by Lee Stephen
They could hear Scott’s voice over the comm again. “What happened, Strakhov?”
“He is dead,” Oleg repeated, stepping carefully backward up the hall. “A necrilid killed him.”
A hissing sound came from the ceiling above him. The eidolon’s attention shot upward, where the ceiling tiles shifted.
“Oleg,” Scott said, “get out of there now.”
The tiles erupted and gave way, and a necrilid crashed through to the floor. Oleg fired his assault rifle and the creature jerked backward.
As soon as Scott heard the gunfire, he swung in its direction. Without looking at David, he ordered, “Get Derrick back to the ship.”
David helped Derrick to his feet.
“Romanov, Ryvkin, where are you?”
The two slayers were still on the upper level. They were crouched behind Boris at the ladder.
“We are here, lieutenant,” Viktor answered. “We have seen nothing so far.”
“We’re leaving the plant, Ryvkin,” said Scott. “Fortify the main entrance. Hold there until everyone is out.”
“Yes, lieutenant.”
“Romanov, come to me and assist.”
Nicolai shot Viktor a smug look. “This is turning out to be an interesting day.”
Boris jumped through the hole.
“Wait for us, you coward!” Viktor shouted. He dove down in pursuit with Nicolai behind him.
Dostoevsky backpedaled on the sub level. Auric, Svetlana, and Esther followed suit.
“The stairs aren’t far,” Esther said. Her breathing was growing weary. “One intersection behind us.”
Svetlana’s heart rate was out of control. Her chest heaved laboriously.
Far ahead, deep into the structure though impossible to miss, yellow eyes materialized in the blackness. Without warning, the aliens sprang to attack.
The two Nightmen lifted their weapons, firing simultaneously. Bullets ricocheted everywhere. One creature fell.
“Go!” Dostoevsky shouted. “Run for the stairs!”
Svetlana and Esther bolted for the stairwell. Only Esther paid mind to the last intersection.
Auric’s shotgun blast hit a necrilid as it lurched toward him. Momentum sent the creature skidding past. More eyes appeared in the distance.
The two women reached the stairwell together, turning to spot their Nightman comrades. Dostoevsky and Auric sprinted for the stairs as the necrilids behind them leapt closer. Esther took aim, firing at will. Dostoevsky and Auric ducked. One pair of eyes skidded to a stop; the others kept on. Svetlana fired several times, but none of her shots connected. As soon as the Nightmen reached the stairwell, all four operatives united to fire. A tidal wave of projectile ensued, and the necrilids catapulted out of view. That was all the operatives needed. They fled up the stairs.
Scott could see Oleg ahead in his tcvs; the Russian soldier was firing in all directions. He could see Clarke’s body over his shoulder.
We are not here to protect humanity.
Scott crouched and raised his rifle to fire.
We are here to destroy all who oppose it.
The creatures appeared. They were bouncing into view from side passages, snapping and rasping as they careened from wall to wall. Scott didn’t wait for Oleg to move from his line of fire; he unleashed his assault rifle without caution.
Bullets streaked past Oleg as he dove to the ground. Clarke’s body rolled across the floor.
Scott swiveled the barrel of his gun purposefully from one necrilid to the next, to the next, then to the next. Never in his life had he focused with so much precision. It almost felt spiritual, but in a way he’d never felt before. This was pure killer’s lust. As the last necrilid fell, Scott checked his ammunition. He was still good.
Oleg looked up from the floor. Behind the tinted visor of his EDEN helmet, a surprised pair of eyes beheld Scott. The fulcrum from America stood firm.
Footsteps appeared behind them. It was Nicolai. Without turning, Scott issued his orders. “Watch everything behind me. I’ve got point.” His next words went to Oleg. “Get Clarke out of here.”
Both men affirmed, as Oleg picked up Clarke’s body. He began to make his way out. The trio fell back.
Boris was the first out of the plant’s entrance, even surpassing David and Derrick. The technician sprinted back to the ship.
Viktor appeared moments later, but he held his ground outside the door.
As the Pariah‘s door lowered to the snow, Boris flew in right over the dog.
Travis snapped a look back, as the technician leapt into the copilot’s seat. “What? What’s going on? What happened?”
Boris was shaking too much to talk.
In the troop bay of the ship, barely having avoided Boris’s flight, the rescued dog laid its chin down.
It wasn’t long before everyone was out of the plant. Uncomfortable stares were cast at Oleg as the soldier carried Clarke’s corpse to the ship.
Scott didn’t care. His thoughts were solely on the new situation. This was a task tailor-made for the Nightmen. In their black metal suits, they didn’t look human. They looked like dark war machines. They looked fearsome. That was the new point.
Speed. Aggression and speed. Make the necrilids fear us for a change. Scott wouldn’t offer Dostoevsky the reins back, at the risk that the commander might actually take them. “I want everyone back in the Pariah,” Scott said, “except us.” The Nightmen turned his direction.
Svetlana’s mouth hit the snow. “What are you doing?”
“He’s going back in,” said David, having returned from bringing Derrick to the ship. “And anyone who goes with him is a fool.”
“You’re going back?”
Scott’s focus went solely to the Nightmen. “We’re going to hit this place with tactical speed. I will take the point position, flanked by Romanov and Ryvkin surveying the perimeter. Dostoevsky and Broll have the rear.” He would give Dostoevsky credit where it was due. Only the commander could keep them safe from behind at the level of skill Scott required.
David cut off Scott’s commands. His attention turned to the slayers. “If any of you listen to this, you’re insane. You don’t stand a chance.”
Esther crouched quietly in the snow.
Scott’s teeth clenched. He was about to charge a necrilid nest—he wasn’t about to be intimidated by David. “This isn’t up for debate.”
“You’re doing to them exactly what Thoor did to Anatoly in Siberia,” David said. “You haven’t learned a thing!”
At the mention of her dead boyfriend’s name, Svetlana turned David’s way.
“Nothing good came out of Siberia, Scott!” said David. “Siberia is why you’re a Nightman.”
Svetlana blinked. A look of total shock hit her face.
Scott’s patience with David was gone. “You’re about to cross a line you do not want to cross.”
“I want to go with you,” Esther said. The scout rose to her feet.
David’s jaw dropped. “Esther!”
“I’m not afraid, sir. I can do this.”
“I appreciate your interest,” Scott answered, “but this isn’t for you.”
Esther lowered her head, looking away.
David turned to Svetlana and scowled. “Everything you told me, everything you said about friendship, and fatherhood, and forgiveness…this is what you haven’t seen!” He looked at her while pointing to Scott. “This is what you can’t comprehend. This is our hell!”
Svetlana said nothing. There was nothing she could say.
Scott ignored David completely. He spoke only to the slayers. “Forget everything you were taught about necrilids, because this won’t be pretty or precise. Our objective is shock and awe.”
The slayers watched him expectantly.
“We go in as one, we move as one, at pure assault speed.” He foresaw the whole thing in his mind. He foresaw their whole charge as if it was a vision. They tore through the necrilids like chainsaws. They ripped them apart
with their bare hands. They switched the roles of predator and prey. He’d had his fair share of sneaking around. It was time to bash in the door.
Svetlana turned to Scott again, but remained mute. Nonetheless, her eyes gave her feelings away. Behind the featureless faceplate of Scott’s helmet, he could read her. This wasn’t what she had expected—or understood. This was who he was now. This was the man he was created to be.
He stared at the plant’s entranceway, feeling his anger take control once again . Three. They would not lose this fight. Two. They would not lose again.
One.
16
Monday, November 14, 0011 NE
1524 hours
Scott burst through the front door, his legs churning as he stormed down the hall. As he hit the stairwell, the Nightmen followed.
He plunged down the stairs, landing in a heavy roll that brought him crouching on his knees.
The wait was not long. The moment he landed, he saw them—four of them—two near and two far. The creatures whipped around to face him.
Scott held down the trigger and the two nearest necrilids fell. The farther ones began their attack run. With their yellow eyes burning, they leapt frenetically from wall to wall.
Nicolai and Viktor landed at Scott’s side. Both of them fired their weapons, and the last two necrilids were cut down.
At the top of the stairs, Dostoevsky and Auric opened fire. The double-pop of impacts hit the halls.
“Four Ex down!” Scott yelled. He made no attempt to be quiet. He wanted the necrilids to know they were there.
“Two Ex down,” Dostoevsky said from above.
“Moving forward!”
Scott’s heart was pounding through his armor. It was fear and adrenaline, fight over flight. He darted ahead to the first intersection, flashing his gun wildly. Nicolai and Viktor followed in sync. Above the ceiling, more creatures skittered. As Viktor fired mercilessly at the sound, a necrilid corpse fell straight through the hole to the floor.
Just then, Dostoevsky and Auric appeared. Scott turned back to the corridor just in time to hear a howl from deeper within. His pace quickened as he moved forward.
A necrilid leapt into the intersection ahead. All three Nightmen barraged it with shells.
“Is this as far as you went?” Scott asked Dostoevsky.
“Yes.”
That was all Scott needed to know. “Come on!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. The words were not meant for his comrades—they were meant for the beasts. They need to hear us. They need to know we’re not afraid.
“Weapons away,” he said to the Nightmen. They complied without protest, slinging their weapons over their shoulders.
The necrilids need to know what it feels like to lose.
It happened in an instant, in tune with Scott’s thoughts. As the corridor opened into a new room, a necrilid leapt into view. It rasped loudly and dove after Scott. In the next second, Scott propelled himself through the air, hurling his entire shoulder around and plowing the full brunt of his strength against the necrilid’s head in the form of a single, solid fist. The creature smashed into the wall.
Scott didn’t wait for the alien to rise. Grabbing it by its head, he rolled forward and hurled it over his shoulder into the room ahead. As the creature flipped upright, it screamed in anger and pain. What Scott did next silenced it cold.
He screamed back.
Propelling himself forward, Scott pulled back his fist and swung at the beast. But to his surprise, he struck only air. The necrilid had moved out of harm’s way.
It was a moment so liberating that shockwaves pulsed through Scott’s veins as he landed again. The creature had leapt away. It had darted halfway across the room to avoid him.
It was afraid.
The other four Nightmen—Nicolai, Viktor, Dostoevsky, and Auric—charged into the open. Together, the five black knights stood in unison, the horns of the fulcrums stabbing through the dark. They stood like a pack of metal wolves.
Suddenly, something happened that none of them had ever heard or witnessed before. The necrilid let loose with an eerily long howl—a terrible, anguished scream.
Scott cocked his head with comprehension. You’re telling them, aren’t you? You’re alerting the others. You’re warning them of an imminent threat.
The necrilid bounded away.
“Oh my God,” said Viktor. It was the first time he’d ever sounded stunned.
No one challenged a necrilid. They were horrible creatures, made of razor sharp teeth and terrible claws. They were aggressive, rapacious monsters straight out of a nightmare. No one challenged a necrilid—until now.
“Weapons out,” Scott said, as he re-aimed his rifle. The Nightmen around him followed suit. There was no need for unarmed bravado now—they’d needed to prove their point only once. Now the necrilids knew real danger. Danger that could beat them one on one. Scott bolted in pursuit of the retreating creature. He knew he couldn’t literally catch it—necrilids were faster than anything else. But he had a feeling deep in his gut—a feeling it was fleeing to the nest.
They met almost no resistance through the twisting corridors of Chernobyl. On occasion a necrilid surfaced, but lone necrilids were no match for five Nightmen. They fell without resistance.
“Lieutenant,” Esther said over the comm, “do you need any help?”
Scott answered immediately. “Radio dark.” He didn’t want to hear Esther’s voice, nor anyone’s from the surface. This wasn’t EDEN’s mission—it was theirs. The slayers around him assumed radio silence, and no more transmissions came from the team outside.
The terrain inside the plant was impossible to predict. Oval rooms flowed into half-melted halls, which declined into ladderless tubes. Only one direction mattered at all: straight ahead full. The Nightmen surged down a solitary hall, longer than most they’d traversed. It opened ahead into a much larger space.
The screaming began. It came from every direction—from the ceiling and floor, from behind and in front. Bloodthirsty, predatory screaming. A chill passed up Scott’s spine.
“Fortify, three-sixty!” Scott shouted. Behind him, Dostoevsky and Auric about-faced and dropped to their knees, while Nicolai and Viktor did the same, but remained facing front. Scott stayed in the center. Every direction was covered forward and back. With the freedom of the middle position, Scott could fire anywhere. They were a fortress of metal.
The screaming around them continued. Howling, snarling, and shrieking.
“Come on!” Scott challenged the beasts. He thrust up his E-35. “Amplify your helmets.” The Nightmen affirmed, adjusting their volume controls. When Scott spoke again, his mechanized voice blared like a megaphone.
“Come on, we’re right here!”
Two necrilids appeared from behind. Dostoevsky and Auric cut them to the ground. Another pair appeared from in front, and Nicolai and Viktor opened fire.
This is it, Scott thought. This is the end.
They descended like a black avalanche. Two necrilids. Then ten. Then ten more. Assault rifles and shotgun blasts erupted from both sides as creatures sprang up, then toppled to the ground. Scott’s rifle blazed in every direction.
The attack went on for several more seconds before the rush of necrilids ceased. Their screaming continued, but no new creatures emerged.
Their first plan just failed. Keep on the offensive. “Reload and advance!”
There was a burst of stomping and slamming, as assault rifles and shotguns were refreshed. The Nightmen fortress marched forward. Scott remained in the center as the larger room loomed ahead. Then he saw it.
It was cowering far down in the hallway—he almost missed it at first. Its small size made it harder to see. Then it was gone.
A necrilid hatchling.
“The nest is ahead!” Scott bellowed. “State your count!” One by one, the Nightmen called out.
“Eight!”
“Six!”
“Five!”
“Eight!”
Scott himself had killed six. Overall, their fortified guns had dropped over thirty. They’d probably killed forty since they’d arrived at the plant.
The Nightmen pressed onward and the large chamber loomed nearer.
A pair of necrilids appeared from behind, and Dostoevsky and Auric opened fire. Above Scott, the ceiling gave way. He knelt, aimed upward, and fired. Another necrilid fell through to the floor.
They’re coming from above now. They’re dropping on us.
Panning his rifle in both directions, he fired a steady stream of waves through the ceiling. He could hear them scatter.
“They’re in the ceiling! Open fire!”
He hadn’t needed to say it. The Nightmen swung their weapons high, unleashing a barrage of assault rifle and shotgun fire into the ceiling. Chunks of bloody debris cascaded around them. Corpses and body parts were littered about.
Proactive. Stay proactive! Stay one step ahead.
“Advance forward!” The formation once again marched ahead. But Scott knew what was coming next. Their attack from the sides and through the ceiling failed. Their next step is the floor.
It was a worst case scenario—and inevitable. The necrilids would destroy the humans’ footing, then tear them apart before they could stand. If they did that, the Nightmen were dead.
“Burst forward, five meters!” It was a move they’d practiced innumerable times but never used in the field. “Move!”
Every Nightman leapt to his feet. They lunged forward like armored gazelles, diving into the large room ahead.
Behind them, innumerable claws tore away the floor, causing it to fold and collapse.
The five Nightmen hit the ground rolling—and still in formation. When they came out of their rolls, they were once again crouched on their knees, Scott once again in the middle. The entire fortification had moved. The moment Scott looked around, he knew it’d been done.
They’d just bashed in the door.
The room was crawling with necrilids, every one of them caught off-guard by the five raging knights. It was like charging a den full of lions and bludgeoning the predators before they could react. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Nightmen opened fire.
