"Marco!" He heard Ensign Ben-Ari, and he turned to see her in the turret of another sand tiger. "Marco, make to the spaceport! Transport should be here in five minutes."
Marco nodded. "Yes, Commander!"
"Duck!" Ben-Ari shouted, raised her plasma gun, and shot at him.
Marco winced and ducked.
The plasma blasted over his head, hitting a scum that was leaping from a guard tower. The creature fell down dead. Marco looked back at Ben-Ari, helmet seared, only to see her firing in another direction. Beneath the officer, her sand tiger crawled onward, crushing more scum.
"Addy!" he shouted down into the vehicle.
"I heard!" she shouted from the driver's seat. "Limo service straight to the port!"
As they drove onward, scum kept climbing the vehicle. Lailani wheeled the .50-cal stinger with one hand, firing her personal rifle with the other hand. The bullets screamed across the armored facades, ripping off the scum. The heavy caterpillar tracks finished the job.
The spaceport lay a kilometer away. They had crossed only a hundred meters when Marco shouted, "Addy, stop!"
She pressed down on the brakes. "What?"
Marco pointed. "Fuck."
Three soldiers stood in the desert, forming a ring, firing their guns at a hundred or more scum that surrounded them. Marco recognized two of the soldiers. One was Sheriff, the Texan with the star on his helmet. Another was Corporal Fiona St-Pierre. Marco barely had time to see the third soldier before a scum grabbed the woman, pulled her down, and ripped out her ribcage. Sheriff and St-Pierre screamed, firing in automatic.
"I see 'em," Addy said, and she directed the sand tiger toward the two soldiers. The aliens screamed as they died beneath the caterpillar tracks. More scum kept climbing the vehicle, only for Marco and Lailani to shoot them down.
"Fuck, out of ammo!" Lailani said, placing down her T57.
"Grab the stinger!" Marco said. He leaped down from the turret, slipping back into the cabin. Above him he heard Lailani fire the machine gun.
"Addy, can you help Lailani up there?" he shouted.
Addy grumbled, leaped out of the driver's seat, and began to climb the ladder. Her rifle dangled across her back. "Fuckin' hell, who made you officer? It's do this, do that, stop here, go there . . ."
Soon Marco heard her shouting as she fired her rifle above, helping Lailani clear out the enemies. That left the vehicle without a driver, idling in a sea of scum.
Marco quickly checked on Caveman—he was still alive, but barely—and then pulled open the heavy back door of the sand tiger.
A scum leaped in, then another. Marco fired, shooting in automatic. The sound echoed inside the vehicle, and his ears screamed, rang, tore.
"Inside!" Marco shouted, not hearing himself, and gestured for Sheriff and St-Pierre. Both soldiers leaped in, only for the scum to grab Sheriff, pull him back, and begin to devour him. Corporal St-Pierre scurried across the cabin, bleeding from gashes on her legs.
"Sheriff!" Marco shouted from the hatch, chest shaking. "God, Sheriff!"
The Texan screamed, reaching out to him in the sand, only for the scum to rip off his legs, crack open his back, and pull out the spine. Marco stared in horror, tears on his cheeks.
"Sheriff . . ."
No. No horror now. Horror later. Survive now.
Marco was about to slam the door shut, then keep driving toward the lot, when he saw him there in the field, standing alone.
Fuck.
It was Pinky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The little soldier stood out in the open, firing two rifles, one in each hand, howling. Yet as Marco watched, one gun ran out of bullets, and a scum grabbed Pinky's legs. With a scream, Pinky fell, still firing one weapon. The scum wrapped tighter around his legs.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
There was no driver in the seat now, and Pinky was a good ten meters away—and had maybe two seconds to live.
Cursing, Marco leaped out from the vehicle.
He fired at one scum, at another, a third, knocking them back. As he reached Pinky, he emptied his last magazine into a fourth alien.
"Emery, help me!" Pinky said. "Get it off!"
One of Pinky's legs was missing. The scum was wrapping around the second leg. The creature turned toward Marco, hissing.
Marco drew his bayonet from his belt.
The scum leaped toward him.
Marco snapped on the blade and raised his gun.
The scum impaled itself on the graphene blade, screeched, and lashed its claws. One claw slashed across Marco's arm, spurting blood. He kept holding his gun. He twisted the blade, pulled back, and thrust the bayonet again. The blade crashed into the alien's head.
Marco let the gun hang on its strap. He grabbed Pinky and lifted him. Pinky's one remaining leg dangled loosely. The stump spurted, and Marco grimaced and reached into the wound. Pinky howled in agony as Marco found the vein and pinched it shut. He trudged back toward the sand tiger.
"Marco, you fucking idiot!" rose Addy's voice. She was back in the driver's seat, backing up the sand tiger toward him.
He leaped inside, carrying the wounded Pinky. He placed the little soldier—by God, he barely weighed a thing—on the floor, then slammed the door shut, crushing a scum that was trying to enter. The sand tiger rolled onward, plowing through centipedes, moving toward the spaceport.
"You should have left me," Pinky rasped. "Emery . . . you should have left me."
Marco was already forming a tourniquet from his belt. "Pinky, you're an asshole, but you're an asshole in my platoon. So don't you fucking die now. Because I intend to remind you of this for the rest of your life."
Shivers seized Marco. He retched. As his vision blurred, he rummaged through his first aid kit, found another needle of antidote, and slammed it into his wounded arm. He gritted his teeth, agony blazing across him until the pain of his scum venom faded.
Arm numb, Marco climbed back up into the turret, rejoining Lailani at the gun. He looked around. The base was in ruins. Tents blazed. The mess hall was gone. As Marco watched, three pods fell from the sky, slammed into the armory, and a massive explosion rocked the desert. Fire blazed. Both Marco and Lailani covered their heads, wincing as the flames roared. A series of explosions followed, so loud Marco covered his ears. Rocks and sand and bricks pelted them. When they looked again, the armory was gone. A mushroom cloud rose where it had stood.
"They nuked it," Lailani said.
Marco could barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears. "No. They didn't have to. There go Fort Djemila's armaments. Boxes of bullets and grenades all gone in a flash."
Lailani gasped and pointed the other direction. "Look, Marco! Help! Transport jets!"
He turned and looked. Five massive cargo jets, each large enough to hold hundreds of troops, were descending toward the spaceport. Guns blazed on their sides, destroying the scum that covered the landing strips. Several sand tigers were racing toward the jets. A voice blasted out of speakers.
"All soldiers of Fort Djemila, evacuate at once! Enter the transport jets in the spaceport! Evacuate the base!"
The first massive jet landed, and soldiers ran toward it, raced up a ramp, and vanished inside. Other jets were busy firing on the scum, then landing among the corpses, accepting more soldiers.
"The cavalry's arrived!" Addy shouted from the driver's seat of their tiger. "We're getting the hell out of here."
When they reached the spaceport, Marco opened the door. He shouted, "Medics! We need medics!"
Wind blasted him as more jets landed, and scum were still clattering across the tarmac. There were two litters inside the sand tiger, one hanging from each wall. They placed Pinky on a litter first. His wounds were the worst, one leg gone, the other dangling by loose scraps of flesh. The little soldier had already lost consciousness, and they carried him outside. Medics emerged from one of the transport jets, grabbed the litter, and carried Pinky into the vessel.
St-Pierre w
as wounded too, but well enough to limp toward the medics herself. She all but collapsed onto a litter, where the medics placed an oxygen mask on her, then rushed her into the jet.
Marco, Addy, and Lailani returned into the sand tiger to fetch Caveman.
"Come on, buddy," Marco said, helping Caveman onto the last litter. "Time to visit the doctor. Might be you'll get ice cream."
Caveman was ashen, eyes sunken. The bone still thrust out from his broken leg.
"Wait," he whispered. "Marco. Promise me something, Marco."
That was when Marco noticed the blood darkening Caveman's shirt. He frowned, pulled off Caveman's vest of magazines, and lost his breath.
A scum's claw had pierced Caveman's torso. The tip emerged just over the navel.
"Marco," Caveman whispered. He gripped Marco's hand. "Go to Amsterdam. See the floating flower market. Buy a bouquet for me."
"You'll go there with me," Marco said. He lifted the litter. Addy and Lailani helped him carry it outside. "Caveman, we're going to go there together, all right? We'll go to that floating flower market of yours, and you'll tell me the names of the flowers. So shut the fuck up now."
Perhaps, if Marco had known that was the last time he'd speak to Caveman, he'd have chosen a better parting sentence. Perhaps if he had known that Caveman would die right there on the tarmac, before the medics could even take him into the jet, Marco might have hugged his friend, said farewell. But the last he saw of his friend was the medics above him, slapping his chest, trying to restart his heart. The last thing he heard was a medic sighing and muttering, "Well, fuck it, move on to the next one."
Marco stood on the tarmac, silent.
Then he looked back at the sand tiger.
"Addy, Lailani," he said. "Can you still fight?"
Both women were about to enter the jet. Farther back, one of the transport vessels was already rising into the air, carrying survivors. Other jets were still on the ground.
"What?" Addy glared at him, panting. Blood stained her leg, and burns covered her arm. "Why? You forgot your wallet?"
"There are still soldiers back there," Marco said. "Not everyone made it out. We can still squeeze a few more people in the back."
Addy stared into his eyes, conflicted for just a second, then tightened her lips and nodded. She returned into the sand tiger and took the wheel.
Marco and Lailani climbed back up into the turret. They left the spaceport behind, returning into the inferno of Fort Djemila.
As they were driving back toward the tents, they passed by a second sand tiger, which was rolling across a field strewn with scum. Ensign Ben-Ari stood in the turret.
"There might still be soldiers back there!" Marco cried to her.
Ben-Ari nodded. She raised her plasma gun, fired into the air, and shouted, "Dragons Platoon! With me! Back to the tents! Dragons Platoon, follow me, in your sand tigers!"
Marco saw his friends in other sand tigers, joining them. Elvis. Beast. A few other survivors. They had six sand tigers, that was all. Yet they left the transport jets behind, and they drove back into the inferno.
When they rolled between the tents, Marco saw burnt bodies everywhere, but he still heard gunfire. They followed the sound to see a squad of soldiers standing back to back, firing at the scum. They were mere recruits, maybe a week into their training—"fresh meat" who had barely learned to fire their guns. Their friends lay dead around them, and Marco opened the sand tiger's door, gesturing for them to enter. Addy fired at his side, holding back the scum as the soldiers leaped inside. They drove to the spaceport, and the recruits leaped out of the sand tiger and into a jet. Another jet, full with survivors, rose into the air.
Once again, Marco and his friends returned into hell, firing their guns. More pods kept raining down. One crashed onto the sand tiger's hood, and the scum emerged from within, spraying venom. The acid stung Marco's arms, but he fired, killing the creature. He returned to the tents. He found three more recruits. He pulled them inside, returned to the port, and another jet rose.
It was dawn, and Marco lost track of how many times he had driven back and forth, when he could find no more survivors. Speakers thrummed.
"All remaining soldiers—evacuate now! Five minutes to nuclear detonation. All remaining soldiers—evacuate now."
Marco looked at the base from the turret. Thousands of centipedes had claimed it, crawling over the remaining buildings, coiling in the desert, laying eggs in the sand, screeching. Hundreds of the aliens began to race toward the port.
Addy drove their sand tiger toward the last jet. The soldiers leaped out, guns firing, and raced onto the ramp. The jet began soaring even while the ramp was still closing.
Marco stumbled across the fuselage, found a window, and watched fighter jets streak through the sky below. Mushroom clouds rose over Fort Djemila, growing smaller, smaller, mere puffs below as the transport jet rose high over the desert and the stars spread around them.
Marco fell to his knees, then to his side. He closed his eyes.
"Marco?" Lailani grabbed his hand. "Marco!"
All was darkness. He lay in a boat at sea, endless constellations floating around him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"Wake up." Hands grabbed and shook him. "Wake up, moron. You're not unconscious, just sleeping, so wake up."
Marco moaned. Weakly, he swatted at the figure shaking him. He wanted to sink back into darkness, into a land with no pain, no memory.
"Marco!" Weight pressed down onto his torso, driving the air out of him. "Wake up or I'm going to squish you."
Marco groaned, pain stabbing through him, and opened his eyes. He was lying in bed, actual white walls around him—not tent walls but walls of real stone. And Addy was sitting on him.
"Get off!" He shoved her. "You weigh more than a sand tiger."
Addy grinned—a huge, toothy grin—and began showering him with kisses, covering his cheeks, forehead, even his lips. "You're alive! You're alive!" She frowned, then spat. "Gah! You taste like scum."
"Get off!" He finally shoved her off him and inhaled deeply. "Everything hurts."
Bandages covered his arms, and a blanket was pulled up to his chest. He was in a hospital, monitors and charts and machines beeping around him. Addy was dressed in a hospital gown. Bandages covered her hip, left arm, and shoulder, and scratches and bruises coated her skin, but she still beamed.
"How bad was I hurt?" Marco said. He tried to rise from the bed, then yelped and pulled the blanket back over him. "And where are my clothes?"
Addy stuck her tongue out at him. "Your clothes took the brunt of the attack." She grabbed a hospital gown from the wall and tossed it at him. "Your body is fine. Well, it's still too short and scrawny, but it didn't get any centipede claws in it, if that's what you mean. Mostly you're just worn out and bashed up, some burns that'll heal. Could have been worse." Her smile faded and her eyes darkened. "It was worse for many of us. Half our platoon . . ." She lowered her head.
Marco nodded and lay back down, remembering how Sheriff had died in the sand, how Caveman had died on the tarmac. "Is Lailani . . ." He was unable to complete his sentence.
"She's fine. Bashed up too, and that claw in her thigh will leave a scar, but the little bugger's a fighter." Addy hopped toward the door and hollered. "Hey, guys! Poet's awake! Come bug him!"
Patients tumbled into the room, leaped onto the bed, and began bouncing.
"Marco, you lucky dog!" Elvis grabbed him and knuckled his head.
"Can people please stop doing that?" Marco said, but he couldn't suppress a smile.
More recruits kept pouring in, discussing the battle, patting Marco on the back, mussing his hair, laughing. Beast stood on crutches, shaking his head. "That was not real battle," he was saying to nobody in particular. "In Russia, we fight real battles. Not these small American scuffles." But even the massive, bald Russian was eventually laughing with the others and sharing stories of killing the scum.
Marco kept waiting for L
ailani to join them, but she was nowhere to be seen, and he wanted to ask about her, but everybody was too busy speaking, laughing, play fighting. He wished she were here. He wished all those who had fallen could be here.
"I wish Caveman could laugh here with us," Marco finally said. "And Sheriff. And Corporal Webb. And the others we left behind."
Now the laughter died, and they all grew solemn. For a long moment, they stared in silence at their feet. Finally it was Addy who grabbed a paper cup from a dispenser, filled it with water, and raised it.
"To our fallen friends."
The others took their own cups and raised them. "To our friends."
It was only water they drank, but after months in the desert, water was a precious drink, symbolizing life more than wine.
"To our friends," rose a hoarse voice from the doorway, and Marco turned to see Pinky entering the room.
At once, Marco's heart twisted, and all the hatred he had harbored for long weeks melted. Peter "Pinky" Mack sat in a wheelchair, face ashen, eyes sunken, both his legs gone. Bandages wrapped around the stumps, and an IV bag dangled above him, connected to his arm.
"Pinky," Marco said, sitting on his bed.
Pinky rolled his wheelchair toward him. He stared, eyes hard, and Marco cringed, mentally preparing for Pinky to insult him, to shout, maybe to weep, but instead Pinky grabbed his hand.
"You saved my life, Poet," Pinky said. "You goddamn Canadian, you saved my life." He squeezed his hand. "You're my brother."
Marco nodded. "Brother," he said.
"All right, all right, everyone out!" Addy said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Pinky needs to rest. Poet needs to work on his book. Tomorrow they'll probably ship us off to another battle. Out, out, everyone!"
The soldiers shuffled out, still swapping battle stories, until only Addy remained. She stood still for a moment, then sat on the bed beside Marco, and she simply embraced him. They sat silently for long moments, cheeks pressed together, and he realized that she was crying. Marco stroked her long blond hair and kissed her cheek.
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