by Ben Hammott
“The meteorite can travel by plane, but I won’t be flying back as nearly every aircraft I get on crashes.”
“And yet you’re still alive.”
“The law of averages is against me surviving another. No, I’ll take a ship back. The sea has got to be a whole lot safer. And by ship, I mean a cruise liner, nothing in battleship gray.”
“Is that all?” asked Blightburn impatiently.
Richard glanced at the man walking over, whose interaction with Boris gave the impression they were old friends. “Just one more thing, I want Parker to drive the truck.”
On hearing his name, Parker glanced at Richard and eavesdropped on the conversation.
“I’ve no idea who Parker is, but if it gets you out of my hair, you can have him. Head for your rock and wait for the truck.”
“And I can trust you and the military not to steal my meteorite somewhere down the line?”
“We don’t want anything to do with your cursed space rock. You can keep it and put in your garden rockery for all I care. Goodbye, Richard.” Blightburn ended the call.
Richard handed the mic back to Colbert. “Looks like it’s goodbye, then.”
Colbert reattached the mic. “We’ve had our differences, but I wish you luck and hope the meteorite has been worth all the trouble.”
Richard glanced around the table. “What will you three do now?”
Colbert shrugged. “Hang around here and give help where it’s needed. We were responsible for bringing it here, after all.”
Richard rose to his feet. “I’ve learned that blaming yourself for things you have no control over is a waste of time and energy. You should all move on and let the so-called experts handle the aliens.”
“I guess that’s where we differ, we accept our responsibilities.”
Richard shrugged. “It’s your funeral. I, for one, can’t wait to put as much distance between those aliens and me as quickly as possible.” He turned to Boris and held out a hand. “Come on, Boris, it’s time to leave.”
Boris took Richard’s hand, climbed out of the chair, and stretched his other hand out to Parker, who grasped it.
Richard nodded at the three SEALs. “Goodluck, amigos.”
Boris chattered his goodbyes at the men.
Colbert, Sullivan, and Mason watched them leave.
“Richard’s certainly not one for long goodbyes, is he?” commented Mason.
“There’s no denying the man has his uses, but with all the trouble and danger he attracts, I’m glad he’s leaving,” muttered Sullivan.
“Amen to that,” uttered Colbert turning back to his meal.
****
Lieutenant Henshaw approached Novak and glanced at the tablet screen she was focused on. “I have ten men around the refinery guarding any possible exits to ensure nothing escapes.”
Novak nodded her acknowledgment and using the human heat signatures within the refinery as a guide, she moved amongst the sixteen soldiers positioned around the entrance and issued them with their targets. When all five heat signatures had at least three weapons trained on them, Novak gave the order to fire. A barrage of bullets punched through the building’s aluminum siding.
With her eyes glued to the screen’s five heat signatures, pangs of sadness swept through her when each fuzzy human blob dropped to the ground, their lives extinguished at her command. Although the scientists had found a way of removing the alien parasites from the infected, Blightburn had thought the armed soldiers under the aliens' control proposed too great a risk trying to subdue without killing them. What was the point of saving five lives if they killed five or more uninfected people? Or infected others they would then have to contend with?
Pushing aside the guilt, Novak checked none were moving before turning to Lieutenant Henshaw. “All five are down.”
Wasting no time, Henshaw ordered the soldiers inside. The two armed with flamethrowers led them through the entrance. Novak waited until a group of soldiers had grabbed boxes of thermite charges and grenades, and C4 from the backup team’s truck, and then followed them inside.
The first thing Novak noticed on stepping inside was the acrid stench of Napalm-B and burning flesh. She glanced sadly at each of Zulu Team’s burning bodies she swiftly passed. The hybrid tentacles they were infested with writhed, in agony it seemed, from the flames consuming them. A soldier stood by each corpse with its weapon trained on it to guard against anything escaping.
On entering the ore processing foundry, Henshaw gazed at the thing they were here to destroy as she crossed to the men carrying the thermite charges. “I want four charges placed on the cocoon and the C4 distributed around the building to collapse it.”
The demolition team was quickly set to the task, no one wanted to remain in the vicinity of the aliens for longer than was necessary to witness their demise.
Novak cautiously approached the humans and animals positioned on the floor around the black cocoon. From the description of the other one, this was much smaller. Both fascinated and afraid, she followed the lengths of the entwined tendrils stretching from them to the cocoon. There seemed to be fewer corpses also. Maybe there weren’t as many small aliens to prepare this one, or they didn’t have enough time to gather as much nourishment as for the first one. This hinted that the more sustenance provided by the small Xtros, the bigger the cocoon and hence a bigger spore-carrying Xtro evolving within. If this was what alien life was like, she hoped they stayed away from Earth in the future.
From either side, the two men with the charges, Privates Warren and Hudson, cautiously weaved a path through the infected to the cocoon and carefully began attaching the thermite devices. Hudson stumbled back when he saw a movement above. He tripped backward and landed beside Elroy, his glassy eyes open and staring at him. Beside him lay his wife and at his feet, some of his best egg-producing chickens.
The Alpha blended in so well with the surface of the cocoon it guarded, it was invisible until it moved. It looked at the object the human had placed on the shell and then around at the humans.
Warren slapped his second device on the cocoon and quickly retreated as his comrade climbed to his feet and moved away, leaving his dropped thermite charge where it had fallen from his hand.
“Burn it!” shouted Henshaw.
Hudson pressed the button. Three jets of Napalm-B flame merged with the intense bursts of light emanating from the cocoon.
The Alpha barely had time to recognize its failure before it was eradicated out of existence.
The tendrils supplying nourishment to the developing Propagator, detached from the cocoon to escape the heat. Untwining their tendrils, they turned on the humans attacking them. As the hybrids reached for them, the men with the flamethrowers turned the deadly blaze upon them. The tendrils writhed, burned, and shriveled from the fire sweeping over them.
Soldiers plucked thermite grenades from the ammo box and lobbed them into the inferno of burning corpses. When the cocoon dropped to the ground, its charred burning shell burst open. The smaller malformed Propagator flopped out and thrashed about as it was consumed by Napalm-B, and the thermite grenades lobbed at it.
Stepping back from the heat threatening to scorch her skin, Novak surveyed the obliteration of the invasive alien species; soon, nothing would remain of them but a burnt stain on the concrete.
All heads turn to the deafening sound of something crashing through the ceiling at the far end of the refinery. The large tank burst open when it struck the concrete floor and sent a tidal wave of water rushing toward them as the roof began to cave in. The screech of crunching metal filled the air.
“Everybody out,” screamed Novak, already heading for the exit.
*****
Just before the tank struck the building, the Propagator jumped off and bounded along the roof that collapsed behind it. When the falling roof sheets had caught up with it, it swerved toward the edge and jumped off.
Novak screamed in fright when the monstrosity landed in front of he
r and rolled across the ground in a mass of flailing limbs. It recovered quickly and was upon her before she had the chance to escape.
Angry at the humans for preventing it from propagating its payload and the pain they had caused it, the Propagator took out its wrath on Novak. Claws shredded her clothes and flesh, bones were yanked from their sockets and flung away. When another human exited the building, it threw her ripped and bloody corpse at him and fled. Running footsteps moved in on its position from around the collapsing building, more armed humans. Wounded and needing to find a place to rest and recover from its ordeal, it approached the two trucks.
The soldiers that had stood sentry around the refinery abandoned their posts when roof debris rained down on them. They sprinted around to the side where the others had entered to destroy the aliens and saw their comrades rushing from the collapsing building.
Some of the escaping soldiers balked at the sight of Novak’s gory corpse as they moved to a safe distance. Crushed by falling I-beams, the last two men never made it.
Catching his breath, Henshaw glanced around at the soldiers. He picked out four that had been wounded by falling debris, but none of their injuries looked too serious. He turned his focus upon Novak’s savaged corpse; something deadly was obviously still on the loose. He would take care of the wounded, finish destroying the building, and then search for the thing responsible. He crossed to the nearest truck and looked in the back. Spying ammo boxes partly hidden by a tarp, he called out to one of the men.
“Marinovich, jump up and pass out four boxes of thermite grenades.” While Marinovich climbed into the back of the truck, Henshaw picked out four men to help the wounded into the vehicle and four others to take the ammo crates from Marinovich and distribute the grenades amongst the men. After ordering two men to drive the wounded back to the airbase to have their injuries seen to, he surveyed the building.
With only the walls still standing, he gave the order to detonate the C4 charges that had been placed strategically before the water tank struck. To ensure the cocoon Xtro and its nourishment-supplying hybrids were totally destroyed, thermite grenades were lobbed through the doorway at their position. As bursts of intense bright light erupted, the explosives were detonated. After the walls had collapsed, Henshaw and the soldiers began searching for the alien that had slaughtered Novak.
*****
Observing the destruction of the refinery from top of the cliff, the colonel contacted Novak below for an update. “Novak, what’s your situation? Are the Xtro’s destroyed?”
On hearing the colonel’s voice, Henshaw crossed to Novak’s body, unclipped the radio, and gazed up at the soldiers looking down from the top of the cliff. “This is lieutenant Henshaw, Colonel. Novak is dead.”
“Sorry to hear that, Lieutenant. I need an update on the situation down there.”
“Yes, sir. The cocoon and Xtros inside the processing plant have been destroyed. However, the thing that killed Novak is still on the loose. We are just about to search for it.”
“Understood. We are coming down to join in the search. Hopefully, it’s the last surviving Xtro we’ll have to deal with.”
“Yes, sir.” Henshaw led his men away from the burning processing plant, and they began their search for the Xtro.
*
Ordering his team into the trucks, the colonel climbed into the cab of one, and they headed down the sloping road to the town.
*****
Arriving at the meteorite placed beside the runaway, Richard walked around it and examined its surface. Satisfied the scientists hadn’t damaged it, he checked it was securely fastened to the metal pallet it rested upon. Impatient to leave before another life-threatening situation came his way, he scanned the area for the truck he expected to arrive. After spying no approaching vehicle suitable for his needs, he turned his gaze to the one currently pulling to a halt outside the sickbay. After watching the wounded being unloaded for a few moments, he turned to Parker. “Go grab that truck and bring it here.”
Parker glanced at the truck. “Blightburn said we should wait here, and she’ll arrange one to come to us.”
“Yeah, I’m well aware of what she said, but where it is? I’m taking the initiative and taking one.”
“If you want to steal it, I guess I can’t stop you, but I’m not disobeying an order. There may not be consequences for you, but there will be for me.”
Richard sighed. “Waiting for a truck wasn’t exactly an order, but I don’t have the time to argue. I’ll fetch it. He pointed at one of the two forklifts a short distance away. “Can you work one of them?”
Parker nodded. “I think so.”
“Drive one here, and when I back the truck up to the meteorite, lift it on.” Richard glanced at Boris. “You wait here.”
Wary of the meteorite he had seen things come out of and what seemed to be the cause of his human friend’s latest dangerous escapade, Boris kept his distance and watched his two friends walk away and split up.
Richard peered into the back of the truck to check no one was inside. Except for a tarp covering a few ammo crates, it was devoid of life. He climbed into the cab and relieved to see the keys in the ignition, he started the engine and drove away.
Under Richard’s guidance, Parker lifted the rock onto the truck with the forklift. As Richard secured it to the floor, a tentacle slithered out from under the tarp and reached for his foot. Tightening the ratchet strap, and satisfied it was secure, Richard moved around the meteorite and jumped down. Parker raised the tailgate, and they climbed into the cab with Richard driving and Boris in the middle.
Richard started the engine and headed for the airbase exit.
*****
Watching the truck drive toward the gate, Dobbs noticed the driver wasn’t a soldier but the civilian he recognized as Richard, the man associated with the SEAL team. As two of his men stepped forward to halt the vehicle, Dobbs contacted Control. “Richard is as the main gate in a truck with, I assume, the intention of leaving. Private Parker and the chimp are with him. Please advise.”
*
Blightburn glanced at the checkpoint 1 camera and rolled her eyes at Richard leaning his head out the window and smiling at the camera: he knew she was looking at him. “Patch me through to the truck.”
Yuri glanced at the truck’s identifying number and made the connection.
“I told you to wait for a truck, not steal one.”
“Knowing how busy you are, I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
“Yeah, thinking of others is what drives you,” her sarcastic tone was hard to miss. “You need to take the meteorite to Malmstrom Air Force Base. Private Parker will know how to get there. I’ve arranged a passage for you onboard a cruise ship departing from Port Angeles, Washington, in four days. Details will be waiting for you when you drop off your rock at the airbase. Parker can drive you there, it’s about 800 miles from Malmstrom. The meteorite will be delivered to RAF Lakenheath Airforce Base in Suffolk. When you get back, tell them where to deliver it, and they’ll see it done. And Richard, I’d prefer it if our paths never cross again.”
“Professionally, you mean. If you are ever in the UK, give me a ring. We can meet for drinks and more if you are up for it.”
“I won’t, and I’m not. Goodbye, Richard.” She ended the call
*
“Let him through, Dobbs.”
“Understood Control.” Dobbs signaled for his men to raise the barrier.
“I’ll drive now that we have permission to take the truck,” said Parker.
After he had swapped seats with Richard, Parker steered the truck through the gate and along the road.
Glad to be leaving the alien threat behind at long last, Richard glanced in the wing mirror at the receding airbase. The Xtros were someone else’s problem now, and they were welcome to them. Letting out a deep sigh to signal his end of the alien crisis, he began to relax, something he hadn’t done for a while. It felt good.
In the back of th
e truck, the Propagator stirred.
*****
“Something’s wrong!” uttered Maxwell.
Wittman turned to discover what might be wrong and observed Griff walking unsteadily toward them. “Where’s the truck?”
“He looks injured,” said Maxwell. “He must have crashed.”
“What about the kids?” worried Wittman.
The two men rushed to Griff’s aid but halted a few feet away when they noticed his glazed expression.
“You alright, Griff?” asked Wittman, gripping his rifle tighter. “What happened?”
As if noticing them for the first time, Griff looked at them. His face emotionless, his eyes blank.
Maxwell stepped back and pointed his rifle at Griff. “I think he’s infected!”
Wittman also stepped away and scrutinized his friend. “We don’t know that. Look at the blood on his head. If he’s been in an accident and banged his head, he might have a concussion or something?”
“Shit!” exclaimed Maxwell. “What do we do?”
“I’ll contact base.” Wittman tapped his radio mic. “Checkpoint 2 to Control, we might have a situation here. Private Griffiths left to transport some kids to the airbase, but he’s just come back without the truck or the kids, and he doesn’t seem right. He has an injury to his head and looks dazed and is unresponsive. We think he might have been in an accident or is infected with an alien.”
“Keep your distance, help is on its way,” replied Blightburn. “If an Xtro crawls out of him, kill it. Griffiths is expendable. I repeat. Griffiths is expendable.”
“Er, understood Control.” Wittman turned at the sound of engines approaching.
The two quads each carrying two men screeched to a halt beside them. A soldier with a flamethrower climbed off the back of one and a soldier armed with a tranquilizer rifle from the other.