder echoes. Half a dozen toucans take flight as I check the clear sky. No, not thunder. Definitely not thunder.

  The roar of a helicopter landing interrupts my slumber. I grab the box from under the bed before stepping outside. The sun is barely up as yet another group of mercenaries meets me. Their helicopter has landed among the rest of the choppers, making the tiny village resemble a bustling airport.

  That’s the good thing about Satanists: they’re very persistent, I think as I rub my eyes. “Gentlemen,” I say and stifle a yawn.

  Yet another version of GI Joe approaches me. This one’s even younger than the rest and blond but, apart from that, has the same athletic build and square jaw. “You’re Doc?”

  “Indeed I am.” I raise my hand to avoid a handshake, as they all have an annoying tendency to crush my fingers in their grip. “Welcome. Let me save you some time. As I told your predecessors, you will find what you seek if you head south on the river, take the left branch whenever you find a fork, and continue until you reach a lake. You can land at its far side, where, presumably, you will find an awful lot of dinghies similar to yours.” I chuckle. “Forgive me, it’s been a few months since I was last there, so I’ve lost track of just how many they might be. The place probably resembles a busy port by now.”

  GI Junior shoots me a venomous glare. “Just tell us where to find him.”

  A distant thunder booms as my friend, the shaman, reaches us. “Judging by the sound,” I say, “he’s still in the underground temple where I last saw him. Just follow the path from the lake to the brow of the ridge until you meet a snake wall.”

  “A what?”

  “A knee-high wall marked with snake images,” I patiently explain, showing with my palm just how tall the wall is. “You’ll know when you see it. Besides, the path must be pretty well-trodden by now.”

  He whips around to leave.

  “Wait,” I shout. “Two things before you go.”

  He stops and crosses his big arms before his muscular chest as he faces me.

  “First of all, if you go there, you’ll die.” I speak slowly to make sure he understands. “I’m giving you fair warning, because I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

  He dismisses me with a scoff. “And the second thing?”

  I give him my sweetest smile. “My friend and I”—I point to the shaman, who responds with his trademark toothless grin—“have a wager going on. His god against yours. Care to join us?”

  “What, his ancient relic of a god?” GI Junior asks and laughs. “I’m in. What’s the pot?”

  “Last time we checked, it was some fifty grand.”

  He pulls crumpled banknotes from his pocket and counts them. “Five hundred says we’re back within the day.”

  “Ask your men if they want in on the action.”

  His lips spread in a cocky grin. “I will. I’ll even give your friend his god’s head on a pike. As a souvenir.”

  I take the money with a fake laugh and watch him leave. He spins his finger in the air to gather his men.

  “Poor sap. Easiest money ever,” I say and open the box. Banknotes fly out. The shaman and I grab them and shove them back inside. “We need a bigger box, buddy,” I say in my friend’s language. “Maybe we can find one in one of them choppers while GI Junior gets our money.” I push the last notes in with my palm and snap the lid shut. “Let me get this back to my hut first.” That’s the beauty of this place. Banknotes mean to the natives about as much as dead leaves do. I could leave a central bank’s worth of cash lying around, and no one would even consider stealing it.

  The shaman nods, a sheepish smile on his lips.

  The ground shakes under our feet. I lean against the hut’s wall. “Whoa. That was a big one. Wonder what those two are up to.”

  The shaman follows me inside my hut. “How long will they fight?” he asks.

  “These guys? Decades. Centuries. Millennia,” I say and tuck the box back under my bed. “See, buddy, you were wrong. You can fight a prophecy. All you need is another one.”

  Heavy Sits the Frown

  The farm boy setting up the festive decorations steals a look at the castle. Over its palisade, he can make out the mighty king pacing the balcony. The lad stops tying up the ribbons on the maypole for a moment and shelters his eyes from the scorching midday sun, a deep frown between them. He wipes dripping sweat from his brow as his eyes set upon their monarch. His heart fills with envy.

  What he wouldn’t give to sit upon the keep’s massive walls. To not waste his existence in mindless, repetitive chores at the farm all day and pointless drinking with the lads in the evening. To live an important life, to rule the land, or at least sit at the round table where all important decisions are made. To be important.

  The mighty king takes a break from endless war plans to steal a look at the festive preparations below. In the courtyard, he can make out a handsome lad setting up some ribbons around a maypole. The older man stops pacing the balcony for a moment. He squints, his eyes set upon his subject. Deep lines scar his brow. His heart fills with envy.

  What he wouldn’t give to be free from the castle’s oppressive walls. To not waste his existence worrying where the next threat would come from. To not fear the whispers in the dark, the cloaked dagger, the poison in the wine. To live free, in a simple village or, even better, a distant farm. To toil the fields in the morning and play drinking games
with the lads in the evenings. To live a simple life, away from the round table where life and death decisions are made. To be unimportant.

  Royal Duties

  I know the place is trouble as soon as we pass the twin marble columns and enter the austere palace. Pained cries assault my ears, coming from behind a closed door at the end of an endless corridor. Our footsteps echo on the shiny marble floor until we reach it.

  A fresh scream comes from behind the polished mahogany. All my hairs stand on end. I glance at my trusted bodyguard, expecting us to flee. His face drops and he shakes his head. This is a trial I have to go through, his eyes seem to say.

  The door creaks open. A listless boy stumbles out, dragged by a red-faced woman. His limbs twitch as if he’s a broken mannequin. A puppet with cut strings. I stare with pity at the whimpering kid as they make their way down the long corridor. Then I realize they’re headed the right way. Unlike me.

  My bodyguard takes my hand and squeezes it. For courage. Is it me, or has the color fled his face? He pushes the door open and we march into a strange, yet vaguely familiar, room. Eerie lights play on the walls. Haunting music fills the room. My gaze studies the walls as I struggle to locate its source. An orange flame of a light catches my eye. It licks the far wall, burning bright over a long bed. Sharp instruments hang above it and next to it. Their shiny, steel surfaces reflect the hellish flame like a hall of mirrors.

  Hazy memories fill my head. I’ve been here before. How long ago, I can’t remember. In fact, I can’t remember much of anything about it. What did happen? And who would go to all the trouble of removing my memories? I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, and consider bolting. But I can’t. My bodyguard had made this clear.

  An older man is sitting behind an ornate table, scribbling furious notes on a piece of paper. A ghostly light plays on his face, from a large, square lamp in front of him. When he’s done, he turns his unwelcome gaze to us. I expected an ogre; I get a wizard instead. His white hair is long and unkempt. It flies behind his ears, making him look like a poor Santa Claus imitation. His dead eyes catch my attention. Made of glass, they hold no expression. They only mirror the strange lights in the room. How can he even see?