Marc Cerasini - AVP - Alien vs. Predator

Lex was smaller, lighter and far less powerful than the Predator, and as necessary as it was to wear this hastily assembled protection, she groaned under the weight of it. Her chest was covered in a segment of Alien plate that had formerly sheathed the creature’s thigh. On her extremities Lex had strapped pieces of Alien forearm and shin armor, and she kept them in place with waterproof adhesive tape from her first-aid kit.

Scar had fashioned a large, curved shield out of the Alien’s skull for her to carry, and Lex had made a helmet from bits and pieces of chitin held together with rope and Velcro, along with shoulder pads formed from hollowed-out Alien ribs.

In her gloved hand Lex gripped a long, wickedly sharp slashing club made from the piercing barbs of the Alien’s segmented tail. She’d also arranged the pitons in her utility belt so that she could pull them out and stab or slash with them in a single easy, quick motion. Next to them, she kept her few remaining flares and her survival knife, unbuttoned and ready for instant use.

Finally, Lex and Scar were ready. They stood side by side, weapons poised, as the Predator’s long fingers danced on the ancient keypad. With a grating rumble, the stone slab rose again into the ceiling as the newly attired warriors leaped into the passageway, weapons poised and ready for the savage Alien attack. But to their astonishment, it never came. The corridor was empty, the Aliens gone.

Feet pounding on the stone floor, the Predator raced through a dark passageway lined with pillars. Lex struggled to keep up. Though a phenomenal athlete in her own right, she was incapable of matching the brutal pace set by Scar. His massive strides more than doubled her own footsteps. Lex was sweating under her winter jumpsuit and heavy Alien armor, and she was also taking in great gulps of frigid air.

Thirty paces ahead, Scar paused at an intersection, as if uncertain which direction to take. Suddenly he bolted to the right.

“No! No! That way,” she pointed. “Go left.”

The Predator whirled around and spied one of the strobe lights, still flashing where Lex had left it hours before. Lex caught up with him and recognized the area—it was the corridor that led up to the sacrificial chamber where they’d left Thomas, Adele Rousseau, and several archaeologists.

“It’s this way up!” she cried, gesturing as she hurried forward.

For a moment it looked as if Scar wasn’t going to follow her. Then he took off, running past Lex, leading once more.

“Slow down a little,” Lex huffed. “Let me catch up.”

To her surprise, he did. After that, Scar paced himself to match her stride, and they ran side by side. It seemed the Predator was beginning to regard her as an equal. Lex didn’t know whether she should be flattered or appalled.

Ahead of them a black doorway yawned, two strobes blinking on either side of it.

“The sacrificial chamber,” Lex cried.

They slowed and cautiously entered the circular chamber. On the floor, Lex spied a blood-splattered handgun—Adele Rousseau’s Desert Eagle. Lex scooped the weapon up and checked the magazine. One bullet left.

From somewhere inside the chamber, Lex heard a faint, ghostly echo. Scar heard it, too. Lex strained to listen, and finally she could make out the sound of a human voice calling her name.

“Lex…”

“Sebastian!”

Eyes darting, Lex peered beyond the slabs and the mummies. In an antechamber, she saw a cluster of ghastly statues mounted on the wall—statues she did not remember seeing the last time she was in this room.

The voice called again.

“Lex… Help me…”

She looped her club to her belt and pulled a spear fashioned from the tip of an Alien’s tail off her back.

Then she slowly approached the stone sculptures, her weapon raised and ready. As her eyes strained in the half light, Lex could make out some of the repugnant details of a horrific, terra-cotta mural. It appeared to be the three-dimensional image of a mythical beast with a hard shell for a body and a tiny, humanlike head.

“Lex… Please…”

Only when the voice called again did the truth become clear. This wasn’t a mural. This grotesque tableau was actually alive. The mythical beast was really a human being—Sebastian De Rosa.

The archaeologist was encased in a monstrous Alien cocoon, his arms, legs and feet completely enmeshed in a near-impenetrable shell. On the stone floor lay a deflated egg sack and the translucent shell of a spent face hugger, belly up, its legs stiff with rigor mortis and pointed at the ceiling.

“Oh, God… Sebastian…”

The man tried to smile, but the effort died on his lips. When he spoke, the words did not come easily. Each breath was labored. He retched, and red foam flecked his pallid cheek.

“Lex… I…”

“Hold on, I’ll get you out of there.”

Lex tore at the cocoon with her hands, but it was futile. The surface was as hard as marble. Lex drew a piton and hacked at the enveloping shell, gouging out a few splinters before the steel spike blunted and bent in her hand.

“No!” Sebastian gasped. “It’s too late. You have to stop these things.”

Sebastian convulsed. The tendons in his neck bulged as his head jerked from side to side. His mouth gaped open, and blood flowed from his nose.

“Lex… They can’t reach the surface…” he moaned, struggling.

The Predator appeared behind Lex. Gazing impassively at the dying man, he rested his huge hand on Lex’s shoulder. She shrugged it off and lunged at the cocoon, beating it with her fists.

“Don’t worry, Sebastian. I’m getting you out of there!”

Scar gripped her shoulder again, far less gently now. The Predator dragged her back, away from the cocoon, as she struggled against him.

“Get off me,” Lex cried, eyes wet. “I have to help him.”

The emotion she’d buried in order to survive overwhelmed her now. She’d watched Max Stafford and Charles Weyland die, and she was not about to give up on Sebastian. Not without a fight.

But still Scar pulled her away.

“Let me go,” she screamed.

“Make it to the surface…” The Predator’s modulated voice replayed Lex’s own words to her again.

“I said get off me!”

“Kill me!” Sebastian cried out with the last of his strength. “Do it.”

He convulsed again. The pale, naked flesh under his heart began to stretch and bulge. Crimson rents appeared as his skin split open and blood gushed everywhere. Then the man threw his gaze heavenward and cried out in agony.

“I’m sorry,” Lex murmured.

She raised the handgun and fired at Sebastian’s head. His tormented screams came to an abrupt end.

Lex dropped her head. The Predator stood next to her, watching the dead man, waiting…

Suddenly a creature clawed its way out of the dead man’s abdomen and launched itself at Scar. With lightning-fast reflexes, the Predator caught it in his hand. He held it firmly in its grip and turned it from side to side, examining it. The tiny creature squirmed to free itself, its jaws snapping at Scar’s face.

Casually the Predator snapped its neck between his fingers as if it were a matchstick.

The Aliens came from every corner of the pyramid, singly, in pairs, and in clusters large and small. Like a rippling tide of black oil, the swarm flowed down sheer walls and deep shafts, and made their way through drainage tunnels and narrow air spaces between the thick walls. Tittering and hissing, they instinctively responded to the maternal cries of their Queen.

In a great living tsunami the creatures surged into the Queen’s chamber, hastening to the edge of the misty, frozen pool. Others crawled down the stone walls or scampered down the long, barbed chains that held their Queen captive.