Under Darkness (A Sci-Fi Thriller) (Scott Standalones Book 1)

by Jasper T. Scott

  Beth was too distracted to offer a reply. She was busy staring over the back seat into an empty cargo compartment. “Don...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Ashley’s gone.”

  * * *

  Don slammed on the brakes, and Beth’s seatbelt dug into her chest. “What do you mean gone?” he asked, twisting around to look.

  “I mean she’s gone!”

  “A Crawler pulled her out and you didn’t notice?” he demanded.

  “No, I...” Beth trailed off, shaking her head. With all the commotion she couldn’t remember. “I don’t know!”

  “Shit,” Don muttered. “She’s probably dead. Either way, we can’t afford to go back and look.”

  Beth lowered her window and stuck her head outside just as Don accelerated once more. Someone was limping after them, waving their arms in the air and screaming for them to stop.

  “I see her!” Beth said. “Stop the truck!”

  Don hit the brakes, and the tires squealed. “Where?” Don asked.

  “Behind us,” Beth replied as she unbuckled and yanked her door open.

  “Beth, wait!”

  She jumped out and ran, making sure to keep her rifle out of line with Ashley. “Come on!” Beth shouted to her. “We’ve got to go!” A rumbling whir of tires chased after her, rising swiftly in pitch as the Humvee reversed up the street. Beth reached Ashley’s side to find her sobbing.

  “It just reached in and dragged me out. And then it ran away!” Ashley looked around quickly, hugging and rubbing her shoulders. “Did you kill them all?”

  “No. One escaped,” Beth replied just as Don pulled alongside them.

  “Beth, look out!” he cried.

  She whirled around just in time to see a Crawler leaping down on her from a second-floor window. She whipped the rifle up and tried to pull the trigger, but the safety was still on.

  The Crawler landed hard on top of Beth’s chest, knocking the wind out of her and pinning her to the ground. Arms folded out, and claws flashed down.

  A thumping roar began, and the monster flew apart, splattering Beth with a wash of hot, foul-smelling blood. Some of it got in her mouth. Leaping off the street, she repeatedly spat to clear the bitter, gamy taste of it. The Crawler lay in smoking pieces all around her, but the bulk of it was still moving, dragging itself away with its two remaining arms. Don stood in the gun turret on top of the Humvee, trying to angle the gun down far enough to shoot it, but it remained out of his line of fire.

  Beth checked the side of her rifle, found the safety, flicked it off, and pulled the trigger. She fired one shot into the Crawler’s backside, then pulled the trigger five times more, aiming for its head. Three shots missed, kicking up flecks of asphalt from the road, but two bullets tore straight through the creature’s left ear. It reached forward one last time, but both arms froze halfway through the motion, and the Crawler lay still.

  “It’s okay,” Beth said. “That was the last one. They’re all dead now.”

  “Well, we’re not out of the shit yet,” Don added. “Get in.” He began to duck back inside, then hesitated. “Actually... maybe we should take that thing with us.”

  “What?” Beth shook her head incredulously. “Why?”

  “Because we need an excuse to get the Chinos to take us into custody and listen to what we have to say. If we come bringing an alien corpse as a gift, they might be more willing to listen.”

  “A gift?” Ashley asked. She sounded equally horrified.

  “Just trust me.” Don ducked down, and Beth heard his door open. Walking around the front of the Humvee, he grabbed the alien by one of its reaching arms and dragged it over to the cargo compartment. Beth stood off at a safe distance, looking on with a frown. “No need to lend a hand or anything,” Don quipped as he bent down to scoop the monster up and drape it over his shoulder. He stood up with a grunt. “Heavier than they look.” Alien blood dripped from the Crawler’s missing leg with a steady splattering sound.

  Ashley looked on with a sneer of disgust, as if she couldn’t believe he would consider taking the dead alien with them. “Maybe you could help me open the back?” Don asked.

  Beth lurched into motion, felt around for the release mechanism in the dark, and struggled to open the bulky hatch. Don heaved the alien corpse off his shoulder and into the back. The vehicle sank visibly under the alien’s weight.

  And then the impossible happened: all of the Crawlers legs and arms sprang to life, scrabbling furiously in the back. A piteous wail began, and its head came around, glaring at them with three out of four eyes.

  “Son of an alien whore!” Don screamed. He grabbed Beth’s rifle and raised it to his shoulder.

  “No!” Ashley cried. She lunged to reach Don but was too late.

  He shot the Crawler in one of its big black eyes. It deflated like a balloon and lay still. Ashley punched him in the arm. “Ow! What the hell, Ash?” he asked, rounding on her.

  Both he and Beth stared incredulously at her.

  Ashley’s anger faded to chagrin; she looked sheepish now. “We could have sedated it. That was the last living specimen!”

  Don snorted. “Don’t worry. I’m sure a shit-ton of others will be here soon.” He passed the rifle back to Beth, flicking the safety on as he did so, and then slammed the hatch. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Beth and Ashley ran around the back and yanked the rear doors open. They jumped in beside Beth’s dad, but barely had time to shut the doors before Don hit the gas and they were thrown back against their seats.

  “You must be feeling better...” Beth said slowly. Ashley was sitting up and wide awake as if she’d miraculously recovered from the bullet that had torn through her lung mere hours ago.

  “Just the adrenaline keeping me going, I think,” Ashley said with a tight smile.

  Beth’s dad moaned and stirred, drawing their attention to him.

  Ashley casually reached over and grabbed Beth’s pistol from where Beth had stowed it between her seat and the storage compartment.

  “What—” Beth cut herself off as Ashley’s blue eyes flashed and a cold smile curved her lips. The pistol swung into line with her chest, and before she could react, it went off with a deafening bang. A blinding pain tore through Beth’s shoulder. She screamed, and her rifle fell from nerveless fingers.

  Chapter 60

  The first thing Corporal Gibson noticed when the helmet came off his head was the sound of aliens trilling in loud, mournful tones. Private Dekker jabbed him in the back with the barrel of one of the rifles, but his attention was elsewhere. One of the control stations not far from theirs was dark, and the Hydra seated there had slumped over it, all four heads and sets of arms draping over the console like an octopus’s tentacles. Hydras around it were getting up from their stations and setting their glossy black helmets aside. Gibson sat on the floor, held there by the prodding barrel of Dekker’s rifle, the knife in his boot within easy reach.

  “What happened?” Gibson asked casually.

  Dekker glanced down at him, then back to the motionless Hydra. “They killed all of the Seeders. Their director didn’t have time to disconnect before the psychic shock killed him, too.” Dekker’s head turned as another Hydra walked by him. That was it. Gibson drew his knife and twisted out from under Dekker’s rifle in the same instant. Dekker pulled the trigger, and bullets skipped off the deck to ricochet around the room. One of the Hydras roared in pain just as Gibson jumped up and sliced Dekker’s throat open. His eyes bulged as a red river gushed out. Dekker’s lips parted in shock. A flash of guilt tore through Gibson, but there was no time for it.

  He caught Dekker before he fell, stole one of the two SCAR rifles. Dropping to one knee, he whirled around and opened fire on the nearest Hydra. Eight arms and four heads flailed as its body shivered with impacts. The alien crumpled to the floor, streaming colorless blood. More Hydras turned, rounding on him with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Everything seemed to slow right down, and Gibson saw them al
l turning to flee as if in slow motion. He rose to his feet and sprayed the room with bullets. Aliens fell in waves. The magazine emptied out in seconds, but Gibson ejected it and yanked another one off Dekker’s belt to reload and keep the mayhem going. Some kind of alarm sounded in the room, blaring out with deafening force, but Gibson’s ears were already numb from the rattling reports of the SCAR.

  Within just a few minutes, he’d burned through three full magazines, and there were no Hydras left standing. Most of them had gotten away, but he had to have killed at least sixty, several of which were moaning and twitching as they bled out on the floor. Gibson took that brief reprieve to steal the other rifle from Dekker’s bloody body, along with both ammo belts, the packs of C4, and the bandoleer of grenades.

  Now dripping with firepower, Gibson strolled down the aisles in the control room with a rifle in each hand, stepping over splayed alien bodies. He came to one Hydra that was paralyzed except for one of its four heads, which was raised and swaying like a Cobra to music.

  He aimed his rifle at it. Its silvery eyes widened, and it made a trilling noise deep inside its throat. Two arms reached out with palms raised, as if in surrender, but Gibson wasn’t in the mood to take prisoners. He pulled the trigger, and the head slammed into the control console behind it, driven backward by the momentum of the point-blank rifle shot.

  “Enslave that,” Gibson spat.

  Looking around quickly for threats, Gibson realized that the control room was abandoned. He wondered if that meant the people the Hydras had been controlling were snapping out of it. Another pang of guilt tore through him as he realized that he might not have needed to kill Dekker. Clamping down on those feelings, Gibson cast about quickly, looking for the nearest exit. He was trapped on an alien ship of unimaginable size, and the chances were good that the Hydras had locked him in the control room by now. Gibson frowned, his heart pounding and mind racing as he tried to think of a way out of this. But he hadn’t boarded that lander with Dekker thinking it would be a two-way trip. The better question was how could he deal a crippling blow to the Hydras before they found a way to kill him.

  Gibson spied the nearest exit—a pair of massive, glossy black doors with gleaming silver inlay. He ran to them and looked about quickly for some kind of control panel. Finding a black screen beside the doors, he tried touching it. A blue outline flashed on the display—a small palm and four skinny alien fingers. Glancing back at the nearest dead Hydra, Gibson smiled grimly and stalked toward it. Setting the two rifles down, he drew the combat knife from Dekker’s ammo belt and set to work.

  Chapter 61

  Beth watched through a blurry stream of tears as Ashley swept the pistol away from her to the back of Don’s head. There were no headrests on either of the front seats—nothing to shield him.

  Don twisted around to face the weapon, his hands leaving the steering wheel to grab it. His mouth moved, but no sound reached Beth’s ringing ears. She cringed in anticipation of the gunshot that would end Don’s life, but it never came. A look of confusion crossed Ashley’s face, and her aim faltered. Then she winced and clapped a hand to her injured side, as if only then noticing that she’d been shot. Wasting no time, Don snatched the gun away from her and grabbed the wheel to veer away from a convenience store, seconds before they would have plowed through it.

  “What the fuck!” Don screamed in a muffled voice. He slammed on the brakes and Ashley flew into his seat, knocking her head on his shoulder. Don shrugged her off and whirled around to point the gun at her.

  “Get out,” he demanded in a shaking voice.

  “Don, it’s me, Ashley,” she replied, shaking her head. “I...” she looked around with wide, frightened eyes. Her gaze met Beth’s, and she shook her head. “That wasn’t me! I didn’t shoot her! Until just a second ago they were in control.”

  “You’re infected?” Beth croaked.

  Ashley nodded slowly. “I must be.”

  “Since when? I thought you were immune,” Don replied.

  “We just assumed that because the rest of the quarantine center was compromised and my samples were clear, but I took off my helmet on the way over to the Koa Kai so that I could make a call to the mainland. Soon after that, I lost control of my body.” Ashley’s lower lip trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I could see everything going on around me, but I couldn’t do anything! I was trapped in my own mind. I kept trying to warn you, but none of you could hear me!”

  “Sounds pretty damn convenient to me,” Don snorted.

  “It’s the truth!”

  “We have to go,” Beth gritted out, trying to ignore the fire still pulsing through her wounded shoulder.

  “Right,” Don sighed.

  “Look, if you don’t trust me, then sedate me like him,” Ashley said, pointing to Bill. “It’s probably safer, anyway. I don’t know if whatever was controlling me will come back and take over again.”

  Don’s eyes and aim never left Ashley, but he leaned over, reaching blindly for Ashley’s bag of medical supplies on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat. Hoisting it up, he dug around, glancing briefly into the bag to find what he was looking for. Apparently finding it, he struggled to manage the gun, a vial of clear fluid, and a hypodermic needle at the same time.

  “Beth, I need you to watch her for a sec.”

  Blinking tears, she nodded. Beth let go of the bullet wound in her shoulder, blinking stars from her eyes and shaking her head to clear it. Grabbing the fallen rifle with her uninjured arm, she strained to balance the weapon in her lap and aim it at Ashley. Don lowered his guard and quickly worked to fill the syringe. When he was done, Ashley held out her arm for him to inject it. Beth took that as a sign that she was telling the truth. Her gaze dipped to Bill, wondering if he would also be back to himself when he woke up.

  Ashley sighed and curled up against her door. Don watched her for a long minute before nodding and turning back around. “Keep an eye on them,” he said.

  Beth nodded absently, but she was fading fast. Her eyelids drooped, and her wounded arm felt numb.

  “Beth? Shit—Beth!”

  Her eyelids closed, and she slipped into a blessed well of darkness.

  Chapter 62

  Bill woke up lying on a hard metal surface in the back of a Humvee, hearing people shouting at each other. He lay there listening to the voices. One of them was familiar and speaking in English—a man.

  The other voices spoke Mandarin. Bill understood some of it from classes he’d taken back in LA, but the sounds were too faint, and he couldn’t make out the words.

  Burning with curiosity, Bill wished whatever alien entity was controlling his body would sit up and take a look around—at least let him see what was happening! But long minutes passed, and he continued to lie there as if paralyzed. Bill inwardly groaned—

  And his lips twitched.

  He tried to move his fingers, and his wrists and hands exploded with pins and needles. He realized his hands were tied behind his back, bound at the wrists. He flexed both of them into fists several times to get the circulation back, and also to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming—that he really could move again.

  Elation soared, and Bill sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t believe it. He had become so used to being a prisoner in his own body that he’d forgotten what it was like to be able to move and feel. He released his fists and wiggled his fingers. Such a simple act—thoughts translated to motion—something he’d taken for granted his entire life. What had happened to the alien entity controlling him? Had someone finally blown them out of the sky?

  Bill hoped to God that was true. He tried to twist around and sit up, but a heavy weight held him down. Managing to crane his neck to look, he saw two women slumped over him, both of them familiar. One of them was Doctor Carter, wearing the tattered, bloody remains of a hazmat suit. The other was Beth. The entire right side of her shirt had been torn open, replaced by blood-soaked bandages. Adrenaline sparked through Bill’s veins. “
Beth!” he screamed.

  She groaned softly, and her eyelids fluttered. “Dad?”

  “You’re okay! What happened?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Is it really you?”

  “It’s me. I can barely believe it myself. They let me go,” he said.

  Beth’s eyes flew wide; she threw her good arm around his neck and began sobbing beside his ear. “Do you mind cutting me loose?” he asked.

  “Right! Of course...” Beth looked around quickly. Her eyes found Ashley’s bag on the passenger’s seat and she reached over the back for it. Pulling the bag down into her lap, she dug through it for a moment before withdrawing a gleaming silver scalpel.

  “Careful with that,” Bill said.

  “Don’t worry,” Beth replied. She sliced his hands free and then leaned back to do the same with his ankles. Bill sprang up just in time to see a pair of armed men in black ski masks and blue-gray camo uniforms grabbing a familiar man in a baggy Hawaiian shirt. They roughly forced him to his knees, and one of them placed a rifle to the side of his head.

  “Shit,” Bill said. Not thinking twice, he launched himself over the driver’s seat to the open door of the Humvee.

  He fell out on the ground and twisted his wrist painfully in the process. “Don’t shoot!” Bill screamed. The men holding Don—plus a dozen more—all turned to look at him in the same instant. One of the nearer ones shouted something in Mandarin and gestured to Bill with his rifle.

  Don’s eyes met Bill’s with a dismayed look, and he gave his head a slight shake. Bill scrambled to his feet, and the advancing soldiers froze. Their rifles snapped up, and they shouted at him in Mandarin. Bill held his hands up and answered back in their language, mentally translating what he wanted to say—“We friend. Have important thing to tell. Do not kill!”

  Close enough.

  The Chinese soldiers appeared to hesitate and confer amongst themselves, taken aback by the fact that he knew their language. And my ex-wife thought taking Mandarin was a waste of time.