Jonathan Maberry - SNAFU - An Anthology of Military Horror

But stopping the Things was one matter; killing them seemed to be impossible. Machine guns, Howitzers, and even high explosives only irritated them. According to OP-20-G’s researchers, Alpha and Bravo were immortal, had existed for millions of years before mankind evolved, and we might have to invent completely new weapons if we actually wanted to destroy them.

For the foreseeable future, the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima would remain sealed quarantine zones.

Markey summoned me to her quarters the day she left Bowfin . She had changed back into a standard woman’s uniform, presumably to avoid ruffling any brass feathers when she arrived in DC. Her eyes were as dark and unreadable as ever.

“I teleport out in a few minutes,” she said, gesturing at the dowstone circle she’d inscribed herself. A fat bundle of files sat inside the pentagram on the floor. “I need you to wipe the inscriptions after I’m gone.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

She stepped around me and closed the door. “I also want you to know that I’m not going to expose you.”

I blinked. “Uh, thank you, ma’am.”

“Lieutenant Goldman will go before a court-martial. There’s no way around that,” she said. “But I’ll testify on his behalf, tell the jury his mind was touched — a side effect of Bowfin ’s proximity to Alpha and Bravo. Nothing anybody can disprove. He’ll be fine.”

“That’s good,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“But you, Hatcher,” Markey said, “you will have to live with what you’ve done. Disguise yourself all you want, run away from home, hide under the sea, but you can never escape who you are on the inside, Miss Hachiya. Remember that.”

“I’m not a coward,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

“No, you’re not.” Markey stared at me. “That’s why I like you so much.”

I had no response to that. After a moment, Markey’s wristwatch made a noise. She stepped into the pentagram, picked up her files, and said, “Do you enjoy serving on this boat, Seaman?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical question, ma’am? I’m trapped inside a metal tube with sixty men who don’t wash for weeks at a time and smoke like chimneys every second they’re awake.”

“Well, then,” Markey said, “can I give you some advice?”

I was sure I wouldn’t like what came next. “I can’t stop you from talking, ma’am.”

“Maybe it’s time you considered a less forward position in the Navy,” she said. “This war isn’t just about combat. The President has ordered the formation of a new, covert intelligence agency: the Office of Strategic Services. And OSS could use people like you.”

I felt blood rushing to my cheeks and ears. “Are you offering me a job, ma’am? Or just blackmailing me?”

Markey’s wristwatch chirped again. I stepped back as she incanted her end of the teleport spell. Then she looked at me, grinned, and vanished in a flash of light. A second later, I realized her final words had been in English:

“I’ll be seeing you, Seaman Hatcher.”

Drun staggered, the skin on his upper body raw and weeping where it had been burned away. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt before in his long and arduous thirty years of life.

He needed to rest — he needed to hide — and he needed to find the Drawing Cave. For days, he and his tribe had been aware of the strange newcomers in their territory. He had urged his people to ignore them and simply wait until they passed on, as they had done many times before. But Orlak, Orlak the angry one, had managed to convince the young warriors to attack them, steal their goods and let all the peoples of other tribes know that this land belonged to the Urdan.

Drun had argued, but no one listened to the old chief anymore. Orlak carried the spear of leadership now. Only his voice would be heard.

They had crept closer to the strangers, like any other hunt. There had only been two of them, and they were weak and small. It should have been easy — two quick kills for Orlak to crow about.

Orlak was first, as always, leading the tribe in a whooping charge that had surprised the pair of visitors. Spears were thrust into the shimmering body of one, making him collapse at their feet. But the other was faster and had not fled as they expected, instead turning to point at them, some small object flaring in its hand. Immediately most of the tribe had been covered with fire and light.

Drun whimpered as he remembered the pain of the burning rays — it was like staring into the sky at the great ball of heat and fire. His eyes still ached. Once again, Orlak had been first. He simply vanished in the beams of light that had flown from the stranger’s hand. Many of the Urdan had burned along with their new leader, their screams of fear cut off as they were turned to ash. Drun had been close, partly shielded by the body of one of the young. Even so, the heat had been unbearable, and it had seared his flesh deeply.

The old warrior staggered on, finally spotting the refuge he sought. It was the deep cave they used to capture the spirits of animals they would hunt by painting their images. Drun himself had drawn bison, musk ox, and the greatest prize of all, the giant mammoth.

He crawled deep inside, the precious thing still held tight in his hand, and dropped down against the cave wall. He grimaced as another wave of pain wracked his body. He breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to ease himself into a more comfortable position, and rested his head against the cool damp stone. He listened for the sound of pursuit, or some other beast that might have taken up residence deeper in the cave. Nothing save the continual drip of milky water.

Drun opened his hand to examine the mysterious object. When he had fallen, he had found himself on the ground near the speared visitor… and beside him had lain the beautiful shiny thing — hard as a piece of stone, but so polished and smooth it defied belief. And now when he looked closely, he could see there was something bright inside it. Something like fire.

He held it in one open hand, pressing and stroking it with a blunt finger. Immediately a beam of lightning shot from its narrow end, striking the ceiling of the cave. Rocks fells, dust rose, and the small vestiges of light from outside were shut out.

Drun cried out, and his hand locked tight again over the object. Before the dust had even settled, he knew he was trapped. He cried out again but the echo of his voice was absolute. He was sealed in. He wept; sorry for himself, sorry for his lost brother warriors, and sorry for not being strong enough to stop Orlak from making war on the strange visitors.

He lay back, not caring that the drip of the water fell upon his matted hair. Drun closed his eyes and let his mind wander, taking him away from the darkness and the pain. He dreamed of his youth, of his mate, of hunting in warm spring sunshine. He exhaled, the long breath leaving him slowly for the last time.

The water continued to drip down upon him.

“There’s something in there.”

Klaus Hoffman shone his flashlight onto the wall of the new cave, moving it slowly back and forth, letting the beam penetrate from different angles. He felt rather than heard Doris creep closer. She did little more than sniff in the cold darkness, letting him know her disinterest was peaking.