Metal Boxes - Trapped Outside (11 page)

A small cluster of night stalker creatures raced from the jungle into their midst. They were not as fuzzy in full daylight, looking more like an elongated, earth-style grayish-purple panther. That is, if panthers had knobby hides, horns, and fangs like a wild boar. These weren’t the panicked herd beasts racing through the meadow. These were killers, hunters, and carnivores. They weren’t currently hunting humans or any of the other creatures in the meadow, however, that didn’t stop them from clawing their way through groups of marines, tossing great chunky pieces of humans in all directions. The marines fired back with weapons at hand, using an amazing assortment of guns, but nothing stopped the creatures in their run across the meadow to the jungle southward. The marines and medical staff immediately jumped to help any wounded. Nevertheless, anyone who’d been in the way of the night stalkers was dead or would be soon.

The ground thundered as a giant creature rushed into the clearing. Stone had seen one of these before. All he could think to call the creature was a house-sized, tree-eating, shit monster. He shouted to get out of the way, not to shoot, just get away from it. The creature spun about, confused and scared. It had been too close to the blast and its backside was scorched black, smoke oozing from its cracked hide. It screeched, sounding more like an electronic whistle than an animal. It spun about again and ran around the meadow’s edge, still racing to go south. It spun every few steps trying to distance itself from its burning hind sides. It crashed into the jungle to the south, ignoring trees and plants, running through them as if they were no more than twigs.

A wild variety of creatures stumbled into the meadow. Many were crippled, hobbling away in panic. Some were burning from the heat of the blast, flames consuming them as they ran. The suited marines raced to the meadow’s north side. No commands had been issued, yet they formed a barrier, turning away or shooting any creature attempting to run through the gathered people.

Allie raced to stand behind the barrier. Poking an arm between two massive marine combat suits, she shot a burning creature in the head, more to put it out of its misery than to protect any human in its path. A deep-throated roar scattered all the animals, some even turning back north, heedless of the unknown danger in that direction, all to escape the male drasco rumbling into the clearing.

The huge beast appeared, undamaged from the blast, but angry. Stone had only seen one other male drasco and that one had also been angry. He wondered if maybe they were angry all of the time. This one raised itself to its full height and bellowed at the tiny creatures in the meadow. Even though Jay and Peebee had grown larger than their mother, this monster was still twice the size of Stone’s pets.

At the male drasco’s challenge, both female drascos leapt to their feet. Stone had seen a male drasco kill a female and as tough and strong as his girls were, this creature looked twice as tough, twice as big, and twice as angry. Before he could order them to get back, to run, to hide, and stay away, Jay and Peebee rose in challenge, bellowing their response, stretching to their full height, and flapping their tiny wings.

The male roared, stepped into the line of suited marines brushing them aside like they were scraps of dried twigs. He spat in Jay and Peebee’s direction, not showing any concern for the marines scrambling around his feet. One marine got too close. The drasco grabbed him by the helmet and tossed him aside.

Allie found herself face-to-face with the beast. Unsuited and already wounded, she stood her ground and shouted, “Fire at will.” Blasts from her pistol didn’t have any effect on the creature’s tough hide except to annoy him. It dropped to its feet, almost engulfing Allie. It grabbed her in its mouth, shook her, and spit her aside.

Jay and Peebee rushed into the fray. Bellowing challenges, they charged the giant beast, their bony tail spikes curving over their heads, ready to strike at any vulnerable spot. They crouched low, their tails whipping through the air. Pushing through suited marines, they tossed them aside none-too-gently.

Stone wanted to shout at them to come back, to run away, but his breath caught in his throat when he saw Allie thrown away. He couldn’t see her in the chaos of the meadow. Marines, suited and unsuited, armed and unarmed, healthy and wounded were racing toward the male drasco. Numos shouted orders, dragged wounded away, and formed up defensive firing lines.

Stone ran toward where he had last seen Allie thrown. He was blocked by both his drascos and the raging male. His rifle was strapped to his back, but he couldn’t shoot. His line of fire was blocked by a group of unsuited marines scrambling to protect their wounded comrades and by his baby girl drascos. They were still babies, barely past a full-year-old. They were large, but they didn’t have any experience with creatures like this male, exactly like the one who had killed their mother and chased away their mother’s two companions. Something in the male’s roar angered his pet drascos. Something on an instinct level or some survival switch was thrown. They were in combat mode, not acting like playtime with marines, but in a killing frame of mind as they had been on the Hyrocanian ship.

He shouted at the girls to run away. They weren’t listening. Jay and Peebee were trying to spear the beast with their tail spikes, pushing it away from the tiny humans. Jay’s spike fenced and crashed against the male’s spike. The male was twice her size and it looked like a bee crossing swords with an elephant. Peebee took aim at the male’s head, but she was unable to hit him as he waved and snaked his head around.

The male slapped Jay’s spike aside. His tail curled around her, slipped behind a knee and yanked. Jay was flipped upside down, exposing her vulnerable underside. Quicker than she could turn back, the male jammed a huge foot onto the middle of her chest. Bellowing, it spit in her face. The spit was more of a spray, soaking her head. Jay whipped her head back and forth trying to clear the goo. She was coughing and gagging, making noises Stone hadn’t ever heard from her.

Stone shouted, “She can’t breathe!” He tried rushing forward. Strong arms grabbed him and threw him backward away from the beast. People were racing around in what looked like complete disorder. Numos’s voice bellowed over the noise, shouting for this or that. Unable to see who had thrown him, Stone rolled to his feet and rushed forward again in time to see Peebee’s tail spike finally make contact with the male drasco. It skittered across the beast’s face, raking a deep gouge through the thick hide.

The male roared in pain, anger, and some primal screech. He turned on Peebee, ignoring Jay on the ground struggling to breathe. His tail slammed into the female drasco, connecting on her damaged leg.

With a wounded cry, Peebee’s leg collapsed under her. Quicker than Stone could move, the giant male flipped his pet over and sprayed her as he had Jay, the goo splashing across her face and splattering Stone. Whatever the male drasco sprayed, it clogged Peebee’s eyes and mouth. She whipped her head about in frustration, clawing at the male with her feet and hands, but she was unable to reach him as he pinned her to the ground.

Stone hadn’t realized his rifle was in his hands when he fired at the huge beast. The rifle shot would have missed by an embarrassing distance, except the male took that moment to raise his head, stretching to his full height. The bullet splattered on the beast’s head, not causing any serious injury, but scraping into the gouge Peebee’s tail spike had opened.

The beast charged forward in a mindless rage, not knowing where the pain came from, but angry at the tiny humans dancing around it. It crashed through a group of marines under Numos’s command. They were trying to set up a mortar stand, bringing more firepower into the fray. Marines scattered and were scattered.

Stone looked up. He was flat on his back and had no idea how he had gone from standing and shooting to laying down. The sky was blacked out and he couldn’t see. He was rolled along the ground and rolled back. Struggling to catch his breath, he realized the male drasco was on top of him, pressing him down like an insignificant insect.

A flash of diffused light caught his eye. He twisted sideways and pulled the trigger on his rifle. The old style TDO-960A had a trigger selector and was designed to fire one shot at a time unless the shooter held the trigger down. Then, it would blast a steady stream of bullets until the shooter eased up on the trigger or the magazine ran dry.

Stone held the trigger down jamming the muzzle toward the faint light.

SEVENTEEN

The rifle chattered in his hands, spitting bullets. Stone could hear ricochets ping off the tough drasco hide. They wouldn’t penetrate! He held the trigger down anyway.

He could barely breathe with the weight of the beast sandwiching him to the ground. He tried to shake his head to clear it, hoping to find an air pocket, but only felt skin peel away from his face. A sharp piercing pain in his right buttock caused his leg to twitch and he cried out. A ricochet sliced deeply down his right arm, digging a deep furrow through the flesh and muscle. He would have shouted in pain, but whatever was chewing into his butt from underneath him burned like a hot poker. He kept holding the trigger down.

All he could think of was the beast had half-eaten his girlfriend and killed his two pet baby drascos. Marines had died, so now this fight was personal. He wasn’t going to live, but he would do his damnedest to take this s.o.b. with him. He felt warm fluid gushing across his arm, wet and sticky. It was a race now whether he suffocated or bled to death first. He continued holding the trigger down.

He felt more than heard a muffled bellow cut short by a rumbling explosion. The pressure on his chest released as the giant male drasco rolled off him, its twitching body lay so close the blood oozing from its belly flowed across his chest. He took a gasp of fresh air, air smelling of smoke, burnt flesh, blood, offal (human and otherwise), with a hint of mint. Stone wondered at the mint odor as he lay there staring at the sky.

He thought to move, to run, to hide, to get inside somewhere, even if it meant crawling back under the male drasco. Outside was more dangerous than any metal box he had ever lived in. Today proved it. He wanted a decent ceiling over his head, but he couldn’t move except to breathe. He still held the trigger down, the rifle continuing to fire and chitter although the magazine was long since empty, cycling through empty chamber after empty chamber. He tried to relax his trigger finger, but his right arm wasn’t listening and his right hand was even more recalcitrant—frozen into position.

A huge suited marine hovered over his face, thankfully blocking the horrible view of the sky. The faceplate popped open and Corporal Tuttle’s face peered down at him. She grinned and gave him a sly, sleepy looking wink. “Still with us, boss?”

She reached down with her left hand and pried his finger off the trigger. Her gloved hand could have ripped his finger off with little to no effort, yet she was as gentle as a butterfly dancing from flower to flower. Reaching under him with her right arm, she raised him enough to unsling the rifle and set it to the side.

Stone wanted to shriek in pain when she moved him. It didn’t feel like anything was broken. Whatever had burrowed into his buttocks had taken up residence and burned a hole to make a home. His arm had a gash from wrist to elbow, covered in blood and goo. He wanted to shriek, he even tried, but nothing came out. The best he could do was gulp in more relatively fresh air.

Then it occurred to him. Corporal Tuttle hadn’t reached under him with her right hand, just an arm ending at the wrist. “Barb? Are you okay?”

Tuttle flashed him a gap-toothed grin. “No, sir. Appreciate the thought, though. Sure gotta love a boss who’s worried about me, even though he looks like five pounds of fresh ground goat meat in a four-pound bucket.” She held up the stump of her right hand. “I got too close to an exploding grenade. Damn shame though. This will upset some of the boys for a while, this was my best hand for giving—well, you know. The suit sealed it up right nice and automatically administered meds.” She grinned wider. “The morphine is kicked in quite nicely, thank you for asking.”

She popped open a small compartment on her suit’s thigh. Pulling out a can of liquid bandage, she sprayed his arm, across his chest, thighs, and face. “Sorry, sir. You seem to be leaking all over. We’ll get you a medic as soon as we can.”

“My right butt cheek. Something—”

He didn’t get any farther before she flipped him over none-too-gently. Her faceplate slammed into place. Not being able to see what she was doing, he did feel liquid bandage ooze over the hole. He wanted to shout at her to dig out whatever took up residence, but the bandage’s anesthetic properties eased the burning.

Tuttle chuckled as her faceplate popped open. “Looks like we both did ourselves.”

“What?”

“That hole in your ass, the new one, is a bullet from a TDO-960A. You must have caught a ricochet. Shot yourself, sir.” She tapped her faceplate. “X-Ray vision says there’s a small chunk of metal, my onboard diagnostics identifies it as one of your bullets.”

“You said we.”

Tuttle nodded. “It was getting hot out here until you did your stupid dive under the claws of that rampaging drasco. I don’t know what you were thinking. That was some heroic shit for a lame ass navy ensign, sir. But, I guess you knew what you were doing.”

“But, I—”

Tuttle interrupted. “Killed the beast, sir. Nothing we had got through its hide.” She slapped the bulk of the drasco and pointed with her stump at the blood oozing from a dozen holes made by bullets that had found the little tender spot his girls liked to have rubbed. “You killed it just as I tried to stuff a grenade down its throat. It would have bit my arm clean off, but it didn’t bite down, just convulsed around a bit, death throes, I guess. Anyway, I couldn’t get my hand out before the grenade went off.”

“Get me up.”

“No, sir.” You’re chewed up some. Major Numos will get us secured. You should rest until we can get a medic.”

“Get me up, Corporal. Or get out of my way.” He didn’t think he had the strength to get up, or even walk if Tuttle got him to his feet, but he had to check on Allie. He was worried about Jay and Peebee, yet Allie was first. Then the other humans and after people, he would check on his drascos.

Tuttle grabbed his utility uniform collar with her left hand, lifting him to his feet. He wobbled, surprised at the ordered chaos swirling around him. Numos stood a few feet away, snapping orders in a calm quiet voice. Men and women rushed about following his commands. Suited marines were circling the meadow, each one facing outward, weapons ready to shoot even the slightest twitch of a leaf. The marines on guard shimmered and disappeared as they went gilley.

Tarps were being reset on makeshift poles and wounded were being moved as medics could get to them, a few badly injured had camouflage tarps erected over them. They shimmered and disappeared as the camouflage blocked his view. More than one body bag was used, compacted, and set aside. The group appeared much smaller than when Stone had first stumbled into the camp.

He spotted Ryte. She stood away from the rush of activity, scanning the sky with a variety of instruments. She didn’t look concerned, so he imagined the Hyrocanians hadn’t started to look for them yet. They were most likely still dealing with the loss of however many of their kind they lost in the self-destruct of the human base.

Stone felt light headed and fell back against the male drasco. It’s huge body was warm and pliable, but it supported him until he could get his feet under him.

“Allie?” he asked Tuttle.

She shrugged. “You stay here, sir. I’ll find someone to go check.”

“I’m okay. Don’t you have something else you should be doing?”

“You are my something else, remember? Lieutenant Vedrian assigned me and Private Tzickle to keep you safe.”

“Yeah. How’s that going?”

Tuttle laughed, “You ain’t dead yet.”

“Where is Private Tzickle, then?”

Tuttle shrugged again. “Betty ain’t as lucky as you and me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know her.” Stone said. He pointed in what he thought was the last direction he had seen Allie. “You can keep me safe over there, Corporal.”

Pushing away from the dead drasco’s body, he plodded toward where he thought Allie’s body might be. He got to a small tarped over area and stepped under its cover. He really wasn’t sure whether he was seeking protection from the sky or just tired from the ten-foot walk.

LCDR Butcher lay on a pallet. He was unconscious but alive. Dr. Menendez was working with a medic, her hands wrist deep in a marine’s chest. MCPO Thomas slipped into the area helping S3C Dollish, their pots and pans washer, find a spot to sit in the rapidly crowding tarp. The young man sat with his knees pulled up, head buried in his hands.

Stone looked up at Tuttle, her face feet above his. “Corporal, see if you can get someone to help you get more camouflage connected to this one before it gets too crowded. Move some tents if you have to.” At her look, he shook his head. “I’m on my feet again. Some of these folks aren’t.”

He hadn’t seen her pick up his rifle, but one handed she stripped the empty clip. Pulling a second clip from the stock clamps, she reloaded his weapon, charged it, pumped a fresh shell into the chamber, and flicked the safety on. She handed it back to him, turned gilley, and disappeared.

Thomas noticed him. “Sir! I thought you were dead.” The man bolted to his feet and rushed over to help Stone stay upright.

Stone shook his head, not without pain. “I don’t think so.” He brushed the man’s hands away and held onto a makeshift tent pole. The pole was made of native wood and covered in a furry coat of cactus-like needles. He recognized the type as the ones with little, hinged barbs on the ends that slid into your skin easily, but became hooks when you tried to pull them out. He ignored the stinging as just a minor irritation compared to his other pains.

“Ensign Stone, I saw you grab your rifle and dive under that animal. You rolled between its claws. I don’t know how it missed you with its teeth. You just disappeared under there. You are in command, what were you thinking?”

He started to answer that he didn’t do it on purpose, but Thomas wasn’t done talking.

“Maybe you better sit down before you fall down.”

Stone shook his head. He wanted to go check on Allie, but he knew he was only stalling for time while he gathered his strength to move another few feet closer to her. “How is Butcher?”

“Lieutenant Commander Butcher caught the edge of the table in the initial bomb blast. A broken rib collapsed a lung. Doctor Menendez is keeping him unconscious until she can get in, fix the rib, and re-inflate the lung.”

Stone gestured at the marine Menendez was operating on when he entered the makeshift tent.

Thomas shook his head.

Menendez leaned back. “Waste of time. He’s long gone. Bag and tag him, Gary.” She looked up at Stone. “Goodness! What the—”

“Leave me for now,” he interrupted. “I’ve gotten some first aid, so I will wait.” He didn’t know if getting sprayed with liquid bandage counted as first aid. In spite of that, he figured if he was on his feet he couldn’t be as bad off as the others. “Have you seen Lieutenant Vedrian?” Both Thomas and Menendez shook their heads. “What about Dollish? How is he doing?”

Menendez started to step over to the man, but Thomas grabbed her arm. He said, “Just got a little rattled in his brain pan.”

The doctor nodded in understanding. Grabbing a roll of medical tape, she pinched closed the wound on Stone’s arm and wrapped it tight. Over his protests, she poked and prodded a few of his other more obvious scrapes. He was beyond protesting when she ran a scanner over his butt, cut a patch out of his utility uniform with a micro-scalpel and slapped a piece of tape over the fresh bullet wound. By way of a bedside manner, she said, “Good thing the bullet spent most of its force before it hit you or it would have ripped a much bigger hole coming out than it did going in.” Without waiting for a response, she raced to the other side of the rapidly expanding tent to assist a medic dragging a wounded civilian into its shade.

Stone mustered his best command voice and said, “Spacer Dollish, I need your help, please. Come with me.” He didn’t know if it would work, but his instructors had insisted they all learn how to speak, what to command and even when a bellow was appropriate. “Master Chief Thomas, let’s you, Spacer Dollish, and me see if we can get a survey of the camp and help get the injured in here for care.” He turned and wobbled out of the relative safety of the tarp covering. He didn’t look to see if Thomas or Dollish followed him.

The sky was still there. It glared at him: heavy, evil, and oppressive. He tried to ignore it and focused on moving his feet. He found what he thought was the place where Allie had been thrown. She wasn’t there. Major Numos stood under a camouflage tarp, next to a small pile of black cubes, the remains of a few compacted body bags. He appeared to be talking to himself.

“Major?” Stone asked as he stepped under the tarp.

Numos stopped talking and turned. Stone realized the marine major had been talking to a small group of suited marines in full gilley mode.

Stone said, “I’m sorry for the interruption, Major.” He wanted to ask about Allie, suddenly afraid to speak. There were too many cubes in the stack and more were being gathered all of the time. He didn’t want to know about Allie if she was in the pile. “I’m ….” His voice faded away. He really didn’t know what to ask.

Numos said, “Its bad, Ensign. It’d be worse without what you did. I’m not sure we had anything big enough with us to take out the beast until you took it down.”

Stone shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.”

Numos said, “I know. It never is. Can we borrow your men?” He gestured with his chin.