Burgess shrugged. “I’ve made an executive decision. I’m afraid it would be unwise to let any of you leave this place.”
Laura’s mouth turned down. “What was it you said—‘There are other staff members in the facility who have skills more or less equivalent to yours.’ I didn’t know how serious you were . . . sir.”
“Nice little Nazi machine-pistol,” Press said cuttingly. “An antique, I presume? What an interesting choice for the all-American military man.”
Burgess shrugged again, impervious to both Laura and Press’s insults. His gaze on Press was sharp, missing nothing. “I know you’ve got your gun out, Lennox. Any good agent would have. You can just put it down—I’m wearing an armored jacket.”
“I suggest you eat shit,” Press said pleasantly. His hand was a blur of speed as he brought the Glock up and squeezed the trigger, aiming for Burgess’s head—
The Glock just clicked emptily.
Burgess smiled and took a step closer, the Mauser aimed at Press’s chest. “I suppose it’s safe to say you didn’t count your bullets up there, isn’t it? Tough luck—and yours just ran out.” His finger drew back on the trigger, but the burst went wild as Burgess was suddenly jerked off his feet. The colonel’s escalating scream was cut short by a long, powerful tentacle that had snaked out of the darkness above the stairwell and wrapped around his neck.
No matter what kind of man or monster Burgess was, instinct made both Laura and Press try to grab for him, but Burgess was pulled up and out of reach too quickly; all the three of them could do was stand below and watch in horror as he was lifted up and yanked inside a glowing alien chrysalis. The military man managed one muffled shriek, then the chrysalis heaved and a splash of red hit the inside of the membranous wall, turning the light it gave off a deep, uneven crimson.
“Damn,” Dennis said in a bland voice. “I guess we must’ve missed one.”
Overhead, the cocoon pulsed unexpectedly and they all flinched, waiting for tentacles to burst from its sides, or perhaps something much, much worse. Press’s hand slid to his waistband, but the only thing that happened was a final shiver as something small and hard dropped out of the pod and landed in front of Press’s feet.
“Oh, God,” Laura said as she gaped at it. “That’s disgusting.”
Press stretched out one foot and pushed Burgess’s glass eyeball with his toe. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” he said in his best Bogart imitation.
Silence, then Dennis half coughed, half laughed while Laura covered her mouth with one hand to stifle a smirk. “Press, that is so bad!” he exclaimed.
But Press just grinned, stepped forward, and crushed the round piece of glass under his heel. Then he yanked the tranquilizer gun from his waistband and brought it up in one liquid motion. “Excuse the ingratitude,” he said flatly, and fired.
The final chrysalis gave a piercing wail of death, and this time the trio stayed to watch and make sure it was all over.
Then they descended the stairs and, finally, made their way outside.
21
Even when the quiet was disrupted by a stream of military vehicles and the churning of a Med Evac helicopter’s blades, dawn over the Virginia countryside was a beautiful thing to behold. The sun bled golden over the distant peaks of the mountains and lit up the hillsides slowly, as though it was a gigantic yellow floodlight brought up to full power by the world’s most powerful dimmer switch.
Press and Laura had had their bruises and bumps attended to while Dennis, with the six-inch gash in his thigh newly bandaged, sat in the passenger seat of the Med Evac. Laura and Press stood by the door to the chopper, and all three watched without speaking as the members of the clean-up team, a couple of dozen men encased in white protective suits, scurried around like albino ants and carried out the tagged and bagged remains of the chrysalises. On the other side of the field six military trucks idled, their back doors open and waiting to receive the cargo.
“What do they need those suits for?” Dennis asked. His handsome, dark face was creased with worry. “I mean, we were in there without anything—”
“Don’t get your bandage wrinkled,” Laura said. “They don’t need those suits at all—it’s just standard operating procedure.”
“That translates to a way to spend taxpayers’ money,” Press put in mildly. He watched a few more men go by carrying cargo, then said, “Gee, I wonder which one of those has Burgess in it?”
Dennis snickered as Laura shot Press a severe look. Press met her gaze without backing down and she had to turn away before he made her laugh—damn it, then she’d end up feeling guilty.
“You know,” Press said softly, “I think you were right about Eve.”
Laura turned back. “What?”
Press looked at the ground and poked at the flattened grass with his shoe. “About her being human, too—or least partially human. She had the chance to kill me in there, but she didn’t. And she didn’t let Patrick do it either.”
“And she gave her life to save yours,” Dennis said. “Whatever else was inside her, we . . . you were also a part of her. At the end, she remembered that.”
Laura opened her mouth to reply, then closed it as a couple of paramedics came around the corner of the barn and headed for the back of one of the transport vehicles. The gurney they were pushing held Eve, and Laura was thankful that the human part of Eve’s metabolism had triumphed in death and retaken her body. Underneath the grime from the barn, she was beautiful again, her skin pure and unbruised, that lovely young face now still and serene. A single tear slipped down Laura’s cheek as the medics lifted the gurney into the waiting vehicle, then shut the door with a clang.
“Mr. Gamble, I distinctly remember telling you to lie down in the back.”
Laura and Press turned in time to see a pretty woman in a paramedic’s uniform hurry up to Dennis and tug on his arm. He came out of the seat willingly, but with a decidedly exaggerated limp that made Press roll his eyes. “Oh, yes, ma’am. Right away.” Behind the woman’s back Dennis winked at his two friends, then slipped his arm around her and found a snug hold on her waist as she led him to the rear of the Med Evac.
“Once a letch, always a letch,” Press said wryly.
“Oh, he’s not that bad.” Laura hesitated, then glanced at Press. “Is he?”
“I sure wouldn’t put my money on it,” Press retorted. The chopper’s engine hummed to life and Press and Laura ducked and hurried out from under the blades. A few seconds later it lifted off and they saw Dennis waving happily from the rear window as the chopper flew away into the sky.
Something snapped faintly behind them. Press and Laura turned and saw the flag over by the main house, the red, white and blue rolling proudly in the air currents stirred up by the helicopter’s departure.
EPILOGUE
“It’s certainly a funeral befitting a hero,” Laura said.
Press, Laura and Dennis were standing on a hill overlooking Arlington National Cemetery. Their view of the ceremony below was perfect and they could see everything—the full-dress detail for the twenty-one-gun salute, the high-security private box containing the President and First Lady, the rows of dignitaries and military men who’d come to pay their last respects. No doubt the Pentagon Three generals were down there somewhere as well, sitting with hands clasped and bland expressions while their devious little brains cooked up some other nasty trick to play on John Q. Public.
“You sound a little bitter,” Dennis said. He shifted on his crutches, trying to get comfortable. He still wasn’t used to the pressure under his armpits.
Laura stared at the service below. “He murdered a lot of women. He even killed his father.”
“No,” Press said. His voice was sharp, perhaps a bit more than he intended. He put a hand on her arm to take away the sting of his tone. “The alien part of him did those things, not the human part. You taught me that, remember? What’s remembered today is the human part, the man who went up and walked on Mars—”
“—because his country told him to,” Dennis finished for him.
Laura watched the ceremony for a few more seconds, then finally nodded. “You’re right, of course. All this,” she waved a hand around her, “all these people and the graves here—so many, it’s all a big . . . monument to the things that might have been. When you think about it, it’s just heartbreaking.”
“You’re wrong,” Dennis said quietly. Press and Laura looked at him questioningly. “It’s necessary. Just like we’re necessary. There are people like Patrick, who get noticed and commended for their bravery, and there are people like all the rest of the men and women in these graves who don’t. People like us. This monument, as you called it, is for all of us, whether we’re seen or not—because we’re the ones who give our all to keep our country, and sometimes the world, safe.”
Press’s hand found Laura’s and he squeezed it as Dennis’s dark gaze paused on them before he lifted his face to the sun, and the sky, and all the unseen things beyond.
“No matter where the attackers come from.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
YVONNE NAVARRO lives in a western suburb of Chicago and is the author of the original Species novelization. Since her first published story in 1984, her short fiction has appeared in over fifty publications. Species II is her sixth novel, with the most recent two being Final Impact and Aliens: Music of the Spears. Other past projects include the novels deadrush and AfterAge and the reference work The First Name Reverse Dictionary. Red Shadows, a follow-up to Final Impact, will be published in November 1998. She yearns for heat and sun, and plans to fix this problem by relocating to Arizona.
Table of Contents
Back Cover
Preview
Titlepage
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
SPECIES II
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
EPILOGUE
About the Author
Species II Page 25