Jason Halstead - Screamer

What did she care? Elsa frowned and flipped up her visor. An orbital strike followed by gunships and a few companies of regular marines would wipe out everything for miles around. Even with that kind of firepower she was far enough away to be safe.

She watched as an insect that reminded her of a butterfly out of a science text fluttered into her hiding spot. It zipped back out just as quickly upon seeing her, reminding her that she was the trespasser, not it. Elsa sighed and looked at her fists again. The material was worn and showed some patchy signs of hairline cracks. She’d made it almost halfway up, another few hours of personal abuse and she should reach the top.

She gazed out over the jungle below, stricken by the beauty of the lush green vegetation and the contrasting flowers from trees and the few birds flying above them. A few creatures even darted in and out below, too swiftly for her to identify them, but she knew they were no more reminiscent of anything from Earth than anything else she’d seen. She remembered a parody of an old military slogan: “Visit new ports and new worlds; explore new cultures and meet diverse people; then shoot them.”

She took another deep breath to set her nerves at ease then drove her fist into the rock wall again.

The sun was setting as Elsa pulled herself into a sheltered overhang of rock carved out ages past by the river. It thundered past only a few feet from her, promising a swift and unforgiving end to anyone caught within it. She lay on the wet rock shelf shivering. She curled up, her aching body betraying her. Tears ran from her eyes and sobs threatened to burst free of her chest. She gulped at the air, desperate to stay in control. Her body hurt in ways she’d never experienced in all her years with the Corp.

Laying there gasping, Elsa passed out for a while. When she woke she felt exhausted and thoroughly drenched. She groaned and tried to roll over. Her action triggered a reaction, that of a scuttling noise followed by a hiss. She jerked her head, craning to see, and saw a shelled creature that reminded her of a lobster, save for the tentacles that protruded from its mouth.

Elsa screamed, the sudden fright driving her to action that she’d have sworn her body was incapable of. Two of the tentacles lashed out, wrapping around her arm and pulling her off balance. She yanked back, grabbing her knife with her free hand and swinging. It took three hacks to break through the tough flesh, something she’d thought possibly only with metal. Another tentacle reached for her, grazing her cheek as it tried to grab the arm with the knife.

The agony that erupted in her face forced another scream out of her. She felt as though a thousand angry hornets had stung her in the same place. She writhed and pulled away, snapping the wounded tentacle and keeping her free from the reaching one for the moment.

She threw her V-Bar, a skill drilled relentlessly into every Marine FIST. It slammed into the lobsters face, carving a jagged wound in its mouth. Elsa used the distraction to grab the stock of her rifle and jam it between her legs. She reached for the other part and, after fumbling through the awkward position, released it and fitted it onto the other end. A twist and a button touch later and it was in working order.

The lobster had yanked her sideways, closer to the river. Another tentacle wrapped around her leg, dragging her away from the water. Elsa grabbed her rifle in her off hand and aimed it at the hard shelled assailant. “I’m gonna dip your ass in butter!” She spat out, then yanked the trigger over and over until it stopped screeching and exploded.

Elsa fell back onto the rock, gasping for breath. She was covered in hot fluid and chunks of flesh and shell. The fire in her cheek pulled her out of her shock, reminding her that whatever it was, it had poisoned her. She slammed her visor shut and called up the medical panels on the display. It flashed for an alarmingly long time as her wound was analyzed. The final verdict read off a neurotoxin distantly related to that used by invertebrates on Earth’s oceans. The prescribed medicine was lacking from her first aid kit. It could cause sickness and vomiting, local paralysis as well. One means of potentially neutralizing the poison involved… “Oh hell no!”

She read it again to be sure. The pain was spreading, but at the center it left behind a throbbing ache. “I fucking hate this planet!” She pulled herself upright, ignoring the bits of gore that fell off her armor. Her right arm felt like it was dislocated at the shoulder. She grimaced and tried to put it through a normal range of motions. Even the grimacing hurt, but it helped her take her mind off the pain trying to lift her arm over her head caused.

Moving stiffly and cradling her rifle against her side she reconnoitered the rocky shelf. It was a small area with a tunnel led up to the surface. A tunnel she could crawl through even in her armor, but it would be tight and she knew she was in no condition to try it. She slipped back down, pausing to kick a large chunk of the octo-lobster into the river.

Moving slowly she set her rifle against the wall and then put her back next to it. With her eye on the river and the passage up to the surface she began to unclasp her boots. She worked her way up, slipping the armor off of from the bottom up until she had only her torso and arms covered. She detached a water pod and took a drink, trying to fight past the pain in her face. That finished, she emptied the rest of it then squatted down.

“ If this is ever replayed or spoken about I will hunt down the person responsible for it!” She hissed, knowing her helmet recorded everything that had transpired throughout the mission. With that warning delivered, she took in a deep breath and forced her abdominal muscles into action. The water pod was never designed to serve as a bedpan, leaving Elsa to struggle as most of the hot stream ran down her fingers and hand.

She shivered, the poison making her body feel cold while her cheek seemed to be on fire. “I don’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, moving the warm pod to her right hand and then reaching up to unclasp her helmet and pulled it off.

She took the pod back, tipped her head to the side and, clamping her lips tightly closed in spite of the agony it caused, she poured to bitter contents of the pod over the scrape on her cheek. It felt warm at first contact, then cooler and soothing. The last of her captured urine trickled out, leaving a strange feeling like an echo of a sting on her cheek.

She straightened her head and looked around, afraid somebody might have seen her. It was just her and remains of the shelled monster. Her cheek was still warm and throbbed, but the fire had been taken out of it. She chuckled at the ridiculous situation, then started laughing. Her laugh went deeper, erupting into fits of giggles and belly-racking convulsions that made her shoulder ache and her face hurt. When the hysteria passed she was sitting on the shelf with fresh trails of tears running down her cheeks.

“ I don’t want to die on this fucking planet!” It was whiny and she knew it, but with no one to stand tall for, she just didn’t care. She was a Marine, it was her job to keep her men in line and to protect others. She looked around: she had no men and women looking up to her and she had no people to protect. What does a Marine do when a Marine has no one to do it for?

“ You pull your head out of your ass and you do the job!” She answered. Elsa reached across and unhooked the armor on her arm. Getting it off was a painful process that took several minutes. She studied her shoulder it as best she could, then reached across her body to feel the joint. It bulged from dislocation, an injury she’d seen on a few of her boys and girls over the years. It happened during training more often than in the field, so she’d seen veteran trainers put the tortured joint back in place enough times to have an idea what to do. The problem was there was only her, no one else to hold it and pop it back in.