Grendel Unit

by Bernard Schaffer

  The canyon wall was over a hundred feet in the air, but his throw was straight enough and hard enough that it landed directly beneath him, blade sunk deep in one of the bags of karjarra hidden there.

  The soldiers looked up in confusion at the new threat, seeing the enormous mantipor standing high above them. Monster already had a second spear in his hand and hurled it downward, finding another bag of the narcotic in the center of the horde's length. One of the man-things shrieked in agony. The spear had gone through its right thigh, but the other creatures were not concerned. Several of them ran at the rock wall, trying to pull themselves up it, clawing their way toward Monster. One managed to find purchase in the cliff and started to scale it, moving with frenzied speed.

  Monster grabbed another spear and threw it through the creature's face, sending him toppling backward onto the others, pinning him to the ground beneath.

  White smoke filled the canyon's pass, billowing up from the smoldering bags of narcotics and the spears stuck through them. Monster's nose twitched from the oddly sweet smell and he held his breath, leaning as far forward as he could. The smoke was too thick to make out anything more than the writhing arms and bodies of the horde. They had stopped moving. A few of them were on fire, with flames eating at their shredded uniforms, but they did not seem to care. One of the creatures threw his head back and moaned as he inhaled, even as flames danced up the back of his shirt, blistering his skin.

  Monster looked until his eyes stung from the smoke, and had to back away, burying his face in his shaggy arm to keep from breathing any of it in.

  40. TURN YOU INSIDE OUT

  The horse's head emerged first from the thick cloud of white smoke, nostrils flaring and mouth agape. The rider had abandoned the reins and was pressed facedown into the horse's mane, clutching the sides of its muscular neck in terror.

  Frank's eyes were bulging and nearly purple when he looked up from the horse, realizing that they were free of the karjarra, and he opened his mouth and gasped for air so hard he nearly vomited. The horse thundered past Vic, desperate for any path of escape. Vic turned his head to watch it dash up the steep incline, even as Frank tried to slow it and get it to turn. It was no good. The horse was running too fast, and if Frank had let go it would have thrown him to his death.

  Vic watched the horse vanish in plumes of dust kicked up by its hooves and was glad. Frank would not have been of help to him. No one could be.

  The karjarra cloud began to dissipate and Vic took as deep a breath as he could and let it out, slowly, trying to keep his stomach from stretching too far. He laid both of his hands down across the sandalwood handles of the Colt 1911's tucked in the front of his belt, their metal frames warm against his skin. They sat above his belt holding the big revolvers called Single Action Army's, set in leather holsters on either leg, tied down above his knee by strong, braided thongs.

  He'd known he would not be able to bend down, or move, and Bob Buehl and his blacksmith master had quickly fashioned scabbards for several long guns that Vic now wore. He could feel their combined weight pulling his midsection, but ignored it. There was something coming through the pass, announcing its arrival with a low, gurgling growl.

  What emerged from between the rock walls were no longer soldiers. No longer men, really. They'd been changed, altered somehow, and then altered again by their exposure to the karjarra. They staggered instead of ran, and their eyes leaked red fluid that left streams of blood down the sides of their faces. They murmured garbled, guttural words at the sight of Vic and limped toward him.

  Vic drew the rifle tucked behind his right shoulder, the gold-plated receiver reflected brightly as he raised its octagon barrel into the sun, peering down its length at one of the man-things. He cocked the lever, dropping the hammer back, then steadied his aim and fired.

  The creature spun around at the impact, spraying the things next to it with blood as it twirled. The others kept coming, ignorant that one of their own had fallen. They stumbled over the fallen creature's writhing body, their open mouths drooling, arms outstretched. Vic aimed and fired, hitting one after the other in rapid succession, until he'd built a short wall of bodies that the others were forced to step over and push their way through.

  The creatures sneezed black mist and spat up oily bile, as if ridding their bodies of the karjarra. They began shuffling faster across the canyon, their groans turning into growls, and Vic shot them down as quickly as he could, shooting the ones who looked stronger and faster than the others, first.

  The rifle clicked, empty, and Vic tossed it aside, removing the second rifle slung behind his left arm. He lost only seconds as he raised the weapon and readjusted his aim, making quick work of the lever and trigger. There were piles of bodies by then, and he still could not see the end of the formation.

  Vic calculated the amount of ammo in each gun. The rifle held ten more rounds. The shotgun held only five. The 1911's carried eight bullets each, and the revolvers both held six. He could not see how many soldiers there were. Too many to worry about, he decided.

  Every shot had to count. One of the creatures had gotten close enough to touch the edge of Vic's boot with its outstretched fingers when it fell, and he could smell the chemical stench of its blood. The things screamed at him, their high-pitched, inhuman shrieks filling the valley and echoing off the rock walls high above. They swung for his face with their clawed hands, and he answered with a volley of gunshots. His rifle's final bullet sailed through the neck of the nearest creature and crashed through the forehead of the one running up behind it.

  Take that, Vic thought, as he tossed the rifle aside. Two for one. It gave him an idea, though.

  He slid the shotgun out from behind his back and racked it, aiming not directly at the nearest creatures to him, but slightly to their sides. As one ran up on him, Vic fired, blasting through the side of the thing's face, and peppering two of the soldiers behind it. The shotgun's pellets spread out in a cone that widened the further it traveled.

  Vic picked his spots carefully, aiming the shotgun for the ones bunched closest together, grunting with satisfaction each time several of them fell. He racked the shotgun's smooth pump back and forth, the fire racing up his torso a distant irritation, as he twisted from side to side and fired again.

  The man-things were moving faster, and Vic drew both 1911's from his waistband, aiming with his arms outstretched, fighting through the panic of being overrun, forcing himself to slow down and make every shot count. He scowled at the stench of the nearest creature's hot breath as he squeezed the trigger, and was nearly toppled as it collapsed onto him.

  He stepped backward to get out of the thing's way, gasping in agony as he felt some of this stitches give. He cried out, feeling the rip through his flesh that pulsed with hot blood. It soaked the front of his shirt red and wet, but he did not have time to look at it. A half-dozen of the brutes were nearly on top of him, and he began blasting.

  The guns ran dry and he dropped them, immediately yanking both revolvers from their holsters. There was so much blood in the dirt that it was soaking through his shoes. He told himself it was the blood of his enemies, and not his own, and that it even might be true. The copper smell of blood and burnt smell of cordite filled his nostrils, but he held the smooth wooden grips of the revolvers tightly and raised them, cocking both hammers back with his thumbs and firing.

  There were less than ten of them left.

  The revolvers boomed, ringing out through the canyon like clarion calls to judgement. So loud that Vic worried his eardrums would burst, but he fired them one after the other, ignoring the trembling in his arms and urge to close his eyes. His head was spinning. He had trouble even aiming straight, but managed to raise his gun and put it on the blurry, groaning thing in front of him and fired, knocking it flat, before his legs gave.

  He landed on his knees, knowing that the pain of his stomach should have sent him screaming, but no longer able to feel it, and no longer caring. It had been a long fight.
A good fight, he told himself. He had done what he'd set out to do.

  Something was squirming among the bodies of dead soldiers.

  One of them groaned and lifted its head, looking up at him. Vic cursed, seeing that he'd only wounded it. It opened its black mouth and screamed at him, and Vic blinked, feeling the sting of hot sweat in his eyes. He could no longer feel his hands. They were too numb to know if he was still holding his guns or had dropped them.

  The creature clawed its way through the fallen bodies toward him, and Vic could make out the details of its destroyed Unification uniform. It had once been a major, Vic saw from the clustered leaves pinned to its shirt. The pins glittered in the sunlight as it stretched out toward Vic with crooked, bloody fingers, trying to reach his face, and Vic found himself able to raise his arm, glad to see he was still holding a revolver. He cocked back the hammer and fired, directly through the center of the former major's forehead.

  He sat for a moment, kneeling in the dirt, looking at the rows of bodies splayed all around him. None of the things were moving any more. He dropped the revolvers and decided he wanted to lie down. It was time to rest. A rest he did not believe he would be waking up from.

  Vic braced his hand on the ground and leaned over, trying to settle himself down onto his left side, when he heard the sound of hooves coming down the road behind him.

  No. Don't bother me now, Frank. I'm trying to die, you idiot, and I don't have time for your nonsense.

  He managed to lower himself onto his elbow and slowly rolled onto his back, looking up at the bright blue sky above. As he closed his eyes, he heard a woman say, "I didn't go to all that trouble patching you up to watch you undo it like that, Captain."

  Vic looked up at the woman leaning over him. Her hands were making quick work of his bloody shirt, pulling away the flaps, and cutting through the bandages. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and the smooth caramel of her skin glistened like bronze. Vic had only wanted to close his eyes and rest until he saw her, but now he could not think of anything else he could do but look at her, and keep looking at her.

  He grabbed her wrist with his bloody hand and squeezed it, hard enough that she shot him a look that protested his interrupting her work. "I have to fix your stitches quickly, Captain," she said. "Before you lose any more blood."

  "It's you," Vic whispered. "I know you."

  Jessica King nodded, then forced herself to look away from him and get back to the severed sutures among the few still holding Vic's stomach together.

  His voice was thin and fading as he whispered, "You have no idea how lucky it is to see you."

  "Is that right?" she said, smiling despite herself.

  "Yeah," Vic said, leaning his head back. "For a second, I thought you were Frank."

  That evening the settlers celebrated the victory with food and drink. There was music playing, and people danced along the road. A few of them, less than five, had watched the battle from hidden crevices along the canyon, and each was holding court in front of fire pits scattered at various distances. Chickens roasted on spits and iron pots of cider and coffee brewed while told as many who could gather around them of the battle they'd witnessed.

  Many came to see the guns that had been used. Oren Adams had laid each of them out on his workbench and broken them down to be cleaned. He rubbed away the dirt and grime, gently oiled the barrels and polished the frames, as children came up beside him with their mothers, and men peered over his shoulder, amazed at how much destruction had been caused by such rudimentary things.

  Hours earlier, after Monster had carried Vic up from the canyon, and his wounds were attended to by the woman called Jessica King, Frank surveyed the carnage in the canyon and knew what must be done. The bodies of the fallen soldiers were scattered everywhere, and the blood they'd spilled was not normal. It had been altered, just as their bodies had, and soon the bugs would come. Then the birds. Then the scavenging animals. And who knew if he contamination inflicted on the soldiers would not infect the animals and soil as well? It could not be risked.

  Frank gathered as many men as he and Bob Buehl could, and they lumped all the bodies together and covered them with dry manure and hay. They littered hay and more manure all across the canyon floor, wherever there was blood, and then set it alight, making the entire valley glow long after the sun had set.

  Small celebrations broke out whenever one of the Grendels appeared. Children stroked Monster's fur and he reached down, scooping as many of them into his arms as he could carry, until they were dangling around his neck and arms and begging to be swung.

  Men insisted on drinking with Bob Buehl, plying him with clear moonshine they'd brewed themselves that tasted like apples or strawberry. Bob was forced to take increasingly smaller sips, because after the first few drinks, he found that his face had gone numb and he was having trouble walking.

  Inside the house, Vic awoke in the late evening, his stomach aching underneath freshly-dressed bandages. He could hear people laughing outside of his open windows, and smelled roasted pork and sweet cakes from the fire pits nearby, and he slowly managed to sit up and get himself out of bed.

  He found that he could walk slightly, as long as there was a bed post to grasp or a shelf to brace himself on. He made his way in this fashion to the front of the house, able to get through the front door and into the rocking chair on the porch without too much pain.

  People cheered and ran toward the porch at the sight of him, and he waived to them and smiled politely, but he knew they'd been incredibly lucky. Incredibly lucky in a way that would not happen again.

  He heard the door open behind him and a wave of warmth washed over him. He smelled the fragrance of her hair before she'd come onto the porch. Felt her approach long before she laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "You escaped your room when I wasn't looking, I see."

  Vic nodded, turning to look up at her. She was captivating, even in the dim lantern light with most of her face hidden by her dark hair. "Did Frank tell you how we know you?" he said.

  "He tried to," she told him. "Obviously, I did not believe him."

  "That's probably for the best," Vic said.

  She looked at him. "Were you close with her? This other woman you imagine was me?"

  "No," Vic said.

  She cocked her head, as if pondering the idea, then swept her hair out of her face as she moved across the porch and leaned back against it. She folded her arms across her chest as she considered Vic for a moment before saying, "For some reason, that disappoints me."

  Vic nodded, "I was never content with it either." He shifted in his seat and looked up at her, trying to focus. "Why are you here? Did you come to this place as a settler? You don't seem the type, if you don't mind me saying it."

  Jessica eyed him, "My ship crashed."

  "What ship?"

  "You wouldn't know it."

  "Are you Unification?"

  "No!" she said, turning her head over the side of the porch to spit in disgust. "Imperialist pigs!"

  "Then what are you?" Vic said.

  "A free person," she said, eyes flashing defiantly.

  He was about to ask her what that meant, when a light flickered in the night sky, close enough that he could see the shimmer of its powerful thrusters working to keep it from being sucked down into the planet's atmosphere. Jessica saw the look on his face and turned, cursing when she saw a new ship had arrived.

  Cries erupted from the crowd as settlers raced for their homes, knowing it was certain death to be seen with the wanted criminals. The worst had happened. The enemy had arrived before there was enough time to recover from the last attack. Whatever defenses they'd been able to muster before were spent.

  Monster and Bob Buehl moved toward the porch and sat down on the front steps, looking up at the ship. "We fought bravely," Monster said gently. "All of us."

  "We gave them hell," Bob nodded in agreement.

  Frank walked up the path toward the porch to rejoin his
friends, seeing that Jessica was standing beside Vic's chair, her hand back on his shoulder. That was how it should be, he thought. How it was meant to be. Even if it ends this way. Her eyes fixed on him, as dark and liquid as black pools, and he looked away.

  Something was descending on them through the darkness. It was larger than an escape pod, but had no parachute or landing device. From high up in the air, they could hear it creak as it swayed in the wind, and realized it was being lowered by a harness attached to the distant ship.

  "Wait," Jessica said, moving to the edge of the porch and staring upward.

  As it approached they saw it was a small, unmarked vessel. It had been stripped of all its engines and weapons systems, reduced to nothing more than its hull. It landed in the road in front of them, and someone inside began turning the door seal by hand, spinning until it finally popped open.

  The alien being who walked out of it was dressed in a baggy black Baumgartner jumpsuit, and he removed his helmet as he exited, looking at the settlement around him in wonder. His blue speckled skin flickered in the firelight, and the horn-shaped antennas on top of his head bent and turned, as if searching for something.

  Jessica King cried out, "Ditros!" and leapt down from the porch, running across the yard toward the newcomer.

  The alien lowered his head and pressed his right hand to his chest, saying, "Kaptaan, thank the Gods you are all right."

  She lowered her head and pressed her hand to her chest in the same fashion, "How did you find me?"

  "We intercepted Unification transmissions that they were sending units to this planet in search of rebels. We feared they had found you."

  Jessica laughed slightly and shook her head, turning to look at the men sitting on the front porch. "I was not the only visitor this planet had."

  Ditros's eyes widened at the sight of Monster and the others, and the antennas above him let out tiny honking sounds. "These are the ones called Grendel Unit," he gasped. "The bounties on them alone could pay for a thousand supply ships."