by Orion, W. J.
Yasmine halted and Knox almost bowled her over.
“I don’t know,” she said, worried. “Wherever they are…”
“Is where your crab buddy is going to go, if he can find it. Why hunt us when they can draw us out?”
“Damn it,” Yasmine cursed. “They’ll have gone underground. Sewers, or a deep basement.” Her mind wandered, laying down a map of the entire town and exploring it to find which buildings would be the likely ones to contain shelters.
“Let’s rally the troops. The Baron can move us all as a group.”
“Go get them. I’ll start scouting,” Yasmine said, and bolted. She ignored Knox’s pleas to stop as she shoved out the back exit and sprinted towards downtown Shant.
If she knew Brent and Kim… they would’ve lived in the building where the shelter was. There was no way they’d let Owen and Liam live far from the last resort if the crabs came.
And the crabs had come with a vengeance.
Chapter Forty-Two
Fear as Fuel
Yasmine never breathed too hard when she ran; maybe it was her dad’s fireman muscles in her genetics, or her mother’s long, lean body, but she never huffed and puffed for long after running. This situation was different. As she ran across the empty, coffin-like settlement towards the tall brick buildings and the citizens hopefully safe below them her lungs tightened. Not from exhaustion, or smoke inhalation (she certainly had both of those factors to contend with) but from fear.
Fear she wasn’t running fast enough.
Fear she wouldn’t be able to help the people she cared about.
Fear that what she’d done had put them in danger.
She pushed harder. Her feet smashed against the hard pavement and sidewalks, carrying her further and further towards downtown where Trey had climbed to the roofs. He’d chosen the same few buildings where she’d picked a place to live. Where the streets were covered with the sun-defying, suspended fabric roof. She slowed.
The dirty, stitched blankets and sheets above the streets were gone. The ropes and wires were snapped, hanging loose against the buildings they were attached to. The ripped fabric lay in the street, discarded like cobwebs in the ruins. Something—or someone—had torn them down. She ran to the closest alleyway leading to the main street and lifted the halligan up to strike anything that might be waiting. In her other hand she readied a can of paint.
I’m insane. What am I doing? A glorified crowbar and a can of paint is what I’m killing aliens with? I’m the thrift shop version of Chuck Norris. I need a machinegun in one hand, and a rocket launcher in the other. Some hero I am.
Far above in her peripheral vision she saw an animated—worried—Trey shift his white insectoid armor about. His legs tested and reached, looking for a spot on his perch atop the roof where he could stand and see down at her. He needed to get an angle on where she was going.
She couldn’t wait. Paint and halligan in hand, she continued.
Yasmine slowed to a trot down the center of the alley, skirting the chairs, and dumpsters, and other bits of human life that had been upended by something large passing through.
Now I’ve got a trail to follow.
As she moved forward she heard semi-distant scraping noises ahead and around the corner; heavy and mechanical they were the growl of stone and steam on steel and glass. She went to the corner of the building and peered around into the back of some buildings with a narrow U-shaped plot using one eye.
At the ground level of the rear of a retail and apartment building she saw one of the obsidian-armored crabs digging and destroying at the foundation. The hulking monster chassis was half-below street level; recessed in a stairwell that descended to a basement entrance. The monster flung a heavy steel door over its head. The slab of metal slammed into the street with a giant metallic bang and the alien kept at it. Like a wolf on the hunt it had the scent now.
She had its back.
Yasmine tried to calm her breathing as fast as possible, but the very thought of trying to calm down seemed to speed up her already pounding heart. She couldn’t wait; if there were survivors of the assault in that basement, she had to stop that crab without delay.
Yasmine trotted to the first set of rear access stairs, placing her feet with great care. She stopped, assessed the agitated, digging monster, and then moved to the next set of stairs for cover. She leapfrogged multiple whole buildings this way, cutting the distance in half without making noise, or being annihilated by an unseen crab. Before making the final leap to the last stairs and the two punctured and sad green trash barrels near it she looked up and over her shoulder where she thought Trey might’ve scuttled to.
Nothing. Between the fire escapes, torn blankets and who-knows-what blocking out the sun he had no angle. Her rusty-haloed, guardian angel was on lunch break.
Behind her, the Baron, Knox and three Monoliths burst into the slender alley she and crab were in. They were as out of breath as she had been.
“YASMINE!” her uncle screamed as he scanned for her.
He saw the crab’s butt first.
In less time than it took for her to curse at her sole living family member the crab had spun, leapt to the street level and unleashed a bolt of plasma energy in their direction. The searing shock of super-heated death sizzled just feet from the stairs she was obscured by and turned her face a sunburned red. She fell backwards, away from the flash.
In the corner of her eye she watched one of the Monoliths vanish into a nebula of smoke and scorched blood as they were hit by the weapon. One second they were there, the next… they were less than ashes.
The crab stormed forward toward Knox, her uncle, and the two remaining Monoliths.
Yasmine got to her feet, staying snug to the side of the concrete steps, hidden. Just as she got into a crouch the hulking black crab chassis strode by her, its legs hammering into the pavement with anger as it charged its weapon to kill again. Without thinking, she extended her left hand, and hosed the passing front end of the crab with the thin paint.
The plated monster recoiled away as her attack obscured more of its already limited senses. It stepped and positioned itself to aim the lethal plasma cannon at her. Yasmine was boxed in. She had a wall behind her, stairs and an iron railing to the right of her, and open space to the left that gave the crab an even better shot.
In front of her she had the crab.
She chose crab.
Yasmine took a single launching step forward as she swung the halligan and its spike overhead yet again.
Live by the halligan, die by the halligan.
The incredible, dense tip of the titanium fireman’s tool caught a miniscule crack where steam vented in the upper head of the crab and bit perhaps an inch deep; not deep enough to do any real damage, but deep enough for her to use the halligan as an anchor to pull herself up, and over it. It took all she had but with a scream and a cry she managed to pull hard enough to get her upper body up and sliding over the head of the creature, the seat of her pants down, legs up.
The plasma cannon discharged with a thunderous, skull-expanding electrical boom, incinerating her hanging backpack and all its contents. Her skin near the weapon flared in searing pain as the heat sizzled the hair away, and brought on a slew of tiny, puffy blisters. She yelped out and kept sliding as the monster tried to shake her off.
“Spin it towards us!” she heard her uncle scream. A quick glance his way revealed that he had dropped to a knee, and held a fat cylindrical weapon at his shoulder.
Yasmine gripped the steel shaft of her halligan harder than ever and tilted her slipped weight with a kick of the heel against the monster’s side. Unaware of what the human atop it was trying to do, the monster’s head twisted a few inches—half a foot—towards her uncle, and she let go. She fell to the ground and rolled like a log away from the now-stomping crab in the chassis as fast as she could.
Then she heard the loudest noise she ever had.
Part concussive boom, part shriek and crac
k, the weapon her uncle held went off, and an instant later a small warhead exploded in the mass of tentacles just below the open sensor array in the facial armor of the crab. He’d scored a near direct hit.
She couldn’t see this of course; she had her eyes fused shut, and was screaming at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t hear that either; the rocket and subsequent explosion left her ears ringing so loud she couldn’t hear herself think. She did feel the pieces of crab pelt and smack against her as she kept rolling away. More burns and cuts scarred her body and she tried to ignore the pain. Soon she wouldn’t be able to.
“Yasmine! Yasmine,” her uncle called out a moment after she came to a stop against the concrete steps of the building across the street. Over the tinny ringing in her ears she heard the crunch of debris under his knee when he came to her. “Open your eyes, kid. Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she mumbled with a rasp. She looked up at him and saw a tremendous amount of dismay on his face. Dismay and…. Guilt?
“I had to shoot, you were so close but I had to shoot,” he said as an apology. Several shotgun blasts rang out behind him as a crouching Knox pumped a few slugs straight into the soft wall of armor behind the downed alien’s eyes and ears. Near where she blasted Yasmine could see her halligan still lodged in the back of the crab; the shaft had bent nearly in half.
“I know. It’s ok. I’m a little deaf, but I’ll be alright. Little distraught about the halligan though. Help me up.”
He got her up with a big hand and a tug. Just when she felt steady the interior self-destruct charge in the fallen crab thumped, and the same caustic, melting green substance oozed out of every crack and hole in the black armor. Smoke sizzled up and away from the hole her spike caught on as the monsters inside died.
Where’s mom’s phone? Seeing her ruined halligan brought on the moment of paranoia. She patted her pants pockets feverishly, and found them empty, save for her tiny pistol. She spun and looked on the ground, eyes darting to and fro. It was there. Under a torn piece of blanket. She bent over and snatched the family relic up. The screen came to life at her urging, and she felt whole again.
“Nice panic attack. Any idea where the fourth one is?” her uncle asked.
Yasmine shook her head. “No. He’s the one, too. I would’ve recognized my friend from the school I think. I don’t know how, but I would’ve. He’s somewhere. I got a bad feeling he’s right nearby.”
“What was this one trying to do?” Caleb asked her, and kicked its inert leg with a boot.
“Get into the basement at the end of the alley here,” Yasmine said and nodded towards the doorway it ripped the door off of. “Shelter down there, I’d bet.”
“Should we check on the survivors? See if they’re okay, then mount a hunt to get the last guy? Or maybe he’ll skate and run back to his squid ship. Go home and lick his greasy alien tentacle wounds.”
“That’s the weirdest thing that’s ever been said in my presence,” Yasmine said with complete confidence.
The Baron laughed—strangely comforting, that sound—and grinned. “You’re not the first person to say that in my presence.”
Yasmine laughed, but a thought shook the humor out of her. “We can’t let him get to that ship. He’ll use that big frigging gun on it to erase this place and everyone in it. Let’s see what’s in the basement real fast then cordon off the ship? Knox, you coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, and slid a few more shells into her scattergun. She racked the pump and winked at Yasmine.
Chapter Forty-Three
Basements and Rooftops
The Baron, Yasmine and Knox went down the damaged stairs to the destroyed basement entrance two at a time. The giant ex-fireman glided through the torn opening first with his machinegun up. At his back was Knox with the shotgun and a flashlight, and last was Yasmine with her mom’s phone serving as flashlight. Her fireman’s tool was history so she had her pistol at the ready.
The concrete hall with the ceiling made of steel pipes ran straight for several yards, then had a cut to the right. Further travel down the right hallway was blocked by a heavy door that had been welded together and jammed in between the concrete walls and pipes long after the building had been built. Its rusty metal exterior and rivets the size of her thumb said one thing; I’m tough.
“Dead end,” her uncle said. “Try a different way.”
“It’s a door. Try knocking,” Yasmine said. “Like a nice person.”
Caleb scoffed and did what she said. He rapped his meaty knuckles on the iron door, setting off a melodious, metallic sound that reverberated up and down the hallway. The banging echoed for several seconds.
“Hey you guys in there?” Knox yelled as the Baron banged on the door again. “It’s the SWAT team. We’re here to negotiate the crab’s surrender.”
They heard muffled voices from the other side. Human voices. The trio stepped backwards enough for the door to swing outward, and with a shriek of rusted metal, it did. Pushing it open on the other side were Kim and Brent. Brent had his rifle at the ready. Both were covered in sweat and grime.
Yasmine shoved her way past Knox and Caleb to gather the husband and wife up in a giant hug. They squeezed her—tight as her mother used to—and hot, fresh tears of happiness shot out of her eyes and ran down her face.
It wasn’t water wasted.
“Why are you here?” Kim blurted, wiping tears away. “There are crabs here. Get inside, we’ll shut the door.”
Yasmine pulled away from them a bit as others behind them closed in, jubilant. “No. We came to help.”
Brent laughed. “Came to help? You’re gonna kill more crabs?”
“We just nailed three of the bastards,” Caleb said. “Looking to take down the last one right now.”
“Hell yeah. Taking care of business,” Knox said. “You should join us. More guns’ll make it easier.”
“We can’t offer much to a fight,” Brent said. “You really killed crabs?”
“Yeah,” Yasmine answered. “We’ve got a crab on our side too. A good one. He’s covering us with a super crab gun from the roofs.”
Brent and Kim looked at her as if she’d been hit in the head. Just as Brent tried to say something little Owen and Liam pushed through the huddled crowd of survivors and smashed into her legs, screaming with glee.
“Yaz! Yaz! You made it!” Owen exclaimed.
“You’re safe!? Holy crap you’re a badass,” Liam added, squeezing her for extra effect. “How many crabs have you killed now?”
“Language, Liam,” Kim prompted.
“We killed three, together,” Yasmine said, indicating her uncle and Knox. “One to go. The worst of them.”
“How can we help?” Brent asked. “We can offer seven guns in good hands.”
“Baron?” Yasmine asked, using her uncle’s title and not his name. Best to keep his image up, after all.
He shrugged. “Gotta get up close to do any damage I think. It might be best to keep your guns here in case we screw up.”
“How many of those rocket launchers do you have left?” Yasmine asked him.
“The anti-tank weapons? Just the one. Just one,” Caleb said with a sigh. “One shot.”
“What’s different, Baron? The bluster, the swagger… is that retired?” Brent asked. “Or are you just depressed about your ammunition situation?”
“Well… images are sometimes more important than reality, Brent. Power perceived is power achieved, right? No one is afraid of helpful fireman, but a fat, angry, tattooed man with a machinegun declaring himself as Milwaukee’s royalty is another one. A guy like that inspires some. Terrifies others.”
“I got you,” Brent said. “Okay, get. We’ll turtle up and wait it out. Yasmine, will you stay down here? Where it’s safer?”
She shook her head as the two boys squeezed her legs and midsection. They didn’t care that they hugged scabs, and burns, just that they hugged her.
“Really?” Kim adde
d. “You won’t stay?”
“I know you’re trying to protect me, but this is what I need to do. One way or the other. That crab up there is here because of me, and I need to make that right. You two take care of my favorite young men here.”
“We will. Yaz, those crabs didn’t come here because of you. They invaded Earth of their own accord,” Kim said.
“We gotta go,” Yasmine said to Knox and her uncle. “The ship. Plus Trey is probably crapping little squid bricks right now.”
“You think he poops in that tank? Does he breathe his own poop all the time?” Caleb said.
“I’m sure the crabs have that stuff figured out,” Knox said. “What with their interstellar spaceships and ray guns and whatnot.”
“Lead on, Machinegun Uncle,” Yasmine said.
“I like that better than Baron,” he replied.
“Be safe,” Brent said.
“No,” Yasmine said back to him with a smile.
Far above them on the roof of the very same building Trey stomped about, scanning the world with the myriad sensory equipment his armor provided. He couldn’t get much without taking down the signal jamming he was running, and he dared not do that.
His body—bodies—swam in an organized fury in his cockpit. Each movement sent an electrical impulse to the crystalline control matrix embedded in the container’s surface or transmitted power into the chassis’ core where it was amplified. The 333 bodies linked together into a shared consciousness that right now was conscious of a single emotion; worry.
He stomped to the edge of the building nearest the setting sun and peered over, scanning the street level for Yasmine and the Monoliths with her, but he saw nothing, and his surface-adapted sonar got nothing either.
Shit.
He stomped to the next side of the building—closest to where they confronted one of his kind and blew it up with a piece of heavy human weaponry—and tried to find them but saw nothing.