by Ma West
His body rose as if his soul held back on its lift into heaven. Slowly, ever so slowly, the world around him grew in clarity. First the vague outlines of the skyscrapers babbled their way into the heavens, and then came the shapes of uniformed people. Last, as his sound mind snapped back into place, the confusion of his present circumstances returned as, up on one of those skyscrapers, he saw an alien climbing after a man he knew and now shared a bond with.
The demon man was scurrying up a ladder, much slower than the alien was ascending. The alien still had another two flights of straight ladder before he reached the demon man, but it would be no more than a minute before it was too late.
The captain ripped the needle out of his arm as soon as he was laid down in the rear of the ambulance. Surprised, the small Asian man posed little resistance, and the captain soon shoved another paramedic out of the driver seat as he limped in from the rear cabin. His body screamed out in protest with every motion, but the adrenaline and morphine worked well enough to mute it. He had failed Sasha, he had failed his cellmates, and he had failed himself, but he would be damned if he was going to fail again with the demon man.
The captain put on his seat belt and floored the vehicle.
Chapter 29
Love’s Need
Her love needed her, and she needed her love. Sasha cursed herself, this horrible beast, and this or any god who would set such events in motion. She again faced the fear of her weakness, but this time, she lacked the energy to summon enough anger to overcome it. She was weak, powerless, and next in line to be eaten, harvested, or whatever was planned for them.
A chill ran down her body as the alien lowered his head next to Emilia’s. His mouth moved ever so close to hers, almost close enough to lick the tears running down. Horrible images ran through Sasha’s mind as she could only sit helplessly watching, like witnessing a slow-motion train wreck, unable to look away yet incapable of intervening.
Yet Sasha had a gift, the fog. The alien revealed its tender organ hidden behind an armored skin, reaching out like a sucker feels it path beforehand. The fog blurred the world around it, focusing, tunneling, and narrowing it all down to one target, one chance. Sasha crawled over to the kitchen. With great agony, she pulled herself up, searched for a knife, and once again faced her tormentor.
The airbag struck Drexter’s face like a boxer late in the fifth with a clean shot. The rest of his body bounced back and forth a bit before coming to a slouched rest on a deflating bag. There was no plan, just rage, and a short moment after the collision, his rage had vanished with the return of his awareness.
Had the beast landed without injury or with better balance, the captain would have been an easy kill, but the beast fell on his back, with a gut-wrenching hiss of pain. The bounce from the alien’s fall shook the vehicle so hard the captain was tossed hard, back into the seat. Dazed, the captain could only lie still, lacking the strength and clarity to go on. The cabin of the vehicle lay motionless as two fatigued warriors each pursued the will and capacity to carry on.
A stinging round of coughing from the captain finally burst the bubble of silence, renewing the urgency of purpose between the two warriors. The captain leaned to his side, attempting to roll onto the passenger side of the vehicle. Pain signals pinged his brain in a constant chorus of pulsing, throbbing, and piercing, drummed out only by the sound of one voice in his head. With the captain’s fire again lit, he crawled, leaned, and dragged his ass over to the passenger side and opened the door.
Looking back as he exited, he saw the alien down on a knee, interacting with his wrist. The captain threw his arms out, bracing himself against the ground as he dragged his body behind.
Emilia’s body sent out a scream, a scream that communicated much more than fear. The tone was hollow, like a recording. The sound came out mechanical, as if synthesized. And the message was empty, as if her mind had been taken out of the loop. Sasha pulled herself along, unable to put even the slightest pressure on her leg. Crawling along the ground made for the quickest form of motion.
Sasha could only imagine what was happening to Emilia. The beast maintained Emilia’s pose as her body twisted, shunted, and pulled in any direction in a futile escape. While he was deeply involved in his process, Sasha was able to close ranks much faster than expected, without drawing the alien’s attention. Fast is smooth, and smooth is fast, and Sasha found a rhythm: knee-wrist-toes, knee-wrist-toes. A fully healthy Sasha would have been in striking range.
She moved with a purpose and as if with a guide. The fog prepared her for the dangers, focused her efforts on mission needs, and readied her for the unexpected. Beautiful streams of silver clouds rushed alongside her, urging her to move quicker, faster, and smoother. The alien finished with Emilia and rested her back down, her eyes frozen open, her body stiff. He turned to face Sasha as she closed width, but it was too late. She finally had the advantage, and with that advantage, she plunged a knife down into that alien’s tender facial organ.
Hands again greeted the captain’s shoulder and dragged him up. Luckily, they were the hands of two uniformed police officers. “Oh shit, Chip, it’s that guy from before.” The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it offhand.
A reply came between heavy breaths. “Just carry, rook, just fucking carry.”
The captain was being dragged toward a stretcher by the very two officers who had arrested him sometime before. “You assholes left us to fuckin’ die in there, not even a sip of clean fuckin’ water.” The captain spoke an emotion not quite clear. The emotion was not anger, for he had used up all of his anger. It wasn’t betrayal, as he didn’t feel a specific anger toward these two individuals, and it wasn’t hate. It was an emotion higher than instinct. It was overpowering of the need for self-preservation, fear of pain and death, and it was actionable.
The captain’s body stood in protest. He would follow his emotion, and he would assert himself by not allowing the assistance of those who would leave him to face such a hell. “I will not be manhandled again by the likes of you two.”
The young Hispanic officer stepped back, trying to minimize his sense of awe. The older officer, however, just rolled his eyes and growled at the younger officer. “Listen here, man, a whole hell of a fucking lot of people got left behind, or the royal up-the-ass-fucking treatment. After nearly thirty years of this job, you know what I’ve learned?” There was a pause only long enough to make effect. “You can only help the people in front of you. Let God deal with the fuckin’ rest of the bunch. Now lay the hell down, and let us get you to the med tent. Colonel Major’s going to want to speak with you, if you really are military.”
With that, the captain basically collapsed into the stretcher they had been carrying him toward.
The fog burned with a yellowish red. Again and again, it told her to thrust the knife deep into its victim. The alien screamed out in a wretched wail that pierced Sasha’s ears. His arms flailed up, grasping at his attacker. Sasha wrapped her good leg around the alien’s neck while still hacking at the organ.
A terrible-smelling ooze poured out of the wound, and while a powerful hand finally grasped Sasha’s leg, it was too late and the strength of the grip dwindled fast. Still with great energy, the alien curled into a semi-fetal position and paused. The smell intensified as the pus began to boil up into big bubbles, bursting forth with the most wretched chemical smell Sasha could have imagined.
A new sound emerged from the alien as he screamed skyward. A powerful shock wave exploded throughout the area, throwing Sasha once again against the elevator-shaft wall. A piece of debris slashed a deep cut in Sasha’s side, spewing her blood in a huge mess.
Sasha lay stunned in pain and discomfort, a warm liquid dampened her clothes along her side, her leg bent awkwardly, and her head was getting lighter and lighter.
A barrage of gunfire startled the captain back to awareness. Again a needle lay in his arm, a bag of saline dripping into his veins. He could feel a return of his strength, but e
very muscle, every joint, called out in protest at the slightest movement.
A wily-looking officer—complete with a flowing white mustache, a pencil-thin figure, a hard crusty nose, and long choppy eyebrows—closed in on the captain. “What in the Sam Hill is going on in my city? Where the hell are the reinforcements, and what the hell is the military going to do about these nasty creatures killing my officers?”
The captain slowly tilted his head back, taking in the funny-looking angry man. More gunfire burst from nearby the tent, jolting the people inside with its proximity. “Fine, just tell me how to kill these bastards!” The colonel shook the captain in frustration before a paramedic pulled him back.
The tent canopy was suddenly pulled back and thrown off as if it had been a blanket covering a table. Light temporarily blinded the group before the alien grabbed the paramedic and shoved his device down his throat. An officer with a silver collar opened fire on the alien, only to draw his attention and be next for the device insertion.
The rest of the group fled, while the captain lay too tired, too hurt to fight anymore. The alien approached and grasped the captain’s thigh with one of his feet and then the other. Escape wasn’t an option, but the weight of the alien bore less pain and pressure than expected. The captain attempted to throw a punch but was easily rebuked and held in a deep hold, able to move only enough for shallow breathing.
The alien moved his face in close. The droplets of saliva burned the captain’s face. The three pillars running the length of his crown began bobbing up and down. The middle pillar moved so as to reveal a new horrible sight, a round grasping tendon. Black and slimy, it oozed its way onto the captain’s face, exploding his mind with an overwhelming number of images and senses. The captain yelped in an echo of his voice, his body thrashed, and his head burned to the core of his brain.
The voice rattled between the edges of Sasha’s skull, bouncing, echoing, and rolling aimlessly until captured. Where the voice was coming from, she couldn’t tell, but it came again and again. She felt the warmth on her hand, the numbness of her leg, and the lightness of her head, and she felt like it was time to sleep a nice, long sleep. That damn voice kept waking her up—didn’t they know how damn tired she was?
A moment of silence finally arrived, and Sasha closed her eyes. This time, something hit her—not a powerful blow, nor did it hurt, but damn, she was never going to get any rest. The sounds rolling around in her head were getting louder and louder, more and more forceful. It seemed the more Sasha protested to sleep, the louder the voice became.
“Sasha! Sasha!” The word took hold but still needed time to round out into a thought. Who the hell was this calling her over and over again? Where the hell was she? The light reignited a throbbing headache as she attempted to open her eyes. The redness was awful. Movement caught her eye, but she had no desire to open her eyes again. She had only desire to sleep.
“Sasha! Sasha! Please, I need you.” Again the light punched her brain in the face, but Sasha held strong, and this time, she could see the movement. Emilia was waving her arms. Sasha’s heart pumped faster. Her mind was fuzzy, but she had to go, had to move—her love needed her.
Drexter could feel the intruder. Its location pulsed with a throbbing ache, moving, shifting, and searching along his mind’s pathways. The images came along, all of them his own memories. Memories he hadn’t seen so clearly in years were at the fingertips of this alien bastard.
No matter how hard he tried to exert his will, he could gain no control. His life, his memories, and his feelings were being fast forwarded, rewound, and viewed in search of something. He focused hard on a single thought, trying forcefully to regain control of a front he never imagined fighting on: his own mind.
There was a certain moment when his bond with Sasha became parental in nature, no matter the biology. Her schooling began almost from birth. Being born into the program meant time spent with her biological parents was kept to a bare minimum. Toys and imagination play spurred creativity, while social interaction created dependency. The captain never had a natural paternal side, but a child’s love in its purity overpowered his own preconceptions.
It happened by accident. A toy had fallen on the floor, and he simply bent over to pick it up. What happened next was completely unexpected. The voice came sweetly, softly. “What’s your name?”
Mistaking the comment as being directed toward him, he paused in confusion.
“My name is Kitty. What’s your name?” The movement of the child’s toy now led him to comprehension.
In hindsight, he still wasn’t sure what made him do it, but it set off a course of events that led him to where he was now. He said, “I’m Bob. Nice to meet you.” Words can’t express what a child’s face can, and when the pure-glow joy lit up Sasha’s face, who he would be changed forever.
Now he needed that moment again, and from that moment, he would fight outward, reclaim his mind, and pursue it to the physical, where he would reclaim his daughter.
Chapter 30
Angels and Demons
The distance was daunting, the pain excruciating, and the will waning. Emilia called for her, but the words were hollow within Sasha’s veins. Sasha threw her elbow forward but could no longer pull herself up. Her breaths were labored but shallow as the blood ran thinner and thinner.
The fog came again, but different. There was no aim, no message, just a void. None of her other senses seemed to be working either. Softness filled her body as her pain evaporated away. In the world of the fog, time had no meaning, no relevance. Sasha felt on the verge of sleep, unable and unwilling to wake up.
It was a blissful experience until her conscious mind failed to find a thought. No memories, no ideas, no sensations—it shifted into panic. Sasha thrashed with her mind, grasping wildly, hoping to catch a glance, a reminder, of who and where she was before.
Nothing came. Over and over again, nothing came. The void grew deeper, her body grew number, and her mind grew dimmer.
“Damn you, Lord. Cruelest such a bitch around. You better fucking take me into heaven, or so help me, I will find a damn way in.” Sasha’s tirade was intensely venomous in its mental delivery. Her mind now burned with a passion. Its fire grew with each new thought as Sasha repeatedly imagined herself coming face-to-face with the Lord.
“Hold your hand here. Put as much pressure as you can.” The words came with a warm sensation, from somewhere out in the fog. While unfamiliar, the voice came again, stirring her conscious mind back to life. And again the words came, each one seeming to take a little bit of the fog with it as it rushed by.
The words came over and over, and as Sasha’s mind lost hold of its hate, an angel appeared.
The images moved fast, tracing people as each memory of the person was shown in linear order. Despite the home-field advantage, it took every ounce of the captain’s strength to refocus on his chosen memory, with each victory lasting but only a moment before the alien recaptured control and resumed his search.
Finally the alien narrowed its focus to a single individual, an individual the captain would hesitate to admit knowing. His memories slowed down to a watching speed, and he saw himself walking into her establishment for the first time. He was nervous, excited, like a teenager in a man’s body. She could have taken him for all he was worth, but she was a woman. Her practiced Southern charm, her presence, and her softness were all on display. She led him to a room, sat next to him, and placed her hands along his wrists. Again he pulled back toward the memory of Sasha, but its effectiveness was waning, and he had now become erect while battling in the emotion of the memory.
The captain had still failed to gain the upper hand, but he had a new strategy to pursue. The alien continued to probe his memory for her. Again he saw a memory of the baroness sitting on his lap, her legs squeezing tightly around his waist. The feeling of passion grew, along with his erection, and his capacity to draw back to the memory had faded away. So he drew now on a more recent memory, a memory more
connected to his passion and lust—his memory of Emilia.
He forced his mind to remember her legs, the skirt, the waist, and that gorgeous naughty-teen look she carried about her. Again the alien pulled back to his target, and the baroness held him from behind, nibbling on his ear and asking if he had been “satisfied.” His erection pulsed to a near climax, when the captain started to worry he might not be able to regain control, and having someone else in his head made it hard to think. Again he retraced his fantasy, from his vehicle after their first meeting—if memories wouldn’t work, maybe fantasy would. He came close to Emilia, kissing her neck and touching her breast and ass. He pulled back, and again the face and memory had shifted to the baroness. There she was, whispering so gently it came with a tickle on his ear: “I have someone special for you tonight.” Fighting to take control, the captain altered the memory and replaced the girl with Emilia instead.
Yet the battle was lost over and over again. With every attempt, the captain failed to do anything but delay and annoy his invader.
“Angel” was too unflattering a word for such a beautiful creature. Her hair, nasty and matted, floated above her. A brace stiffened her neck and hid her chin. Blood covered a uniform jacket that was much too big for her. Ripped shreds of a bandage hung uselessly underneath.
Had Emilia looked at herself in a mirror, she would have been horrified, but as Sasha lay helpless in her arms, she couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight. Tears streamed down Emilia’s face, her hand applying pressure and unable to wipe them away. Sasha tried to speak, but her body failed to respond.
The blurry fog still blotted out most of the world, hiding with it most forms of thought, yet her angel was as clear as day, and as Sasha lay bleeding to death, she was struck by the thought that only a god of good could create something so beautiful out of something so awful.