“Strange,” he said to himself.
Doug came up next to him. “What?”
Doc pointed. “Do you notice anything missing from these corpses?”
Doug looked down, and shrugged. “They just look dead to me.”
The medic looked up at the private. “There are no bullet holes.”
Helen walked past Doc as he was standing thoughtfully. The co-commander walked to the end of the hallway and looked into the antechamber that would lead to Central Command. She pulled back, eyes closed in disgust.
“Ughn…” she moaned softly, feeling her stomach churn. She opened her eyes as the others caught up and looked into the room again. The room was littered with bodies; some Yew, but mostly Human. Each face had vacant eyes, like they were spaced out instead of dead. The most outstanding feature, though, was the unsettling amount of blood coagulating on the floor. Private March looked into the room, and then immediately regretted doing so and fell back, gagging.
“Oh geeze,” he murmured, holding a hand to his mouth.
Helen turned to Doc and sighed, looking about the corridor leading up to the Central Command antechamber. The condition of the hallway was bad, too. The walls and ceiling had been hit with all manner of weapons fire, tearing off metal sheeting and destroying most of the lighting. Several air vents had been ripped apart by concussive blasts. The majority of the damage appeared to be in the antechamber, where the most bodies were. And yet despite it all, it was still deathly quiet.
Something very bad had happened here.
Something other than a firefight.
Helen scanned the devastated hallway for clues while Sean leaned against the wall, a worried expression hidden by the poor light.
“Looks like one heck of a fight,” he said, trying not to look into the dead stares of his comrades. Nearby, crouched next to a Human corpse, Doc shook his head.
“There was no fight,” he said, closing the corpse’s eyes and smearing his fingertips with blood. “There are no bullet wounds or blaster burns on anyone.”
“Then what's with all the... blood?” asked March.
“Orifices,” Doc said. “Everyone's got blood coming out of their ears, eyes, and nose.”
“Spit,” stated Leven, looking around. “Did they turn up the pressure or something?”
“I dunno,” Doc said, shrugging as he stood. “It would explain the blood, but not why the bleeding didn't stop.”
Out in the corridor, Doug tilted his helmet back, wiping his brow nervously with the back of his hand. “That doesn't make sense. Why would we kill our own people like this?”
Several uncomfortable thoughts came to Helen's mind. It occurred to her that some of Lupell's traitors could have reached and secured Central Command, and held it against Human forces until the Alliance arrived. But then, why didn't they let the Yew in?
A slight sound—a muffled whir—turned Helen's head around. Above the doorway to the antechamber, barely visible with the hallway's damaged lights, a small security camera was peering at her from behind an armored plate, blinking at her with a triple lens. Helen frowned, seeing her reflection in the camera's lens as it cycled her into focus. Someone was watching her from inside. Just then Doc came out into the dim corridor with her.
“Blast door is sealed from the inside,” the medic said. “I can't access the door controls.”
The five infantrymen gathered around to discuss what to do.
“So,” Private Charles said, impatiently. “What now?”
“Can we get out of here?” asked Sean, handling his grenade like it was a lucky charm. “I don't feel comfortable just standing around.”
“There's nowhere else to go,” Doc said. “The way back is crawling with Yew by now, and there are clearly people inside Central Command.”
“See, that's what gets me,” Helen said, gaining everyone's attention. The warrior shifted her stance, resting a hand on her hip. “If there are friendly forces on the other side of that door, then they know we're here. So... why haven't they let us in?”
No one answered. The camera clicked, shifting focus from person to person. Helen looked straight into the camera, squinting her eyes.
What are they looking for?
Private Levan glanced up at the camera and scratched the back of his head, confusedly.
“Well, maybe they're waiting to make sure we weren't followed,” he said, uncertainly. “Or perhaps there's some malfunction with the door...”
A shrill whistle whispered through the still air.
Helen stiffed. “Did you hear that?”
The five soldiers looked at each other. Doug pulled at his helmet strap. “I didn't. What was-”
Helen snapped up a hand, silencing him. She turned her head toward the far end of the corridor. The lights at the far intersection were still intact, and illuminated the first Flog corpse they'd found. Helen waited, probing the intersection for a sign.
Then, as if far away, a slight hum stirred in the ears of the Humans.
Helen took a step toward the intersection, a good twenty feet away. She let her Casper point toward the ground, but her slender finger wrapped around the curve of the trigger. Behind her came several metal clicks as Doug and March took the safeties off their Coyotes. The wounded privates Charles and Levan hung back, drawing their pistols and racking the slides. Sean stuck to the rear, clutching his spud grenade like it was his best friend.
The low hum grew closer.
Helen slowly brought her Casper up to her shoulder, taking hold of the fore grip. Doc did the same. The low hum turned into a warbling buzz. Several lights flickered at the end of the corridor, casting a strobe of shadows on the floor and walls. Whatever the disturbance was, it traveled down the lighting grid and sent several sharp discharges through the damaged lighting, spitting sparks. The group of seven barely flinched, watching the far corridor intently. At the end, the lone Flog corpse lay, mouth agape, sightlessly staring at something out of the group's line of sight.
The lights dimmed again, and the rippling buzz became a low-pitched thrum. The lights flickered on and off, but every time they went out, the Humans could perceive a glow growing, just around the corner. When it seemed like the low-pitched thrum had reached its peak, its source came into view.
The intersection screeched in electronic overload as a pale, white orb of light slowly emerged from around the corner, roughly three feet in diameter. The searing sphere passed right over the corpse of the Flog, hissing in reaction wherever it touched the floor. One of the soldiers uttered a confused swear. The glow emitting off the energized orb matched the intensity of the deep thrum that now echoed off the walls like a distant roll of thunder. Lights snapped as the power passed under them. Helen and Doc shielded their eyes, trying to glower past the glare as it stopped in the intersection. Through the round disc of energy, the ESCs saw a vague, animalistic silhouette turn its head toward them. Then it began to approach. As the orb steadily advanced down the corridor, the Humans could slowly but surely look past the intense glare to see what was coming at them.
A shrill whistle emitted from within the shield bubble.
Then the panic hit everyone at once.
“BANSHEE!” screamed Doc.
Everyone started pouring gunfire on the approaching shield orb at once, desperately trying to ward off the approaching danger. The alpha Korvo wrapped inside the unaltered Splinter shield bubble continued to advance, undeterred, focused on its prey. Lead was dashing against the bubble as fast as the Humans could crank it out. The Infantry hammered with their Coyotes while the commandos sprayed forty-five caliber rounds until their clips ejected onto the floor. Helen and Doc whipped out fresh typewriter clips as pistol and assault rifle rounds flashed past them dangerously close. The Banshee drew closer, razor-sharp claws clicking against the floor as its protective shield flashed with ripples of red.
The alpha Korvo hacked, drawing its breath amidst a lull in the gunfire.
Private March reached the end of hi
s magazine and dropped his expended rifle, backpedaling.
“Spit, spit, SPIT!” the soldier swore, turning and dashing for the antechamber.
“Crack it open!” Helen shouted, racking her Casper and clamping her finger down on the trigger. Doc joined in with his submachine gun. The decimated corridor roared with gunfire, the deafening sound amplified in the enclosed space. Bullets ricocheted, shredding what was left of the light and throwing half the corridor just outside the antechamber into strobes. The white shield sparked and popped, but didn't burst.
The alpha Korvo belched deeply, quadruple ears flapping up as the shield rippled around it.
Doc threw his Casper down and grabbed Helen's shoulder before turning and running. The two ESCs bumped into Private Sean as he fumbled to rip the pin from his precious grenade. As the ESCs ran past, Sean turned to follow, putting too much weight on his injured leg. That and the blood-slippery floor sent the private slipping onto his knees. Sean cursed as he looked down at his fingers.
The pin was in his hand. The grenade was not.
Then the Banshee croaked.
“…eeeeeshrEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”
The high-pitched windup suddenly cut off into the dangerous pitch that was inaudible but deadly to Humans.
Everyone thrashed in mid run like they'd received high electric voltage. Privates Doug, Levan, Charles and March all contorted, bodies twisting in odd directions as they collapsed, writhing onto the pile of bloody corpses like puppets cut from their strings. Doc and Helen staggered onto their knees, hands clutched over their pounding heads as their mouths opened in soundless screams. The ESCs started writhing in pressurized agony as the inaudible infrasound started swelling their body's resonance. The “silence” continued to kill them until Private Sean's grenade went off.
The concussive and deafening blast of fire and shrapnel knocked the ESCs out flat. Grenade fragments shattered against the ceiling and walls of the antechamber. The impervious blast door to Central Command stayed closed, steadfastly. As the blast from the frag grenade died down, there was an arcing crackle-snap of power, followed by a sizzling hiss. Then, true silence settled.
A moment passed. Helen jerked, slowly lifting her head off the uniform of the dead soldier she'd landed on. Her mind moved at a crawl, still so close to unconsciousness. For an instant, she had a flash, an image of the milky black starlit sky, with twin mirrors gazing down at her...
Then her breath returned, and the smell of ozone and burning electrical cords pulled her back. Helen blinked, her vision foggy. She used one hand to push her head back, and then instantly felt sharp, stabbing pain at two places in her back. She flinched, but forced herself up anyway. It was then that she noticed the uniform she'd just collapsed on belonged to Private March. She stared at his face, at the blood tearing from his eyes, before she saw something move to her left.
She turned her head, and the room responded by spinning a three sixty the opposite way. Her head sagged, her breath coming shakily as she felt the sensation of vertigo. She weakly lifted her other arm—which looked like it was yards away—and touched her nose. Her fingers came away with rosy-colored blood. She had ringing in her ears, and a trickle down the side of her neck said they were bleeding, too. Helen closed her eyes as, through the shellshock, she heard a pained, rattling gasp.
When she opened them again, the room had stopped spinning. Things were still dark, and she couldn't tell if it was because of the lights or her own assaulted head. But through the haze, she saw the dark outline of the Banshee, its Splinter shield bubble generator overheated on its back, shut down. It was standing on top of a body, sinking its fangs deep into Private Charles's throat. The soldier gasped weakly, barely conscious in his half-dead state, as his body absorbed the Banshee's venom. In seconds, the life left him, but the anti-coagulant properties of the venom let the blood keep flowing. The Banshee slowly retracted its fangs.
There was a low groan. The Banshee turned. Doc, lying several feet away, managed to push himself onto his side and lift his head to look. The medic's face was a portrait of pain and confusion, looking unfocused as his ears drained with sticky red blood. The Banshee turned and flicked its tongue, clicking its skin-rending claws together as it slowly crawled toward the helpless medic.
Helen gritted her teeth and forced herself onto her knees, powering through the pain and mind-numbing haze. The Banshee clicked onto the bloody floor, approaching the medic with an almost innocent, curious demeanor. Doc saw the alpha Korvo through a fog of awareness and tried to scoot away from it. The two-foot high Banshee suddenly turned mean, curling its lips back and displaying its bloody fangs, aiming for his leg.
Helen gave a warrior scream and lunged.
Her desperate assault proved inadequate. She slipped as she dove for the alien threat, arms reaching out. The Korvo spun in place, dancing its hindquarters away like a dog about to have its tail swatted by its owner. Helen clawed at it as her legs gave out, still weakened by the Banshee's powerful bellow. The Korvo was quick and flashed its curved claws across her outstretched hand. Even Helen, in her shellshock, heard the ripping of her own skin. She hit the ground and collapsed into a pool of someone else's blood, soaking it into her uniform as her hand burned and bled. The Banshee turned its attention onto her, backing up a few feet and baring its fangs threateningly as its quad ears popped up. Helen could only watch, breathlessly, as the alpha Korvo wound up for a finishing blow. Its throat rumbled as it built up for the kill.
Then Doc snapped.
Helen didn't know how he did it. One second, he was barely conscious, eyes twitching in hazy confusion. The next second, his eyes came alive and he sat up. The medic effortlessly flipped onto his knees and took a deep step forward, mechanically. Just as the shrill buildup began for the lethal croak, Doc clapped his hands down across the Banshee's four ears, flattening them against its head.
The small alien squeaked and choked on its own vocalizations, suddenly a victim of its own lethality. Without its ears deployed to recycle the sound, it was just as susceptible to its croak as anyone else. It didn't like that.
The Banshee screeched and thrashed, trying to turn around. Doc, face a blank mask of controlled focus, dug in his fingers and squeezed. Helen started lifting herself as the Korvo hissed and bared its fangs, trying to shake the human's smothering grip on its ears. This was exactly how Yew handlers muzzled controlled their Korvos. On its back, the unaltered Splinter shield generator popped and sparked, like it was trying to come back on. The Banshee thrashed so hard, it finally managed to get its teeth around one of Doc's fingers. While it couldn't inject it until it got its fangs into him, it still bit down, hard. Blood shot out in a short-bursted spray as the teeth sank straight to the bone. Doc didn't even flinch, as though he hadn't even felt it. The stone-faced medic just kept holding fast onto those ears.
Helen stood on shaky knees and pulled a combat knife from the body of one of the soldiers, as steadily as she could manage.
“Hold it down...” she said.
The Banshee wailed and tore into Doc's hands with its claws. Suddenly, with a built up discharge, the shield generator on the Banshee's back overloaded and issued a heated pulse as it tried to self-recalibrate. In that second, the shield half-activated, scorching Doc's chest and arms that were within range of the bubble before it collapsed for good. If it had come all the way on, there was a good chance it would have vaporized his hands. As it stood, the shockwave cause the medic's grip to slip, and the Banshee was free in a blink. It rapidly scuttled back as its shield bubble rebooted and began powering up, crackling with white energy. Its ears came up as it started to croak. Helen and Doc both locked up, feeling their heads start to pound as the Banshee cracked its jaw open.
Helen felt her mind turn white. Her skull was shattering like glass...
A gunblast interrupted the Korvo. The alien's body practically exploded as a trio of screaming blue kinetic rocket darts blasted through its torso, spraying its body mass halfway across the a
ntechamber. The remains of the tattered corpse hit the floor with a meaty thunk. The Banshee's bloody intact mouth fell slack as one final, shrill whistle escaped it. Its ears sagged, and once again, the antechamber went quiet.
Half stunned, the Alphas turned. The blast door was open. Standing in it was a soldier wearing fully-armored Phalanx gear; helmet with ear protection and visor, metal chest plate, gauntlets, and boots. Behind him, taking cover behind various barricades, were a good twenty other infantrymen. The armored soldier had a BOAR assault shotgun, which he slowly lowered down to his hip, bringing the dual blade bayonets down to the ESC's head level. The soldier stepped into the antechamber, passing the two commandos and stepping over the bodies of his comrades. He gave the torn-up corpse of the Banshee a good kick with his armored boot. The body of the small beast flopped over, still steaming from the gut-wrenching projectile holes where its chest had been. It was clearly dead.
The soldier turned and looked at the two bloodied ESC's, pointing his BOAR at the floor and lifting his visor.
“I guess I owe you folks an apology,” said Sergeant Donal.
Chapter 46
Phillip tapped out another set of commands and watched the results carefully. Pressing the wrong command early could cost him. Better to just be extra careful. Once Phillip had completed the code, he lifted his hands off the keyboard. “Alright. I’m done.”
Phillip’s traitorous captor checked his own screen and nodded. “Nice. You finished in less than half the time I’d planned. I’m impressed. Anyway.”
The man grabbed the safety line he was tethered to and unhooked it, casting it off and letting it drift away into the core. Phillip understood the message being sent by his captor, but inquired just the same.
“I thought the deal was I cooperated, and you wouldn't kill me.”
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 54