An Alien Rescue (28 page)

“We are already locked and loaded. Ready for anything that comes our way, aren’t we baby?” He asked his gun in a way that strongly suggested he had finally lost the plot, while making ready for action.

Both ladies turned their gaze towards the floor, finding it difficult to accept what might happen should the Greys locate them. The possibility of death, destruction and mutilation frightened them. It went beyond their beliefs, before Belinda remembered that Mike was wearing one of her kind’s suits. This seemed to give
her
a will to fight, as she said, “If our lives are at stake, if we are to be killed by these hoards of clones, we must defend ourselves as best we can, using whatever methods or mechanisms we have at hand to do so.”

Phyllis turned to look at her in disbelief, shocked at what she had just heard her friend say. “What?” she asked Belinda in a surprised voice.

Belinda looked her in the eyes, coldly. “Mike’s wearing one of our suits. Where do you think it came from?”

Turning to look at Mike as he played with his
new girlfriend, she viewed his suit with suspicious eyes, weighing up the odds of it coming into the Greys possession by chance or mistake. Arriving at the only possible answer, she replied, “We must survive, it is our mission to.”

Scott was taken aback by their conversation, realising their acceptance of the current situation wasn’t easy for either of them. Saving Frell and Drang was paramount to the three of them. What Mike’s motives were was best known to him alone. What it must have been like to be cooped up for most of his life was something Scott found impossible to imagine, thinking it must have shaken a few screws loose inside his head by the way he was mollycoddling the
weapon in his fondling hands. If Scott didn’t know better, he would swear Mike had taken a few narcotics because he certainly seemed to be on a mind-bender of a trip.

“Mike?” Scott whispered gently into the pregnant silence, not wanting to make him jump from his dreamlike state while holding a live weapon. “Do you know of any way we can get out of here?”

For a moment Mike stopped stroking his weapon, looking to the ceiling as if to think hard, then replied. “Yeah, but I don’t recommend it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s full of monster fish and they’ll do their best to eat ya, that’s why.”

Scott wondered if he was referring to the lake. “What is this possible escape route you’re referring to?”

Mike lowered the rifle, resting it on its butt by his side. He looked as if he was standing at-ease on a parade ground. Scott recognised the disciplined manoeuvre, having done it himself many times. He wondered how Mike’s state of mind was. It seemed strange to see it done here though.

“It’s a lake,” he said. “A bloody big lake! I once waded into it, intending to go for a dip, when this almighty big mother-fucking fish came shooting at me from outa nowhere. It would’ve got me too if I hadn’t still been in shallow water. It’s ta
il was thrashing the water like an old Mississippi steamer with water going everywhere. It had a mouth full of teeth that resembled a farming machine, snapping away with them like a thousand sewing machines gone berserk. I swear to god that thing was looking good and hard at me with the biggest bloodiest eyes I have ever seen. They scared the damned heeby-jeebies outa me, I can tell ya. I aint never been back since, refuse to. Had nightmares about that thing for ages after, trying to work out how to build a harpoon gun to get my revenge on the motherfucker that scared the shit outa me. I could’ve lived on fish steaks for the rest of my life from that sucker, let me tell ya bro!”

With a sigh, Scott realised his hopes of another escape route were dashed. The lake was a none-starter and a no-go area, especially since they’d scuttled the ship. They might as well have been on Pitcairn Island, he joked to himself.

“I aint going anywhere near that fuckin’ lake, Scott.”

“Yeah, Mike. I hear you.”

“You sure do pal. You sure as hell do!”

“Belinda,” Scott said turning towards her, thinking as he spoke. “I don’t want you or Phyllis to take part in any kind of action, unless it’s absolutely essential. It looks like we may have to force our way out of here, using the energy-source and the guns.”

Scott looked downwards, shaking his head in disbelief. “I honestly cannot believe this. I’m on Mars and planning to wage war on an alien force.” Then he recalled the treatment he and Frell received on the moon, that she and Drang had been kidnapped by the same Greys. That seemed to clear his head of any doubts, clinching the deal. How the cards might fall was anyone’s guess, but he hoped they would be in their favour.

“The hell with it, we have to go now before the force of little rats get here. Belinda, Phyllis, are you prepared to fight to survive should you need to?”

Both women looked to each other, sharing facial expressions as if to silently confer. They simultaneously nodded to each other before turning to say, “Yes.”

“Great
, and thanks. I know how difficult this is for you.”

Again, more little nods from the women in recognition to his feelings and gratitude.

Scott turned to face an experienced soldier, who by all accounts was spoiling for a fight, and to use his new toy. “Mike, I need you on Point.”

Mike looked Scott in the eyes, staring hard and unblinking like a madman.

“Who in god’s name put you in charge of this goddamned operation?” he charged back.

Scott wiped his mouth with a hand, wondering where this might end. He thought long and hard for an answer that wouldn’t cause a shootout.

“Mike,” he said. “You’re the best soldier we’ve got. You’re experienced in war, the weapon’s known to you and you’ve known combat… And I’m as proud as hell to have you fight by my side.”

Scott’s words of confidence rang in Mike’s ears like sweet music. It had been too long since he’d seen any action, literally dragged from a suicidal war zone and probable certain death. He should have died back there, whether by loss of blood or by Charlie’s efforts.
What the hell
, he thought,
a fire-fight’s a fight in any language, and if Scott wanted to assume command that was up to him.

“Ya got it, Scott. Just tell me where
they
are, and let me loose.”

“Sure will.”

“By the way, Scott. What’s your rank in all of this shit?”

With a smirk, Scott replied, “Admiral.”

Mike almost fell over laughing at Scott’s humour.

“Hey, if you’re a goddamned fag Admiral, what does that make me?”

Scott had to think about that one, before answering, “Patton.”

“Holy-shit, Scott. You’ve really got me going now. Just bring ‘em on, man!”

The red sand was stirred by lots of tiny feet, all running in the same direction. The tunnels reverberated with the sound, a pitter-patter magnified one hundred times plus. To an onlooker it would have looked comical, a train of little grey clowns, one behind the other, all in step
, kicking up a red cloud.

The commander observed their progress by following them on the monitors, but only at junctions. He recalled the huge lifeforms that existed in the lake, left over animals from a bygone era. The planet had once been as blue as Earth, with evolution rife among the diversified species. While on Earth, the animals had grown to gigantic proportions, blossoming in the prehistoric heat and humidity in times between ice-ages. If the system’s yellow sun hadn’t reduced its output, both planets could have been prosperous, alive with a variety of life, to be eventually colonised by Greys. But, he reflected, humankind had appeared.

A message was sent by the leading clone, the area where the humans were situated was almost arrived at. Their capture was imminent.

The hall was quiet and empty with two open doors showing in the gloom. There were shards of splintered metal scattered across the hall’s floor, like two bomb-bursts, both pointing accusingly towards the blackened doorframes. As the Greys approached, the mixed clatter of their feet tapping on the tunnel floor could be heard, no one would have been taken by surprise. The semi-darkness within the hall wasn’t enough to stop them filing in, one immediately behind the other, all following in-line as if harnessed by rope. They
each ran into the hall, pouring into both dark rooms, expecting to find the humans cowering in the corners and pleading for impossible mercy.

Another door opened with zest, with four figures stealing into the hall right behind the little guys. It was like a scene from the Wild-West. Their tread was silent, no sound of any kind, until Mike sprayed the rear guard with bullets. Scott and the women stopped in their tracks, frozen by the sight of little bodies being splattered across the walls and floor. An empty magazine was dropped while another was pushed into place and recocked before the shooting began again. Each bullet passing through several bodies before it lost its deadly momentum
. As the front-facing ranks had collapsed into unrecognisable heaps, the guys in the background caught the next unforgiving volley. With their exit blocked by the dead and oozing bodies, they were unable to avoid or escape the onslaught that was destined to end their short lives.

Scott turned to Mike, grabbing the rifle from his hands. Mike went berserk, grabbing it back, pushing Scott over with all his strength.

“Do that again limey and you’ll get the next round!”

Mike’s eyes were wide and staring, giving him the appearance of someone who was totally deranged. Another magazine was fitted before the empty hit the floor. He may not have been in action for many years but the excellent training he’d received so long ago was still as fresh in his mind as the day he’d left Parris Island. Scott knew he’d lost control of this man, if he was still a man. Mike had turned into a killing machine, a loose cannon that knew no boundaries or chivalry. As for the little guys, Mike just snorted to himself with satisfaction, releasing the tension of years of hatred towards the slanty-eyed little weevils that wrecked his penis and balls.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” he shouted as he kicked lumps of bodies across the floor. The ooze from the bodies was green, the same as at the lake; the stink was identical too, but Mike didn’t seem to notice. “I wish I had some napalm for the rest of the fuckers,” he added with contempt.

The women backed away, being as quiet as they could while recognising an unstable moment in time. They
understood Mike’s condition, noticing his actions could be easily turned against them should he be provoked. Scott decided to use comedy to mentally disarm him, using his own military black sense of humour to do so.

“Hey Mike, you’re looking a bit grey around the gills there. If you don’t watch out, you might also turn green … Like your boots.”

Mike stopped firing, looking Scott straight in the eyes, making him regret saying anything at all. And just when Scott thought he might be next against the wall, Mike smiled as if he’d been awarded another medal.

“Hey, Admiral, you just made a funny crack at me. You’re all right, man.”

“Yeah, I guess so, unlike these little guys.”

Mike bellowed with laughter, running a hand down the gun’s barrel, burning his fingers in the process and not
really minding. He enjoyed the heat and the cordite-laden smoke. Only military types and psychopaths could turn blue murder and execution style killings into a joke and laugh about it. Scott knew that was what it was all about. The fact that Mike had been removed from a theatre of war before he’d finished his tour meant his mental state was still fighting, even after all these long and lonely years. Scott recalled hearing stories of World War II Japanese soldiers who had been left isolated for decades after hostilities ended; stranded on little islands in the Pacific Ocean, never knowing the war was actually over. Their fight continued for all that time, never giving up or admitting defeat. Their own countrymen, who took great personal risks to persuade the aged soldiers that their war was definitely over, one by one, liberated them with pride and honour.

Scott moved closer to his comrade in arms. Placing an arm round his shoulders, he asked if Mike was okay.

“Couldn’t be better, man! I feel great. It’s like I’ve managed to get something off my chest, like there’s been something eating me from within for a fucking long time. Yeah, I’m just peachy!”

Scott smiled at him. Mike’s composure had altered substantially; his stature had changed with colour appearing in his cheeks as if his health had been given a hypodermic boost.

“You look okay, Mike. In fact, you
do
look great,” said Scott. He was trying to make him feel better by instilling some stability by bolstering his confidence.

Mike looked at Scott with a sideways glance. “I
look
great?” he asked sarcastically. “I really hope you aint some kind of fag after all.”

“I aint, so shut the fuck up,” said Scott with a cheesy grin.

“Sure, you got it, man. Sorry, Admiral.”

They laughed at their jokes, while the women remained silent, and very still.

Mike turned around, seeing the cowering women in the darkness.

“Hey, broads. Get your goddamned ass’s over here. We got work to do.”

Scott almost laughed as both of his female colleagues ran to be bedside the two soldiers. He also felt sorry for them, to have witnessed such violence and obvious disregard for life, even for the little grey guys. To be part of a team that could destroy any kind of life, then to laugh about it afterwards must have been a shock for them, he thought.

“Okay, Admiral, what’s your plan now? How the flaming fuck do we get the hell outa here?” Mike asked cheekily.

Scott looked at the dead Greys, watching their combining body fluids spreading across the floor. The grey ooze had threads of pink with streaks of green running through the smelly mess as it slowly ebbed its way across the scene. It looked like polished marble with threads of coloured calcite and quartz. It might have appeared artistic to any who were unaware of what it actually was. They each knew they had to get going, to find a way out of this bloody place, to locate Frell and Drang - and it had to be soon.

“Yeah, right, okay,” Scott, said. “We need to get going, right now! Load up and make ready, Mike.”

“Sure am, man. Locked and loaded, just tell me
where they are
… again!”

Without looking at the ladies, Scott ordered, “Belinda, Phyllis, bring up the rear, and let me know if you hear or see anything we all need to know about. Be ready to use the energy beam too; but for crying out loud, be bloody careful.”

Phyllis looked at her hands as she replied, “Do you really think you needed to say that?”

Scott faced her, feeling shitty for his comments. “Sorry, Phyllis.”

“Bloody should be!” she said to finish the conversation.

Scott had to have a double take on her face to see a look of defiance. He couldn’t help but smile at her last comment. She, he thought, was still very much human in many respects, a bit like the Drang he remembered. And right enough; both Phyllis and Drang were pilots, or
whatever it was they referred to themselves as, a title he was unable to recall at that particular moment.

“Hey, wake up, man! Let’s get the hell outa here before these guys’ pals come looking for Grey revenge,” shouted Mike with absolute intolerance in his voice. His rifle was loaded and the safety was off. Scott spotted it. Mike wasn’t one for taking chances. Flicking the safety from Safe to Fire could cost valuable time, enough seconds to get yourself wasted, as he remembered it. And besides, he was spoiling for another fight, so letting off a few rounds at the enemy was
his
business. His job was to protect the others and help the mission.

“Mike, for crying out loud. We’re trying to keep a low profile, attempting to escape from this bloody maze of tunnels without being discovered and you want to start another flaming war!”

“Damned right I do! A war of the worlds,” he said with hatred towards the guys who had kept him penned for most of his life. “Only, unlike the book that guy, H. G. Wells wrote,” he said with a laugh, “we’re takin’ it to the Martians.”

Scott saw it in his eyes; anger, revenge and death, all looking for an outlet. He considered Mike’s mental state, understanding his frustration and pent-up anger, deciding to let him loose but with a careful watch on what he was doing.

Scott gave Mike a friendly punch on one shoulder, and then said, “The lake’s a no-go area and we can’t backtrack our way to the surface, so we must follow the direction from where the small Greys came from.”

Mike looked at Scott with a puzzled expression. “Why can’t we just head for the surface? If that’s where your ship is, surely we should head for it?”

With a loud sigh, Scott explained. “ Because... we’re here to save two friends, that’s our mission.”

“Our mission … Or yours?” Mike demanded to know.

Scott was about to respond, when Belinda cut in. “We are here to rescue two of our friends. They were kidnapped by the Greys, the same species that brought you here and kept you imprisoned for years. Did you enjoy it? Do you think it would be a good thing to leave others to suffer what you have? If anything, I would think that you, out of all humans, would want to find them, to help them to escape the prison that you have been trapped in for more than half your life.”

Mike had tried to interrupt her speech, but was prevented from doing so by her quick
-fire repertoire. He eventually gave up, deciding to wait until she finished. However, while waiting for his turn to say his piece, he took on board what she had to say. He found it honest and accurate to a letter, which made him change his mind about wanting to head for the surface and their ship.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s go and get ‘em,” he readily agreed.

Belinda wanted to say more on the subject, but his unconditional surrender to continue with the rescue mission had cut short her speech. This left her struggling to say anything else on the subject, so didn’t.

Scott saw her dilemma, feeling her pausing to collect her thoughts. He blinked his eyes to break his mesmerised state, before saying, “Mike, you’re still on point with the ladies bringing up the rear. Has anyone got any questions?”

No one said a word; they didn’t need to. Their mission was clear, the direction was known and everyone knew what they were doing.

Mike led the way with Scott a close second
and the ladies almost tripping over his heels. Scott had a final look at the carnage left behind them, regretting the scene. They gingerly entered the tunnel, turning towards the direction from where the little footprints came from. As a team, they headed towards an unknown destination, wondering what they might encounter. Mike held the AK-47 close to his chest, feeling the warm steel pressing against him. Scott would constantly look to the front and to the rear, listening for anything that might warn him of danger. Mike listened for anything that might let him use his toy again.

The commander had waited long enough. His expeditionary force of clones should have reported back to him by now. There must be something wrong, he
considered. He sent a telepathic message, knowing the humans would sense it, but if all was well it shouldn’t create a problem.

Belinda reached over to Phyllis, grabbing her by a hand, with Scott turning to look at them. They all heard the request, then the silence when there should have been a reply.

“The Base commander will know the Greys are dead,” said Belinda. “With no reply to his question, there will be no doubt.”

The commander felt outrage; his clones were gone, destroyed by the human viruses. His attention flew to the monitors, one in particular.

Mike stopped abruptly, with a clenched fist held upwards. His message was clear, “HALT!”

Scott moved
close behind him.

“What have you seen?” he quietly asked.

Mike didn’t say anything, he just pointed at a lens with a flashing light above it.