The Pilot

by Michael Cole

  Hawk took the one on the right, spraying several rounds into its abdomen. Its body broke like a shell, releasing its entrails onto the grass. The final creature scurried toward her, tearing the ground under its appendages. Hawk aimed to shoot.

  Only a small burst left her gun before the mag ran dry. In a moment, the creature was nearly on her. Unable to reload, she threw the weapon at its head, and reached for her side arm.

  Seymour ran to help. He aimed his revolver and fired the last two rounds. One struck its abdomen, another on its back leg. The creature lurched, detecting its injuries. Its jaws clicked, and it let out a horrific cry. It was only injured. It turned its attention back onto Hawk.

  She pulled her pistol free from its holster. Before she could aim, she saw the tentacles pointing at her, barbs completely emerged.

  “Look out!” Seymour yelled. Hawk shrieked and rolled to the side, barely avoiding the barbs as they spat from the tentacles. They stuck out of the ground like stakes.

  Hawk rolled onto her back, leaning up to shoot. The creature had already closed the distance. Already on top of her, it stabbed one of its forelegs to her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. She watched as new barbs protruded from the tentacle tips.

  Terror overwhelmed Hawk. “No!” she screamed, desperate not to be left to the fate of a host.

  Seymour snarled as he dashed at the creature. In one hand, he held his SEAL team knife, and a three-inch throwing knife in the other. With both knives in reverse-grip, he leapt onto the arachnid’s back, and plunged the blades into the back of its head. The creatures screeched, leaning up on its back legs. With Seymour on its back, it kicked and bucked. In seconds, its movements slowed, and the creature slumped on its belly.

  Blood splattered from the slits as Seymour yanked his knives free. Hawk stood up from the ground, breathing deeply through her mouth. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, and she shook with adrenaline. A smile creased her face. It wasn’t fright she was experiencing. It was relief and excitement; a thrill from looking death in the face and coming out on top.

  “Whoa!” she cheered, giving Seymour a two-finger salute. “That was close!”

  CHAPTER

  39

  The sky turned a shade of grey as smoke traveled from the jungle high into the atmosphere. The air smelled of burning plants and wood, with an ammonia-like stench from the slaughtered aliens.

  Terrie kept her rifle pointed low as she ran to the ShinMaywa. Seymour and Hawk stood at the starboard wing, inspecting the damage and repairs. She checked her watch. It would only be twenty minutes before the airstrike was due to commence.

  “Is it able to fly?” she asked, eager to leave. Seymour stood under Engine Two, which had taken the brunt of the impact. He checked the rotors, and interior veins and shaft.

  “Looks like it. The son of a bitch did most of the work for me,” he said. Terrie blew a sigh of relief.

  “Anything I can do?” she asked. Seymour looked over his left shoulder. He was watching Hawk, who was standing over one of the alien corpses.

  “Tell her to get her stuff over here. We’ll be leaving in a minute. Just gotta get some tools.” he said. He walked around the nose to go into the port-side cabin entrance. Terrie started walking toward the agent.

  Hawk was squatting near the dead arachnid creature, holding one of its tentacles in her hands. Embedded in the ground nearby were the two barbs it had launched at her. They were shaped like stakes, with the blunt ends attached to a small, bulb-shaped organic object.

  Hawk saw Terrie looking at the barbs. “Those sacs carry the spore,” she said.

  “Creepy,” Terrie responded.

  “I think they’re like shark teeth,” Hawk explained. “Once they lose one, another one takes its place. It’s probably something that happens with maturity. That’s why they didn’t use them in the attack last night. This fella may have been one of the first ones hatched on this island.”

  “First to live and the last to die,” Terrie remarked.

  “Seems that’s what we all get in life,” Hawk said. “A time to live, and a place to die.” She unzipped her nylon pack, checking to make sure her flash-drive was intact. She held it out to Terrie. “But thanks to this little fella here…we’ll have a little bit more than that.” Terrie could sense a scientific monologue in development.

  “You remember that airstrike?” she said. “If you don’t get on that plane, this’ll be your place to die.” Hawk sensed the bitterness in her voice. She didn’t resent it. After all, she did manipulate the team, which led to many of them dying. How would one forget that so quickly?

  “You guys served an important mission today,” she said. “When we get back, I’ll have to recommend you guys for…”

  A yellow illumination cast over them. A bright streak of light flashed over the grass plain like a shooting star. Terrie yelled and fell backward as the sparkling ball of energy struck the agent in the abdomen.

  Seymour had just stepped around the tail as he saw Cassie Hawk consumed in a fierce explosion. Her torso separated from her midriff, scattering entrails about as her two halves launched in separate directions from the explosion.

  Terrie scrambled to her feet and lifted her rifle. She had just pressed the stock to her shoulder as the tree line flickered with yellow. Realizing what was coming, she turned to run. After only two steps to the left, another ball of energy ripped from the trees, exploding into the earth where she had stood. The invisible force of the blast struck Terrie like a freight train, shuddering every organ in her body. Hurled several feet off the ground, she struck down hard on her stomach. Ribs crunched in her sides, and her head bounced back. With adrenaline still pumping, she rolled to her side, still attempting to run forward. Her blurry vision turned to black, and her motions slowed to a stop.

  Seymour drew his revolver and began charging the trees. He didn’t get more than a few feet as two more streaks of light ripped from the trees. Two explosions burst in front of him, throwing him onto his back. The impact juddered his body, shaking the firearm from his hand.

  Cursing under his breath, he propped himself up on his elbow. Through the smoke, he could see the eight-foot figure emerge from the trees.

  Blood dripped from the Pilot’s many wounds as it moved across the plain. A jagged piece of metal, a fraction of its own armor, stuck from its left leg, causing a limp as the creature marched. Its body armor was blackened, and marked by several gashes, each of them crusted with dried blood. Electrical sparks flickered from its damaged gauntlet. Its pincer glove was also severely damaged. Much of the exterior plating was missing, revealing bio-organic material fusing the glove to the arm. The top pincer jaw was missing entirely, and the bottom wobbled in its slot.

  Its exoskeleton was marked throughout with burns. Blood and other fluid crusted along its neck, arms, and face, tinging its appearance in a dark red. The bottom half of its left fang was torn away. Blood and saliva spat from its mouth as it hissed.

  Seymour pushed himself up as the creature approached. Its gauntlet flickered, struggling to generate power for another blast. Groaning, the Pilot aimed its weapon at the indigenous warrior. It was careful in its aim not to overshoot and damage the ShinMaywa.

  Seymour snatched his revolver from the ground and ran. The Pilot moved its arm to follow his path. With its senses in disarray from its many injuries, it had to rely solely on its visuals to aim. The gauntlet whined and sparkled as it generated the energy projectile.

  The blast zipped from its arm. Seymour saw a blinding flash before his eyes. He stopped in his tracks, feeling the heat against his forehead and the high-pitch squeal in the air.

  He fell to his knees as the projectile passed within a centimeter of his face. Damn! There goes one of my nines!

  The gauntlet whined, spitting out even more sparks. The yellow lights flashed for a moment before dying down. The Pilot pulled its arm back to its face. Its fang protruded into the device, adjusting the internal veins. It extended its arm out again,
aiming the weapon at Seymour. It whined and sparked, emitting several yellow flashes before failing.

  With its projectile weapon dysfunctional, the Pilot marched at Seymour. It drew its left arm back as though about to pull a punch. Seeing the pointed pincer jaw, he realized the alien intended to run it through him like a lance.

  Terrie coughed, spitting out several drops of blood. Daylight strobed in her eyes as her brain struggled to reactivate from the brief unconsciousness. Her stomach ached with nausea, and her chest pounded with each heartbeat. Lifting her face from the dirt, she gauged her surroundings.

  Hawk’s torso lay twenty feet from her. The deceased agent’s eyes were still wide open, her shock eternally frozen on her face. By the time her mind registered what the yellow flash was, it was too late. Burnt entrails and blood soaked the nearby grass.

  Terrie’s arms shivered as she struggled to push herself off the ground. Her stomach churned with pain and nausea, and her head felt as though it was in a vice. Looking behind her, she saw two blurry images facing off. There was Seymour, with his revolver in hand, facing down the Pilot as it closed the distance on him.

  It was certain death.

  Terrie propped on her hands and knees, and crawled for her rifle.

  Seymour extended the revolver, aiming for a headshot. Still advancing, the Pilot lifted its glove over its face as he fired. .357 caliber bullets cracked the already ruptured shell, bursting the mechanics inside. Orange blood spilled from the fused arm, mixing with a grey oily fluid.

  Seymour lowered his aim for the torso and fired. Two rounds were crushed against the body armor. A third shot entered the torso, drawing a squeal from the Pilot. It bent forward, compensating the sudden rupture of internal organs. Seymour pulled the trigger again, only to hear that dreaded empty click. As he swung the cylinder open and ejected the casings, the Pilot resumed its advance.

  Seymour started backing away. He dug into his vest for a speed-loader. Though the alien limped, it was still faster than him. In seconds it was less than three yards away.

  Seymour pulled the speed loader from his vest.

  Two yards away.

  He pressed the bullets into the chambers and slammed the cylinder home. One yard away.

  Seymour pointed the gun to fire. The Pilot swung its arm, knocking the gun free from his grasp. It drew its claw back. Seymour stumbled back as it slashed.

  The jagged tip ripped at a downward angle, cutting through the vest and lacerating Seymour’s torso. The SEAL reeled backward, bleeding from his chest and stomach.

  The Pilot stood over him. The fingers on its right hand bent back, and the fleshy palm opened, giving way to a fresh stinger.

  Seymour tensed, anticipating the horrific fate.

  A shot rang through the air, and the Pilot jolted forward from an unforeseen impact from behind. Seymour rolled to his feet and distanced himself from the creature. He looked near the plane.

  Terrie, bruised and bleeding, was on her stomach. Her hands trembled as she aimed her rifle. She sneered as she fought against the pain and dizziness.

  The Pilot generated an ear-piercing hiss as another shot struck its damaged armor. Tiny metal fragments burst from the impact as the bullet landed, its impact force driving the Pilot backward. Its brain analyzed the situation, quickly concluding that the enemy would attempt a headshot.

  It swiftly moved its glove over its face, just as Terrie fired off another shot. The round crashed into the glove, spewing fluid and breaking the other pincer jaw completely off.

  “Come on, you bastard!” Terrie muttered. She focused her crosshairs once again on the Pilot’s head and squeezed the trigger. The gun was silent, and the mag had run dry. “Damn!”

  Despite bleeding profusely, the Pilot advanced in her direction. Its stinger remained protruded, ready to paralyze and impregnate the host.

  A slight metallic clang turned its attention back toward Seymour. It looked, seeing his arm extended outward, palm open.

  The oval object bounced along the ground toward it before bursting. The shockwave from the grenade knocked the Pilot to the ground, while embedding shrapnel into its armor and flesh.

  It writhed on the ground, thrashing its barbed arm to and fro. Screeches filled the air as its sensory nerves overloaded with signals.

  Seymour looked past the flailing alien at Terrie. She lay on the ground with her rifle, her head slumped against the stock.

  The Pilot started to scramble to its feet. It was now bleeding from its forehead. Its body seemed to pulsate, as though it was beginning to experience organ failure. Its barb remained protruded, and it continued its advance.

  Seymour sprinted around it as he rushed to Terrie’s defense. The Pilot extended its gauntlet, its arm wobbly. The gauntlet whined and sparked, managing to generate a small portion of energy. Seeing the flash of light, Seymour ducked.

  The projectile exploded several feet behind him. Though small, it still generated a shockwave strong enough to hurl Seymour off of his feet. He hit the ground as a meteor shower of dirt and grass rained down around him.

  The Pilot abandoned its pursuit of the two warriors. The bleeding had stopped, though nerves lit throughout its body, continuously reminding the creature of its many injuries. With its instinct driving it to preserve the species, combating the indigenous creatures was not worth the effort. It elected to retreat in the vehicle and find a larger population. In time, it would be healed after an extended molting process, and would be free to stalk fresh targets and grow a new army.

  The creature sprinted around the plane, ignoring the injury to its leg. It pulled itself through the cabin doorway, and limped into the cockpit.

  The world spun as Seymour crawled on his elbows and knees, determined to reach his fallen comrade. After closing the distance, he stood up on his knees and rolled Terrie to her side. Blood had dried around her nose and mouth. Her uniform and skin were singed, and her head bruised where she hit it. He pulled her up, holding her head in his arms.

  “Hey, we gotta move!” Seymour said. He tried picking her up off the ground. Her body was limp, completely lacking in energy. She lifted her hand and put it to his, signaling for him to stop. Gritting her teeth in pain, she collapsed back to the ground.

  “Good thing I don’t have a date lined up,” she joked, though grimacing in pain. “I look awful.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “And don’t forget, we had an agreement.” Terrie forced a chuckle through her coughing. Her eyes were shut, and her breathing grew shallow. Seymour gently tapped her face. “Hey, kiddo, stay awake! You’ll be fine.”

  “The alien,” she muttered. “Don’t let that bastard…” her voice trailed off. She lay motionless in his arms.

  The roaring of the four Rolls-Royce engines drew Seymour’s attention. The ShinMaywa was in motion, slowly turning as the Pilot was initiating a takeoff. Seymour tensed with fury. There was no time to check Terrie’s vitals and revive her.

  After gently laying her down, he sprung to his feet and sprinted toward the plane. The engines rotated, spewing gusts of exhaust at him. The plane was now pointed at the ocean, and it slowly started its run.

  Seymour ran as fast as he could, fighting against the gusts of wind. He was now by the tail wing, only a few meters from the portside door. The plane moved, gaining traction with each wheel rotation. Seymour’s heart pounded as he forced himself to run faster than ever. His approach grew slower as the plane steadily moved faster.

  He was now barely within reach.

  With a final, desperate effort, Seymour leapt. His fingertips hooked around the frame. Dragging along the side of the plane, he pulled himself up. The plane was now moving at a shooting speed. Its nose began to lift, and the engines roared.

  Wind tore at Seymour as he clung for his life. He saw the ground beneath him grow distant. Now, it was water. The ShinMaywa had achieved flight, and the Pilot was now on route to spread its disease to the world.

  Seymour yelled for God’s help. His muscles bulg
ed as he pulled himself up against the mighty wind. He completed the chin-up motion and immediately threw his arm deeper into the cabin. His fingers clawed against the floor as he pulled himself in.

  In moments, only his legs were dangling out the door. He grunted as he hauled himself completely inside. Pressing his knees against the metal floor, he slammed the door shut.

  The slamming sound echoed through the cabin. The Pilot looked over its shoulder, peering through the open cockpit door. The indigenous stood in the cabin, with full access to the armory. Activating the vehicle’s autopilot, the beast stood from the seat.

  Seymour pushed himself to his feet as the beast stepped from the cockpit. It stopped and sized him up. In an aggressive stance, it leaned forward with its arms out and bellowed. Blood and saliva spewed from its torn-up jaw.

  Seymour spat as he snatched his SEAL knife.

  “Yeah, fuck you too!”

  They charged at each other. With his knife high over his head, Seymour leapt at the creature’s face. He thrust the knife down in a hammer-like motion. The blade plunged between the damaged glove components as the creature lifted its left arm in defense. Seymour landed down, his knife lodged in the creature’s glove.

  Like a raging bull, the beast rammed forward, slamming Seymour hard against the port wall. With its arm held across his torso, Seymour was pinned. He grunted as he fought to push the beast away, but its superior strength held him firm. It raised its right hand, bending the fingers back.

  Not happening!

  With his left hand, he reached for his vest, snatching his three-inch throwing knife. Holding it in reverse grip, he plunged it directly into the palm. The blade sliced through flesh, splitting the stinger down the middle.

  The creature screamed, sensing the damage to its organic weapon. A small fountain of blood and venom sprayed as Seymour ripped the knife out. With the blade still in reverse-grip, he plunged the blade into its neck.