Tim Lebbon: Alien: Out of the Shadows

Ripley swung the plasma torch around.

“Turn away!” she shouted. Her finger squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

She glanced down at the weapon, stunned, wondering just what she’d done wrong. I primed it, safety off. Maybe the charge is run down, so what the hell? In the instant it took her to think, the alien came for her.

From behind she heard Kasyanov groaning and trying to stand, and Ripley expected the white-hot touch of plasma fire at any moment from the Russian’s gun. She’d be saving Ripley from an awful death, destroying the alien, giving her and Hoop a chance. Right then, Ripley would have welcomed it.

The alien was closer, larger, just about the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen, and she thought, I’m so sorry, Amanda. She’d made a promise, and had broken it.

She went to close her eyes, but before she could she saw a line of fire erupt across the alien’s flank. It slipped, hissing and skidding across the floor toward her.

Ripley dropped all her weight in an effort to fall to the left, but she was too late. The alien struck her hard. Claws raked, teeth snapped an inch from her face. She screamed. The monster hissed and then shrieked, and Ripley smelled rank burning.

The thing thrashed on top of her, and everywhere it touched brought more pain.

Then it was up and gone. Ripley lay on her side, head resting on her extended left arm. Blood spattered the floor around her—red, human. Mine, she thought. Her body felt cool and distant, then suddenly hot and damaged, ruptured, leaking. She opened her mouth, but could only groan.

Kasyanov sent another spurt of fire after the alien before slumping to the deck, plasma torch clattering down beside her. Ripley wasn’t sure the shot made contact, but the beast screamed and rushed back toward the wide staircase.

Sneddon followed, firing the spray gun as she went, one short burst catching the alien across the back of one of its legs. It stumbled into the wall, then leapt toward the staircase. Sneddon ran closer, fired again, and missed, scoring a melting line diagonally across the first few stairs.

“Sneddon!” Kasyanov rasped, but the science officer didn’t look back. The beast fled, and she followed, shooting all the way.

“Get what you need!” Sneddon shouted through their earpieces. She sounded more alive than Ripley had heard before. There was an edge of pain to her voice, an undercurrent of desperation. But there was also something like joy. She was panting hard as she ran, grunting, and from somewhere more distant Ripley heard the alien screech one more time. “Got you, you bastard!” Sneddon said. “I got you again that time. Keep running, just keep running. But I’ll chase you down.”

Ripley wanted to say something to her. But when she opened her mouth, only blood came out. I wonder how bad? she thought. She tried turning to look at Kasyanov, but couldn’t move.

“Kasyanov,” she breathed. There was no reply. “Kasyanov?”

Shadows fell.

She only hoped Amanda would be waiting for her, ready to forgive at last.

Hoop heard it all.

It only took thirty seconds, and by the time he’d dropped his tools, wriggled out of the shuttle’s cramped engine compartment and then exited the ship—carefully closing the door behind him—Sneddon’s shouting had stopped. He heard more, though—pained sighs, grunts, and an occasional sound like a frustrated hiss. But he couldn’t tell who they came from.

“Ripley?” He crossed the vestibule, peering through viewing panels in the door before opening it. He closed it behind him and headed along the corridor. He held the spray gun pointed ahead, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He had no idea which way Sneddon and the alien had gone.

“Lachance?”

“He’s dead,” a voice said. It took him a moment to identify it as Kasyanov. She sounded different, weak. “And Ripley is…”

“What?”

“Bad. So much blood.”

“What about Sneddon?” Hoop asked again. “Sneddon? You hear me?” There was a click as someone disconnected their comm unit. It had the sound of finality.

“Hoop, I’m hurt, too.” Kasyanov might have been crying.

“How bad?”

“Not good.” A grunt, and a gasp. “But I can walk.”

“Which way did Sneddon chase that thing?”

“Up the staircase.”

“Away from us and into the belly of the ship,” he replied. “Right. I’ll be there in two minutes, do what you can for Ripley, and I’ll carry her to med bay.”

More silence.

“Do you hear me?”

“What about the fuel cell?” Kasyanov asked.

“It’s almost done.”

“Then we could be gone.”

He couldn’t blame her. Not really. But Hoop wasn’t about to bail without doing everything he could, for anyone who was left alive.

“Fuck that, Kasyanov,” he said. “You’re a doctor. Heal.”

Then he started running. He sprinted around corners without pausing to look or listen. Opened doors, closed them behind him, the spray gun slung across his shoulder and acid swooshing in the reservoir. He thought of Sneddon’s bravery, and how she had already sacrificed herself by pursuing the monster into the ship. Maybe she’d catch and kill it. Or perhaps it would turn and kill her. But she had given them a chance.

The Marion shook.

A subtle vibration, but he felt it through his boots.

Oh, not now, he thought. He skidded around a corner, up some stairs, and then he was in the wide area where the chaos had only just ended. Lachance lay dead against the wall to his left, head hanging from his body by strands. Ripley was on the floor to his right. Kasyanov knelt beside her, melted hand pressed tight to her right hip, the other busy administering emergency first aid. Beyond them, the windows looked down onto the planet. To the north Hoop saw the bright bruise of the explosion that had taken the mine, and felt a brief moment of glee. But it didn’t last long. Shimmering threads of smoke and fire flitted past the window as the Marion encountered the very upper reaches of LV178’s atmosphere.

“We don’t have long,” Kasyanov said, looking up at his approach. Hoop wasn’t sure whether she meant the Marion or Ripley, but in his mind they were the same.

“How bad are you?”

“Bolt from Lachance’s thumper broke up, ricocheted, hit me.” She moved her ruined hand aside slightly, looking down. Hoop could see the shredded jacket and undershirt, the dark bloodstains glinting wetly in artificial light. She pressed the wound again and looked up. “Honestly, I can’t feel anything. Which isn’t a good sign.”

“It’s numb. You can walk?”

Kasyanov nodded.

“You go ahead, open the doors, I’ll carry her,” Hoop said.

“Hoop—”

“I’m not listening. If there’s a chance for her, we’ll take it. And you can sort yourself out while we’re there.”

“But that thing could be—” Their earpieces crackled, and Sneddon’s voice came in loud and fast.

“I’ve got the bastard cornered in Hold 2!” she shouted. “Shot it up, its acid splashed everywhere… not sure if… oh, fuuuuck!” She moaned, long and loud.

“Sneddon,” Hoop said.

“It hurts. It hurts! It’s in me, moving around, and I can feel its teeth.” Another groan, then she coughed loudly and shouted, “Screw you! Hoop, it’s cornered behind some of the equipment lockers, thrashing around in there. Might be dying. But… I’m going to… make sure!”

Hoop and Kasyanov stared at each other. Neither knew what to say. They were witnessing a fight far away from them, and listening to the impending death of a friend.

Metal clanged, the sound of something falling over and hitting the deck.