by CreateSpace
He spied a button that said engines and pressed it. The whine of the shuttle engine vibrated the cushion underneath him.
All he had to do was press enter, he thought. Enter and the sequence would have to start. And even if it didn't start right away he could figure it out.
“Momma didn't raise no fool,” he said to the view screen. It revealed a million stars twinkling in the sky. Carver knew that one of those twinkles was a planet and that planet was home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Carver took tentative steps down the corridor as he sneaked across the metal floor and tried to be quiet. He held a long wrench liberated from the shuttle in his hands.
“This is crazy, this is crazy. This is crazy,” he whispered over and over again with each step.
Turn around Carver, he told himself. You can't do anything. Nine-foot alligator mother fuckers with big ass teeth and all you got is a wrench. Talk about bringing a knife to a gunfight.
But he had to know.
What if Dawes was still alive? He wouldn't leave Carver up there on his own. He'd come back for him, wouldn't he? And the girl. Man if he rescued her that would seal the deal. She would do all sorts of things to show her gratitude. Depraved things that made grown people blush. The kinds of things that made living worthwhile.
“What the hell am I doing?” he asked as he shook off visions of a grateful Rachel. “This is stupid. Stupid. Boy if your momma find out she is going to kick your ass.”
Besides he thought, speaking of ass whippings. He owed one to Dawes. He was going to have to up in here and rescue that cowboy acting motherfucker and take him back to earth because he was going to kick his ass when they got back. It made perfect sense to him as he crept along in whispered silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rachel finalized the entry into the computer to lock on the coordinates to their target. Earth loomed in the view screen.
Budge lowered Dawes just enough so the tips of his toes brushed the deck floor. He raised a long claw and rested the razor-sharp tip at the hollow of his neck where it met the jaw and pressed until blood dripped onto the floor.
“Let him go,” Rachel shouted. “I did what you want.”
Budge wheezed and snuffled in a semblance of an alien chuckle. He pressed deeper and drew his finger along Dawes throat while the man bucked and fought against his grip. The blood oozed around the long nail.
Carver jumped in through the open bridge hatchway.
“Surprise motherfucker!” he screamed and swung the wrench like a bat. It bounced off the back of Budge's concrete like skull and clattered to the floor.
“Shit!” Carver barked and shook his numb hands.
Budge rolled his head around and glared at him as his tongue licked out to taste the air. He made a disgusted sneer as the smell covered his forked tongue.
Rachel grabbed the Lick next to her and flipped him over her back in an Aikido move while he was surprised. She yanked his plasma rifle out of his claws, reversed it and shot a bolt into his gaping maw.
She dropped to her knee and shot a second Lick across the bridge as it took two steps toward Carver.
Budge dropped Dawes into a pool of blood on the deck and lunged toward Rachel, a giant claw reaching out to grasp the back of her unprotected head.
Carver ran to a control panel and launched himself at the back of the alien leader. He careened into him and the momentum carried the two of them into a control panel that dented under their weight and showered the bridge with sparks.
Rachel shot a third Lick with a glancing blow that sent it spinning down behind the helm control panel. She leaned down and scooped up Dawes with one arm. He was dazed from blood lose and groggy.
“Carver!” she screamed.
He rolled away from Budge and scrambled on all fours for the door. Rachel backed out with the rifle held ready, dragging Dawes with her. She took a shot at Budge, but he dove behind the helm and the plasma bolt seared a hole in the bridge wall.
Carver screamed.
One of the Lick's grabbed his ankle and dragged him back toward the bridge. Rachel straddled the alien and plowed a bolt into the back of its head. Snout and tongue splattered across the floor in smoking piles of goo.
“Get up,” she said.
“Damn girl,” he limped to his feet and nursed his bruised ankle. “Give a brother a minute.”
She passed Dawes for him to hold and keyed the panel. The door slid shut on the bridge. Rachel aimed the rifle at the keypad and turned it into slag.
“Come on,” she took one Dawes' arms and began dragging him down the corridor. Carver limped to keep up under the other arm.
“They're trapped, girl. You shot the shit out of that door.”
“There's a back way,” she huffed.
Carver stopped limping and began hustling them faster down the hall.
“Well come on then, what the hell you waiting for.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Rachel led them into a storage unit down a short corridor. It was larger than the supply closet she had been hiding in, but more crowded, with boxes of supplies stacked like cardboard forts.
She crawled in first, half dragging, half leading Dawes who dripped a blood trail along the metal floor. Carver followed muttering about the blood. They reached a clear spot in the center of the boxes and Rachel turned back to pull more down in place behind them to create a hiding spot.
“Get me the med kit,” she barked at Carver.
“I ain't got no med kit,” he barked back. “What do I look like? An HMO?”
She leaned across him and unzipped a tiny pocket on the side of his Suit to pull out a small emergency medical kit. She opened the packet and pulled out a tiny spray bottle. Using two fingers she pinched the skin together and sprayed it.
“What's that?”
“Super glue,” she said. “With antibiotic spray. It should stop the bleeding.”
“He gonna be alright?”
Rachel dabbed at his neck with an alcohol swab to make sure nothing was still leaking blood.
“He lost a lot of blood,” she said.
“You can ask me,” he croaked. “I ain't dead yet.”
“That sounds like a country song. You should write that down.”
Dawes slowly moved his head back and forth. He grimaced at the pain it caused, but since his head stayed attached to his neck he was grateful.
“What took you so long?” he asked.
“You didn't think I was just going to leave your white ass from some alien to barbecue?”
“Not unless you were invited.”
“Yeah?”
“And brought Cole slaw.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
Carver fumbled a computer chip out of the front pocket of his suit and held it up to show him.
“Cause I have the ignition sequence.”
“You son of a- you know I owe you a good ass whipping right?”
Dawes glanced at Rachel. The space in the boxes was tight, tighter even than her cubbyhole, so they were all close together. Her face was almost pressed into his.
“What did you do back there?”
“I set a course for earth,” she pouted. “I didn't have a choice.”
“You had a choice,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
Carver cleared his throat.
“What about me?”
“You're right,” said Dawes. “Carver?”
“Yeah.”
“You stink.”
“Fuck you man.”
“Seriously though, thank you for saving me,” said Dawes. He tipped an imaginary hat to Carver and got a nod in return.
“What do they want?” Carver asked. “Besides Barbecue human?”
“I think we're being invaded,” said Rachel.
“Earth?”
“No Uranus,” Dawes croaked. “How many Licks are on this ship?”
“I don't have a count,” he confessed.
“Is there some
way we can find out?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
An air grate in the ceiling dropped down three inches and began to rotate. It flipped over at an angle and was dragged quietly back up into the duct. Rachel peered out of the new hole and stared at a security control room. It's set up like the bridge, but instead of one giant view screen, there are hundreds of monitors, each dedicated to a section of the ship. Miniature cameras along corridors and in individual rooms give unprecedented access to all areas of the Lucas.
Black blood on the floor indicated the fate of the security officer that occupied the chair where a Lick sat watching the monitors.
On screen, Licks scurried back and forth in several sections.
She took all this in on the first glance and pulled her head back into the duct work. A plasma rifle barrel slowly eased out of the duct and stopped inches from the back of the Licks' head.
Rachel pulled the trigger and sprayed a fine mist of goo and gore across the floor, panels and monitor.
She dropped out of the duct and began wiping off the screens to get a count.
Carver and Dawes dropped next to her.
“You better have some extra strength cleaner baby girl.”
“Move that,” she ordered with a nod to the Lick body.
“Don't tell me what to do,” Carver muttered. “You ain't the boss of me.”
But still he did it, struggling under the weight of the nine-foot body as he dumped it in a corner of the security room.
“Why do I get all of the nasty work?” he complained.
“You said you were a nasty boy,” Dawes grinned. “You're the toughest.”
“Well I ain't tough no more. You're the tough one now cowboy.”
“Can't do it. I don't have the natural talent for the job.”
“You're gonna have my natural foot up your ass if you don't watch yourself.
Rachel ignored what they tried to do for banter and stared at the screen in fierce concentration. Her lips moved as she counted. Several screens showed aliens hunting the corridors, bursting into rooms with rifles drawn.
Her eyes locked on one screen in particular.
It was aimed at a cargo hold on the Lucas, the one near the rear where the Lick ship had attached to them. A dozen Licks moved boxes from the alien ship into the Hold.
“What is that?” Dawes said next to her ear.
Rachel moved her hands over the keys and typed in a command through the goo.
All the security monitors drew the one image full so it showed on all screens.
“What they doing?”
They watched the Licks stack the tiny three foot boxes next to a glowing oval stone that cast a soft yellow glow over them. The aliens slowed as they approached, almost reverent in their gentleness.
One of the boxes shakes next to the rock. The top cracked open and disintegrated in a shattering of shell. A miniature version of a Lick crawled out of the syrupy liquid inside and trailed it across the floor as it crawled toward the rock.
“Is that a chicken” Carver asked.
“You ever seen a chicken that looks like that?”
“Maybe it's a space chicken.”
“It's a hatchling,” Rachel corrected. “It's one of them. They're growing an army.”
“Now how can you tell it's an army?” Dawes asked.
She nodded toward the edge of the screen. A Lick dressed like a shaman grabbed the miniature alien away from the oval rock and put a small spear shaped weapon into its tiny claws. The larger alien led it away to a wall as second box hatched and then a third.
“They're growing an invasion,” Rachel gasped.
“That's sick.”
“I wonder what that'd taste like,” Carver smacked his lips. “Put a little bit of hot sauce on it, might be good.”
Rachel snorted in disgust.
“You better be playing,” said Dawes.
“What man? What you want me to do? Just watch them take over the earth and sit here say nothing? Besides, you rednecks eat possum and squirrel and alligator and shit. I bet it taste just like gator tail.”
“You want me to get you one to eat?”
“Yeah man go down there and get me one to eat. What can I say, I'm hungry. What are we going to do about these alien motherfuckers?”
“Blow up the ship,” Rachel said.
“Who?” Carver scoffed.
“Us.”
“When?”
“Now,” she said.
“You can do that?” asked Dawes.
“We have to destroy the ship.”
“hold on, let's not rush into anything,” said Carver. “I mean we're kind of up here on the ship and all cause of that kind of thing. And that ain't worked out too well. We need to think this through.”
Rachel nodded and moved away from the wall of monitors to the door.
“We need to keep moving. I know where we need to go.”
Heavy sucking footsteps sounded outside of the door.
Rachel tossed her rifle up into the duct with a clatter. She motioned for Dawes to give her two hands up. He cupped his hands, took her foot and lifted her up into the air. She crawled up, turned around and held out her hand.
“Carver,” Dawes said as he held out his hands for the man to give him a foot.
He vaulted Carver into the duct with Rachel's help. Something slapped the panel outside the door. It didn't open.
The Licks banged against the door and began to pry it apart.
Dawes leaped for two outstretched hands and missed. He fell back to the ground and lost his footing as dizziness overtook him.
Rachel started to go down for him, but Carver grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back. He leaned his upper body out of the duct as the door pried open a few inches.
“Come on man,” Carver whispered.
Dawes got up, took a deep breath and jumped again. He grabbed Carver's arm and climbed while they pulled him into the duct.
The doors slid apart and the Lick's jumped in with rifles raised. They didn't notice the panel slide in place above their scaly heads.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Another grate in another room opened up and slid into the duct. Rachel rolled out of the open space and dropped to the floor with the grace of a ballerina. She glanced around the tiny common room with small cubes along each side. The living quarters of the crew. They're Spartan and utilitarian like the rest of the ship, but there are personal touches along the walls of each cube. Photographs. An artificial flower. A well-worn copy of EPOCH by a pillow.
Carver and Dawes dropped out of the duct next to her. Rachel moved to a cabinet and began to pull out foil packets of food and a water condenser.
Carver picked up a digital photo of her and another man.
“Who's this?” he asked. “Is this your boyfriend?”
The smiling man in the picture was wearing a black space suit that matched hers. She didn't look up from the beaker of water she was collecting.
“That's Gary,” she sniffed. “My husband.”
“Husband?” Carver snorted. “You're married? Where's he at? Come on now, tell the truth. He at home? Keeping the home fire burning while you're up in here in outer space?”
“Carver,” Dawes warned him off her look.
“He was on the ship,” she said in a grunt.
“Was? You mean he...” Carver trailed off as he realized what she meant. Her husband was probably one of the bodies he tripped over in the waste unit. He set the picture back on the shelf.
“Look, I'm sorry,” he said.
“I'm fine,” she grunted again. “I'll be fine.”
She tried to move the beaker to a small metal table bolted to the floor and missed the edge. It dropped on the metal panels and shattered, spreading a pool of water under their feet. Rachel collapsed into one of the chairs that was set in a track that skittered back. She didn't sob. She didn't cry. But her eyes welled up as she sniffled.
“They got him?” said Carver.
She n
odded, but refused to look up. If she looked up, the tears would fall. If the tears fell, the dam holding back her feelings would burst. It would be too much. So long as she could keep the tears inside, keep them right on the edge, she could take those feelings and box them up, use them for fuel to stop the Licks. She would grieve when she stopped them. There would be time for that then. But not now. Not in front of these two idiots.
“We should get out of here,” said Dawes.
“We need to go back to the shuttle,” Carver argued. “We just start it up and get out of here.”
Rachel batted her eyes with the back of her hand and rubbed the end of her nose.
“We have to destroy the ship.”
Carver looked around at the thick metal walls and back at the woman with red eyes and a dead husband trying not to cry in front of them.
“It's a big ship,” he said.
Rachel shrugged.
“Do you know how?” Dawes asked.
She nodded in determination.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The corridor was silent. Rachel slipped from one slender bulkhead to the other as she sneaked back to the corner near the engine room. Dawes tiptoed behind her as Carver dragged his feet and tried to look everywhere at once. He kept a good distance from Dawes as they moved closer to the edge.
“You ain't pushing me out again man,” he said in a harsh whisper.
“I wouldn't do that,” Dawes drawled.
“I ain't taking no chances.”
“Smart man.”
Carver drew up short.
“What you mean by that?”
Rachel waved them quiet with a glare. She peered around the low corner of the corridor to the engine room door.
“It's clear,” she whispered.
“So get in there and handle your business,” Carver whispered back.
“Someone has to stand guard in case the Licks come back.”
“Carver,” Dawes volunteered him.
Carver stepped around him and hooked his arm through Rachel's elbow. He led her toward the doorway. He reached back and took the plasma rifle from Dawes grip.