Diego looked like a pitbull ready to take a chunk out of an Organic. “Agreed.”
Holly seemed shocked by the statement, but she voiced no protest. Instead, she took one of the spare rifles they’d brought aboard the Rhino. “Fine, if that’s what it takes.”
Emanuel looked between Sophie and Bouma. He unstrapped the RVAMP from his chest and charged it.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Diego said. “One of the most defensible locations we’ve got is the corridors within Biome 2. I want to set up tight lines of sight outside the living quarters. The corridors there are cramped, and spiders can only come at us one at a time.”
“And if they send in Sentinels?” Bouma asked. “Those things will come through the ship like someone trying to piss out a kidney stone. The Secundo Casu is going to be hurting.”
The ship shook again. Somewhere in the distance, the whine of metal grinding against metal reverberated, sending its ghastly wail through the corridors.
“If they send Sentinels through the living quarters, the plan remains the same,” Diego said. “Worst case scenario, we retreat to the agri biome. There are a lot of dead trees in there for cover.”
The groan and whine of the Organics breaking through the ship’s hull grew louder. Diego motioned for them to run. No one hesitated. Before they even made it to Biome 2 and the living quarters, the shrieks of spiders began to fill the corridors.
Once the crew reached the living quarters, they dumped all the furniture they could into the hallways. It certainly wouldn’t last long against the claws and mandibles of the spiders, but it was better than nothing.
Then they waited. Seconds burned into long minutes. The screeches continued, along with the scraping of claws over the deck.
Something called out to Sophie. At first she thought it was something she heard, and she shot up instinctively, searching the darkened corridors with her rifle sight. Nothing appeared.
A moment passed before she realized that the voice she’d heard wasn’t really a voice at all. It hadn’t even called her name. Instead, it was more of a feeling, a visceral tugging at her insides, that had beckoned her.
The nanobots.
The shrieks and scrapings continued. Sophie put down her rifle.
“What are you doing?” Emanuel whispered.
“Got to check something,” she replied.
She pulled the handheld OCT from her pack and took off her glove. Holding the device over the back of her left hand, she activated it with her right. All the blood vessels throbbing under her skin suddenly became clearly visible in the device’s display. She held her breath. If the nanobots were at critical mass, she’d see them glinting in bright red clumps through the OCT’s screen. She stole another nervous glance at Emanuel’s RVAMP.
“Sophie?” Emanuel asked, understanding exactly what she was looking for.
She saw nothing. Just the normal dull glow of blood pushing through them. No clumps. Nothing to indicate she was in immediate danger of the nanobots taking over.
Emanuel let out a sigh of relief. He reached out and placed his hand atop hers, then gave her a reassuring smile.
Sophie returned his gesture with a weak smile. She was still in control for the time being. How long that would be was still an unknown, but for as long as she could, she would fight the Organics—both those inside her own body and those outside. She hoisted her rifle and aimed it down the corridor once more.
Bouma, Diego, and Ort had set up nearby positions. In one of the cabins, Holly knelt in front of the children.
A morose realization shifted through Sophie. This might be humanity’s last stand. They would fight for their last dying breaths in the living quarters of a Biosphere.
There must be some irony to be found in their situation, but Sophie didn’t care for it at that moment. There was only one thing on her mind, and it was no longer the nanobots.
A shrill cry filled the corridor. The first spider poked its ugly head into the shadows of the passage. Its globular eyes seemed to catch sight of her immediately.
The monster charged, its mouth open, ready to feast.
A memory sparked in her mind as the onslaught began. Her father’s favorite poem rang loud in her mind.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Sophie squeezed her rifle’s trigger as EMP grenades and pulse rounds filled the hall. Spiders wailed as rounds cut through their flesh. Their corpses soaked the ground with blue blood. The macabre ritual replayed itself as each alien tried to throw themselves into the wall of gunfire. As her rifle bucked against her shoulder, the burning in Sophie’s mind intensified. She fought both fronts of her battle with equal determination.
Tonight, against the aliens that had taken Earth and her family, against the bastards that had driven humanity to extinction, she would rage.
***
The remaining survivors of the GOA made it to the outskirts of Pelican AFB that afternoon with zero contacts. Athena couldn’t believe it, but she had a feeling it wasn’t blind luck. With all those drones zipping in Colorado’s direction, she suspected Alexia had something to do with it.
“Three o’clock,” Griffin said.
He pointed to a chain link fence surrounding a cluster of buildings. Athena counted five hangars and two smaller structures. The tarmac was a mess of military fighters, their charcoaled hulls littering the asphalt. The junkyard of expensive X-90 fighter jets reminded her the military had never stood a chance.
“What should I be looking for?” she asked quietly.
Griffin handed over a pair of binoculars. “Check that manhole.”
She zoomed in on the ground and spotted what he had seen.
“I bet that’s where our friends are hiding,” he said.
Athena nodded, and lowered the binos. She pushed herself off the ground and loped back down the slope to where they had parked their vehicles. On the trek down, she checked the temperature.
One hundred and thirty degrees Fahrenheit.
“Jesus,” she whispered. If it weren’t for the coolant circulation unit in her suit, she would be roasting right now. Her flesh was already covered with sticky sweat.
Taylor, Malone, and Trish stood, their weapons cradled, in front of the camouflage tarps covering the truck and van.
“See anything up there?” Trish asked.
There was nervousness in her voice. Not surprising, considering what they had all been through. They were teetering on the edge of being wiped out. A single mistake would cost them their lives. If the Organics found them, they would die. If their suits malfunctioned, they would die. If Alexia was wrong about these people, if the survivors decided to ambush them… it wouldn’t be that hard, she thought, looking at the remaining members of her crew.
There were hundreds of ways this could go, and most of them ended in the same result—death.
“What did you see?” Trish entreated.
“Griffin spotted something worth checking out,” Athena replied. “We’ll leave the vehicles here and go by foot. Get your gear and prepare to move out.”
Athena followed Griffin back to the truck and van to help Malone and Taylor unload. There wasn’t much, just a few rucksacks packed full of their remaining food, and the barrels of water.
“Fill up your canteens and bottles. Bring as much water as possible,” she ordered.
A few minutes later, the team had gathered all the gear they could carry. Griffin wore a rucksack stuffed full of food. Four jugs of water hung from carabiners. Taylor and Malone split the other jugs, leaving Trish and Athena with the canteens and bottles.
“Let’s move,” she said.
Griffin took point with his RPG launcher shouldered, and Athena fell in line behind him. Trish walked behind her, and Malone and Taylor took up the rear. Moving in combat intervals, they hurried across the sand, taking a detour around the hill.
By the time they got to the metal fence, Griffin was movin
g extremely slowly. The load on his back, and the heat, had gotten too much for the big man.
“You good?” Athena asked.
He sucked in a breath, then nodded.
Taylor pulled out the wire cutters and moved ahead of Griffin. After snapping through a section, he pulled it back, creating a door.
Crouching down, the big retired Marine let out a grunt and moved through the gap.
“Watch the…” Athena snapped, reaching out to grab at Griffin’s pack. She wasn’t fast enough, and a sharp edge of fence slashed one of the jugs hanging from his bag. Water sluiced out, painting the sand.
Griffin turned to look at the damage. “Oh shit.”
Trish and Malone both dropped to their knees to try and catch what water they could in their gloves.
“I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry,” Griffin said.
“Just keep moving,” she said.
Taylor pulled the fence away and Griffin finally moved to the other side. Athena motioned for the group to continue through and into the base. They made a run for the manhole cover to the east of the hangars. Charcoaled aircraft wings littered the tarmac. Several burned out Humvees and pickup trucks sat where they had been destroyed months earlier.
A battle had occurred here.
No…
A massacre.
Her boot crunched over something hard, and she slowly pulled it back to reveal a desiccated femur.
Good Lord, she thought.
Her gaze roved over the scene before her. Blackened skulls and broken ribcages jutted up from the sand. Scattered long bones lay across the landscape like macabre confetti.
So many had died here. Maybe on invasion day. Maybe this was the site of some later resistance. Either way, these were all good men and women who might’ve made a difference. She shook away the thoughts. Focus was key now. Focus would keep them alive. Maybe not for long, but long enough for Alexia to help them get off the planet.
They were closing in on the manhole cover when a voice shouted for them to freeze. All at once, sand burst into the air to her left and right. Small shapes emerged from holes in the ground with weapons pointed at the team.
“Don’t move!” one of them yelled in a raspy voice.
Griffin aimed his RPG launcher at the person. “You drop yours!”
“We have you surrounded,” came a voice.
Athena turned toward the mound of sand from which the manhole cover had been removed. A man climbed out and moved into the sun. He was wearing a leather trench coat. His features were disguised by a mask and breathing apparatus, and long white hair whipped over his shoulders in the wind.
Athena slowly scrutinized the other figures. They were all dressed in bulky camouflage uniforms and wearing the same breathing devices over their faces.
Kids, she realized. They were all just kids.
She lowered her rifle and instructed everyone else to do the same.
The man marched toward Athena, his trench coat flapping behind him. “Welcome to Pelican Air Force Base, the last human stronghold within four hundred miles.”
***
“Changing mags!” Ort bellowed.
Bouma’s rifle clicked. He was empty too. The aliens’ assault was relentless. Sweat dripped down Bouma’s brow.
Another spider came through the hall, squeezing past the corpses of its brethren. It swung its claws, flinging the loose berths and desks and tables against the bulkhead. The furniture broke into dangerous shrapnel as the spider flailed desperately to get at its prey.
“Changing!” Bouma roared, before jamming in a fresh mag. As soon as it clicked into place, he resumed firing.
Everything became a blur of kaleidoscopic fury. Rounds sliced through the air. They sizzled into flesh and carapace, churning the aliens into bits. EMP grenades let out their blue blaze in fantastic brilliance. Each blast cut through the shields of the Organics. The scene repeated itself over and over.
All concept of passing time eluded Bouma. There was only his trigger finger and the rifle’s sights. Wait for an EMP blast. Sight up a spider’s head. Rinse and repeat.
The deck was soon slick with alien blood as it streamed down the corridor, creeping under the improvised barricades Bouma and the others hid behind. Diego’s plan seemed to be working at keeping them alive and slowing the spiders.
But while the movements of the individual spiders slowed, their assault never did. They threw themselves headlong into the gunfire and grenades. Nothing seemed to deter them. Not the volley of pulse rounds cutting into their flanks or the corpses of their comrades that they were forced to climb over and around.
“How many more of these bastards do we have, Sonya?” Emanuel asked, his voice sounding ragged and hoarse.
“I am unable to calculate the number of Organics aboard this ship,” the AI replied in much too calm a tone of voice.
Bouma wanted to curse her out. “Why?” was all he asked instead.
“The Organics have cut off all sensor arrays on the Secundo Casu.”
“Son of a bitch,” Ort said. “We can’t do this forever.”
The Secundo Casu suddenly rocked, and Bouma crashed against the bulkhead. A sharp pain ricocheted through his elbow. Another explosion sent tremors through the ship. He caught himself on one of the tables they’d used as a barricade. A spider took the opportunity to climb toward him, close enough that its spit sprayed across his suit as it screamed.
Bouma sent a surge of rounds into the creature before it could clamp its mandibles around him.
“What the hell is going on?” Ort said.
“Slingers,” Bouma said. “Those scorpion things are finding another way into our Biosphere.”
Another blast resonated through the ship. The spiders didn’t seem at all perturbed by the external assault. They continued throwing themselves suicidally into the corridor.
Bouma glanced back at Sophie and Emanuel. Both of them had gone pale and looked horribly out of their element wielding firearms instead of computers and microscopes. But still they fought, completely focused on the enemies showing themselves in front of the group. Behind them was Holly, still looking nervously out of the cabin where she had hidden the children.
Holly looked at him with a worried expression, fear set deep in her eyes. No way would he let an alien touch her. He poured more fire into the seemingly endless stream of spiders.
Then realization hit him harder than a Sentinel charging a Rhino.
“It’s a goddamn trap,” Bouma said. “They want us focused on the spiders!”
More explosions rocked the ship. Dust fell from the ceiling, and from somewhere, a low series of blasts sounded like the Organics had set off a massive chain of firecrackers.
Another roar came rushing through the passages from behind them. It was quickly followed by a second, then a third. The pounding of heavy feet set the deck trembling.
“Sentinels!” Diego yelled.
Bouma glanced at the never-ending stream of spiders. If one or two Sentinels caught them here, they would probably still be able to fend them off. But if there was a herd of the reptilian monsters, the chances of them surviving would be less than the chances of him finding oxygen while floating through space.
“We’ve got to fall back!” Bouma said.
Diego looked between him and the spiders. Bouma could tell the LT would hate to give up their entrenched position. But they all knew any barricades would be next to useless against a stampede of relentless Sentinels.
They needed to change tactics.
“Fall back to the agri biome!” Diego said. “Ort, you take point. Everyone else, fall in behind him. I’ll hold here until we’re moving!”
Ort led the others away as Diego continued firing. Bouma wanted to linger, to help the man and take out every last spider he could. But the cacophony of the Sentinels forcing their way into the corridors outside the Biosphere convinced him otherwise. He needed to protect the others.
Diego threw a final EMP grenade, coupled with an explosi
ve one. A curtain of fire swept the corridor. Diego sprinted from the blast as heat overwhelmed the group. The spiders disappeared under the ball of malicious orange and red.
“Move, move, move!” Diego said.
They set off into the agricultural biome, and the space opened up before them. If Bouma squinted, the place looked like his old, temporary home under Cheyenne Mountain. The long trails of crops had withered and died with neglect, and the orchards looked no better, offering hardly any leaves, much less a ripe piece of fruit to eat.
Their most defensible location was beyond the orchard, where the supplies for taking care of the space were kept. There they could climb atop the storage structure to have sweeping lines of sight. Emanuel’s RVAMP would be incredibly useful at leveling the playing field once the monsters stormed the wide-open space. With a single, directed charge, he could knock out all their shields.
Holly hid the children within the recesses of the supply chamber. This time she didn’t stay with them, though.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bouma asked when she knelt next to him atop the chamber.
“We’re going to need every gun we’ve got,” she said.
“You’ve got to stay down there.”
“No, I’m not going out cowering in the dark.”
There was no more time to argue. A plume of rolling fire and smoke showered part of the orchard with flaming debris. A group of Sentinels surged into the chamber. They rode a wave of spiders that churned between them. The aliens advanced in one massive force, a relentless wall of clicking mandibles and snapping claws.
“Sophie, behind me!” Emanuel said. He aimed the RVAMP over the charging Organic forces as Sophie stayed clear of its directed blast. With a pull of the trigger, the RVAMP whined and released a concentrated electromagnetic pulse.
The pulse washed over the Organics with nearly visible force. Their shields flickered and faded. Some even seemed to stumble in surprise. But the masses continued forward, unperturbed by the minor setback.
Cold sweat trickled down Bouma’s neck, and his vision began to narrow. He shouldered his rifle. His trigger finger shivered slightly from all the adrenaline rushing through his blood vessels. If they could just hold these aliens off, maybe they could actually repel this attack. Maybe they could buy some time to escape.
Orbs IV_Exodus_A Post Apocalyptic Science Fiction Survival Thriller Page 23