by Kyle Noe
The alien with the blade leaned in close to Quinn. She could see now that the visor on its helmet contained what looked like a dark liquid constantly moving and changing form. The thing clucked and pointed at her as if demanding some response.
“You want me to say something?” She flinched at her own words.
The alien appeared to nod, and Quinn gestured for it to move closer.
It did, and she unleashed a wicked jab that caught the alien just under its helmet. The blow stung her hand, but knocked the alien back onto its ass. It was worth it.
“Fuck you,” Quinn hissed, rising. The aliens leveled their guns, then—
BRAT! BRAT! BRAT!
Gunfire rang out and the Syndicate fighters dropped to the ground in a heap. Quinn stared, dumbstruck, and then looked up to see Milo, Giovanni, and a squad of Marines following them. They had done it!
But then she saw they were unarmed, their hands bound behind their backs. Behind them came a posse of men and women with impassive countenance and heavy arms, dressed in soiled, irregular garb. These were the guerilla fighters who’d gunned the Syndicate fighters down.
One of the irregulars strode forward, a bulked-up man who was missing an ear and had a combat rifle dangling from a sling across his chest.
“You’re alive, little lady,” he said.
“Lucky me,” Quinn replied, eyes darting everywhere, searching for an angle and seeing none.
“You’ve got two choices.”
“Is one of them to leave here and take these clowns with me?” she asked, gesturing at the Marines.
The irregular slowly shook his head. “Nah. That’s not it at all. It’s more like … Join us, or die.”
A few seconds of silence stretched.
“Who … who are you?” Quinn asked.
The irregular smiled. “We’re the resistance.”
Chapter Eight: The Resistance is Born
Quinn stared up at the irregular soldier, her eyes unwavering even as a stream of blood seeped from her hamstring. They’d all heard rumors about large groups of ex-soldiers and cops who’d formed a kind of global militia. Sort of like an “Oath Keepers” targeted at aliens. But there was no way they could really be up and running this fast. Doubt filled Quinn’s mind.
The leaders of the militia were tech savvy, and made it known through interviews and articles and social media postings that they did not believe the military would be able to save them when the Syndicate arrived.
As such, they’d taken up collections and weapons and formed groups in every country around the Earth, planning to link up in the event of an alien attack. Professional soldiers and Marines like Quinn were leery about the wannabe resistance, and the unkempt appearance of the man in front of her did nothing to dispel her concerns.
The underground complex’s ceiling shook, showering the Marines and the resistance fighters with dirt. The resistance fighter with one ear motioned with his rifle toward a door.
“Move it,” the resistance fighter said.
“Yeah, I’m kinda shot in the hamstring so that’s gonna be a little difficult,” Quinn said.
The one-eared fighter squinted at her bloody leg.
“Suck it up,” the fighter said.
“I’d love to, but that’s not going to staunch the wound.”
The one-eared fighter gestured to a comrade, who pulled a length of nylon out of a rucksack and tightened it around Quinn’s leg. The flow of blood ebbed.
“Better?” the resistance fighter asked.
“For the moment, yes,” Quinn replied. “But I’m not going anywhere until somebody tells me what’s going on.”
“Look around? The goddamn world is ending,” the man replied.
“That’s not really responsive,” Quinn said.
The one-eared fighter looked to his comrades, then iced Quinn with a look. “What’s going on is that we just saved your ass and improved your situation.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Quinn replied.
“You got a mouth on you—”
“Quinn. My name’s Quinn.”
“Jennings. My go-by is Jennings, and Quinn is a boy’s name.”
“Take it up with my dad.” She glared, holding his gaze.
Quinn gestured with her head toward the other Marines. “That’s Milo, Renner, and Hayden.”
Jennings nodded. “We’ve met.” He waved at one of his fighters. “Cut ‘em loose.”
Another resistance fighter, a female, handed out syringes with large-gauge needles. Renner balked at the size of the needle.
“My mother always told me to just say no,” he said.
“Your mother wasn’t about to do what we’re gonna do,” Jennings replied.
“What is it?” Milo asked, holding up the syringe.
“Epinephrine,” Jennings said. “Liquid scream. You’ll thank me after it’s over.”
“After what’s over?” Quinn asked.
Jennings and the others didn’t respond, already on the move down through another tunnel. The Marines followed, running into semi-darkness. As they advanced, Jennings explained how the resistance had taken over the pre-position vault months earlier, expecting the alien invasion to succeed and not at all convinced that the government or the military would have the stones or the wherewithal to adequately confront the threat.
Quinn fell in line with Milo and the others, the Marines whispering.
“You really need to work on your interpersonal skills, Quinn,” Milo said, gesturing at Jennings.
“Why’s that?”
“For starters, they’ve got the guns.”
She nodded. “For now.”
“Where the hell were you?” Milo asked.
She pointed at the blood on her armor.
“How bad?” he asked.
“Missed my vitals, but it hurts like a bitch.”
He nodded.
She held his gaze. “What’s the SITREP above?”
“Comms were knocked out,” he replied. “Whole situation topside is apparently FUBAR.”
Quinn gestured at the resistance fighters. “And the JV team?”
“Didn’t they tell you? They’re the self--proclaimed resistance.”
“What are they resisting?”
“From the smell of this place, showers apparently,” he said.
She smirked and swapped a look with Hayden. “What do you reckon, Gunny?”
“We do as we always do, boys and girls. Play nice until it’s time not to be nice.”
Quinn and Milo shared a doubtful glance. What the fuck had they gotten themselves into?
***
Quinn already had deep misgivings about throwing in with the resistance, and being told where to go without an explanation wasn’t helping.
To begin with, the fighters were not professionals, and Quinn was terrified about how they might react when confronted by a sizable force. She was also worried about whatever ulterior motives the resistance might have. In her experience, every organization had an agenda, however outwardly benign, and surely the resistance, or the militia, or whatever the irregulars called themselves, were no different.
With her knowledge of the resistance from before the invasion, she wondered whether it would be possible for the Marines and the resistance to co-exist, but at the moment there was no other choice. They had to, since both were facing a common enemy.
Seconds later, they slipped past a door that opened with a pneumatic hiss and hauled themselves up a metal ladder that led to an interior chamber stocked with gear and ammunition.
“Take what you can carry,” Jennings said.
His arrogant presumption of authority annoyed Quinn, but she did as instructed. The rest of the Marines also quickly geared up as Quinn grabbed a handful of med-patches.
Quinn removed a section of her armor and slapped a med-patch in place near the upper wound, and another down by her hamstring. Instantly, the red seepage stopped and a warmth spread over the impacted areas. Quinn’s head swam a
nd a loopy smile splashed across her lips as the medicine worked its magic.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, lady, but you look a little fucked up,” Jennings said. “You sure you’ll be able to handle your business like that?”
“She fights better when she’s fucked up,” Renner replied, with a wink.
“I’m still not convinced you people should be in the fight anyway.”
Quinn looked up. “What did you just say?”
Jennings’s gaze smoked into hers. “Did you not hear me?”
“No, but you’re missing a fucking ear and I thought maybe it might’ve impacted the part of your gray matter that controls speech.”
Jennings’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t ascribe to the idea that women can do what men can.”
“This from a guy who probably squats when he has to take a leak,” she replied.
Jenning’s face splotched red. He pointed a gnarled finger at Quinn. “Unless you're hiding something under there, they obviously made an exception for you, little lady. For now, we'll take what we can get, but later, you might have to be repurposed.” His face reddened with righteous indignation as he hovered over Quinn.
“If you apologize right now, I promise I’ll go easy on you,” Quinn said.
Jennings chuckled. “Yeah? You a badass? You some kinda ferocious mama bear?”
“Nope, I’m the thing that eats mama bears for lunch,” she replied.
“Really? And what kinda animal might that be?”
“A mama wolf.”
Quinn popped him in the jaw. Just like that.
Down the big man went, the other resistance fighters too shocked to react. Jennings hit the ground, shook it off, and then sprang up on the balls of his feet.
Enraged, he charged Quinn, who dropped low and punted him in the ribs as the Marines hooted and hollered.
“You fight like a girl!” Quinn shouted, bobbing and weaving. “Not a badass chick, I mean like a little, five-year old girl.”
Jennings cursed and swung wildly, but Quinn jabbed him twice in the neck. Jennings toppled like a felled tree, and Quinn grabbed his arm and torqued it behind his head. Just like her father had taught her to do when she was twelve years old.
“Tell mommy when it hurts,” she hissed, taking more delight than she should have in the moment. But it did feel good to vent a little after having already lost the battle.
After a few more seconds of making her point with her muscles, Quinn pulled back, feeling the tendons starting to stretch in Jennings’s arm like rubber hands pulled to their breaking point. Jennings’s mouth became a mask of pain and rage.
“Enough!” someone shouted.
Quinn looked over to see the female resistance fighter who’d handed out the syringes. They had called her Tara, and she was aiming a rifle at Quinn’s head.
“Let him go, bitch, or I’ll snatch the light from your eyes,” Tara said.
Quinn released her grip and stood back, catching looks from Milo, Giovanni, Hayden, and Renner, who nodded and grinned. Jennings rose and grabbed his rifle, sweeping it across the Marines. His gaze roamed over all of them and stopped at Quinn.
“You just volunteered for it, shitkicker,” he said to Quinn.
“For what?” she asked.
“The running of the gauntlet. You’ve been repurposed. Go and sacrifice yourself.”
“’The hell you say,” Hayden thundered. He took a step and the other resistance fighters angled their weapons at him. “You’re not sending her out there.”
Jennings gave a terse gesture. “Hey, no problem, none at all.” He whipped open his tactical vest to reveal a string of miniature grenades dangling from a length of wire. “I mean, how ‘bout instead of her running the gauntlet I take us all for a spin into the great void?” Jennings fingered the pins on several of the grenades. “Who wants to go with me?”
Hayden swapped looks with the other Marines. The expression on his face, hard as obsidian, spoke volumes. He didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do.
Jennings smiled to himself, self-satisfied, and then he did two things at once: He stabbed the syringe into Quinn’s thigh and slapped a red button on a panel that opened a door. The door opened to reveal a chute that led to the outside world.
“Go,” he said to Quinn. “GO!”
Quinn had no idea what the hell was happening, but she grabbed a rifle and bandolier of ammunition and squeezed into the chute, crouching and running forward.
The adrenaline soon kicked in, and she could barely feel her feet while running so briskly. The chute broadened near its end, and Quinn was galloping at her full height as she exited the tunnel into the blinding whiteness of day.
What she saw next stole the breath from her lungs.
The area above the tunnel complex had apparently been carpet-bombed by the Syndicate, the surrounding area a moonscape of broken concrete and scorched steel, the outer jungle still smoking as if hacked down by an army of slash and burn farmers.
Ghostly halos of smoke hovered over the ashen bodies of unrecognizable aliens in Exo-Armor and Marines who lay scattered like seeds from the inside of a shattered gourd. Quinn’s eyes swung from this to the broken skeletons of dropships and gliders, lying where they had crashed, having carved deep trenches in the earth.
“We missed the fireworks,” Milo said, arriving behind her.
“Not all of ‘em!” shouted Jennings.
The Marines looked up to see gliders scything past, searching for any signs of survivors, readying to destroy the tunnel complex.
“RUN!”
The group took off as a glider streaked past and dropped a payload of bunker-busting bombs. They hit the ground and began boring down into the earth until—
WHUMP-BOOM!
The great, shuddering force of an earthquake hit Quinn and the others, lifting them off their feet. They crashed in a heap amidst a pile of dust-covered human and alien remains.
Quinn stood and opened fire on the dropship, but then it hit her—a pulse of energy directed from a laser on the ship’s underside. She stood as stiff as a statue, unable to move a muscle, her arms outflung as if she were about to be crucified.
The same thing was happening to those around her, all of the Marines caught up in a vortex of bright, blue light.
Quinn and the others dangled like stringless puppets for a moment, and then they were sucked up into the vortex, into the underbelly of the Syndicate dropship. Even though her body was immobilized, Quinn could feel and see everything. All the pain and all the devastation of the battlefield.
Sure, there were countless Syndicate fighters littering the battlefield, but ten times more humans blanketed the bloody ground, and Quinn’s heart sank.
Then, off in the distance, she saw something that offered a glimpse of hope. Giovanni running with a group of Irregulars and Marines up the mountain and still fighting.
Quinn wanted to shout out and cheer Giovanni on, but her mouth wouldn’t move.
Chapter Nine: Hand-to-Hand Combat
Giovanni was running with the other members of the resistance, glad to be alive. Moments before, he had come back from the confusion of an explosion. When he rolled over with a groan, his head spinning, he pushed himself up and his eyes fluttered open to take in the earth, the flattened bush he’d fallen on, and it had all come back—the explosion, the pain. It had thrown him back and away from Quinn, Milo, and the others.
Now he was running with Jennings and the others, all running through the jungle, using the smoke from downed ships as cover.
Unexpectedly, Jennings stopped, fist raised in the air. The rest froze, then proceeded with caution to his position. Giovanni stared up at the sky, mouth agape in amazement.
Those damned Syndicate ships filled the sky, some already zooming off, some shooting down beams of light and waiting while people were sucked up into the ships.
There was one person he recognized, so close he could have thrown a stone and hit her—Quinn. She was alre
ady in the air, floating upward in a bright orange and yellow light.
More Marines from near her position went up next, along with a few men and women that he recognized as resistance fighters.
This was so jacked up.
One of the resistance fighters lifted a rocket launcher, but Giovanni grabbed the weapon and pushed it down.
“It’s too late,” Giovanni said. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“So what then?” the man asked. “We do nothing?”
Jennings nodded. “For now. He’s right. Holster your weapons. As tragic as it is, we have to use whatever’s happening to them as cover to get away.”
He paused, making eye contact with all of his men. “They’d want it that way. Luke would want it that way.”
With another signal from the man, the resistance fighters melted into the undergrowth, becoming one with their surroundings. Giovanni hesitated, but realizing he was the last Marine left, decided his best bet for survival was with them.
Giovanni followed at the back of the resistance fighters, trekking over what looked like an animal path through the center of the jungle. They ran past charred huts and still-smoldering lean-tos that marked the torn corpse of a once vibrant village. The ground was gouged from bombs and missiles presumably unleashed by the Syndicate.
Booming sounded off in the distance, followed by the shriek of aircraft overhead. Ordnance thudded nearby and the sound of screams and gunfire rang out.
Taking cover behind a large tree, Giovanni looked up and out. For a moment, he caught sight of something small, no larger than a bicycle, drifting over the jungle canopy. It appeared to be watching the group trudge into the jungle. Giovanni signaled to the resistance fighters, but they didn’t see him, and by the time he looked back, whatever had been there was gone.
Giovanni jumped over fallen trees and hopped across boulders until he caught up with Jennings, who was following a path only he could see. Giovanni grabbed Jennings’s shoulder.
