Fluency

by Jennifer Foehner Wells

  “Jane!” Alan’s face was contorted in a tortured expression. “We’ll have to leave him.”

  Gibbs and Varma kept looking back at her, desperation plain on their faces. They needed to move. The nepatrox were relentlessly pressing them back.

  She shook her head in denial and eased Compton to the floor. She slipped the gun in a pocket, grasped Compton’s arm, and pulled with everything she had, dragging him across the floor, back the way they’d come.

  She pulled with a strength she didn’t know she had, Compton’s inert frame trailing behind her, ducking and swerving to avoid the slimy tendrils dropping from the ceiling. She glanced back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She’d managed at least a hundred feet back toward the deck-to-deck transport. She’d hoped the others would be right behind her, but there was still a lot of distance between them.

  She heard Varma declare, “Reloading—cover me.”

  Seconds later, Alan yelled, “I’m out of ammo.”

  Jane stopped in her tracks, one hand going to her pocket and the magazines there, but Gibbs had already passed Alan another magazine. He was reloading.

  “Make every round count!” Walsh roared.

  Those few seconds had given the creatures an opening. They surged forward. A few of them slipped by Alan to attack from behind.

  Alan and Varma moved into a diamond-shaped defensive formation, backs to Walsh and Gibbs, as the animals gained more ground, slowly surrounding them.

  She dropped Tom’s arm. She hated herself for doing it, but it couldn’t be helped. She slipped the breathing gear off her back and grasped it by the strap with her left hand, just as Walsh had done. Then she palmed the cold steel of the Beretta in her right and flicked off the safety with her thumb.

  She feared she wasn’t a good enough shot to be able to clear the way between her and her team without risking hitting them with stray bullets. But she couldn’t let them get cut off from her, couldn’t lose them all to this madness.

  She’d have to use the air canister.

  Her body vibrated with tension, itching for movement. She blinked, seemingly in slow motion, a hyper-awareness sharpening her senses. Then she took off at a run. Nothing would get by her. She couldn’t allow it. Every pounding heartbeat brought her closer.

  The nepatrox came to meet her with a greedy glint in every eye.

  She swung the canister like a metronome, smashing each nepatrox with a savagery she hadn’t known she was capable of. Every lunge toward her met disaster; she stepped to meet it and her cylinder got there first. There was no choice but to kill them. Herding them back toward her team wasn’t an option, nor was letting them get to Compton. If one of the creatures moved after she’d clubbed it, she slammed the canister into it again with cold detachment.

  It was working. There were fewer and fewer between her and the others. She glanced back. One of the larger ones had been smart enough to see she was distracted by the smaller ones and had snuck by her. It was heading for Tom.

  She raised the 9mm one-handed and braced herself. Without a second of hesitation, she fired. Every joint in her wrist, elbow and shoulder compressed. The scent of hot metal and burnt carbon stung her nostrils, but she’d hit it. It went down, possibly only stunned, but it was down for the moment, anyway.

  “Jane—try to get away!” Alan shouted.

  She didn’t reply. Resolution pushed her forward, inch by inch. She ignored the ache in her left arm and kept swinging. If she missed a nepatrox the first time, she hit it the second. As she drew closer to the rest of the crew, the monsters between them came on her harder, faster.

  Some of them got too close. She kicked at them viciously, hoping the military-issued boots were tough enough to protect her from the flailing stingers.

  She curled her lip in contempt. The nepatrox would just as soon have a bite out of each other as they would out of the humans. The mass of them hissed and spat and sniped at each other as she approached.

  There was but five feet left between her and the rest of the group. It might as well have been a hundred feet, because it was swarming with nepatrox.

  The others were trying to use their canisters the same way, but they were tightly grouped and fighting both sides at once. They were being overwhelmed. They weren’t going to make it unless they tried something else. They needed a strategy. She cast around, taking in the immediate environment.

  Now that the lights were back on, she could see there was a door, a few feet behind her and to her left.

  If that room were clear of the nepatrox—and if they could get inside—they would have time to hatch a proper plan to get to the capsule and escape. That was as far as she could think, for now. They couldn’t keep going on this way. There were too many and more kept coming. They were all getting tired.

  At worst, it would be just a break. Maybe they could pick off the larger ones one at a time through a crack in the door. At best, there might be something inside that room they could use. Compton was the only hitch in the plan.

  She darted to the door and tapped the door control. The door slid up. She turned and smashed a few more animals, then slipped inside. The lights inside the room came on, but nothing came to greet her.

  This room, like many in the storage hold, was vast. It was full of storage crates, like the first room they’d entered on the ship. She saw no signs of life, not even a slug. There was another door along the same wall that opened into the room about forty feet past where Compton lay in the corridor, closer to the deck-to-deck transport. She wanted to kick herself. If only she’d dragged him forty feet farther, or noticed the door sooner.

  Old doubts pricked at her. She forced herself to ignore them, ducked back out of the room and pounded back toward the group. “I’ve got a plan!”

  “Oh, yeah?” Walsh called. “Let’s hear it!”

  She looked down. A creature lashed its tail at her, way too close for comfort. She jumped back just in time, then bludgeoned the animal. Unless she fired at just the right angle, brute clubbing was far more effective at taking a nepatrox out than the pistol was.

  “We’re going through this door. Ajaya, you’ll get there first, so you’ll have your hand on the door control and shut that door the second the last man is through. That’s your job.”

  Varma nodded crisply. “Affirmative.”

  “Ron, you’re the fastest runner. Once you’re through, I need you to head straight for the other door that opens to the corridor.” She gestured behind her with the pistol, toward Compton and the deck-to-deck transport beyond him. “Don’t look back. Just get there and open it. I want you to lay down cover fire from there.”

  Gibbs met her eyes and bobbed his head. “Understood.”

  “Mark, Alan, your task is to kill anything that gets through that door before it closes.”

  “And what is your part in this plan, Holloway?” Walsh hollered.

  “I’m going for Tom.”

  Alan was shaking his head. “Jane—”

  She cut him off with an order. “Spread out. You’re too bunched up. Give yourself room to move. Start moving toward the door.”

  She clubbed a small one, then gritted her teeth and fired at one that was getting too close to Alan. Her aim was true. It fell over on its side.

  Alan yelped. “Jesus Christ, Jane!”

  She ignored him and fired at one scuttling down the corridor, but all she got was a hollow clicking noise. She made an angry, frustrated sound. “I’m reloading! Someone shoot the one that’s going for Tom!” She fumbled with the release until the spent magazine clattered to the floor.

  There was hissing and magenta and orange flapping at her knee. Dammit! She hopped back and raised the canister a fraction of a second too late. The creature’s tail was quicker. It slashed at her left leg. She grunted in disbelief before crushing the animal with the blunt end of the canister.

  “Jane, are you hit?”

  “No! Stop looking at me and concentrate on what you’re doing!” She leveled a few more nep
atrox before she could get a glimpse at her leg. She felt a small amount of pain in that leg, that seemed to be growing. The fabric of her pant-leg was torn, but she couldn’t see skin.

  She stomped her foot as she moved a step closer to the group. She felt that. That was reassuring. She pushed down fear and ignored the pain. She’d be safe soon enough.

  Over the din, Varma enunciated, “On a count of three, step back, Jane, and reload. I’m going to try something.”

  Jane sent her a terse nod. Varma counted. Jane readied herself to slip the harness over her arm, go for a magazine, and back out of range—in a single, time-saving motion.

  Varma called out, “Three!”

  Jane leapt back. As she slipped the new magazine into place, she looked up to see Varma executing a ninja-worthy move.

  With her cylinder of compressed air held neatly before her, Varma went low to the floor and spun in a swift, forceful arc, sweeping the animals out of the way, effectively clearing a swath before her. Then, in a sprightly leap, she was one foot closer to the open door and safety.

  “Move!” Jane yelled. The men were reacting sluggishly to the floor space Varma had suddenly cleared. “Do that again, Ajaya!”

  Jane vaulted back at Varma’s three-count, attempting to move just like Varma, shoving the nepatrox sideways and back the way they’d come. The creatures were flung in their wake, sliding into each other, disorienting the general mass of them for just a moment.

  They were almost there. It was working. She kicked one in the side of the head and put another one down with a round into its yawning mouth, spattering its brains in every direction.

  “Again—then inside! Everyone get ready. No mistakes. Do your part!”

  She counted aloud with Varma, humming with excitement, primed to run. She knew they would succeed. She wouldn’t look back.

  On three, she turned. She pumped her legs like pistons, sprinting for Tom.

  Then the gravity went out.

  16

  Bergen was sweating profusely. It was stinging his eyes.

  It was happening so fast. Too fast, damn it. He shouldn’t have listened to her. He should have gone with her. Why hadn’t he done that?

  The next few seconds would be crucial and he’d be cut off from her. He was letting her down. What was he doing?

  Jane. He was having a hard time tearing his eyes from her as she ran. He’d never seen her like that. She’d been turning those animals into carcasses like a blonde Lara Croft. The woman had looked invincible… like a fucking fantasy.

  Where was the prissy librarian now? Goddammit, she was hot.

  She should have come inside with them. Maybe the animals would have stuck around, trying to get through the door. Maybe they wouldn’t even have noticed Compton. Maybe there was no hope for Compton, anyway. He hated the thought of her risking everything if Compton was beyond help.

  They were almost through the door. Jane’s plan was working. With difficulty, Alan concentrated on his assigned task as she streaked down the corridor toward Compton. He could hear Gibbs’s boot steps pounding for the other door.

  He used his tank to block an attack, took another step back, then lunged forward, swinging the tank with vicious, deadly accuracy. All he had to do was keep these little pissants from getting through the door.

  Unfortunately, the animals had revved things up, scrambling over each other, launching themselves at the group. Perhaps they sensed they were about to be cut off from their prey. The sudden retreat probably stimulated their prey drive.

  The battle armor Jane had mentioned would have been damn useful at this point. Walsh was such an ass. That little miscalculation was going to go in Bergen’s next report to Houston. If there was another report to Houston.

  Crap. There were a bunch of the bastards hot on Jane’s heels.

  Walsh was counting down. There wasn’t much time left.

  Bergen forgot anything but Jane’s need. He fired again and again, picking off as many of the creatures following her as he could. He felt a tail slash into his left calf. It burned like crazy. He ignored it.

  There was shouting. He ignored that too, completely focused on Jane. Finally, someone grabbed him, pulling him forcefully through the door. It shut in his face even as he lunged forward to take another shot.

  He turned to take off sprinting for the other door, but something was wrong. He blinked rapidly.

  At first he thought it might be the creature’s venom, that he might be hallucinating or passing out. It felt as if his feet had lifted out from under him. His stomach lurched into his throat and his chest felt full.

  He was drifting away from the door, pivoting at a strange angle. He shook his head to clear it. Quickly, the mental processes he’d developed to cope with microgravity kicked in.

  “The gravity is malfunctioning,” Varma yelled. She was already some distance away, pinwheeling in midair at a point halfway to the other door. She must have taken off at a dead run as soon as she’d hit the door control, just as he’d planned to do. Gibbs was nearly to the other door.

  Bergen suddenly realized that, in a room this large, he’d have to anchor himself before he drifted too far from anything he could grab. He pulled up his knees and rotated.

  Walsh was wedged into the doorframe with his back against the door and held out a hand. Bergen met Walsh’s eyes. They were grim.

  Bergen snapped to alert with a start. “Oh, fuck. Jane!”

  “We’ll do what we can for her,” Walsh said as he pulled Bergen back to the door.

  There was nothing to hold on to. This ship was never meant to be a microgravity environment.

  “Let’s assess the situation,” Walsh continued tersely. “Open the door, Berg.”

  Alan glanced over his shoulder at Varma. She still had some momentum carrying her toward the other door. She was swimming in the air, trying to make faster progress. He huffed. It’d take years to get there that way, but if anyone could, it’d be Varma.

  He covered the door control with his hand, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t be propelled back into the room.

  The door slid up. There was a lot of hissing going on out there, but very little other sound. Walsh jabbed his canister carefully, deliberately. He was just using enough force to knock the creatures back but not with so much momentum that the canister would yank him into their midst. Bergen braced his feet against the doorframe and grabbed the back of Walsh’s flight suit to keep him anchored.

  “Holloway,” Walsh yelled. “Stop flailing around—you’re wasting energy.”

  Bergen pulled himself into the doorway. The creatures were floating around in clumps—corpses and live, pissed-off things—spinning, drifting in every direction, caroming into each other in comical slow-motion.

  Jane appeared to be okay. She was whirling, arms outstretched, momentum still carrying her slowly down the hall toward Compton at a ten to fifteen degree angle. There were creatures all around her, but it didn’t look like anything was too close. She had lost some speed and picked up the tumble somewhere. It seemed like she’d already bounced off the ceiling. She sounded bewildered as she met his eyes briefly before rotating again. “I’m stuck in the middle—I can’t—there’s nothing to push off of—”

  He ventured out a little farther, clinging to the doorframe. “Use your nine mil, Jane. Do you have any rounds left?”

  She looked at the gun in her hand like she was mystified. “I think so.”

  “Fire in the opposite direction from where you want to go.”

  “Oh,” she said, beaming at him. “That I can do.”

  She flopped around, orienting herself. She’d never completely adapted to zero G, probably never would. He tried not to let his amusement show, not that she was looking.

  Bergen glanced over his shoulder. Gibbs had made it to the other door and was tying a length of paracord around a crate. Bergen narrowed his eyes. The crates weren’t floating—they were anchored somehow. That could be helpful information.


  Jane had gotten herself roughly parallel with the floor, legs angled slightly down. He was about to say something to her about that when she stretched her arms straight out in the direction the nepatrox had come from and fired point blank into one of the monsters. Her speed increased with a jerk.

  She must have been alarmed by the force of the explosion because she was tumbling and thrashing around again. It looked like she’d have an opportunity to get purchase when she bumped into a wall.

  “That,” she said with a laugh as she twirled, “was awesome.”

  Gibbs was bracing himself in the other doorway, ready to thrust himself toward Compton.

  Then Jane fell out of the air. They all did.

  17

  Jane slammed into the deck with a nauseating crunch. All the air whoofed out of her with a groan. Her vision narrowed to a spiraling tunnel of light. The pain in her right leg was a shock. She’d never felt anything like it. She struggled to draw breath, to cling to consciousness, as white-hot agony tore at her throat.

  She had a fleeting thought, that she should try not to scream. It might draw the creatures. Was it too late? Had she already done that? She wasn’t sure.

  Blood throbbed in her ears. Her vision swam. She pushed herself up on her elbows. She saw her right leg at once, curled at an unnatural angle under her. She collapsed back down, pressing her face to the cold surface of the deck, gathering strength, as hot bile stung the back of her throat.

  It could be worse. She wasn’t dead yet.

  The gun. Where was the gun? Her hands were empty.

  “Jane!” Alan yelled. It was a hoarse, desperate warning.

  She should try to reassure him, somehow, but that seemed ludicrous.

  Brilliant colors filled her field of vision—like a perfect sunset, in pastel hues of tangerine and magenta. She stared at them in wonder until she realized what she was looking at. A creature. A nepatrox. It was tottering toward her, regarding her warily.