Finally Felina and Baez put their Deci’s to good use and battered the hell out of the Xeno’s skull right in front of them. As it died, Baez reloaded her last magazine but Felina was dry. Seeing how Felina shot, and the fire seeming to course through her veins, Baez reverently offered the Deci to her.
As Felina took the gun, she heard Ochoa scream something unintelligible, concurrent to Djevojka’s voice scratching the air. She, Baez, and Loudon saw the end of Ochoa amid triumphant disarray.
He reached out to dig his fingers into the sinewy cheek of the creature with his right hand, then grasped its chin crest with his left. In one muscle-straining motion, Ochoa ripped the creature’s lower jaw off its face, slinging it across the floor. The creature howled a bloodcurdling sound as it hissed out blood and bile from its jawless face. Ochoa yelled back, at first incoherency filling the air.
And then Felina detected words.
“Do it!”
She looked over and flinched upon seeing Djevojka go from shaking her head to squeezing the trigger. Her Tenor struck Diego Ochoa in the right temple, putting him out of his irreparable agony. Seconds later, she did the same to the Xeno—nothing merciful at heart, but for the sake of time.
“Get out of here!” Djevojka yelled at the documenters, tears streaking her pale cheeks. She rushed over to Ochoa, and even with her lean frame was able to furiously kick the dead Xeno corpse off of Ochoa’s body. She then spat on it before kneeling over him and acquiring his uniform patches.
What followed was rejoining Landham out in the corridor. He beckoned them onward, while he waited for Djevojka. They noticed that another creature had attacked Landham while he was waiting on them, except that it didn’t appear to have come from the ceiling. Probably behind, from the corridor, meaning they likely had little time before the rest rushed to see what all the hubbub was about.
Attacked and failed, of course; Landham appeared unhurt, unlike the Xeno.
While listening to her heart race, not just pulsing in her chest but in her temples, Felina also heard the groaning of a dying man. She and the other two arrived to peer over the shoulders of onlookers Schuman, Boyd, and Nakamura. There, on the floor with space all around him, was the fatally wounded Ballard. He was already experiencing symptoms of the Xeno carnem metamorphosis thanks to a bile exchange to his injuries; although death awaited him surer than a successful change did, he dared not take the chance. Besides, he appeared to be in great amounts of pain as the bile worked its way through his vascular catacombs.
Without uttering a word, at least no more than he might have already and Felina missed it—gladly, for her sake—Terry Ballard put the Spitfire to his temple. A squeeze of the trigger later not only killed him but left nothing of recognition thanks to the incendiary round. The Spitfire clattered to the floor from his limp hand.
“What happened?” Baez murmured.
“Ballard was attacked, infected with the bile,” Schuman replied in a whisper without turning his head. “Then he asked for Cassel’s gun…”
At the moment, Mitchell limped forward to scoop up the Spitfire. The stiffness in his leg was less prominent now that the Medi-Foam was doing its job and the man himself had grown less aware of it.
Immeasurably upset and yet disturbingly calm—on the outside, of course—Mitchell cradled the gun in his hands. Then a distant shriek sounded and he turned to Cassel, handing it back to her. She began to say something of consolation but Mitchell wouldn’t have it.
“Let’s just get to that fucking shuttle and honor Ballard’s plan with our survival,” he said jaggedly. “Before more of those things come running to join the party.”
Their progress was a great thing as they shuffled onward down the corridor, improving their pace. The factuality of fear facilitated their speed, working its fibers deeper than flesh.
The inbound screeching grew much louder.
Cassel gradually halted the group with a fist in the air and now no restraint in her voice.
“Stairs! We go down, fast but easy, then the docking foyer is not two hundred feet around the right corner.”
There was no more that needed to be said, nor bothered to be. She and the Remoras led the group’s progress down the steps, a staircase Felina remembered all too well as it were. It was a little pathetic that even Madhavari in a hover-chair was able to traverse such an obstacle, but she felt the inclination of paranoia rattle her nerves. Her apprehension around steps was now exacerbated since she was not only proceeding down instead of up, but in a denser throng of people and with such terror pursuing them.
All the more reason to pull it together, she reassured.
Halfway down the slotted steps and she missed her footing anyway. Her right heel glanced the edge of a step, its rubberized grips too close a call to prove their worth. Loudon to her right briefly caught her from falling entirely, but she too was thrown off balance thanks to the incline and rushed pace. Meanwhile those ahead of them had reached the base. Landham stepped forward, striding down two steps at once, and with his right hand easily stabilized Loudon who clung to the guardrail on her way down. But Felina he caught with the stability of his whole body, Seighty in his left hand but unraised.
As they reached the base of the steps, Djevojka helped Loudon round the corner without any more tripping. Baez passed their left side, eager to join the rest of the group.
Likewise, Landham gave Felina a courtesy nod, she thanked him without a word voiced, and they proceeded down the corridor. Within forty feet it became one with banality, enduring bare bulkheads and exposed-piping ceilings with caged fluorescent fixtures. Felina briefly wondered if all this meant less hiding places for any lurking Xeno’s, and then as they came within sight of the docking foyer’s umbilical bridge bay door, her heart skipped a beat.
Forget hiding, she thought, musing as if part of the Xeno’s conscience. I’m just gonna stand tall.
And that’s what they were doing.
Two of the creatures, upright and more imposing than ever before, lingered in front of the bay door. They hissed and snapped their jaws before charging the group, although neither Cassel nor Connell bothered halting them. Altogether, Wincott and Connell stepped past Cassel to shoulder their Seighty’s and unleash hell. Unfortunately, the Xeno carnem they faced were indubitably original specimens—healthy beyond the norm, keener and more capable on all levels. It would certainly explain their agility as they bounded off the walls and utilized the ceiling, too, in evading oncoming bullets. Sure, they took some hits but nothing to severely impede their progress.
This game of chicken was bound to end very soon.
Palmer stepped forward to help, and as a trio of Seighty’s with prime aim they managed to kill one of the creatures before it reached them. The other, however, had relocated to the ceiling and miraculously bypassed the light fixtures while sustaining purchase on the pipes as it moved so nimbly. It came within twenty feet of the enclosing group when it bounded off the ceiling, but thanks to a tight cluster of 6.8mm rounds that riddled its skull, its landing wasn’t smooth. It tumbled, fast and hard, rolling right into Connell and Wincott. Palmer was knocked off balance, inadvertently caught by Schuman while Cassel and Bomani tried helping the other Remoras up.
Mitchell turned to make sure Palmer was okay when a shift of gray shapes behind Schuman caught his eye.
A clearly damaged bulkhead to the right of the group, which Felina spotted all too late, opened like a makeshift auto-door. Out emerged a Xeno with avaricious hands; it seized Schuman from behind, its talons shredding his left arm simultaneous to the gruesome removal of his Adam’s apple. As the chunk of flesh hit the floor, out poured a relentless tide of blood, and his eyes rolled up to seek the stars.
Zometa screamed, Calloway—still helping support her—fired off his Deci into the bulkhead. Schuman was beyond help, Calloway acknowledged this much and let it free up his aim. Unfortunately, his Deci went dry halfway through its clip, nonetheless pocking the creature’s face significantly with bu
llets. The steadfast thing appeared to shrug off Zometa’s additional shots, her left arm around Calloway while her right used up the Deci for what it was worth. When its slide locked back empty, she cursed and dropped it.
The wounded yet obstinate Xeno released Schuman’s corpse and fully emerged from its bulkhead hiding. It leapt over Schuman with nightmarish grace, shadow incarnate yet the color of liquid bone. As it rose up to tilt its head sideways and hiss at its impending victims, it must have felt a bout of confusion as the life slowly left its body.
From behind the creature, with Loudon at her right and Baez to her far left, Mikhail Landham had emerged from their six to take action. With a clustered burst from his Seighty’s ammunition reserve, he had managed to shear through the Xeno’s skull about halfway down to the curved tip. What remained was a reverse pompadour and gory stump that dripped shreds of bone and sinew, eventually leading to the Xeno’s collapse.
Zometa detached from Calloway to limp over at it, curse, and spit on its corpse. Calloway, unable to fully repress his smirk, hooked his arm around her waist and helped guide her back to the rest of the group. Connell and Wincott had since gotten up, Mitchell and Bomani leading them to the docking foyer. There they accessed the bay door and proceeded to open it, which required Cassel’s code.
Felina’s ears tuned to the sound of a weapon clattering to the metallic grating floor and she turned around. Landham had released his Seighty, apparently it was empty. Djevojka smiled at him, complimenting his shot. She offered him her Spitfire, which he gratefully took.
Djevojka’s eyes widened.
The sound of skittering feet caught Felina’s attention, and clearly the sentinel’s too. All transpired so fast, Landham barely appeared fazed. In the same instant, a caged fluorescent fixture above them shattered, above which the ceiling of thick pipes parted with a metallic groan to birth two Xeno carnem. Severed wiring spat sparks and gutted pipes spewed gaseous jets.
Djevojka staggered back, simultaneously firing his Tenor at the leftmost Xeno. In the fray, Landham’s borrowed Spitfire hit the floor and he, too, lost his footing. As he fell to a knee, unarmed, the other Xeno screeched ferociously and was upon him. Unlike most men that would crumble under the seven-foot creature, Mikhail Landham held his ground; he raised his left arm, pinning it under the Xeno’s chin without being scratched or worse by its curved crest. There he pressed his arm against its throat as its clawed hands slashed at his shoulders and biceps. Its feet remained on the grating floor, struggling to keep its own balance.
Djevojka’s Tenor went dry after blowing off a chunk of the left Xeno’s face, above where its left eye would be if it had ever possessed any. It shrieked terribly, reeling back, before regaining its composure and charging her.
Twisting where he knelt, struggling to maintain stability, Landham reached out to snag a handful of the other Xeno’s ankle. The creature hissed back at him, then turned upon the man, disregarding Djevojka’s presence.
All of this in a matter of ten seconds.
Less, if Felina was willing to believe it.
Already, she was having a mental struggle unlike ever before in her life. The twisted irony of this was leaving the exact same way she had arrived, except the details of the situation had immensely changed, the circumstances direr than any oracle could’ve foretold.
Connell and Wincott yelled after Landham, torn between rushing to help and maintaining a safe distance to the umbilical bridge. Cassel screamed for Djevojka to retreat, acknowledging that Landham was beyond help at this point, especially with no more ammunition between them. As Djevojka ran past Felina, she reached out to yank on her arm, insisting it was time to leave. Felina brandished her Deci, but Djevojka shook her head.
The raw truth had teeth and claws.
There was no clean shot, although at this rate giving Landham a mercy option was not beyond her realm of justice. Landham, on the other hand, never struck her as the type of person to welcome such an end, no matter how tragic the scenario had become. As it were, she joined Djevojka in retreating to where Baez and Loudon had since rejoined the group. But Felina couldn’t resist backpedaling most of the way, wanting to help but being unable to.
Landham threw a fist into the second Xeno enemy that had since clung to his back, its claws curling around his broad shoulders to sink into the flesh of his chest. Still his heart beat, though, still it hammered on.
Felina paused then, catching Djevojka’s attention.
“Go!” Landham roared like rolling thunder, just before slipping his right arm under the Xeno’s, then performing an outstretched maneuver that compound fractured its elbow. The creature shrieked spittle in his face, but he appeared unperturbed beyond the recognition of his death.
As Djevojka squeezed her shoulder, Felina took a deep breath and resumed her retreat. She and Djevojka eventually reached the docking foyer’s open bay door, beyond which they could see everyone else except for Cassel and Connell.
Looking back, Felina saw beyond Landham’s struggle to the end of the corridor. There, a horde of Xeno carnem tumbled down the unseen steps, a riptide of flailing creatures too avid for their own good. They walked, sprung, and tripped over each other without any mind.
Back to Landham, he had managed to retrieve the Spitfire while being ravaged by the wounded yet equally persistent creatures. Somehow with enough momentum still left in his injured legs, Landham gave one a sturdy kick for some space; he then shot it in the throat with the Spitfire, spewing embers from its gaping jaws. The other, although temporarily rebounded from him, returned with fresher vengeance. Its right hand gripped that side of Landham’s face, its claws tearing through nose and cheek.
“Close it,” Connell growled.
Cassel gulped, nodded, and shut the bay door. Its massive steel descent was slow, while Felina knelt and tried to repress the tears welling both in her eyes and throat.
She wouldn’t let herself miss the dying victory of Mikhail Landham, however. The man, amidst it all, persevered even as he was dragged to the depths.
Before losing the use of his tongue, nor the failure of his heart or brain, Landham yelled a single word that could only be described as a ground-shaking exclamation.
“Carnem!” he drawled, unmistakably.
Spitfire raised amid the Xeno’s gnashing teeth, it was the only thing between him and a horde of rapidly encroaching creatures. In the next nanosecond the Spitfire went off and ruptured a pipe in the ceiling with a volatile effect. A jagged tongue of flame jetted down with a wide voracity, consuming the first wave of Xeno’s. As they shrilly screeched and twisted in a dance of death devoured by fire, the bay door had less than a foot before it sealed.
No more could Felina see Landham, but she could make out the sound of the Spitfire going off again. Beyond that, even with the sealed bay door, only the cacophony of painfully shrieking Xeno’s and raging fire could be discerned.
“Come on,” Cassel insisted, helping Felina to her feet.
Meanwhile Connell proceeded down the umbilical bridge, leading the way. As they neared the other end, Felina spotted Madhavari’s abandoned hover-chair. Her head jerked at the sound of Xeno bodies bashing against the other side of the bay door far behind them, but Cassel designated it as utterly futile.
Felina nodded and surveyed the umbilical bridge one last time as Connell boarded the Samum. Through intermittent spaces in the steel were glass windows that permitted a view of the space in which they hung. So much research, progress, and technological advancement as well as medical achievements had been recorded in the USRD’s history aboard similar vessels.
But the Manticore, it was in a league of its own.
For more than one damned reason.
“Good riddance,” she sighed, and turned her back to enter the Samum.
Behind her, Cassel sealed the door while everyone seated themselves. With so few survivors compared to their original count, as awful a thing as it was, there was ample seating. Besides, one of Bomani’s first actio
ns was to prep the four cryogenic stasis pods surrounding the base of the Virtual Periscope at the passenger bay’s center.
“Cassel,” Mitchell called out. “Get over here. Please.”
Cassel stood behind Mitchell in the open cockpit and asked what he requested of her.
“It’s more of a demand,” he said, voice shaky in lieu of his lost comrades; beyond that, indubitably, his friends. He then coughed and tried steadying his voice. “I need you to take Ballard’s seat; copilot or Ensign, you’ll suffice.”
Cassel looked a little uneased but wasn’t about to refuse it. As she occupied the copilot’s seat to the right of Kurt Mitchell, Bomani tended to the engine room below deck. Felina secured herself in a seat, between Baez and Loudon as if she felt like there was any choice; she had grown so grateful for their developing friendship, bonds she couldn’t have possibly expected days earlier.
She saw Connell assist Madhavari into a stasis pod, although he insisted he didn’t need any help. So the Remora transferred to Palmer, who had already occupied a passenger’s seat.
“That arm wound is pretty nasty, man, and you look like shit,” Connell said. He shrugged. “No offense.”
“Trying to stow me away in one of those pods? Fuck that, sir, I’ll zip it and can it but I ain’t missing out on what we’ve fought ‘n’ bled so hard to achieve.”
By far the wisest words to ever spill out of Hudson Palmer’s mouth no doubt, judging by Connell’s resultant expression. With a flimsy smirk and nod, Connell affirmed that. He proceeded to help the short-of-breath Lemaître into a stasis pod that he had no objection toward. Meanwhile Calloway aided Zometa into one, bidding her a tranquil sleep which she avidly welcomed.
As the pods sealed, the Samum whirred to life from the inside. Bomani surfaced from below deck with more sweat than ever beading his skin, and slapped Mitchell on the shoulder as he arrived to the cockpit.
“Engine’s alive ‘n’ well, whole shuttle’s clean as a whistle.” Bomani forced a grin and leaned forward to peer out of the canopy, undoubtedly up at the Manticore. He shook his head and said: “What a fucking shame.”
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