by Chris Hechtl
“Anything we should know about?” Bobby asked, turning to Hadji who was standing by the door. It was a typical single story ranch house, normal for this section of tract housing. It was an older house, near the center of town. Before the alien invasion probably worth $150k. Now it wasn't worth the matches it took to burn it down.
Hell of a thing, the damn aliens arriving as they did. Now they were trying to etch out a living in this fallen world, trying to stay alive in, of all things, a mall. The mall. A teenage girl's paradise.
“What am I, a psychic? Just mind the holes and watch for a jack as usual,” Hadji said, hefting a fire ax.
“Shit,” Bobby muttered, turning new eyes on the holes. Hadjiwas an ass, his crew barely any better. They tended to get sloppy if the boss wasn't around to watch over them. And of course he was busy. Great. “You heard the man, mind the holes, that means steer clear of them and keep one eye on them. Jody, hit the...”
“Bathrooms, I know,” she said moving off. Hadji followed. Chuck's brow knit. Now why were they checking the bathrooms? Wasn't like they could eat tooth paste or soap. Then again... he shook himself. He had to be on his A game. Kendra, his wife of ten years hadn't been happy when he'd told her of this fresh endeavor. She hadn't said so out loud. He knew it rankled her, a bank manager, climbing the corporate ladder now reduced to folding clothes in the improvised laundry. Hell if he'd let his wife do that the rest of his life if he could help it. They had just moved into a seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar house, one that had been valued during the bubble for $1.7 million... and now it was all gone. So much garbage. No. He'd find a way to make it right and get back on top. He just needed an angle and an opening.
“Anything in here? Ollie Ollie in free...” a voice said. They turned to see the boss man and a pair of his crew coming down the hall. “Nothing big here, there could be something in the walls.” He looked over to the pile of excrement under the skylight. A bit dripped down. He frowned. “Fresh. That’s not a good sign. Mind the holes.”
“Yeah boss, we know,” Bobby said nodding and watching the holes warily. “Kitchen clear?”
“So far,” Shane said, shaking his head. He moved off to check the garage.
“Who was that?” Chuck asked, nodding his chin to the military guy walking off. The guy looked like a walking fortress, body armor on his chest, arms, and shins, pouches of stuff everywhere and holding some sort of rifle. He had a shoulder harness with a big ass knife and a pair of nine mils under each armpit. Suddenly he felt very exposed just wearing sneakers, jeans and a T-shirt.
Bobby turned to him in surprise, eyes wide. “Shoot, you don't know the boss when you see him?”
“I do now, Thanks for pointing him out to me,” Chuck said wryly. “So he's the boss?”
“Boss's boss. High mucky muck. He's the guy in charge of the whole shebang baby. Mall, everyone. The O'Neill.”
“Oh?” Chuck asked, checking his gear. He had a bunch of shopping bags, the reusable cloth ones, and a baseball bat. He wasn't sure why they gave him the bat.
“Yeah man, he's the boss. Chief Indian, whatever you want to call it.”
“Why is he rubbing elbows with us grunts?”
“'Cause he's a grunt at heart,” Bobby said. He pointed to the kitchen. “The guy's a shooter, and damn good at it,” he said, looking at Chuck. Chuck was a born schemer, he could tell, he could see it in his eyes, the way they darted around, checking all the angles. The way he was constantly asking about the black market. He'd have to set this one straight if life or the job didn't do it for him. “Let's go see if they cleared the kitchen.”
In the garage Shane was finished carefully checking things over. Frank had just opened the garage door by hand, pulling the emergency disconnect from the now dead motor and then opening it up. A crew that had just finished cleaning out a neighboring house waved and started forward. “They finish clearing the kitchen?” Shane asked, turning away from the crew ripping out the hot water tank and furnace. Another crew was wheeling the washer and dryer out to the waiting trucks. Duct men were pulling pieces down and tossing them out the door.
“Some of it. Heard a noise and...”
“We've got harvesters inside and no one bothered to check?” Shane said spinning in place grabbing the door handle. Right on cue he heard a scrabble and scream. “Shit!” he said wrenching the door open.
“Like taking candy from a baby,” Chuck said opening the first door. Chuck had just opened the pantry; he didn't see what the big deal was when he caught a flash of gold eyes and white fangs. Instinctively his right arm went up as the thing lunged for his throat.
Bobby turned just as Chuck opened the pantry and felt himself bodily slammed to the ground as two hundred pounds of human and a hundred or so pounds of angry Gremlin slammed into him. “Jack in the box!” He managed to yell, trying to roll out from under the struggling Chuck.
For Chuck it was a nightmare of purple and yellow flesh, glowing alien cat eyes and flashing teeth and claws. Distantly he heard screaming, some corner of his mind realized it was him. Chuck was fighting for his life and losing as the thing bit into his arm with a mouth full of shark like teeth. It was incredibly strong, strong as an ape someone had said. He hadn't believed it until now. Three finger claws ripped and tore at his arm as the thing thrashed its head from side to side making a growling noise. He felt its three toed, clawed feet digging into his stomach. He knew he was in deep shit.
Shane swept the scene with a glance, dropped his rifle down and reversed it. He couldn't shoot with the others there; they were a tangled mess of flesh. Instead he used the rifle butt as a club and swung up. “Fore!” he yelled, just as the Gremlin spat the guy's mangled arm out to look up.
The Gremlin caught the blow right on the chin, sending it flying. Despite the impact it managed to recover itself mid-flight to land on the chandelier. It swung from it like a monkey as Shane stepped to one side and reversed his rifle once more.
The Gremlin snarled, human blood dripping from its maw as it locked its four eyes with Shane. One arm dangled like some alien chimp. Blood and bits of torn flesh dripped from the extended claws. It reached up and picked at its teeth, flicking a piece of flesh out towards him. Cheeky bastard.
“That's right you little bastard. Look at me,” Shane said softly, moving further to the side. Bobby looked up, trying to crane his neck to see the thing. “You two hold on, just put pressure on the wounds,” Shane said, eyes on the target.
“I got this one boss,” Frank said from the doorway. The Gremlin looked his way and snarled, crests flaring. A shotgun blast tore it from the chandelier, blasting the thing in a shower of pellets and broken glass onto the table. The dining room table was also glass; it shattered but the torn table cloth folded around the alien, wrapping it in a pouch.
It snarled, ripping at the improvised sack, seriously pissed but not really injured. Frank chambered another round just as Fred and Bert moved in from the living room door and started blasting. The Gremlin squealed as it took hit after hit. Bert was fielding a modified .44 magnum; he went through all six rounds, making each count.
When blue blood spurted out and dribbled in a puddle the two stopped and watched warily. The fabric seemed to settle and then go slack as its prisoner's life blood drained away. Still, they were careful to poke it at arm’s length before spearing it a few times to be sure. The things could regenerate given enough time and blood. Just to be sure Bert pulled his katana and lopped its head off.
This one didn't look more than a week or three old, despite being the size of a chimp. “Medic!” Bert said, catching sight of Chuck on the floor. “Oh man,” he said, covering his mouth and looking away. He really really didn't want to lose his breakfast again.
“Shit man,” Bobby said, ripping off his plaid over shirt to wrap around the torn arm. Shane moved in warily, checking the area and then kneeling and pulling open a pouch. “Here,” he said handing a pair of tampons to Bobby.
“What the hell man? W
hat am I supposed to do with this?” Bobby demanded eyes wide.
“Put them over the wounds. Use the wings to keep them in place and apply pressure to stop the bleeding,” Shane explained, putting words to action with the one in his hand. He hissed at the sight of the belly wound. Not good. Definitely not good. He looked up as Frank came up and raised his rifle to the covered window. He broke out the window glass and then pointed it to the sky light.
“Put that thing down Frank,” Shane said.
“But...”
“Save your ammo, you'll need it,” Shane said looking to the left. Ammo was as precious as food these days. There were fewer and fewer amounts of either to live on every day. It wasn't like the trucks were rolling anymore; farms were wastelands of alien plants and crap. He wrinkled his nose and looked toward the door. Still no medic. He keyed his mike. “We need a medic at my location ASAP. Wounded arm, chest and abdomen, bad.”
“Roger,” was the only reply.
“What the hell do we do about that then?” Frank asked looking at the light. The alien predators hated daylight, which was why they hid in the dark during the day. It was also why the smarter ones covered the windows and sky lights with their own crap.
There was so much crap that there had to be more than one creature here. Where there was one Gremlin there was more than likely a pack of Creeplings in a harem close by. Either in the walls, under a bed or in the attic. They'd have to check. And damn it, check more carefully.
“Tater!” Shane said looking up and yelling.
The call was repeated by the door warden then by someone outside. After a long moment the hefty guy came in holding his home made potato gun. “Yo man, you called?” he said. He caught sight of Chuck and grimaced. “Shit man, sorry,” he said looking away.
“Get to work, knock out some windows and shine some light,” Shane said gruffly as the medics finally arrived and pushed him aside. He got to his feet as they swung into frantic action. He was afraid they might be too late.
“Light!” the first medic said, yelling. “Someone get the ambulance over here stat!” he said. Tater wrinkled his nose, raised his potato gun and shot out the skylight. They winced as glass and plastic mixed with crap rained down. “Don't anyone get that shit on you, or let the glass cut you. Instant infection,” the medic said, hooking up an IV. He handed the bag to Bobby. “Hold this up and squeeze.”
“Roger,” he said doing so.
“Who did the tourniquet?” the medic asked. He snorted at the sight of the tampon field dressings. He'd seen more and more of them over the past couple of of months.
“I did, its okay right?” Bobby asked, sounding concerned. He absently wiped his bloody hands on his pants.
“Next time use a piece of rubber or a belt,” the medic said hands flashing as he tried to save Chuck's life.
“Will I keep the arm doc?” Chuck asked weakly. He coughed.
“I dunno son, right now we're trying to keep you from bleeding out. Do me a favor and stay awake. I haven't lost anyone in six days and I'm shooting for the record.”
“You're all heart,” Frank said shaking his head. He winced as Tater shot out another skylight in a bathroom. “I think I'll go help, you know smash some windows. I need to go break something.”
“Mind the glass,” the medic said not bothering to look up. He used a clamp to clamp a spurting blood vessel when he removed the tampon. He reached over and pulled another one off his sleeve to clamp another wound.
“Frank, Bert, guys, watch out for Creeplings,” Shane said. Frank nodded. Jody warily looked at the scene around Chuck and shook her head. Warily she checked the fridge, and then slammed the door shut after a quick peek. Nothing worth it in there after months without power. She moved onto other areas.
“Think there are more?”
“Where there is a Gremlin, there is a harem of Creeplings,” Shane said.
Bobby spat out something and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. He looked around. “I uh, gotta um...”
“Got to get back to work, I know,” Shane said. “Jack in the box. Nasty,” he said, adrenaline ebbing as his military training kicked in. It would be time for the shakes later. He looked in the pantry. “Hell of a way to do our food shopping,” he said shaking his head as Bobby checked the closet warily and then started pulling boxes of hamburger helper and pasta out and bagging it. His hand brushed clotted blood on the boxes and against the door, he ignored it. He brushed aside the remains of a cat and kept working.
“You know it,” Bobby said shaking. He looked up as they heard a thunderous roar down the street and then the pock-pock of weapons firing.
“Great,” Shane said. “Hellcat, just what we don't need.”
“Or a pack of them boss,” Frank said coming up behind him. Apparently he was finished with the glass. “Want us to back them up?”
“We're not finished here, and they didn't call for back up,” Shane said shaking his head. “I want the Creeplings found and put out of our misery. Now.”
“Yeah boss,” Frank said as the medics lifted Chuck onto a stretcher and strapped him down. He waved to the door warden. “Block the door open and get the hell out of their way. MOVE!”
“Hell of a thing,” Shane said shaking his head. He nodded to Frank and the others milling about. “Get a scope. Find these damn things and kill them.”
“You got it boss,” Frank said moving off. He knew Hadji's team was going to catch hell over this. Jack in the box. Casualty. Definitely. He set his jaw and then refocused on the now. Typical rookie mistake, one that only a few survived and learned from.
“Welcome to the world we live in,” Shane said softly as the medics pushed Chuck's gurney out the door. He gave the poor rookie less than a ten percent chance of survival, and less than one percent of keeping the arm. The medics would do what they could but it was a long trip to the mall.
The radio squawked, interrupting his ruminations. “Hellcat pack, one down, two WIA, one KIA. Six confirmed, two probable. Send back up.” There was another roar, followed by more gun shots and a scream.
“Right away,” Shane said with a nod. “Time to get back to work,” he said, catching a couple tampons Frank tossed him and then snagging a chocolate nut frosting container from the open pantry.
There was another roar, followed by a second and then a third. He scowled. From the sound they were big ones. Not good.
...*...*...*...*...
“What's the take today?” Bobby asked wearily as he exited the truck. He looked around; most of the gear they had gathered was already being processed. Hadji was over on the left talking with Liam, the load super this shift.
“No idea man,” Jody said shaking her head. She rubbed at her shoulder. She'd had a close call when a jack had popped out on her. Fortunately nothing was broken, just bruised. “Any word on Chuckles?”
Bobby frowned and then blinked. “You mean Charles?”
“Yeah. Mister Chew toy.”
“Funny,” Bobby said looking over to Hadji who was coming over. “Any word on Charles?”
Hadji nodded, nodding to Jody and the crew behind them. Bobby looked over his shoulder to them and then back. “Word is he's out of surgery. Lost the arm, no surprise there.”
“Figures,” Jody muttered.
“But he's alive. Whether he'll pull through without getting infection...” Hadji shrugged.
“What's the take?” Tater asked, hefting his potato gun on one shoulder.
“Will you go put that damn thing away?” Jody asked testily.
“What this little thing?” Tater asked grinning as he moved the gun to port arms. “Not a chance, I managed to bean a Creepling today. Didn't kill it, but it damn well knew it was kissed. I want to trade up though.” He missed his air mortar. A valve had cracked on it, so it was in the shop. That sucked.
“Yeah well...” Jody looked at him scowling then shook her head at his innocent expression. She turned on Hadji. Wasted effort arguing with Tater anyhow. He'd just grin
and do his own thing anyway.
Hadji cleared his throat and nodded. “Not a bad haul. New neighborhood, no surprise there. Couple of good caches. Enough for a couple of hundred people easy.”
“Hell of a way to get food,” Jody muttered, rubbing at one arm.
“Talk about costing an arm and a leg. Or at least an arm,” Tater said with a shrug.
Jody and the others turned on him. He gave a serendipitous smile and shrug. “Just sayin', is all.”
“Yeah well, still sucks,” Bobby muttered, trying to think of what to say to the boss. Hell to the man's family.
“His fault. You told him and told him not to open shit in the safety brief man,” Jody said nodding and patting his shoulder. “Listen, look, poke at a distance, make sure its clear before you open up anything.”
“Yeah man, its on him,” Tater said shrugging. “Guy was a waste anyway; he was onto me about the black market. Like we've got time for that shit.”
“Some do unfortunately,” Hadji said as they started to move with the crowd to the doors. The sun would be down soon. “Showers?” he asked.
“Hell yeah,” Bobby said, nodding. He felt all itchy despite the cold.
“You need it,” Jody said with a sniff of disdain. Tater had drippings all over him.
“We picked up a cache of weapons and ammo. Two of them actually,” a guy said nearby, they looked his way as they walked, slowing instinctively. “Anything on that guy who got chewed?”
“He's alive. Lost the arm,” Jody said, raising her voice. The other group looked her way.
“Not that guy, the other guy. The one who got ankle bit.”
“Dunno,” Jody said shaking her head. She looked at Tater who was about to open his mouth. “Don't say it,” she said in exasperation.
