Wrath of the Carnelians (Europa)

by Jason Gehlert

  “In a few minutes,” Bud said, “I cannon balled my ass from thirty feet.”

  “You know,” Kaspar began, “Captain Page saved your ass.”

  “Yeah, I know. He’s a-okay in my book.”

  “He sliced off a thumb for you.”

  “Well, compared to what we had do in the Marines, what Page did was like amateur hour at Club Med.” Bud displayed one of his patented grins. “Nevertheless, I’m not downplaying that man’s brass balls. Where is he?” Bud searched around the river, and the jungle’s darkening perimeter.

  “Jesus,” Page’s voice could be heard off in the distance.

  Both men turned to see Captain emerging from the eastern end of the jungle. “Stephens!”

  “Captain!” Bud shouted back, his tongue swelling with discomfort. “I must’ve bit down hard on my tongue after the crash.”

  “Rest up boys,” Page said, finally reaching the other side of the river. “We are only about twenty or so minutes from the survivor site.”

  “Here, help me with him,” Kaspar asked Page. “Grab his other arm, throw it over your shoulder.”

  Kaspar did the same and both men carried Stephen’s out of the water and safely back to the shore.

  “What the fuck did you do that for Ken?” Perrine blasted her boyfriend.

  “She was running away,” Black said, lowering his smoking gun.

  “We’re going to need the girl alive. Not dead,” Perrine reiterated her point. “I can feel his presence on the planet, and the images that I’ve received in my sleep, have indicated that she is the Queen.”

  “Relax,” Black assured her, “I only nicked her shoulder. And, if she’s truly the chosen Queen, then her healing powers will be unmatched, even to our leader’s.”

  “Bring both of them to the laboratory,” Perrine ordered, “we are running out of time. The Feast of the Eclipse is coming.”

  The Beach

  “Where are did you guys set up camp?” Kaspar asked.

  “Along the beach on the other side of the jungle,” Page said. “It’s the only place that’s consistently underneath the sun.”

  “Yeah, Gillian said that the planet’s split in half. Half dark, half light.” Kaspar noticed the jungle beginning to thin out.

  “When the solstice happens in a few days, this entire planet will be draped in darkness, and that’s when those nasty aliens are going to attack everything.” Page softly let Stephen’s down feet away from the crashed spacecraft. “We will rest here and regroup for tomorrow.”

  “I’m going back for Gillian and Shaw,” Kaspar grumbled.

  “You need rest, and energy.”

  “Don’t tell me what I need.”

  “Listen,” Page waved over another survivor. “Her name is Ashlen, and she will find some new clothes for you, and prepare some dinner for you. Tomorrow morning we’ll go and rescue your crew.”

  “Okay,” Kaspar dejectedly said. “It’s no use fighting on an empty stomach.”

  “Is everyone okay?” Ashlen asked.

  “Yeah, we lost some good men today,” Page said, “but, we’ve managed to put a dent in their army as well.”

  “Excellent,” Ashlen responded with a sweet, yet victorious tone. Her short cropped black hair, revealed her smooth skin, that had since become littered with dirt, scratches and grime. Her face still attractive, and her curvy figure would send any hot-blooded male into a wet dream. “I will prepare some food for you and our new guest.”

  “Thaddeus Kaspar,” his voice greeted her. “I’m Commander Thaddeus Kaspar of the U.S. Abagail.”

  “Oh, another member of our fleet,” she said, “we’re from the Apollo, and ever since our crash here, we’ve fought hard to sustain our survival.” She looked him over. “Are you the only one?”

  “There are two more survivors,” Kaspar said, “my girlfriend Gillian Shea, and our close friend Lieutenant Matthew Shaw.”

  “Girlfriend?” Ashlen clucked her tongue. “It figures. All the good strapping men are taken.”

  “Stephens needs some food and water as well,” Page interjected. “We all could use some much needed medical attention.” He raised his dismembered hand.

  “What happened to you?” She asked, a bit baffled by the extreme circumstances.

  “I had to save Stephen’s life,” Page paused, “at any cost.”

  “Now, that’s a true leader,” she said, tugging at Kaspar’s right elbow. “Come on rocket man, follow me, and we’ll get you all cleaned up.”

  The Apollo’s cockpit was buried in the soft sand, with the rear sticking out, angled at a weird forty-five degrees. The area was shrouded in trees, and amongst other natural oddities such as rocks and leaves. The jungle had served for the perfect hiding place for Page’s band of survivors, and the Apollo’s endless stream of amenities, such as food and water would sustain them for quite some time. Page’s plan extracted from President Forsythe’s colonization doctrine, which illustrates that once on the planet, the search begins for alternate food, shelter and the essential rebirth of Old Earth.

  Captain Page walked out towards the beach front, leaving the jungle behind him. He deducted it had to be either low or no tide, the calmness of the ocean prevailed that line of thought. Walking across the shelled graveyard of hermit crabs, oysters, clams, and other unlucky warriors, Page could only think about his place on this planet. His journey continued along, noticing the shredded remains of small blue claw crabs, and the detached legs of spider crabs, three feet deep on the beach. The constant crackling of the emptied shells gnawed at Page, until he finally unleashed all of his deeply rooted hostilities, and kicked away the macabre remains.

  “Captain,” another voice beckoned the weary leader.

  “Yeah,” his voice seemed to trail off. Wiping away his glasses with smudged fingers, Captain Page returned back to normal conversation. “What’s on your mind Simon? Why do you look so distracted?”

  “The survivors are beginning to grow restless,” he said. The younger man, roughly short of thirty-five, energized the remaining survivors with frequent, if not daily readings from the Holy Bible. Simon had a close shave when it came to hair, and spent many nights admiring his bleached tips. A beard began its slow, dormant growth, covering several of Simon’s scars from childhood tangles with schoolyard hoodlums. A thin, yet fiery individual, Simon would always spark conversation amongst the Earth survivors. Debating issues such as the economy, politics, religion, sports, and even faith in God catapulted Simon into the public eye during his lengthy sermons in North Carolina. President Forsythe quickly became an admirer of Simon’s work and steadfastly supported his church. When news came of Yellowstone’s pending eruption, Forsythe swiftly moved Simon Latimer to the top of the list when Apollo’s list was first created.

  “Simon, I have chosen you to be my right-hand man, because you are a great listener, and hearing arguments positions yourself as a great leader.”

  “I’m not denying your overwhelming faith in my abilities,” Simon replied, “but, as the moon descends on this planet, those aliens will come forth from the wilderness, and feed on our souls with a determined, devilish rampage.”

  “We have found another survival,” Page began, “he’s from the Abagail.”

  “Yes,” Simon interjected while kept up a brisk pace alongside Captain James Page. “The Abagail was bound for Europa to continue the Amity’s colonization efforts. I take it, it wasn’t a successful mission.”

  “This man, a Commander Kaspar, also has two friends with him. Unfortunately, they are being held against their free will underneath the iron fist of Kenneth Black.”

  “Oh man,” Simon answered, “just the name, Black, churns the acids in my stomach.”

  “So, we will welcome the commander into our group,” Page ordered. “His crew has fought these aliens and have won.”

  “Well then, definitely form an alliance with him.” Simon continued walking, outdistancing himself from the lingering captain. “See you tonight
at the bonfire.”

  “Yeah, at the bonfire,” Page muttered, kicking away several more clusters of emptied crab shells.

  Inside the Apollo’s hull, Ashlen and Kaspar were congregating to search for some fresh clothes.

  “All I have,” she paused, “are these clothes.” Ashlen held up the odd ensemble.

  “You want me to put that on?” Kaspar pointed at the black silk shirt with blue skulls encased in blue flames rising from the bottom.

  “Why not?”

  “Casual wear?”

  “You know, just because you are a Commander doesn’t mean you have to walk around in that space suit, which has seen some better days.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “And, we’re having a bonfire tonight, so throw on the shirt and cargo shorts and relax.”

  “This goes against my religion,” Kaspar said reaching for the clothes.

  “Religion?” Ashlen seductively stroked back her hair and threw it around in every direction. “What religion is that Sir?”

  “The religion of stubbornness and introversion into popular culture.”

  Ashlen didn’t quite fully know how to comprehend the last remark. “You’re joking right?”

  Kaspar waited for a moment, took a breath in, and stretched out a smile across his face. “Yeah, but I sense my humor is either ill-timed or dry.”

  “It works for me,” she cozily flirted with the Commander.

  “Do you mind,” he asked her to turn around while he changed his clothes.

  “Oh, if I must,” she covered her face with her hands.

  “Thank you.” Kaspar undressed, unaware that Ashlen was truly a crafty individual.

  Spreading out her fingers, her eyes roved all over Kaspar’s riddled upper torso, taking notice of the countless scars, scrapes, and bruises he had endured.

  Turning around, Kaspar surveyed Ashlen. “So, did you get your peeks in?”

  “What?” She attempted to play coy.

  “I’m a guy. I’ve had my fair share of peeking in the girl’s locker room.”

  “Well, not bad,” she said walking over to the Commander. “You missed a button,” she said reaching out her hands to adjust the shirt. Running her hands smoothly down his muscular chest, she slid the button through the slot and felt her heart race. Her eyes took form of the small tuft of chest hair peeking through the top of the shirt. “How serious is this girlfriend of yours?” She prodded for information.

  “Serious enough to turn down a very young, and attractive woman’s advances,” Kaspar reached out and took Ashlen’s hands. Leaning in, he kissed her swiftly on the lips, and withdrew. “There’s your kiss. Happy now?”

  The mesmerized look on her face had said it all. Fumbling for words, she escaped back to reality and adjusted her flirtation levels.

  Another hour had passed, inevitable leading to the bonfire that Simon and Ashlen had alluded to previously. The semi-dark night sky intelligently kept the Carnelian’s at bay, but not for long.

  “Is this why you have bonfires’ every night?” Kaspar asked Page after he had sought him out through the bunched crowd of survivors.

  “Like a blind man reading subtitles, I’m not following you,” Page said, fumbling to maintain his grip on his prized cigar.

  “The alien race’s weakness is fire, or heat, or even light of any kind for that matter.”

  “We didn’t realize that,” Page replied finally igniting the tip of his recently smuggled Cuban cigar.

  “Perhaps that’s why your group’s still alive. These massive fires are keeping away the aliens.”

  “We gather every night to hear Simon’s preaching,” Page countered. “He’s a former pastor, and very close friend of our former President.

  “Ah, you must be our new friend,” Simon’s voice cut through the Captain’s conversation.

  “Simon, right?” Kaspar held out his hand, looking for a mutual handshake. Instead, Simon placed his hand on Kaspar’s right shoulder. The Commander noticed Simon was dressed rather religiously. Simon had his Sunday best on consisting of roomy black Docker’s, a grey shirt hidden underneath a well-worn black vest, and a Bible firmly clutched in his other hand. A thin golden chain wrapped around his neck, dangling a small cross from the southern tip of the necklace.

  “Commander,” Simon began. “From God’s mouth, through my lips, to your ears,” he leaned in closely, “let’s kill every one of these mother fuckers.”

  “Well,” Kaspar fumbled for words. “That’s definitely a sermon, or, at most, a pep talk.”

  “I’m glad you are able to join us tonight, and preferably beyond.” Simon withdrew his hand and walked back through the crowd to his self-built podium. The newly constructed wooden podium was position on the north end of the largest bonfire, allowing Simon to look over the fire and stare down condescendingly on the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” his words echoed throughout the beach. Their thunderous applause screamed through the crowd, adding fuel to Simon’s passionate sermon. “We are fighting against an enemy that knows no boundaries. They know of no moral, or ethical code. Evil pulsates through their polluted veins.”

  Kaspar stuck close to Page, “Are we going to burn books tonight as well?”

  “Calm down,” Page attempted to swayed Kaspar’s impatience, all the while still swirling cylindrical rings of smoke with his cigar.

  “And my fellow brethren,” Simon’s voice again erupted several more rounds of cheers from the delirious crowd, “I have a few passages that I would like to read before we commence tonight’s activity.”

  “Activity?” Kaspar whispered to Page.

  “Yeah, every night he has something planned,” Page replied with another collection of smoky rings exhumed from his mouth.

  “From the Holy Bible,” Simon shouted over the talkative crowd. Holding the sacred parchment of prayers high above his head, he waved the book around before bringing it back down close to his chest. His anxious fingers scoured the book for a passage to incite the crowd with hope and faith. “Ah, here we go,” Simon lectured the people from the wooden podium. The roaring bonfire released a steady stream of sweat down Simon’s cheeks. Opening his mouth, the lion from North Carolina roared Psalm after Psalm.

  “This guy’s either very passionate, or sitting on the left side of the sanity fence,” Kaspar noted as the crowd erupted once more in vocalism for their esteemed preacher.

  “Psalm 3,” Simon continued, “In this Psalm, the trust in our Father in times of danger is highlighted.” He shuffled around his bulging Adam’s apple, and then mightily cleared his throat and began the charged verse,

  “O LORD, how many are my adversaries!

  Many rise up against me!

  Many are saying of me,

  “There is no salvation for him in God.”

  But you, O LORD, are my shield;

  my glory, you lift up my head!

  Pausing once more, Simon finished off the Psalm with a fiery pitch and tone in his voice.

  Rise up, O LORD!

  Save me my God!

  For you strike all my enemies on the cheek;

  the teeth of the wicked you break.

  “Now, let us pray to our God for faith and strength in battling these enemies of ours. Such is a place where the heavens will rest and hell will recede into the pits and galleys of the Devil, leaving the Archangel to toil in his own venomous spit and acid, eating away his very soul.”

  “Okay, I’m sold.” Kaspar reached out and smacked his hands together in a thunderous applause for the energized preacher.

  “He definitely has a way with words,” Page said, “I think we will emerge victorious in this battle,” he concluded the statement with a firm punishment of his dying cigar underneath the heavy hell of his boot.

  “I’m ready to fight.” Bud appeared out of nowhere and sandwiched himself between Kaspar and Page.

  “Are we feeling better?” Kaspar touched Bud’s shoulder. “No man gets left behind on
my watch. That has always been my credo.”

  “I had some much needed rest,” Bud said looking around for Simon. “I hear he’s got something special planned. Simon’s a powerful voice, and one that will heed us caution during these trying times,” Bud acknowledged Simon’s talents as a preacher.

  “Now, I would like for everyone to turn their attention towards the eastern bonfire,” Simon urged the crowd to detour their attention from him. “One of my men has successfully captured a small colony of these vermin, these mutant sewer rats,” Simon’s words liberated the crowd’s passionate chorused cheers. “High above the fire, these aliens squirm their way inside that rectangular glass box. Can you see them? Can you the Devil’s minions?” Simon frothed from the jaw, spit churning inside his hot mouth.

  “What the fuck is this zealot thinking? Kaspar bristled by the gathering crowd and wormed his way forward to Simon’s podium.

  “He’s demonstrating that God is more powerful than the Devil,” Ashlen attempted to soothe Kaspar’s bearish mentality.

  “How would you know?” Kaspar chided back.

  “Simon’s my half-brother,” Ashlen assertively stood her ground. The fire’s pecked away at the black sky, sending a collection of disjointed flames scattering about.

  “And, tonight these scavengers of the Devil will burn, and their chances of victory will turn into ash as well,” Simon added while he continued to wave his arms back and forth instructing his men to open the glass box over the ten-foot blaze.

  “This isn’t about faith and determination anymore,” Kaspar’s grizzled voice stymied the group. “This man is hell-bent on revenge and that is not the way to defeat these creatures.” He noticed the survivors were caught inside Simon’s lyrical trance.

  “Here we go.” Page raised another cigar to the fire, feeling the heat penetrate the crevices of his well-worn skin. “It’s time for the fireworks.”

  Out of the box, literally hundreds of squirming Carnelian’s fell from the sky, screaming to their deaths to the roaring fire below. Most were still in their infancy, as their bodies continued to crackle, sizzle, and burn within the intense flames.