by Jason Parent
The atmosphere had changed. It seemed charged, more alive. The mist that had surrounded them collected. It rose like a curtain and was nearly as thick. Evaporation became clouds, turning the bright-blue air gray. Flashes of light streaked across the sky, followed by a loud rumbling that sent tingling through his ears. He doubted he could become accustomed to this dynamic planet, so much more active than his own red-and-brown, secluded home.
Dread weighed down Lenyx and knotted up his muscles. He feared for his crew’s safety, believing that some unseen evil was approaching. He couldn’t point to the source of his paranoia, but it persisted all the same. The strange sounds, smells and sights of the alien world were enough to put him on edge. But there was something more, a sense of impending doom looming in the air around them.
“Milliken,” he shouted over rumbling skies. “What are those lights flashing above us? They seem to be getting closer.”
“It is called ‘lightning,’” Milliken said. He sat down on a rock, a smirk crossing his face, and rested his elbows on his thighs. “You will understand it soon enough.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lenyx never had but didn’t need the ability to read minds to know Milliken wasn’t telling him the whole story. It made him furious. Lenyx endured insubordination to a certain degree, but Milliken’s nonchalance was placing his crew in jeopardy.
“What are you hiding?” he asked behind snarling fangs. “As your superior officer, I demand to know if we are in any immediate danger.”
“Please be patient, commander,” Milliken said. Lenyx didn’t find his words reassuring. The soldier’s smile only fueled his anger. Lenyx had zero tolerance for those who threatened his people or his mission. At that moment, Milliken threatened both.
“Tryst, Kazi, we’re heading back to the ship.” He looked up at the sky. “We’ll seek shelter there until we learn more about this planet’s threats. The environment seems volatile. It’s certainly unpredictable. Our safest, smartest action is to withdraw from it for now.”
“Doesn’t Milliken already know everything about this planet?” Kazi said, sneering. “He’s smarter than all of us now, remember? At least, that’s what he claims.”
“No one is smarter than you, Kazi,” Milliken said.
Kazi’s lips pulled back. His fangs glistened. “If you think I will take insubordination from you, laborer—”
“Enough!” Lenyx shouted. “Both of you, grab our things, and let’s move. We’ll take the human with us, if boarding our ship won’t injure him.”
“It will,” Milliken said, sounding calm and smug.
“Then we leave him. I don’t care. Where is the human, anyway?”
“He’s hiding in a recess in that giant rock over there,” Kazi said. “He seems concerned about what’s going on out here. If he is, I see no reason why we shouldn’t be. Also, I saw him take the dead one’s weapon earlier. We should eliminate him before he uses it on us.”
“Forget him,” Lenyx commanded. “We’re moving.”
Lenyx had barely finished his order when a blinding light flashed before him. Out of nowhere it came, and into nowhere it vanished just as quickly. A deafening crackle followed. Another burst of light came after that, streaking across the sky. Nearby, a dormant beast roared as it split down its middle. One of its many arms that had sheltered the Symorians from the sky swung loose and broke away from its scarred body. A small fire burned faintly where the creature had divided.
“Are we being attacked?” Tryst clasped her hands over her ears.
“No,” Milliken said, laughing. “It’s lightning, a natural occurrence on this planet.”
“Well, it’s apparently harmful,” Kazi said, examining the felled creature’s charred flesh from afar. “What determines where it strikes?”
“Water, some of this planet’s taller plant life obviously, metals—”
“Metals?” Kazi asked. “You imbecile! Are you trying to get us killed?” Kazi threw down his weapons. Lenyx and Tryst were quick to make the connection and followed suit.
“Relax,” Milliken said, still laughing. “It’s extremely unlikely that lightning will strike you.”
“How do you know that?” Kazi asked. “If I understand you correctly, you say you can see inside that human’s mind, correct?”
“That’s right,” Milliken said.
“So you know all he knows about this lightning spectacle.” Kazi rubbed his forehead. He looked repulsed, shaking his head at Milliken as though his crewmate had made an inexcusable error. Lenyx began to wonder if he had.
“Milliken,” Kazi began in a tone meant for a child. “What could the human possibly know about lightning’s effect on Symorians? He just met us for the first time a moment ago.”
Milliken seemed confused. Deep grooves formed in the bridge of his snout and wrinkled his forehead. Then, they disappeared, and his eyes widened. “A fair point,” he said, the smile finally leaving his face. He grabbed his halberd, a giant spear-axe hybrid he had slung over his shoulder, and threw it to the ground. As it left his hand, lightning struck it, sending a blast of sound that rang like two hollow pipes clanged together, only far louder and much more painful. The proximity of the blast propelled Milliken into the air.
Lenyx dropped to the ground, screaming as he covered his ears. After a moment, the harsh tone faded to a dull hum. He thought he heard Tryst shouting Milliken’s name, but the light had blinded him. Tryst sounded frightened. He needed to find her. He followed the sound of her voice, unable to determine if she or the others were injured. He prayed he wouldn’t have to suffer the loss of a crewman for the second time that day.
When his eyes readjusted, Lenyx saw Milliken sitting on the ground not far from where he’d been standing. He appeared dazed but otherwise unharmed. He rose to his feet.
“That was close,” he said, chuckling.
“Are you hurt?” Lenyx asked. Milliken shook his head. Seeing his subordinate unharmed, Lenyx’s anger returned. “It’s foolish to be out here. For the last time, everyone back to the ship.”
His dread now had an identifiable source. The planet itself was hostile toward them, sending projectiles crashing down on them from above. Maybe the planet was alive, curing itself of the infection that was his crew through fierce and omnipotent antibodies.
With great haste, Lenyx and the others started back to the ship. He didn’t look back to see if the human was following. After only a few steps, a new fear stopped him dead in his tracks. Something hit him on the cheek. Whatever it was, it was moving, sliding slowly toward his chin.
Instinctively, Lenyx tried to swat it off. Whatever it was had disappeared. He knew where it went. He felt it under his skin.
“Leave everything. Move as fast as you can.” He grabbed Tryst by her arm and started off again, this time at a full sprint.
As he ran, Lenyx saw what had hit him, that peculiar liquid that had somehow brought his crewmate back from the dead. It fell everywhere around him, first sporadically, then in hordes. It pelted his skin incessantly, relentlessly, hitting him everywhere until his entire body was sleek and splattered.
“Kazi!” Tryst yelled from half a step behind Lenyx. He turned in time to see Kazi on his knees, the strange liquid turning into silvery plasma and spiraling all over his skin. Kazi fell forward, his face planting in the mud. He appeared to be dead. Lenyx thought to carry him, but every second out there meant greater risk to Tryst and himself. Kazi had already fallen. Perhaps he could still save Tryst.
Before he turned away, Lenyx saw Milliken walking serenely over to Kazi’s incapacitated body. He was smiling bigger than ever, unnerving Lenyx to the point of panic. Has he gone mad?
Milliken raised his hands up to the sky as though he were basking in the tears of a goddess, accepting them onto his body in willful sacrifice.
“We have to keep moving,” Tryst said, pulling on his arm. She shook him from his astonished gaze.
“Hold on tight.” He cradled her hand in his, hoping he’d
never have to let it go. She held him back firmly. Once again, they were on the move.
The two didn’t get far before Lenyx felt Tryst’s hand grow heavier. It threatened to slip from his grasp, but he held on, dragging her forward. “Are you all right?”
Tryst didn’t respond. Her hand grew heavier still. It was no longer smooth and soft, that gentle touch he’d felt upon him so many times before. Her skin felt thick, coarse and grooved. Then, she stopped.
He turned and saw silver worms slithering their way over her body. He tried pulling her forward, but Tryst’s body had gone heavy and stiff as rock. Her eyes went blank, her face a solid-white apparition. It was as though her life had escaped through those ghostly eyes. She fell beside him, unmoving, dead. Slowly, her hand slid from his.
Lenyx dropped to his knees. Those silvery worms were on him now. He struck them with his hands, swiped them away, but for every one he removed, two more would emerge. They burrowed beneath his skin. His eyes rolled back. His strength waned. He crumbled beside Tryst, terrified but not yet without hope. Whatever strength he had left in him he’d use to get her back to the ship, carrying her every step of the way if need be.
As he slid his hands beneath her rigid body, he noticed that they, too, were rigid. His back tensed as if every muscle were straining to burst out of his skin. From the small of his back, the tension spiraled outward. It crawled up his neck and over his shoulders. His upper legs mutinied against his mind, refusing to move. A moment later, his entire body was frozen solid.
His mind remained active. Lenyx saw the human, Connor, eyeballing him, no doubt finding entertainment in his awkward death. He wondered if this was the revenge he deserved for his earlier mistake. Had he damned his crew along with him? As his life was leaving him, Lenyx felt only remorse.
He looked down at Tryst, and that remorse brimmed over. Her eyes stared back at him, empty and soulless. No breath passed her lips. Without her, Lenyx didn’t feel much like living. He accepted his fate. He didn’t struggle for air as his own lungs stopped their marginal palpitations. His mind going dark, he collapsed into Tryst. As the newly discovered macabre world faded, a pair of feet entered his dim vision. He thought he heard Milliken’s bellowing laugh above him. Then, he heard nothing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
First Lieutenant Jonathan Westfield was home in bed with his wife when he received the call. With his nine- and twelve-year-olds visiting their grandmother after school, he enjoyed some rare alone time with Tabitha. He was making the most of it when the phone rang. Tabitha pleaded with him not to answer it, to let the voicemail pick it up.
But Jonathan had discipline. When your government calls, you answer. He picked up the phone and instantly wished that, just for once, he had listened to his wife. The voice on the other end gave him an assignment. In as few words as possible, it ordered him to babysit a lake, another mundane and superfluous task, not what he had signed up to do.
A native New Yorker, Jonathan had joined the U.S. Army to take part in the so-called “War on Terror.” It was his way of filling the hole left by the loss of his father on 9/11. In one tour in Iraq and four tours in Afghanistan, he’d seen only minimal gunfire, tiny insurgent forces surrendering without much bloodshed. At least there, we were fighting the good fight. Lately, the War on Terror had fizzled into a political and military quagmire, the lines between right and self-righteous blurring.
Most of his friends, family and even his squadron considered him lucky. Jonathan didn’t see it their way. He wanted to go back to the desert or anywhere else scumbag terrorists hid; he wanted another chance at the real bad guys, to take them down one at a time if he had to. More than twenty years later and now a father himself, Jonathan’s old wounds refused to heal. He was trained to kill, and that’s what he’d do to those who deserved it, trusting his government to accurately point them out.
He couldn’t remember exactly when, but at some point, Jonathan had become a lifer. Between tours, he was often called upon to handle local assignments like hurricane relief, security detail, inane anti-terrorist drills—shit he assumed the Reserves or the National Guard was supposed to handle. It really went up his ass sideways. A year shy of forty, he questioned whether his superiors thought him too old for serious stuff. What’s my next assignment? Rescue a cat from a tree?
Jonathan was being called back to active duty once more, and for what? The powers that be wanted him to protect a fucking space rock from vandalizing teenagers, not exactly his cup of tea. Someone had to be building a bomb somewhere. Someone always was. Surely, the C.I.A. could dig up something more productive for him to do.
But Jonathan was a soldier through and through. From his buzzed-down hair to his wrinkle-free uniform and spit-shined, tied-tight boots, he looked more like a stereotype than a person. And as a soldier, he followed orders. Kissing his wife goodbye, leaving her to explain to their kids why their daddy had to leave again without saying goodbye, Jonathan hurried off to Fort Hamilton.
Forty minutes after he received the call, Jonathan arrived at the base. He was greeted by several soldiers in his platoon who had no doubt received a similar call to the one he had. After a brief debriefing from his company’s captain, Captain Gerald Stephens, he and a few of his soldiers boarded a Hummer and headed for Second Connecticut Lake, which Jonathan assumed was located in Connecticut. As they turned north, the sun lingered low over the horizon. He cursed his bad luck and prayed they could set up camp under a clear night sky.
It took nearly two hours just to reach the New Hampshire border. From there, heavy rainstorms and rush-hour traffic slowed Jonathan’s caravan to a cotton-head crawl. Setting up their spotlights in mud during thunderstorms was going to be an absolute bitch and dangerous, too. All for a stupid rock. At least the rain should keep civilians away. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise.
The state park surrounding Second Connecticut Lake had four “official” entrances and another hundred or so bike paths, hiking trails and snowmobile-flattened plains that allowed access to the lake. Jonathan knew it would be impossible to cover them all with his resources, his platoon only forty-four soldiers at full roster. Some had failed to arrive in time at Fort Hamilton for the platoon’s somewhat rushed departure and would be reporting in the morning, putting his count of soldiers at thirty-six. He placed two men in full rain gear at each entrance and barricaded the roadways into the park.
Captain Stephens had informed Jonathan that Second Connecticut Lake had all but dried up. Rather than spread the rest of his men thin by setting a wide perimeter around the lake’s boundary, Jonathan took his remaining soldiers into the soft earth that had once been the lakebed. It appeared fertile, alive again after having soaked up hours of torrential rain. Still, the ground remained solid enough to support their trucks and their equipment, but mushy enough to cause one hell of a mess. Mud splattered everything and everyone and terribly slowed their progress.
In the dark, raincloud-filled night, Jonathan’s men managed to assemble camp and set a perimeter around the meteorite with the efficiency and perseverance of a well-oiled force. Each soldier knew his role and got it done. Within an hour after its arrival into the park, Jonathan’s platoon was up and running. The rain stopped shortly thereafter. Everyone remained cold and damp, but at least they had shelter.
A NASA team wasn’t due on site until morning. After that, the rock would be its problem, and Jonathan could return home. His task was simple: guard the rock. He expected an uneventful night.
Jonathan had no other duties to carry out before their arrival. With the rain keeping people away for him, he finally had time to examine the source of his spoiled vacation. In the camp’s bright spotlights, the meteorite wasn’t particularly enticing. It looked like a giant chunk of black onyx, smooth and refined in some areas and jagged and craggy in others. He thought it a suitable addition to the park, another rock for park-goers to climb, nothing more.
Jonathan laughed. Maybe it’ll serve as a replacement for the Old Man in t
he Mountain. The New Hampshire tourist attraction he’d visited as a child, a “face” in the side of a mountain, had long since crumbled into ruin. Jonathan had always thought it kind of looked like Abraham Lincoln and didn’t see a reason for the President’s likeness in New Hampshire anyway. At least they’ve got a new rock to go nuts over.
Whether it was a man’s face etched into a New Hampshire cliff or an ugly rock that fell from the sky, rocks were rocks. They held no interest to Jonathan. They certainly didn’t require his protection. His first view of the meteorite told him enough to know he didn’t need a second. Yep, he’d been given another shitty assignment.
Sure, dorks who speak Klingon and masturbate to Jap-anime might shell out a few bucks to see this thing. Perhaps even get their pictures taken with some jerk in an alien costume for an outrageous price. My kids would be pissed if I drove them all the way out here to see some inanimate black rock, and they wouldn’t even have to pay for it.
Hell, I’d be pissed. I am pissed. Jonathan grumbled. The wonders of space just aren’t all that wonderful. Still, if he could find a camera, he would take a picture of it for his kids.
He walked over to a table and some chairs set up beneath a canopy. What to do now? Jonathan ran his fingers down his face. He slumped back in his chair, waiting for nothing in particular. He heard a buzz in his ear then felt a sting on his neck. With a quick swat, Jonathan massacred its source. The remains of a mosquito were barely recognizable mashed into his palm, a dime-sized circle of blood strangely located half an inch from the dead bug itself.
Jonathan heard another buzz and swatted at the air around his right ear. This is going to be a long night.
CHAPTER NINE
“It’s okay, Connor.” A self-assured teenage girl leaned closer. “You can kiss me.”