Chapter 22 #2
No one answered him. Blake suspected it was because no one had an answer. They were low on ammo, stuck in the middle of a firefight between aliens, their only shelter a glorified Pringles can.
Blake picked his way over the wreckage so he could peer out one of the passenger windows. It was small and cloudy, a little warped from either the accident or any ensuing fires, but he could see across the shopping mall.
Monkey Cats and FUDs were going head to head, metal and biological claws slicing, teeth shattering bones and limbs.
The Monkey Cats were clearly more agile with the FUDs right behind them.
Oftentimes, the dog-like Off Formers chased the Monkey Cats right into Handler gunfire.
And in turn, the Monkey Cats would bank off buildings or use their superior agility to grab a FUD around the leg to fling it into the closest Handler.
Monkey Cats leaping into the air to snap Drone’s right out of the sky.
Drone gunfire couldn’t penetrate the sliding plates on the Monkey Cat’s hides, but the incendiary rounds from the Handlers could. If they could hit them—a difficult feat when the Handlers had to lock down to shoot and the Monkey Cats never stopped moving.
They were evenly matched. It was almost as if one was designed to fight the other. Or they’d both adjusted—like the zappy balls. The Monkey Cats knew the Off Formers were susceptible to electricity, which might be why the Off Formers set off a second, stronger EMP.
Which was all very interesting, but not at all useful to them in their current situation.
Clenching his jaw, Blake tried to think.
No. Not think. See. Do what Gabriel told him only he could.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to center himself.
Tried to ignore the screaming and explosions, Tommy’s tight grip on the back of his shirt, and Phin’s labored panting.
All of it had to fade into the background.
And suddenly, it was there. He remembered when he’d been here before. The smell of the river was so strong because it was close.
“The marina!” He scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking Tommy over. He couldn’t smell it now, but he knew it was less than a half mile away.
On the other side of a wall of crumbled buildings and a full-fledged extraterrestrial battle.Maybe if they backtracked?
Somehow found a way around the battle and escaped through the way the Monkey Cats came through.
But the fight was scattered; there was no way they could get through without attracting attention.
Or being accidentally killed in the crossfire.
Before he could see anything else, the entire plane shook hard enough to knock them all to the ground.
Blake rolled in between some seats, Tommy falling over his legs.
He pushed himself up in time to see four claws cutting through the fuselage wall as easily as butter.
In a squeal of tearing metal, the claws yanked a chunk free, and a Monkey’s Cat’s face appeared, close enough Blake could see his reflection in its tiny eyes.
Rearing back on its muscular hind legs, it tossed the metal into a Handler, knocking it to the ground so a second Monkey Cat could leap on it, ripping its head off.
Victoria had been closest to the wall. She’d tried to take a step back only for her bad leg to give out. With a grunt, she fell, drawing the closest Monkey Cat’s attention.
It pounced, bifurcated jaw opening wide, pincers forward to grab her and drag her closer to its slashing teeth.
Someone shouted for her, but it was Judd who dashed forward.
Vaulting over Gabriel, he grabbed a downed chair and threw it at the beast. It struck its head.
The Monkey Cat grunted and its long ears twitched before it attacked again.
But Judd was there. He grabbed the pincers, twisting the Monkey Cat’s face away from Victoria. Gabriel lunged forward, grabbing Victoria by the shoulder and dragging her out. She screamed—in pain or fear, Blake didn’t know—but it was overshadowed by Judd.
The Monkey Cat had flicked him off, pinning him to the ground with one of its massive paws.
Judd had managed to roll onto his stomach, the Monkey Cat’s four claws slicing into his plate carrier.
The thing was so strong they could hear the claws puncturing the plates, snapping them in half like a pane of glass.
Victoria screamed, “Judd, you idiot!”
Gabriel and Phin fired at the alien. Their bullets pinged off it’s head. The thing almost looked like it sneezed, shaking its head so hard its ears flopped. It didn’t stop it from pressing down on Judd until he wheezed painfully.
Judd grabbed at the thin carpeted floor; his fingers white from trying to pull himself free.
A thick vein pulsed in his neck as he struggled to breathe under the weight.
Fabric tore, and then blood spurted from Judd’s back as the alien finally worked through the plate carrier, fabric, and down to his skin. Judd couldn’t even scream in pain.
Like a cat playing with its meal, the Monkey Cat began shaking him.
Wiping the floor with Judd’s body, its claws digging deeper with each thrashing movement.
Gabriel and Phin were trying to get him free, throwing chunks of plane and seats in between bursts of bullets.
But nothing worked. Blake watched as Judd’s eyes fluttered closed and didn’t open again.
Blake heard the click of a magazine sliding into a gun and turned to see Victoria hobbling to her feet. Her face was drawn, but she stepped forward, arms steady as she unleashed her entire clip.
Right into the Monkey Cat’s left eye.
At first, it didn’t seem to react any differently, but then one of the bullets managed to chip away at its eye. It screeched; the sound so high-pitched, it felt like it was digging one of its claws directly into his brain.
Blake had seconds to realize that it wasn’t its eye she’d hit, but an eye covering. Like a goggle.
A second bullet hit its eye piece, and the Monkey Cat snapped its jaws, fleeing backwards and releasing Judd.
Blake didn’t wait. He raced forward, hitting his knees so hard his teeth clacked together.
There was so much blood. It seeped from his back and dripped on the floor below, immediately soaking through Blake’s jeans. It was impossible to see where the injuries were.
But Blake had seen worse, and in an instant his brain switched from screaming civilian to medic. He might not be able to go toe to toe with a Monkey Cat, but blood he could do.
Pulling out his trauma shears—the only piece of his equipment that seemed impervious to the end of the world—he began cutting. Victoria and Tommy joined him, dropping the bag they’d collected medical supplies in.
“He’s—” Tommy began.
“ABCs, Tofu,” Blake snapped, and Tommy got to work helping him isolate the bleeding. When in doubt, when shit was hitting the fan, there were only three things that mattered: airway, bleeding, and circulation.
Judd was breathing, albeit shallowly. No doubt that thing had broken at least a few ribs, if not done more damage. Circulation was good; the proof of that was the blood pouring all over them. Now they just needed to control the bleeding.
If they could find it. Or more specifically, find where it wasn’t. Judd’s entire back was one big wound. The lacerations were so deep Blake could see bone. If the alien had knicked his spine, Judd might be a lot worse off than they thought.
Victoria helped them rip what was left of his plate carrier and shirt off. They used the scraps to begin soaking up blood. Blake didn’t see any spurting, so he was hoping that meant no major arteries had been severed.
“Judd! Judd!” Victoria was shouting at him, trying to be heard over the fighting. He groaned, eyelids flickering.
“Leave him,” Blake said as he ripped a strip of shirt with his teeth. They didn’t have the pain meds Judd would need to keep him comfortable—being unconscious was the kindest thing they could do for him. “Just make sure he’s breathing.”
Luckily, the soldier had been smart enough to protect his front. It might be the thing that saved his life, provided he didn’t bleed out or die of a raging infection afterward.
Victoria and Tommy lifted Judd just enough so Blake could get the bandage under him, wrapping it tight around his back. He didn’t hear any sucking, so he was reasonably sure his lungs hadn’t been compromised. At least not to where he’d need anything more than a pressure dressing.
Judd’s blood was warm and slick. Blake’s hands were sticky with it up to his elbows as he desperately tried to push ragged bits of skin together, using his hands and fingers to probe the wounds to see if there were any lacerated arteries he’d need to clamp.
“Head’s up!” Phin shouted just before the fuselage rocked again. Blake could immediately smell burning plastic. He looked up to see one of the Handler’s rounds eating through the back of the fuselage.
“We can’t stay here!” Gabriel shouted, backing up so he was standing over Blake, scanning the open areas with his gun.
“The marina is just on the other side of the wall,” Blake said as he tied off another bandage. The blood seemed to be slowing down—it was the best he could do for now. Judd was still breathing, but his face was pale and waxy.
“Too bad I left my fucking pole-vaulting kit in my other pants,” Phin snarled, at no one in particular. He’d dropped his rifle and was loading his handgun. It looked comically small in his hands.
He was right. There was no way to get through the wall. Blake used his shoulder to push some of his sweaty hair out of his face. The fighting had moved to their left, closer to the disintegrating end of the plane.
Then he saw it. The downed Handler! It was missing a head, but its two shoulder-mounted guns were still intact and pointing directly at the wall.
“There!” he shouted, pointing with his bloody hand. “If we can rig up the gun, we can blast a hole in the wall.”