Marc Cerasini - AVP - Alien vs. Predator

“According to this, we did.”

“Surely they were just pagan gods,” Weyland said, suddenly impatient with all the speculation. He moved forward, but Miller caught up with him.

“The heat bloom that your satellite detected makes more sense now,” said the engineer.

“What do you mean?” asked Weyland.

“A building this sophisticated would require a major energy source. That’s what the satellite detected—the power plant for this pyramid firing up… preparing.”

“Preparing for what?”

Weyland and Miller continued to move on. Sebastian remained behind to examine an etched panel. Soon, everyone but Connors and Stafford had moved down the corridor.

“Try to keep up, Professor De Rosa,” cautioned Max.

As they walked, the group moved to the center of the long corridor lined with statues. Sebastian counted over sixty before giving up. More effigies lined the passageway as far as his eyes could see—and the passage seemed to be endless.

Suddenly Lex felt a cold chill. She whirled and extended her flashlight, its column of light probing the shadows.

“See something?” Miller asked nervously.

Lex peered into the darkness. “I thought I saw a blur, or a shadow or something. But if I did, it’s gone now. The passage is empty.”

“I can’t believe the detail in some of these carvings,” Sebastian said. “Some of the sculptures are meant to be realistic representations, while others have vague, almost abstract features. I suspect the styles in art changed over the passing centuries.”

As they moved forward, Stone and Bass drifted to the back of the group to protect the rear, while Lex and Verheiden took point.

Sebastian, Charles Weyland, Max Stafford, Miller, and Connors gathered together in the center of the group, shielded by the mercenaries and their machine guns.

As soon as the humans began to move, the Predator who was stalking them from behind crossed the passageway and edged closer to its prey.

Meanwhile at the opposite end of the corridor, far ahead of the humans, another Predator morphed to visibility, its face briefly superimposed over the features of a stone statue before vanishing again.

The trap was ready to be sprung, and in the uncertain light of the sputtering flare, it was impossible for the humans to know that they were moving into the Predators’ carefully prepared ambush.

The bridge lights were burning, and despite the fact that the ship was on anchor, a full complement of officers was working on deck. The radar operator made countless futile attempts to pierce the wall of snow, while the ship’s meteorologist tried to calculate the duration of the storm based on very sketchy data.

“Is the end in sight?” Captain Leighton asked.

“I’d guess four hours. Six at the outside,” the meteorologist replied. “But it’s just a guess.”

Captain Leighton crossed the bridge and dropped a heavy hand on the radioman’s shoulder.

“Anything? Anything at all?”

“Nothing, Captain… not since the first message. The one the chief picked up.”

Leighton turned to his executive officer. “What exactly did you hear, Gordon?”

“Not much,” the XO replied. “The transmission was broken up by the storm. There was a lot of static. Some panicked voices… nothing coherent.”

“You’re sure the call came from the whaling station?”

“They identified themselves as members of Quinn’s party. Said something had attacked them… or some of them… I couldn’t quite make out the rest. I tried to respond, but I don’t think they heard me. After that, all I got was static.”

“An attack? Ridiculous,” Leighton declared. “Who could possibly mount an attack down here, and in the middle of a katabatic storm?”

“Maybe it was whoever buzzed our ship,” the XO replied.

Leighton stared into the tempest. “We have too many questions and not enough answers. And we’re not likely to get any until this storm ends and we can cross the ice to the whaling station to see for ourselves.” The captain paused to rub his tired eyes. “By then we may be too late.”

Stone was the first to die.

Covering the group’s tail, MP-5 in his hand, he never even noticed the wire-thin noose that dropped around his throat until it was pulled tight and his windpipe had closed shut.

With a jerk on the wire his spine snapped. Then, silent and unseen, his twitching corpse was hauled upward, into the shadows.

A moment later, Bass faltered as a breeze brushed his cheek.

He turned at the same moment that a Predator spear appeared from thin air and impaled him with such force that he was pinned to the stone wall behind him. Eyes bulging, the machine gun flew from his hand. Gore spurted from his nose and mouth before he could even shout a warning to the others.

Sensing danger, Max hit the floor, dragging Charles Weyland with him. They landed hard. As Weyland grunted, Max felt the breath go right out of his boss’s frail body.

“Stay down!” Connors hissed.

But Max looked up anyway, just as something whizzed over his head. He saw the fleeting image of a disk-shaped object encrusted with gleaming, jewel-like crystals.

Lex saw it, too.

“Down!” she cried, pushing Sebastian aside.

The Predator disk missed his head by mere centimeters—so close it cut a swath through the collar of his jacket.

The disk struck the throat of the statue behind Lex. The vibrating blade hummed, neatly decapitating the stone effigy.

As Lex struck the floor, the statue’s head landed beside hers.

Then bright flashes—gunfire—bloomed in the passageway. Rolling into a corner, Lex saw Max Stafford firing at a blur. His bullets gouged holes in the rock around them and ricocheted down the hallway.

Dropping to his knees by Stafford’s side, Verheiden opened fire in the opposite direction. Bullets whizzed over Lex’s head. She found herself temporarily blinded by the muzzle flashes.

“Here!” she heard Sebastian call. “Over here.”

Lex rolled until she was on her belly. Then she rose and began to crawl toward the voice, light motes still bursting behind her eyelids. Suddenly the stone floor trembled under her fingers, and over the booming gunfire, Lex heard a rumble, then the grating sound of stone scraping against stone.

“The pyramid!” she heard Weyland shout. “It’s shifting again!”

Lex crawled across the cold floor toward Sebastian’s voice. Her vision was clearing, but not fast enough. A thick panel slid out of the wall next to her head far enough to block her path. Sebastian reached out and grabbed her arm, hauling Lex to safety.

Had she stayed where she was, Lex would have been cut off from the rest of the party.

“Wait—” Miller cried.

Another stone door dropped from the ceiling. Sebastian’s and Miller’s eyes met a split second before the door slammed down between them.

The gunfire stopped abruptly. Max raised his flashlight and scanned the faces around him—Weyland, pale and drawn; Sebastian, still clutching Lex and playing his own flashlight on a stone wall that mere seconds before had been a long, expansive hallway.

“I think I hear something,” Lex whispered. “Someone yelling maybe… it’s coming from the other side of that far wall….”

She was listening to Connors. He’d been trapped alone when the wall panels had slammed shut around them. Now he was pounding the thick rock that separated him from the rest of the party—first with his fists, then with a booted foot.

“Hello! Can anybody hear me? Is anyone there?”

In another chamber, where Miller and Verheiden were isolated together, Verheiden stumbled to his feet, dazed. He’d seen Bass and Stone die, and it had unnerved him. All his training in the use of exotic weapons, all his prior military experience had not prepared the man for the kind of slaughter he had just witnessed.