Chapter 18 #2
Lips tingling, he looked up at the dead thing—the Monkey Cat.
It did look a lot like a cross between a cat and a monkey.
With the exception of its face, which was beetle-like or maybe bat-like.
And maybe he had just gotten used to the FUDs and the Handlers, or maybe it was because these things had skin that was impervious to the burning rounds, but they seemed scarier.
Especially their eyes. Bulbous and black. Blake looked down to see where the bullet had hit, and he could see a crack. In the eye. No. Over the eye. They were wearing goggles or something. Maybe their real eyes were sensitive? Maybe to the sunlight? Or maybe to—
“There they are!” Victoria shouted, pointing across the wide street.
Blake followed her finger. It took him a moment, but he finally saw them. Phin, Tommy, and Gabriel were huddled behind some ruined shopping carts. Gabriel and Phin had their guns trained on the action, but they weren’t firing.
Not that it mattered. With the fighting in front of them and buildings behind them, they were completely pinned down. It was only sheer luck the aliens hadn’t seen them yet, but if they did, there was no way they’d be able to get away.
They were trapped.
Blake’s heart dropped into his stomach. More Monkey Cats were pouring into the street, and the Handlers seemed content to hold the line, letting the FUDs race in and take out the Monkey Cats before they could even get close. It was total carnage.
“We have to get them,” Blake said.
“No shit,” Judd snapped, his mouth tight. “Any bright ideas? Because unless your name is Moses and you can part these assholes like the Red Sea, we’re up shits creek.”
Blake clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away from the carnage to take stock. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until he saw it.
Pushing off the wall, he jogged over to the caved in hardware store.
The front wall was gone, and the place was mostly broken plaster and whatever was above it.
But he wasn’t looking for something small.
Scrambling over a downed display case of weed eaters, he found the outdoor section.
It was right at the front—the store beginning to advertise for spring.
The cage was knocked over, wires bent. Curling his fingers in the bars, he heaved until he could free one of the doors. It stuck. Blake kicked it, his boot slamming into the door until the hinges bent enough he could reach in and pull the tank out.
It wasn’t heavy, but he was so tired. His arms shook. Hefting the tank up, he braced it on his hip as he limped back out of the store. With a grunt, he set the tank on the ground in front of Judd.
“Care to share with the class?”
“Have you ever seen Jaws?” Blake asked, standing on tiptoe to look toward the fighting. He would have to find the perfect place.
The vein in Judd’s neck bulged. “Yes, I have, but we’re a long fucking way from the ocean.”
“You said I needed to part the Red Sea,” Blake said, grinning up at Judd from under dirty lashes. “But what if I blow it up?”
“What? How?”
Blake’s eyes caught on a cluster of Handlers. Three of them were standing shoulder to shoulder, less than fifty yards from where Gabriel and the rest were huddled. More importantly, there was a fire burning at their feet.
Judd looked between him and the group of aliens. “No. No way. You can’t possibly go out there. Just throw it out and shoot it!”
Tamping down his irritation, he grit his teeth. “You’ve shot a propane tank, Judd. How’d that go?”
“How do you know I’ve—”
“Look at me with those big cornbread fed, red-necked, country fried chicken clogged artery eyes of yours and tell me you didn’t take your daddy’s propane tank out back and shoot it.”
The man was silent for a minute. “With my .22.”
“And what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Right, because propane is generally safe,” Blake said.
“You have to heat it up,” Victoria finished.
Judd threw his hands up. “What does that have to do with Jaws?!”
Blake sucked his teeth. “Smile, you son of a bitch,” he didn’t look up. “It gave me the idea.”
Muttering about how he would never understand that train of thought, Judd picked up his gun to watch for more Monkey Cats.
Sliding his fingers into the handles of the gray propane tank, he took another breath.
And another. There was so much chaos. The ground was shaking from the vibrations of the Handler’s guns, buildings, and road melting beneath their red-hot ammunition.
FUDs and Monkey Cats were meeting in the middle, fighting with tooth and claw in a show of violence that made Blake’s hands shake.
He clutched the tank until the metal bit into his palm.
It wasn’t complicated—all he had to do was run out in the middle of all of that, dodge getting killed, and toss the tank into the flames. He was hedging his bets that the aliens wouldn’t notice him amongst all the violence, and even if they did, they wouldn’t register him as a threat.
At least, that’s what he hoped.
Judd was shouting at him, but he was easy to tune out in the cacophony.
Victoria was just staring at him, her face pinched.
She looked like she wanted to protest, but they both knew she couldn’t.
She had a broken leg; there was no way she could make the run.
And Judd was the best shot out of either of them.
Blake squared his shoulders. “Cover me.”
“If we survive this, Gabriel is going to kill me,” Judd grumbled, lifting his gun.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just ran.
Hugging the tank to his chest, he ducked his head and dug his boots into the asphalt.
Launching over the cracked curb, he hit the asphalt so hard his knees threatened to buckle.
He nearly screamed as his knee struck the ground, but he managed to stay upright.
Blake ran faster than he ever had before.
Like a football player making a run for a field goal with the world’s largest football tucked to his chest, he kept his eyes on the prize.
He didn’t think about the painful sound of metal being torn apart, or Monkey Cat claws, or the teeth rattling boom of rail guns from the Handler’s shoulder mounts.
Even when the asphalt threatened to cave beneath his feet and send him tumbling forward, he just held onto the tank tighter, holding his breath as he rolled into a sedan’s shredded chassis.
Before he got his breath back, he looked up to see two Monkey Cats launching over him.
Their sharp four claws held close to their bellies as they soared, landing with a thump a few feet away.
The first was hit with a rail gun. It didn’t even scream as it was knocked back, flipping end over end.
It pushed itself up to its feet, baring its bifurcated jaw even as its skin sizzled and smoked.
Blake watched it launch at a Handler, snapping at its head.
He didn’t stick around to see how it ended, rolling back to his feet and sprinting again.
I’m close, he told himself, repeating it over and over.
The tank slipped in his sweat-soaked arms, and his blood rushed in his ears, spots danced in his vision, but the Handlers were looming closer.
All three had their backs to him; they didn’t even notice him approaching.
Loosening his death grip on the propane tank, he took two more long strides before chucking the tank. It flew from his fingers, soaring in a satisfying arc to land with a muted clang in the middle of the flames.
Just as he was about to turn, lifting his hand in victory, he heard the boom of a rail gun far too close. Blake never saw it coming. One moment he was on his feet, and the next, he was on the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs.
Gasping, he blinked the sweat and dirt from his eyes.
Blurrily, he saw the Monkey Cat that had pounced on the Handler had managed to partially rip its head off.
The Handler was panicking, its arms swinging, gun going wide.
The shot had taken off the Monkey Cat’s rear leg.
Viscous fluid that was similar in texture and color to honey sprayed from the amputated limb.
The other Handlers turned to their injured comrade. They made to move forward. Blinking, Blake shook his head to clear it. No. They can’t leave the area! Pushing himself up, he got to his knees.
Flames sluggishly licked at the propane tank. The label had burned off, crumbling to a little black ball amongst the other charred debris. The tank looked hot, but intact.
Twisting, Blake looked across the battlefield to catch Judd’s wide eyes. Through the heat haze, the soldier looked distorted.
“Sh-shoot it!” Blake tried to scream, his voice ragged. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to his feet, waving the one arm he could lift to get Judd’s attention. “Shoot!”
Victoria shouted something, but Judd ignored her.
He was looking at Blake. His mouth moved, but he was too far away.
They didn’t have time for this! Blake tucked three fingers against his palm, pointer and thumb extended.
Universal sign for a gun. He pointed it at Judd and then straight at the tank.
A FUD leapt across the flames, narrowly missing Blake. It didn’t notice him, pouncing on the Monkey Cat that was trying to rip the head off a Handler. More aliens were congregating in the area.
Blake didn’t see the decision cross Judd’s face. He didn’t see the bullet, either. But he felt the heat of the explosion as it knocked him back. And then he didn’t feel anything else.