Earth Fire (Earthrise Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  "What is that?" Kemi whispered, pointing ahead. "Is that a person?" She squinted. "Is that a kid?"

  Ben-Ari stared and her heart burst into a gallop. It hung from the ceiling, gently turning. A bundle. A cocoon. No—a figure trapped in a web.

  "What the fuck?" Private Johnny said, rushing forward.

  "Wait!" Ben-Ari grabbed him, pulled him back. "Slowly. Behind me."

  The soldiers crowded behind Ben-Ari in the tunnel, gazing forward, beams of light piercing the dusty shadows. Ben-Ari inched toward the dangling figure. A bundle of webbing, like a fly in cobwebs but larger, large as a child. Ben-Ari drew her knife and began sawing. The web was thick. Even with Kemi helping, it was long moments before they cut an opening in the web.

  "Fur?" Ben-Ari said.

  Kemi made a gagging sound. "I can smell it even through my visor." She shuddered. "There are worms."

  Ben-Ari kept cutting the web, revealing more fur, a fang, a maggoty eye socket, and—

  The creature fell from the torn web and slammed onto the ground. Its belly burst, spilling rot.

  Private Johnny burst into laughter. "Fuck, that thing scared me. Just a dog."

  Ben-Ari knelt, eyes narrowed. A dog. A German Shepherd. It had been dead for a while by the looks of it. A collar still rotted around its neck. She leaned down to lift the collar, to examine the dog tag, and—

  A shriek tore through the air.

  "Fuck!" Johnny shouted.

  Ben-Ari started and raised her gun. A shadow lurched and—

  "Die, fucker!" Private Johnny shouted, firing his gun.

  "Die!" cried Private Komagata, firing too. Bullets rang.

  "Hold your fire!" Ben-Ari shouted. "Damn it, soldiers, hold your fire!"

  A few more bullets rang out, and the soldiers lowered their guns, panting. Private Johnny gave a "woo!" that sounded half exhilarated and half terrified.

  "Damn it, soldiers, I told you this is a rescue op, not a raid," Ben Ari said.

  "Sorry, ma'am." Private Komagata, at least, had the grace to blush. "I thought I saw something. A shadow."

  "A fucking alien shadow, that's what," Private Johnny said.

  Ben-Ari had seen it too. A small, scurrying creature, no larger than a house cat, and maybe it was a house cat. If dogs, why not cats?

  "Next time you jump at a shadow," rumbled Sergeant Murphy, "shoot your own balls off, Johnny. Save us from a future generation of idiots."

  Ben-Ari looked back at the dog, but a bullet had shattered its tag.

  Bad luck, she thought. Bad luck in this whole damn place. That's what this stench is. Bad luck.

  "Bad luck," whispered Private Komagata.

  Ben-Ari spun toward her. "What's that, Private?"

  "I . . ." The young Japanese warrior paled. "I thought I heard you say that . . ." She shook her head. "No. You said nothing. If dogs, why not cats, right?"

  Ben-Ari frowned, then shook her head and looked away. "Come on, squad. And no more firing at shadows."

  They traveled deeper. The air thickened, full of mist and dust, and wet strands hung from the ceiling like lichen. A rumble rose in the darkness. Noises sounded in the deep. Clicks. Clatters. Deep breathing that soon vanished. Pattering feet. Deep in the underground things were moaning, moving, exhaling, waiting, perhaps ancient machinery, perhaps ancient life that hungered. Another shadow raced across the ceiling, too fast to see clearly, then vanished ahead. Rumbling laughter sounded in the deep, and distant metal clanged and crashed and somebody screamed.

  "Fuck this shit," Private Johnny whispered. "I changed my mind. Let's get the hell out of here."

  "Soldier, keep it together," said Sergeant Murphy.

  "This place is fucked, man," Johnny said. "Got a bad vibe. I say we fucking bolt and call in the cavalry, man. Nuke the whole place from space."

  "There's at least one human prisoner here, soldier," Ben-Ari said. "Maybe more. We're not nuking anything. Now man up, toughen up, and shut up."

  "Just don't fuck up," muttered Private Komagata.

  Deeper they went, and that clattering kept sounding in the depths, the bowels of this place, the forgotten machinery, awakening perhaps after a million years of slumber. Somebody was alive here. Somebody, something, had trapped that dog, had sent out a distress call. The aliens must have heard the gunfire. Why didn't they attack?

  They're luring you deeper. The thought came unbidden into Ben-Ari's mind. You know this. They're calling you, sucking you into the darkness. They're intelligent. You can feel it. You can feel them watching. Listening. They can feel you.

  Ben-Ari realized that the webs were tighter down here, that as she stepped on them, they quivered, that as the warriors brushed against the dangling strands, the tremors ran into the deep.

  "They can feel us through the strands," she whispered. "They know we're coming. This is a spiderweb, and we're the flies."

  Private Johnny took a deep breath. "Fuck. This. Shit." He turned and began to leave, only for his comrades to grab him and pull him back.

  "Tiny cock and tiny balls," muttered Komagata. "Knew it."

  "Load your weapons," whispered Ben-Ari. "Keep a bullet in the chamber, the safety off, your fingers on the triggers."

  "Ma'am, are you sure?" said Sergeant Murphy. "Rescue op, remember?"

  Only Ben-Ari wasn't sure this was a rescue op anymore. This was a web. This was a trap. The words echoed.

  Help. Help. In Hell.

  "What the hell?" whispered Kemi, stepping forward. She brushed dirt and webs aside. "It's a door."

  The others approached. Ben-Ari helped clear aside the grime. Indeed—it was a door. Human-made, by the looks of it, thick and metallic. Something had clawed at this door, digging into the iron. A few letters were still visible.

  ELL B 7

  "What does it mean?" Kemi said. "Ell B 7?"

  "Hell," whispered Komagata, standing behind them.

  The door was unlocked but rusted, dented, and jammed shut. It took several soldiers to finally push it open. It groaned and shrieked in protest, showering rust.

  A cavernous hall awaited them, large as a church nave, drenched in filth. Webs hung everywhere. Countless black, quivering strands covered the place, curtains that soared to a craggy, organic ceiling. A cathedral. An alien cathedral, rotten and infested.

  "What the hell is this place, Captain?" Johnny asked.

  Kemi's eyes widened. "My God." She ran forward. "Oh my God."

  Ben-Ari cursed inwardly. "Lieutenant, wait!"

  Yet Kemi wouldn't slow down, and Ben-Ari ran after her.

  A hill rose before them in the center of the hall. A hill of naked corpses.

  Ben-Ari grimaced and struggled not to vomit in her helmet.

  There must have been hundreds of corpses here. Human corpses. Their limbs were slung together, holding the hill in place. They were naked, cadaverous, and all of them seemed to be adult males.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Private Johnny said when he reached them. "We got to get out of here, man. Come on, man. There are shadows moving in the webs, man. There are things here. We're fucked. We're fucked. We're—"

  "Hold it together!" said Sergeant Murphy. "Take a time out, Johnny. Go sit." He shoved the private aside, then turned toward Ben-Ari. "Ma'am, I suggest we clear the area, report back to base, then bomb this whole place from the air. There are no survivors left. But the hostiles are still here. I can hear 'em." The beefy, mustached sergeant scowled. "I can smell 'em."

  Ben-Ari was ready to agree with him. This place was wrong. This had gone too far.

  We have to get out.

  The voices from her past.

  They're everywhere!

  The echoes of the Scum War.

  "Who did this?" Ben-Ari whispered. "This isn't a scum hive. Scum eat their victims. These bodies are—"

  For the first time, Ben-Ari saw it.

  She clenched her jaw.

  Again she nearly vomited.

  In the shadows, she had not seen it at first. She leaned
closer to one corpse, its mouth open in anguish, its gray skin already rotting. The skull had been carved open with surgical precision. The brain was gone.

  Shuddering, Ben-Ari looked from corpse to corpse. Each had suffered the same disfigurement. Each man's skull had been neatly sawed open, the brain removed, the corpse then discarded here.

  "Captain, take a look at this," said Kemi, lifting a corpse's arm.

  Ben-Ari walked toward her and leaned closer. Her flashlight illuminated the pale arm.

  Another shock rattled Ben-Ari.

  A swastika was tattooed onto the man's arm.

  "Nazis," whispered Kemi. "Goddamn Nazis. This one too." She pointed at another corpse, its chest tattooed with Sig runes, a favorite symbol of the Third Reich. "Captain, what's going on here?"

  Ben-Ari inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, gripping her gun. Two hundred years ago, her Jewish ancestors had fled the concentration camps, had fought the Nazis in the forests of Eastern Europe. Kemi, of African descent, doubtlessly hated the bastards just as much.

  "Did we come here to save a bunch of white supremacists, Captain?" Kemi asked. "Because if so, I say to hell with them."

  "Wait. No. Look at this corpse. It has different tattoos." Ben-Ari frowned. "It looks like . . . Japanese?"

  Private Komagata approached, lifted her visor, and spat. "I recognize those tattoos. The Blood Lotus. Pacific gangsters. I fucking hate those guys."

  "Look at this one," said Kemi. "See this corpse's tattoos? La Familia. That's Spanish. Mexican mafia. What the hell was going on here? Some top secret convention of evil henchmen?"

  Ben-Ari thought back to the words on the door. ELL B 7.

  "Of course," she whispered.

  Leaving the pile of corpses, Ben-Ari headed toward the side of the hall, where sticky black webs hung like tapestries. She worked with her knife, cutting the thicker strands, then pulled webs aside like drawing curtains.

  Behind the webs rose rusted bars.

  A small cell. A cell with only a concrete bed, a concrete desk, a rusted toilet. A prison cell.

  "Ell B 7," Ben-Ari said. "Cell Block 7. It's a prison."

  Kemi approached her, eyes dark. "What is a prison doing inside an alien structure on a forgotten world in the demilitarized zone?"

  Ben-Ari knelt and lifted a tattered prison uniform. Dried blood and grime darkened the orange fabric. She brushed aside flecks of blood, revealing a logo printed onto the uniform.

  She dropped the fabric.

  "Damn," she whispered.

  A crude snake, eating its own tail, was drawn onto the uniform. Ben-Ari recognized that symbol, and it scared her more than any of the tattooed gang signs. She had seen this symbol on Corpus, the moon overtaken by the scum. She had seen it on countless military vehicles, from tanks to starship engines.

  "Chrysopoeia Corporation," she said.

  Kemi opened her mouth, and she seemed ready to speak when a scream rose from deep in the prison.

  A human scream.

  Ben-Ari ran.

  The others joined her, running close behind. They raced through the cell block, shoving aside the dangling strands. The webs trembled around and above them, and shadows scurried. Leaving the hill of corpses, they reached the end of the cell block. A cavernous archway loomed before them, woven of bones and black webs. The scream sounded again, weaker now. Deep laughter rumbled. Feet clattered. The sounds came from beyond the archway.

  "Ma'am, wait, let me—" Sergeant Murphy began, but Ben-Ari didn't listen. She raced through the archway, bones crunching beneath her boots.

  She burst into a towering chamber, larger than the cell block. It was a mess hall, or had been long ago. She could still see a few tables and the remains of a serving counter, all draped with webs and grime. Shadows cloaked the ceiling, the lights long gone. Only the squad's flashlights lit the room.

  A moan sounded ahead.

  Ben-Ari inhaled sharply, pointed her flashlight, and felt the blood drain from her face.

  A man sat in the center of the mess hall. He was gaunt, naked, and strapped into a metal chair with a coil of webs.

  "Help," he whispered. "Please . . . Help . . ."

  The top of his skull had been surgically removed. The brain was exposed, quivering and red.

  "Help . . . me . . ." Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Private Johnny whispered.

  "We have to help him!" Kemi darted forward.

  "Wait." Ben-Ari grabbed her lieutenant. "Wait!"

  They all froze, guns raised, staring.

  "Ma'am, we—" Kemi began.

  "Wait!" Ben-Ari whispered.

  The webs in the room were quivering.

  A shadow was moving above.

  Ben-Ari's head spun, her breath quickened, and her heart pounded.

  Bait, she thought. The man—bait in the center of the web. The distress call. All of this. A trap.

  "Help me," whispered the strapped prisoner.

  "Hold still," Ben-Ari whispered, and the squad all stood still, arranged in a semicircle, guns raised.

  Deep, rumbling laughter sounded in the shadows above.

  A shadow began descending from the ceiling, moving down on a black strand.

  Ben-Ari's eyes watered.

  No, she thought. Oh God, no. No.

  At first, she thought this creature was a great spider, an arachnid the size of a grizzly bear. But no. Instead of eight legs like a spider, it had six serrated limbs, each tipped with claws. The alien's jaws were massive, large enough to swallow a man, lined with teeth like swords. A red scar trailed across the creature's face, a deep canyon, and a crest of horns topped its head. Hundreds of skulls clung to its back, the tops sawed off, forming clattering armor, the eye sockets gazing vacantly.

  "Goddamn fucking space bug!" Private Johnny shouted, aiming his rifle. "I—"

  "Stop!" Ben-Ari pulled his barrel down. "Hold your fire. All of you. Hold your fire! That's an order."

  She stared ahead. The alien kept descending, inch by inch, and its jaws—God, the size of them—opened in a lurid grin. Four black eyes stared at Ben-Ari, and she could see intelligence there. She could see amusement. This wasn't just a dumb bug. This creature was calculating.

  It wants something, Ben-Ari thought. It wants us to shoot it. It wants us to start a war in the demilitarized zone. This isn't a trap to kill us. She understood. This is a trap to get us to kill.

  The alien lowered itself until it hovered over the bound prisoner. Its front legs moved out, clasping the prisoner's head. A tongue unfurled from the alien's leering mouth—small teeth lined that tongue like the teeth on a chainsaw. The tongue dipped into the open skull. It happened so quickly Ben-Ari could barely grasp it. The alien scooped out the brain like a man shucking an oyster, pulling the quivering organ into its waiting mouth. The creature swallowed, and the prisoner's head tilted forward, brainless, lifeless.

  "Hold your fire!" Ben-Ari shouted as soldiers aimed their guns.

  "Hold your fire!" Sergeant Murphy echoed her call.

  Ben-Ari stared at the alien. It still dangled before her on its web, saliva dripping down its fangs onto the dead prisoner. All the flashlights were on it, leaving the rest of the hall in shadow.

  "You understand me, don't you?" Ben-Ari said. "Who are you? What are you? What do you want from us?"

  A clattering emerged from the alien's mouth, eerily like laughter. Its body throbbed, and the human skulls on its back clanked, a rancid armor of death. And then it spoke. Its voice was deep, unearthly, a voice like stones rumbling, like echoes in caves, like wind through a graveyard.

  "We . . . are . . . marauders." Its jaw stretched into a grin, and the clattering in its throat grew louder. "We . . . want . . . your pain."

  "It can talk," whispered Private Johnny, and tears flowed down his cheeks. "Oh God, how can it talk?" The beefy soldier let out a howl. "Die, you son of a bitch! Die!"

  "No!" Ben-Ari shouted, but it was too late.

  The p
rivate fired his gun.

  Bullets rang out, slamming into the alien.

  Skulls shattered on its back. Bullets ricocheted off its teeth. The creature laughed, and its claws rose, pointing at the soldiers.

  "Die, fucker!" shouted Private Komagata, firing too, and suddenly they were all firing their guns, and a hailstorm of bullets slammed into the alien, into the prisoner beneath it, into the webbing that draped across the mess hall.

  The alien stretched out its legs like an arachnid Christ, laughing even as the bullets tore into it. Its rumbles echoed through the prison.

  And from the shadows above, more creatures descended.

  "Fuck, they're everywhere!" shouted Komagata.

  "Kill them all!" Private Johnny was shouting, tears still on his cheeks, firing in automatic mode, emptying magazine after magazine. "Die!"

  The creatures were descending everywhere, cloaked in shadows, reaching out their claws. The flashlight beams reflected in their fangs, their mocking eyes. Dozens of them. Hundreds.

  "They're covering the ceiling!" shouted a corporal.

  "Die, bugs!" Private Johnny was spinning in a circle, firing his gun at the ceiling. "Die—"

  A marauder lowered itself on a strand. Bullets slammed into it, rebounding off its legs. One of those legs reached down, and claws yanked Johnny's rifle from his hands. Other claws grabbed the soldier's arm, tugging him up.

  "Help me!" Private Johnny shouted. "God, help me, somebody! Kill it!"

  They all fired their guns. Bullets slammed into the alien, shattering skulls on its back, but could not slay the beast.

  Holding the private several meters above the floor, the alien yanked off Johnny's helmet.

  The claws cut deep. Carving. Sawing through the skull. The alien pulled off the skull's top like a lid. Private Johnny was still screaming as the alien scooped out his brain. The screams died as his lifeless body crashed onto the floor.

  "Run!" Ben-Ari shouted.

  They ran back toward the archway of bones. A marauder descended from the ceiling, grabbed a corporal, and pulled the man into the shadows. The soldier screamed above, and blood and guts rained down, followed by the sawed-off top of a skull. Private Komagata reached the archway first, only for a marauder to leap from the shadows. Massive jaws grabbed the soldier, ripping her apart, scattering limbs. The alien screeched, legs outstretched, blocking the exit.