Chapter Seventy-Four - Sprint

“Being on coms means providing the information that will keep people alive

[...]

You can generally tell when something has gone wrong when the people at the other end start swearing incoherently.”

--Excerpt from a Guide to Wartime Communications, 2045

***

I think the only reason I didn’t get myself dead was because the monster was expecting me as much as I was expecting it.

The Model Thirteen was hovering close to the ground, a few of its tentacles holding it up while its much smaller tentacles were reaching out ahead of it. At a guess, it felt as if it was searching for something, like looking for something by touch when the lights are off.

Had it noticed me before? Or maybe it was just suspicious.

It didn’t matter. The alien was definitely staring at me with all three of its faces.

I pulled my Claw up and fired, barely even making sure that the reticule was lined up with one of its bodies.

A whip-crack sounded out and I felt as if someone had just punched me right in the chest.

I’d gotten into trouble once. A bunch of middle-class looking assholes had been visiting the ground-level, and they started to annoy Lucy and a couple of the other kids. They probably wouldn’t do anything, just some older teens being assholes.

Of course, I was filled with more nerves than sense back then, and I wanted to impress Lucy, so I started a fight with them.

The sensation of all the air in my lungs being rammed out of them was hard to forget.

I saw a glimmer in the air as my coat’s shield thing stopped a few more tendrils whipping out at me, but it was only a glimpse before I crashed down a few metres back and rolled.

“Guns,” I gasped.

My shoulder-mounted weapons deployed and immediately fired.

A railgun shot tore a hole through one of the Model Thirteen’s bodies, but that barely made it hitch before it drove itself forwards.

“Shit!”

I rolled back.

With my cloaks still on, it would--I hoped--have a better chance dodging the whips, and rolling would get me further back.

Problem was, while rolling I wasn’t firing back. My plasma caster took some potshots, but it kept folding back in not to stop my roll.

The Model Thirteen loomed large above me, the hardened ends of its larger tentacles crashing into the ground.

I gasped as one of them rammed me in the side. It didn’t pierce through my coat, and my undersuit hardened, stopping it from crushing me.

Still hurt like a bitch, and it had effectively pinned me in place.

I placed my Claw against the limb and fired, then I fired again and again. I imagined that having a tentacle filled with a few spinning blenders wasn’t great for the Model Thirteen.

I tugged my coat out from under it with one arm, while aiming up with my Claw.

My railgun fired into one of its bodies, so I aimed at the one next to it and fired my Claw until a warning filled my vision.

OUT OF AMMO​

“Fuck!”

My plasma caster painted a line of burning fire into the Model Thirteen’s other body, even as the Antithesis leapt away from me and clung to the ceiling. It began to scurry around, avoiding bullets with a speed and agility that was really starting to piss me off.

I dropped my Claw, tore my Trench Maker from my coat, and started to stand.

Its tentacles bunched up under it and the alien launched itself at me, smaller whips already cracking as they shot at me.

I had time to plant two shots into one of its bodies before it crashed into me and we both crashed back.

Fighting it off, I wiggled and struggled and cursed until I realised that it wasn’t fighting back.

Target Eliminated!

Reward: 100 points

New Total: 2446 point

I panted for a bit, then squeezed out from under the Model Thirteen’s corpse.

You might want to hurry. The hive is now aware of you.

“Yeah,” I said.

I stumbled to my feet. A bit sore, but not dead, and not injured as far as I could tell.

That might not stay the case. The hive was... changing. The trees were shifting, the egg sacs were nearly all falling down, regardless of how ready the models within were, and all of those other models looked agitated as hell, with a whole load of them heading my way.

I tucked my Trench Maker away, ran over to pick up my Claw, then tugged my Icarus out. “Fragmentation.” I said.

I fired, again and again, with a high arc that had my shots landing right in the meat of the hive and near some packs of Model Threes. Then I let my big gun slip back down so that it hung by its strap and I started running.

Not away from the aliens, but towards them.

I was still stealthed, and my augs said that my cloak and coat and suit were all still at 100%. I trusted them.

The moment I was back in the main room of the hive I turned a sharp right and continued running. A few Model Threes, those nearest the tunnel mouth, shot into the mineshaft I’d just left. Good.

The Model Thirteens detaching themselves from their trees with loud squelches didn’t inspire confidence. If one could find me...

I ran past the last side-tunnel I hadn’t explored. “Bomb,” I hissed before underhanding the canister into the passage. That would have to do for whatever was down there.

I dropped another beside me, then I flung one at the centre of the hive, and winced as about four different sorts of aliens jumped on it and started scrambling at the canister.

I was breathing hard as I shot past aliens, moving just a few metres past them and hoping they wouldn’t notice.

If they did, then I had to hope that there was enough chaos around to keep them busy.

“Myalis,” I hissed. “Cats. Three of them. Not in a box!”

Certainly!

The thumps sounded out, one after each step I took. A glance back revealed three mecha cats unfolding to their full height. Then it was two as a Model Thirteen’s whip smashed one of them apart.

The other two jumped back, plasma claws burning and back-mounted guns unfolding to spray bullets all over the place. They didn’t even need to aim to hit an alien, there were so many scrambling after me.

The hive’s attention turned on them, and I pressed myself to move faster.

Maybe cardio really was a good idea.

I flicked another canister to the side. The more fire, the better, I figured.

A Model Thirteen dropped from the ceiling ahead of me and I cursed as I whipped out my Trench Maker.

I emptied the magazine into its centremost body, and my Railgun unfolded to punch a hole into the leftmost. My plasma gun spat fire at the third, blinding it for long enough that I was able to duck under one of its tentacles and could continue running.

I wasn’t the only one running. All the little models were rushing about, and the sacs on the side were being torn open from the inside.

Model Tens were zipping around all over, and I swore as one of them jumped at me, all six limbs trying to grab me at the same time.

I punched it, but it caught my hand.

So I finally got to use the plasma claws in my cybernetic hand, the inch-long burning nails melting into the model before I flung its corpse aside.

One of them jumped onto my back, and I swiped it off with my tail, the plasma thagomizer on the end of my tail batting it aside.

I was losing the advantage I had from my stealth.

“I need grenades. Garrotes! Just keep giving me more!”

I caught the first to appear and flung it over my shoulder after thumbing the trigger on it. It started to blend the models behind me.

Three more tossed back the same way helped, and I started to underhand some ahead of me, trying to place them around the entrance of the tunnel I’d come into the Hive from. My railgun was spinning and firing, my plasma gun hissing as a rejoinder.

The garrote grenades, with their wildly spinning mess of whippy wires, created a narrow passage, one that I squeezed through before turning around and tugging my Trench Maker out again.

I planted a few rounds into the first aliens through the crack, at least until I clicked empty.

I cursed, spun on a heel, and bolted down the centre of the tunnel.

The garrotes wouldn’t last forever, and the passage between was big enough for plenty of models to pass through.

I had to get out of the AOE of my gas bombs so I could burn this entire place to the ground.

Totally starting to sympathize with Gomorrah’s love of burning shit.

***