Nicholas Smith - Deliverance

“Shit, shit, SHIT!” X slammed his armored fist against the hatch.

The screeching of the Sirens filled his ears, and the sound of Miles yelping made his blood boil. Would their journey end here, like this? Were they really going to die in this rusty old-world shit can?

Fuck that.

He wasn’t going to die tonight, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the monsters get their claws and teeth on his dog. X had questions to ask the people in the sky, and a score to settle with those who had left him down here for dead.

He pushed the hatch open and drew his blaster. A squeeze of the trigger sent a flare streaking across the dirt. It exploded, red blossoming over a field of debris. In the ruddy glow, the long shadows of four-legged creatures came down the slope, their spiky backs raised, conical heads down, bounding over the toxic dirt.

Lightning cracked against the foundation of an ancient building to the left of the Stryker, rattling him for a moment. He holstered the blaster and grabbed the rifle.

Ducking through the hatch, he brought the weapon up, holding the buttstock right where it hurt worst. Too damned angry to care about the pain, he fired a round at the lead beast, a monster with a wrinkled white hide. The Siren crashed to the ground in a mangled heap of limbs, blood spurting from a chest wound.

“Stay here, Miles!” X said. He closed the hatch and pivoted toward the hill to see the slope crawling with the creatures. At least a dozen Sirens were skittering down the dark terrain to avenge their fallen comrade.

Behind X, the electrical storm raged above the crater that had leveled everything within fifty miles. Nets of lightning blasted the rubble.

It was a toss-up whether the lightning or the beasts would get to him first. If he survived those, he still might get radiation sickness. Miles was genetically modified to handle brief exposure to higher doses, but X still needed to take out the Sirens and get him back into his suit.

He picked out a Siren scrambling down the slope and fired a round that hit it in its sinewy torso. Losing its footing, it pitchpoled down the hill, somersaulting in a cloud of black dust and ash.

Three more came leaping over the rusted carcass of an old-world vehicle. He took two of them down with well-aimed shots to their misshapen heads.

Lightning struck the ground between him and the third beast, sending it galloping for cover. He shot it in the spine before it could retreat.

Several more of the creatures took to the air in his peripheral vision. He checked the targets still on the ground, counting four. They were fanning out across the bottom of the slope, preparing to make a run across the two hundred feet of rubble that separated X from them.

Scratching sounded on the hatch behind him, but he didn’t turn. It was Miles, trying to get into the fight.

X fired three more quick shots at the advancing monsters. They were close enough that he could hear the popping noise as the rounds cut through their leathery hides. Blood painted the mud as the creatures fell one by one.

And yet the beasts still came, flapping overhead, hurtling down the slope with their black maws open, running across the flat.

Bringing up his rifle, X fired the final rounds of his last magazine into the sky, scoring hits to the wide wings of a Siren. It cartwheeled to the ground, screeching in its high-pitched alien wail.

Lightning flashed near the two remaining airborne Sirens, and they swerved away. He slung the rifle over his back and unsheathed his machete. Holding the blade in his left hand, he drew the blaster with his right.

Four of the Sirens were almost on him. He fired the final shotgun shell into the biggest one as it charged on all fours. The blast took out its left arm, separating it at the elbow.

The other three charged, screeching with rage. He stared at the eyeless faces, listening to Miles clawing at the hatch, and the rumble of thunder over the dead city. X readied himself, dropping the blaster and pulling out his combat knife. Raising the two blades, he dropped into a loose, ready stance with his boots firmly planted.

The first beast leaped into the air, claws extended and jaws open. Saliva webbed across its jagged teeth. X jabbed the knife into its mouth, spearing through the soft palate and into the brain.

An edge of the knife had lodged in bone, so he let go and moved out of the way. The creature slammed to the ground with the blade stuck inside its brain. When the second Siren turned to check on the plight of its kin, he swung the machete, slicing a deep gash in its back and exposing ribs. It screamed in agony and scrambled away, making way for the third and final monster to plow into X.

They thudded to the ground in a mass of tangled arms. Air burst from X’s lungs. He had landed on his back, with the machete between his armor and the creature’s flesh. He pushed up on the blade, cutting into the Siren’s torso. Wailing and writhing in pain, it reared back, gripping its side to keep its entrails from falling out.

X didn’t give the thing a chance to run. He hacked at it over and over again, spraying his armor with its blood. The sickening crunch of each stroke rang out until the beast finally crashed to the ground.

He wiped the gore off his visor.

Another screech sounded behind him, and he turned to see the creature he had wounded earlier lunging for him. There was no time to avoid the claws. Elongated nails raked over his armor, and one of them sliced through his suit, opening one more gash on his scarred flesh.

He winced in pain. It slashed again, but this time X jumped to the side. The creature fell onto all fours, and X swung the machete down on the exposed back of its neck, cutting so deeply that the head hung by strands of sinew. Another slash, and the head fell away.

Gasping for air, he staggered away from the carcass as blood jetted from the stump. He looked out over the killing field of dead beasts, their blood steaming in the darkness. Flashes of blue illuminated the reddened mud.

He dragged himself back to the vehicle and opened the hatch. Miles jumped out, but X herded him back inside. He had to get them both patched up and their suits fixed before the monsters returned.

As he secured the hatch behind him, he looked at the shattered radio. He hoped his message had gotten through to someone before the crash. Then he saw the remains of his book—the picture of a beach and palm trees, his precious words, and the other memories now nothing but ash. He gripped his bleeding side, telling himself that the tears prickling his eyes were from the physical pain of his injuries.

He gritted his teeth and stuffed the maps of military bunker locations into his vest. Those just might end up saving his life in the future. There was no time to despair over the words he was leaving behind. All he could do was keep moving.

Present day

Michael dashed down the corridor, losing Layla in his wake. With the ankle she had sprained several days earlier on the surface, she simply couldn’t keep up. He knew he should wait for her, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. He was too anxious to see what Rodger and Magnolia had discovered.

His and Layla’s search had uncovered nothing but empty quarters. Someone had already been through the ship, stripping it of valuables and supplies.

It took him another ten minutes to get to room 91, and by the time he reached the open hatch he was winded—not from the fast pace, but from lack of food. He was exhausted, and without proper nutrition, he was running on fumes.

Michael stopped to catch his breath, and Layla caught up with him. Her face was even paler than usual and slick with sweat. They both were young. It shouldn’t be this tiring to get from one side of Deliverance to the other.