The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5)

by Daniel Arenson

  Something big.

  Mairead knelt, drew her pistol, and aimed.

  For a long moment—silence.

  Not even daring to breathe, Mairead lifted a rock and tossed it. It hit a branch with a clatter.

  A beast pounced toward the sound, and Mairead lost her breath.

  Ra damn.

  It was a hellwolf. She hated hellwolves.

  The beast was the size of a horse, with fangs like swords and six legs that shook the mountains. Mairead fired a bullet into the beast. She might as well have fired a spitball.

  The alien spun toward her. Its jaws opened with a roar. Strings of saliva dangled between its teeth. The monster came racing toward Mairead, claws tearing up soil and rocks.

  Muck!

  She fired. Again. Again. Her bullets slammed into the alien, barely fazing it. The mosquitoes would have better luck.

  An instinct rose in Mairead to run. To climb a tree. To flee this death barreling toward her.

  She curbed that instinct. She was Mairead "Firebug" McQueen, a senior officer in the Human Defense Force, and she ran from no beast.

  "Come on, you mucker!" She held her gun steady. "I've always wanted to kill one of you dogs."

  The hellwolf closed the distance, then leaped into the air, flying toward her.

  Mairead ducked, dodging a swinging claw, and swerved aside.

  The hellwolf slammed into the ground, missing her by mere centimeters. It plowed through the soil, leaving a deep groove on the mountainside, shattering branches and uprooting bushes.

  Mairead scampered back. But a spike thrust out from the hellwolf's flank like a scythe from a chariot. The horn sliced Mairead's leg, ripping through her trousers, skin, and muscle. She yowled.

  Ignoring the pain, she grabbed a fistful of the creature's fur. She hoisted herself up, climbing the spikes like rungs on a ladder. She landed atop the creature and clung.

  The hellwolf reared, bellowing. Mairead nearly fell. But she dug her heels into the animal's back, clutched its fur with one hand, and aimed her pistol.

  Hellwolves were like Mairead. They never fled. Ever. In fact, they evolved to never flee. Their entire body was covered with thick fur and skin like armor, impervious to almost any weapon. Aside from one weak spot. One weakness that assured they would never turn their tail on a battle.

  "Sweet dreams, asshole," Mairead muttered.

  She fired into the back of its head—where the creature had no skull.

  Her bullet sank deep, piercing through a thin layer of fur, then tearing the brain stem.

  The hellwolf slammed down, dead before it hit the ground.

  Mairead hopped off the corpse and spat on it.

  "Bastard."

  Sudden pain hit her, and Mairead staggered. Her leg flared with agony. She wobbled and fell beside the dead beast.

  She stared at her wound. It was an ugly gash, so deep it nearly hit the bone. It was bleeding profusely. It looked infected too. The damn hellwolf carried venom on its spikes. The wound's edges were green and yellow, bubbling and oozing. It hurt like a son of a bitch.

  Mairead's head spun, and she struggled to remain conscious. She had dealt with wounds before. She bore her many scars proudly. She had been stung by scorpions, bitten by basilisks, and blown out of her Firebird more times than she could count. She was no stranger to pain.

  But this was different.

  Here she was alone.

  Hungry. Maybe sick. Lost thousands of kilometers away from her friends.

  I don't want to die here. I don't want to die alone.

  She inhaled sharply. With shaky fingers, she pulled off her belt and applied a tourniquet. Two years ago, Cindy had integrated a new program into the Heirs of Earth, one that had carried over into the Human Defense Force. The nurse—now a doctor—had insisted that all soldiers take a first aid class and carry basic medical supplies. Mairead was woozy. Close to passing out. But she forced herself to take deep breaths, to stay awake, and she pulled out her first aid kit.

  She poured disinfectant into the wound.

  It sizzled. Mairead screamed. At least it woke her up.

  There was still poison in the wound. The gash seemed almost like a living thing, twisting, begging, a hungry mouth.

  Mairead fed it more disinfectant. She kept pouring it in, washing out the poison, screaming all the while.

  Finally she dropped the empty bottle, leaned over, and took ragged breaths. Her heart pounded.

  Well, if there are any other hellwolves around, I alerted them all, she thought. Muck, if there are any hellwolves on Mars, they must have heard me.

  Let no one say that Mairead did not learn from her errors. She grabbed a stick, bit down hard, and steeled herself.

  Then she got to stitching.

  Thankfully, this task hurt less. Her fingers shook, but she did good work, neatly stitching the gash. She wrapped her leg with bandages, then lay on her back, gasping for air.

  "Mucking hellwolves," she muttered. "I hate hellwolves."

  She pushed herself to her feet, but pain flared. She grimaced and fell back down. She took a few long, slow breaths.

  A squirrel scurried along a branch and peered at her. The little critter squeaked. The bastard was mocking her.

  Mairead drew her pistol and fired. The squirrel fell down dead.

  "Muck saving bullets," she muttered. "I'm starving."

  She was about to eat the animal, campfire or no campfire, when she heard the beeping.

  She spun around, pistol raised, muzzle still hot. The sound came from the hellwolf corpse. Mairead dragged herself closer. The damn alien was beeping like an alarm clock. She cocked her head, trying to pinpoint the sound's exact location. It came from a tangle of greasy fur on the animal's neck. Wincing, Mairead reached into the furry brambles, careful to avoid any hidden spikes.

  She felt something hard and round. She parted the fur and saw a device attached to a collar. It was flashing red and beeping.

  A tracker, Mairead realized. So you're somebody's pet.

  She frowned. The tracker must have detected the alien's demise, and was now contacting its masters. Within moments, this place would be swarming with basilisks.

  Mairead was about to crawl away, but she paused. Something on the collar caught her eye. She stared closer.

  A logo was engraved on the collar. A woman with a snake's body. An image of Queen Xerka.

  "Is this your lapdog, Xerka?" Mairead wondered.

  She pulled out her minicom. Over the past few days, Mairead had been regularly testing her minicom, trying to connect to Port Addison. It never worked. The damn basilisks were jamming signals across the planet. But when Mairead held the minicom near the dead hellwolf, it picked up the tracker.

  "Yep, this thing is transmitting wirelessly," she said.

  Mairead wasn't too good at computers. She was better at killing than programming. But Rowan had been teaching her a few tricks, had even installed some hacking software on her minicom. Mairead was able to bypass the collar's security protocols and connect to the tracker.

  "Thank you, Rowan!" She pressed a few buttons on the minicom. "Now, puppy, where are you transmitting your signal to …"

  A branch snapped.

  Mairead jerked up. She stared toward a valley. The trees were rustling. She heard a familiar clatter and hiss.

  Basilisks!

  The hisses grew louder. Mairead's minicom began speaking the translation. She quickly muted the device, switching it to closed captions. She crouched behind the hellwolf corpse, reading the text flashing on the monitor.

  "What the hell happened to the wolf?" said one basilisk.

  "Dumb dogs!" said another. "We should never have hired them. All brute strength. No brains."

  "Silence, mammal! Queen Xerka herself trained this wolf."

  "Do not call me mammal! I am more snake than you. Xerka should rely on serpents only. These furry canines are nothing but trouble. Now we, proud snakes, must go clean up their mess. The dog is
dead."

  "And you'll be dead too if you keep questioning our goddess!"

  While the basilisks bickered, Mairead worked silently. She tore bloody strips off her pants, then stuffed them into the hellwolf's mouth. She limped away, careful to cover her tracks, to an oak tree. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she climbed, slung herself across a branch, and peered between the leaves.

  Not a moment later, the basilisks arrived.

  There were five. Nasty buggers, each large enough to swallow Mairead whole. Here were basilisk soldiers, not the feral beasts who crawled across much of Earth. These wore armor, the metal plates painted with their unit's insignia. Guns were mounted on their backs. They held tracking devices in their long, thin hands.

  Four were normal-sized basilisks. They wore no helmets, exposing their red and green scaly heads. Each had a single red stripe painted onto its armor, denoting rank.

  The fifth basilisk was twice the size, a beast that could have swallowed a horse. It wore a suit of black armor painted with three red flames. Here was a basilisk general. This beast wore a helmet covered in spikes. The dark metal covered everything but the jaws, hiding even the eyes. And mighty jaws those were, jaws that could put the meanest crocodile to shame, filled with many rows of teeth. Flaps flared around the general's head like a cobra's hood, covered in black scales.

  Mairead recognized this basilisk. She had seen him before on the Jerusalem's monitor.

  Here slithered Naja, Prince of Basilisks. Xerka's son.

  Bloody hell, Mairead thought. What is that bastard doing here in the middle of nowhere?

  She clung to her branch, pistol in hand, listening.

  "I knew it!" hissed a red basilisk. "The damn wolf is dead."

  A yellow and green basilisk stuck out his forked tongue. The tongue flicked, then retreated between the fangs. "The beast stinks to space!"

  Mairead was thankful for that stench. Basilisks smelled with their tongues, and their olfactory sense was weak, no stronger than a human's. The stinking corpse would cover her own scent—admittedly not too pleasant after days in the wilderness. She kept watching from the tree.

  A one-eyed, dark green basilisk slithered closer to the hellwolf. He licked the creature, then reared.

  "This hellwolf fought a human!"

  The serpents all gathered closer.

  "A human killed it?" said one. "Impossible! Humans are pathetic weaklings."

  "I smell it. A human. A female. Look!" The green basilisk grabbed shreds of cloth from the hellwolf's jaws. "Human blood. Human clothes!"

  "Where is the pest?" said another basilisk—a thick yellow beast with two cannons on its back.

  "The hellwolf ate her," said the green basilisk. "Devoured her whole. Got injured in the battle and died soon after. Dumb brute."

  "Maybe the human escaped," suggested the red basilisk.

  Watching from the branches, Mairead readied her pistol. She would have to fire quickly. To fire into their eyes. To take out all five basilisks before they could attack. Basilisks were excellent climbers. The tree would not hold them off.

  "If she did escape, she couldn't have gone far," said the yellow basilisk. "Look at all the blood. This is human blood. If she's alive, she's hurt. Dying."

  "We can find out," said another. "Cut open the hellwolf. See if the human is inside."

  "Disgusting!" The red basilisk gagged. "Don't touch this creature. Hellwolves are diseased mammals. Leave it here. Leave it to rot."

  Finally Naja, the great black commander of the group, reared. The beast towered over the others, so high his head nearly reached Mairead in the treetop. His suit of black armor clanked, lined with spikes. The general looked from one basilisk to another.

  "Enough bickering!" Naja said. "This wolf was Queen Xerka's personal pet. The tracker on its collar is linked to Xerka's bracelet." He ripped the collar off the corpse. "I will return the tracker to her, so she can select a new pet for it."

  "What about the human, Master?" hissed the yellow basilisk. "She might still be alive."

  "And there might be more!" added the green basilisk. "The humans breed quickly. Where there is one, there are soon others."

  Naja nodded. "Both of you stay here and hunt. If the human is alive, capture her. Capture any other humans around her. I want no humans so close to our base. The rest of you sorry lot—you will return with me to the city. We'll go see Xerka and receive new orders."

  The lower-ranking basilisks bowed. "Yes, Master."

  The aliens turned to crawl away, taking the tracker. They left two basilisks behind—the burly yellow one with the cannons, and a slimmer green snake.

  Mairead's head spun. Xerka herself was down here on Earth? She was nearby? What was this base, this city?

  If I can find Xerka's location …

  Mairead could already imagine it. An intrepid group of pilots. Her and Ramses and maybe a few others. A brave, secret mission to Xerka's base. Smart missiles. Maybe even a nuke. Killing Xerka and winning this war.

  Mairead wanted to follow Naja, to learn more. But the green and yellow basilisks were still below the tree, sniffing around the corpse.

  Mairead cursed inwardly. She could shoot the two snakes from above. But her gun was loud. It would only draw Naja back. Once more, no bullets allowed. Mairead looked forward to fighting Naja eventually. But not now, not in her current sorry state. Right now, she barely felt strong enough to fight a ladybug.

  Below her, the two serpents began licking the ground, tasting for her tracks. Both were making their way toward the tree.

  Mairead sighed. She would have to do this silently.

  Muck.

  She holstered her pistol and drew her knife.

  I miss my Firebird, she thought as she leaped from the tree.

  She landed on the beefy yellow snake, banging her wounded leg, and bit down on a scream. The beast bucked, nearly knocking her off, and Mairead slammed down her knife with all her strength.

  She pierced the creature's eye and drove the blade into its brain.

  The other basilisk reared before her, jaws opening to scream.

  Mairead pulled her knife free and tossed it. The blade pierced the green basilisk's palate, silencing it. The alien bent over, gagging, struggling to disgorge the knife.

  Mairead didn't wait for it to attempt another scream. She lunged, pulling the tourniquet off her wounded leg. She leaped behind the green basilisk, wrapped the belt around its neck, and pulled back hard.

  The creature flailed, choking. Mairead sneered, tugging her makeshift garrote with all her strength.

  "Don't like being constricted?" she hissed into its ear.

  She twisted the belt, tightening the noose, until the leather began to creak and rip. The basilisk gagged, finally dislodging the blade from its mouth. Mairead pulled its head downward, grabbed the fallen knife, and embedded it into the alien's ear.

  The green basilisk thumped down dead, joining its yellow brother.

  Mairead lifted her dead squirrel. She ripped into its flesh, eating the meat raw. To hell with starting fires. She was hungry now.

  As she chewed, she checked her minicom. It was still connected to the tracker. Naja was carrying the tracker north. Mairead could see his position move along her monitor.

  She gulped down a mouthful of squirrel and tossed the bones aside.

  "We're not done, buddy," she said, watching the tracker move. "You're going to lead me to your mistress. I've got some big snakes to fry."

  She wiped her bloody hands on her thighs, slung her belt back around her waist, and walked on through the forest.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Fire!" Emet roared.

  Along with fifty soldiers, he rose from the trench, aimed his rifle, and fired.

  Fifty rifles boomed. The hailstorm of bullets tore through the charging basilisks, scattering scales across the ruins of Port Addison. From other trenches, more platoons rose. More rifles unleashed hell onto the aliens.

  Some, like Emet's rifle, were p
owerful railguns, using electromagnetic force to hurl bullets at hypersonic speed. Many were cheaper, simpler weapons, relying on good-old-fashioned gunpowder. The smell of smoke, blood, and offal filled the hot air. The smell of war.

  The enemy covered the ruins. Thousands of basilisks were slithering between the shattered buildings and burnt tents. With them swarmed aliens of other species: blobby, spiky, furry, fanged. Many wore armor. Most wielded weapons of their own. A barrage of enemy bullets flew back toward the trench.

  "Down!" Emet cried.

  The soldiers knelt behind the sandbags that lined the trench. The enemy fire slammed into sacks. A grenade made its way into the trench a few meters away from Emet. Before anyone could react, the grenade exploded. Soldiers screamed, were ripped apart, showering their friends with blood. A few other soldiers, unharmed, fell and screamed in horror, dropping their rifles.

  "Keep firing!" Emet cried, ears ringing. The bodies of his men had protected him from the grenade; he now wore their blood. "Mow them down!"

  He fired Thunder with one hand, Lightning with the other. Both rifle and pistol tore through the advancing aliens. Beside him, a sergeant was roaring as he fired a machine gun—one of only a few the Human Defense Force owned. The bullets ripped through snarling, wolflike creatures that were racing toward the trench.

  "Artillery!" Emet cried into his comm. "Why aren't you firing?"

  A staticky voice replied. "The enemy is swarming our cannon silos, sir!"

  "Kill the bastards and keep firing that artillery!" he barked. "I want shells constantly pounding the enemy starships!"

  An explosive hit a sandbag ahead of Emet. Several bags blew apart. When the clouds of sand settled, they revealed basilisks.

  Emet stood before them, firing both his weapons, roaring as he mowed them down. Fangs bit him. Claws slashed him. But he kept killing. It took two sergeants to finally pull him back into the trench, to repair the fortifications.

  "We must get you into the bunker, sir!" said a sergeant. "You're wounded."

  Emet's leg was lacerated. As other soldiers kept firing, he pulled bandages from his pocket and slapped them on. He loaded another magazine. He would not rest until he, or every alien on Earth, was dead.