Chapter 48 Jean
“Now!” Venim shouts.
And the world erupts into chaos.
Behind us, one of the vents is erupting, transforming the landscape into a sudden, stark monochrome of pink light and dancing shadows.
It only lasts for a couple quick seconds, but that’s enough time for Venim and Scythro to start charging toward the enemy, who are temporarily distracted by the display.
Venim is going for the slimy frog-man who seems to be the leader of this gang.
Scythro is headed in the other direction.
By the time the vent goes quiet, they’ve both covered half the distance toward their opponents, and the thirty or so bad guys are bellowing and charging too.
I watch in adrenaline-induced slow-motion as one of the bad guys aims his crossbow, pointing it right at Scythro. My heart climbs into my throat.
VWHMPF!
A pink tongue of fire licks from the end of Ghorak’s rifle, like a miniature version of one of the natural vents surrounding us. Simultaneously, the alien pointing the crossbow at Scythro disappears in a burst of light. One down…
Twenty-nine to go.
Damn.
Ghorak drops to one knee and presses a switch on the side of his gun.
The weapon folds open, revealing a little hollow chamber at the back of the long barrel.
With his free hand, he digs inside a pouch on his hip and pulls out a pinch of shimmering pink powder—ore powder, I think—which he sprinkles into the gun.
Then he snaps the whole thing closed again and aims. The whole process takes maybe ten seconds.
VWHMPFFF!
In the distance, Scythro is now tearing into the bad guys with his knife. He’s already killed one of them and wounded a couple more, but he’s severely outnumbered. An alien is just about to bludgeon him from behind when Ghorak’s rifle turns the attacker into a swirl of glowing pink mist.
Time for another reload…
Gun. Pouch. Dust.
This time, when Ghorak raises the rifle to fire, I reach into the pouch on his hip and pull out a pinch of dust the same way I’ve seen him do twice now.
The hell if I’m going to sit this battle out completely.
I might not be able to go toe-to-toe with any of these fuckers, but I can still help a little.
When Ghorak snaps the rifle open to reload a third time, I reach over and drop my pinch of dust into the open chamber.
Without missing a beat, he raises the gun and fires.
VUH-POOOOMMM!
This time, the flash that explodes from the end of the rifle looks more like a sideways mushroom cloud. The recoil is so strong, Ghorak nearly tumbles over backward. It’s a good thing he doesn’t, because I’ve already got my hand in the pouch again, retrieving more dust.
“Bit less,” he rumbles as he breaks open the gun to reload.
I drop in about two-thirds of what I did before.
Ghorak closes the gun, fires.
This time the recoil is closer to what it was the first two times he fired. I pinch the same amount out of his dust bag and have it ready for him as soon as he crouches again.
Together we’re twice as fast as Ghorak would be on his own.
It still doesn’t feel fast enough, but I know better than to rush.
We fall into a rhythm. Fire. Reload. Fire.
Reload. It gives me something to focus on, which is good.
I don’t want to look at the fighting. I don’t want to see Scythro get hurt, and as much as he pisses me off, I don’t want to see Venim get hurt either.
And the best way I can help make sure they don’t get hurt is by helping Ghorak shoot faster.
Fire. Reload. Fire. Reload.
One of the vents erupts, turning the world a luminous pink. The sudden brightness startles me, but I force myself to keep going.
How many shots has Ghorak fired now? Nine? Ten? I know Scythro has taken out a few guys with his knife, and I’m sure Venim has ended even more. There can’t be that many of them left, can there?
Don’t think about that. Just focus on reloading. Focus on—
“Jean!”
As I’m just about to reach into Ghorak’s pouch for a refill of powder, the big horned alien bellows my name.
I look up just in time to see a massive green arm dart in front of me with almost blinding speed.
Something sharp pierces through the back of his hand, spattering my facemask with dark green blood.
A crossbow bolt.
It was flying straight at me, and Ghorak caught it.
He freaking caught it.
But he dropped his rifle in the process. The weapon is lying on the ground in front of us, still unfired since the last reloading.
An alien is charging toward us. A creature that looks like a one-eyed pig-man holding a three-bladed axe high above his head. He’s only a few strides away and moving fast.
I leap for the fallen rifle and lift it. It requires all of my strength to raise the gun to my shoulder. There is barely time to aim.
“Jean!” Ghorak shouts. “Wait!”
I pull the trigger…
…and the rifle gives me a refresher course on Newton’s third law.
The muzzle flashes pink, and the buttstock slams into my shoulder like a bus going full speed.
The impact lifts me off the ground, and for a second or two, I’m airborne.
Then I land hard, and I start to roll, turning head over heels across the ground.
When I finally come to a rest, the gun is lying maybe ten yards away from me, and Ghorak is another ten yards beyond that. I guess my aim must have been pretty good, because Pig-Man is nowhere in sight…
But now, three of his buddies are coming for me.
They’re only a few steps away.
And closing in fast.