Chapter 10 John Wayne
JOHN WAYNE
Blake stood on tiptoe, looking over Gabriel’s broad back to see the red brick building ahead of them. Maybe two blocks. One dirty alley, a crossroad, and then the parking lot of a dry cleaners. That was all that stood between them and the station.
“Finally,” he breathed out in relief.
Gabriel nodded, his head turning to say something to Blake when the brick wall beside them exploded. Chalky bits of red brick sent him flying into an overturned box truck. His knee screamed in protest as it took the brunt of the hit, slamming him into the undercarriage.
Dust coated his mouth and eyes. He couldn’t see, but he could hear the whirring of something hydraulic—and clicking. He roughly scrubbed his eyes, trying to clear the debris clinging to his eyelashes. Gasping, he pushed himself to shaking feet.
Gabriel grabbed him by his shirt, dragging him back. “Get behind the truck!”
Blake tripped over the curb, falling to his knees. Pain exploded out from the joint; he bit back a scream as he clutched his leg to his chest.
Gunfire exploded on the other side of the truck. Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear the remaining crap from his eyes as he pushed himself up. Something thudded into the side of the truck and Blake limped to the cab, peering around to see what was going on.
Gabriel was moving quickly, his gun steady as he trained it on one of the biggest monsters Blake had ever seen. Impossibly, it was far more horrifying than the thing he’d seen earlier.
This close, he could see it was obviously mechanical.
There were no seams or rivets in its body—nothing organic moved like that.
Standing on two legs, it had to be close to nine feet tall with twin guns on its shoulders, both were trained on Gabriel as he sidestepped around, firing carefully at the guns and face of the alien.
Gabriel was faster, the guns taking a while to track his movement. Almost like it was having trouble seeing him through the dust in the air. But in the narrow street, it didn’t have to see him. Not when its rounds immolated anything they touched.
The gun on its left shoulder boomed. Gabriel dodged at the last second, but it wasn’t enough. He was thrown back into the broken brick wall by the force of the explosion from the projectile hitting the street where Gabriel had just been standing.
Blake felt like time slowed. His focus narrowed on the gun on the alien’s shoulder.
There was no gunpowder. No stench of propellant. Blake had been at enough crime scenes to know that smell.
His eyes widened. A rail gun.
Blake had seen it on a documentary. His father had been watching one on trains and had fallen asleep on the couch. As he slept, the TV played the next episode—one all about different kinds of warfare.
The aliens were using kinetic energy to fire projectiles. He suddenly understood why the alien had to be so big, and why the smaller, more limber four-legged aliens didn’t have weapons—they wouldn’t be able to handle the recoil.
Gabriel was up and running again, launching over downed debris and trying to shoot conservatively. Blake knew he only carried 8-10 magazines with him. And he had no idea how many he’d already used up.
The alien would track him, start to shoot, and then stop again. As it did, hydraulics hissed, and a small whine whirred. Everything clicked.
It can’t shoot and move!
“Gabriel, keep running!” he screamed. “It has to stop to shoot!”
Because the rail guns were too powerful the alien had to brace, locking all its mechanisms, or whatever it had for joints, before it could fire. Which is why Gabriel was able to keep ahead of it.
Gabriel vaulted over an electrical box just as it exploded under him, metal melting under the incendiary effects of the firearm.
Gabriel landed in a heap, rolling to his feet and taking two pot shots at the thing as he banked off a wall, narrowly missing another round.
He was running in circles, but it was only a matter of time.
Blake glanced around. There had to be something.
The tire on the moving truck exploded, blowing Gabriel back. His gun was knocked out of his hand, skittering into the curb. He didn’t get up as quickly. Sweat soaked his uniform, dripping into his eyes as he heaved himself to his feet. Limping, he made a move for his gun.
Blake didn’t have time to do something smart.
He couldn’t think with Gabriel under fire.
He looked up at the big moving truck on its side.
He ran to the back and yanked at the sliding back door.
There had to be something inside. The door didn’t budge.
The mechanism bent from whatever impact had toppled it.
Screaming in frustration, Blake ran to the cab, climbing up to look through the cracked passenger side window.
He couldn’t see through it. The safety glass didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces, just crunched into one opaque sheet.
Using his covered elbow, he slammed down onto it until he broke off a section he could grab, peeling the sheet up so he could see inside.
A pack of cigarettes, a set of keys, a pair of flip flops. Nothing useful. Wriggling farther in, he finally caught sight of something on the driver’s side floorboard.
The ratchet straps were heavier than Blake remembered.
His dad used them to hold down all their camping supplies that one long weekend they’d decided to try camping.
The idea of sleeping outside hadn’t stuck, but he remembered his dad winching the stuff down in the truck.
Thick and wide, the canvas strap was heavy-duty.
Crawling out of the cab, he slid down the windshield and fastened one end of the strap to the axle of the ruined tire. He couldn’t get the ratchet mechanism to work, but he figured a knot would do.
Looking up, he saw Gabriel baring his teeth at the alien, swapping out a magazine as he timed another jump. The gun locked on him and Gabriel leapt, narrowly missing a manhole cover flying towards his head.
“Gabriel!” Blake screamed as he tested the strap. “This way!”
He hoped the soldier would understand what he was trying to do, or at the very least, not question it. Blake sprinted across the street, sliding behind a thick piece of wall. Carefully, he blinked sweat out of his eyes as he laid the strap flat.
Betting on the fact that this thing didn’t have great eyesight, Blake hoped it wouldn’t notice the bright yellow strap.
Gabriel backed over it, one eye aiming his gun and the other focusing on the alien’s weapons, waiting for the telltale sign of hydraulics.
By luring the alien like this, Gabriel was losing his advantage.
He had to be slow enough to draw it out.
God, he hoped this worked.
Blake’s fingers tightened on the strap; his sweat-slicked palms were hypersensitive.
He hated the feel of the rough canvas brushing against the pads of his fingers.
It made a shudder roll down his back. Breathing open mouthed, he tried to focus on timing, on pushing all his blood and energy into his legs; he had to be fast.
The alien took a final step, mere feet from the canvas strap.
Blake bolted forward like a track star. He ran behind the alien’s legs, dragging the canvas strap.
He could hear the gun turn, and the hiss and whine of the alien stopping.
He could feel the target on his back, but he didn’t stop.
Gabriel yelled, the gun barking in his hand as he tried to hold the alien’s attention.
Just another second.
Blake passed the alien, hugging close to its legs, hopefully under the angle of firing range. He almost lost his footing, one hand dropping to the rough asphalt to hold himself up as he skated across loose gravel.
Bypassing the truck, he wrapped the end of the strap around a streetlight. End over end, until he’d almost run out of strap. He slammed the heel of his foot against the base of the light and held on tight.
God, he hoped the engineer who installed the light hadn’t skimped on cement.
Gabriel got the plan. He sprinted forward, zigzagging to avoid the guns. The alien strafed the ground with hardly a pause. The impacts were close enough that Gabriel could surely feel the heat against his back.
Then the alien took a step forward. The strap tightened around its legs as it tried jerking forward, exerting more power.
The moving truck screeched forward on its side, sparks flying as the aluminum dragged on the asphalt.
Blake felt the kick in his hands, heard the strap creaking around the metal pole as it started to bend.
“Come on!” Blake screamed, spittle flying as he held on for dear life.
The strap tightened and the alien began to wobble. Slow and sluggish, it began toppling. Blake thought he shouted something; it might have been Gabriel’s name. Then with an ear-shattering boom, the alien crashed to the ground, its guns smashing into the asphalt.
Gabriel was there. Leaping off a dumpster, he landed on the alien’s back.
The thing tried to buck him off, but his balance was impeccable.
One foot on the alien’s triangular head, he fired.
The whites of his teeth flashed as he held down the trigger, his bullets cutting between the head and shoulders.
Just as Gabriel’s gun clicked empty, the alien stopped moving.
Chest heaving under his plate carrier, Gabriel kept his gun trained at the behemoth underneath him. Blake forcibly peeled his fingers off the strap, blood returning to his abused digits as he shook them out.
Tentatively, he stepped into the street.
Hazel eyes flicked to him from under his helmet. “How did you know to do that?”
“I’ve seen Star Wars, Gabriel.”
Disbelief clouded across his face as Blake kicked at the alien. It seemed…quiet? It was hard to know if it was dead. The thing didn’t seem to breathe. Blake looked down at the smashed guns.
“You’re…” Gabriel trailed off, watching Blake intensely.
“Gabriel!”