pounding on a keyboard in front of her.
Soon the teams were gone, and a charged hush fell over the compound. The soldiers left behind were pumped with anticipation, and I held my breath, waiting without even knowing why.
“Got it,” Quinn shouted excitedly, followed by a loud crackle over some sort of PA system. “Commander, you are all on Broadcast now. Do you copy?”
There was silence and loud crackling, then “Copy” came across the speakers. “All units are out of entry tunnel. Team One is in defense mode guarding the entrance. Team Two will proceed to the targeted area,” ConRad said.
A sigh of relief swept through the command center. It seemed the most dangerous part of the mission had been leaving and entering the tunnel—logical since the tunnel was only wide enough for one man at a time. If caught, the odds were those of shooting fish in a barrel.
Stillness settled thick among those of us left behind. We all began to breathe as one, straining to listen for any words between the crackles. Then there was a burst of noise—gunshots? Men screamed, some yelled profanities and others just in pain. Then I heard it—I remembered from before and would never forget—the inhuman roar of an alien. The call reverberated throughout my body and seeped into my very bones. Somewhere in the blueprint of my genetic code, a code older than I’ll ever live to be, my response to the primitive message was clear . . . I was the hunted.
The sounds of battle were deafening, but through the noise were phrases. “There’re coming from behind! He’s gone . . . leave him . . . leave him!” And the worst two words in the English language heard over and over . . . and over. “Oh God! Oh God!” And something more terrifying than even the screams.
Silence.
Chapter Eleven
“W e’ve lost contact,” Quinn whispered.
A hush settled nidsen"1em" in the room, thick with fear. What had happened? Could the men not hold the line? Did we break? The sound of rocks clashing and falling echoed behind the steel door of the tunnel. Someone or something was coming. Soldiers prepared for the worst. The noise of magazines being slammed into the chambers of machine guns sliced through the air. Whatever was heading down the tunnel wouldn’t be getting in without a fight.
There was a pounding, a curse, and then a shout from behind the entrance. “Open the damn door. Now!” It was ConRad.
The men recognized their commander and immediately opened the steel door. A small sigh of relief slipped past my lips as I watched ConRad step out. He was hunched over carrying the goddess, whose head was listless, robes no longer white, but dingy like she’d taken a crash course in falling from grace. Two other soldiers stumbled out, blood soaked and haggard as they half-carried, half-dragged a fourth man who bled from the stomach. Two others crawled out on their hands and knees. One wheezed and fell to the ground, holding a wound on his side that oozed black-like tar through his fingers. A smell of singed flesh and hair caught me as another solider turned his head, and I glimpsed an ear and scalp melted as if made of wax and held too near a flame.
All too soon the men stopped coming. The steel door was closed with a resounding thud that echoed through the mountain. A large locking wheel was spun by a soldier and a thick steel bolt slid home with a screeching finality. So few, only six including the young girl, compared to over a dozen that had left.
I watched in horror as ConRad’s gaze searched the room until his locked with mine. The rest of the men followed suit. All eyes on me, pinning me with their stare.
I froze. A kaleidoscope of thoughts swirled through my brain. Why had I made such an issue about being called Dr. Davenport earlier? I wasn’t really a doctor. In the real world I wouldn’t even be able to apply a butterfly Band-Aid without a resident breathing down my neck.
But there they stood. Their eyes huge, faces
Soon the teams were gone, and a charged hush fell over the compound. The soldiers left behind were pumped with anticipation, and I held my breath, waiting without even knowing why.
“Got it,” Quinn shouted excitedly, followed by a loud crackle over some sort of PA system. “Commander, you are all on Broadcast now. Do you copy?”
There was silence and loud crackling, then “Copy” came across the speakers. “All units are out of entry tunnel. Team One is in defense mode guarding the entrance. Team Two will proceed to the targeted area,” ConRad said.
A sigh of relief swept through the command center. It seemed the most dangerous part of the mission had been leaving and entering the tunnel—logical since the tunnel was only wide enough for one man at a time. If caught, the odds were those of shooting fish in a barrel.
Stillness settled thick among those of us left behind. We all began to breathe as one, straining to listen for any words between the crackles. Then there was a burst of noise—gunshots? Men screamed, some yelled profanities and others just in pain. Then I heard it—I remembered from before and would never forget—the inhuman roar of an alien. The call reverberated throughout my body and seeped into my very bones. Somewhere in the blueprint of my genetic code, a code older than I’ll ever live to be, my response to the primitive message was clear . . . I was the hunted.
The sounds of battle were deafening, but through the noise were phrases. “There’re coming from behind! He’s gone . . . leave him . . . leave him!” And the worst two words in the English language heard over and over . . . and over. “Oh God! Oh God!” And something more terrifying than even the screams.
Silence.
Chapter Eleven
“W e’ve lost contact,” Quinn whispered.
A hush settled nidsen"1em" in the room, thick with fear. What had happened? Could the men not hold the line? Did we break? The sound of rocks clashing and falling echoed behind the steel door of the tunnel. Someone or something was coming. Soldiers prepared for the worst. The noise of magazines being slammed into the chambers of machine guns sliced through the air. Whatever was heading down the tunnel wouldn’t be getting in without a fight.
There was a pounding, a curse, and then a shout from behind the entrance. “Open the damn door. Now!” It was ConRad.
The men recognized their commander and immediately opened the steel door. A small sigh of relief slipped past my lips as I watched ConRad step out. He was hunched over carrying the goddess, whose head was listless, robes no longer white, but dingy like she’d taken a crash course in falling from grace. Two other soldiers stumbled out, blood soaked and haggard as they half-carried, half-dragged a fourth man who bled from the stomach. Two others crawled out on their hands and knees. One wheezed and fell to the ground, holding a wound on his side that oozed black-like tar through his fingers. A smell of singed flesh and hair caught me as another solider turned his head, and I glimpsed an ear and scalp melted as if made of wax and held too near a flame.
All too soon the men stopped coming. The steel door was closed with a resounding thud that echoed through the mountain. A large locking wheel was spun by a soldier and a thick steel bolt slid home with a screeching finality. So few, only six including the young girl, compared to over a dozen that had left.
I watched in horror as ConRad’s gaze searched the room until his locked with mine. The rest of the men followed suit. All eyes on me, pinning me with their stare.
I froze. A kaleidoscope of thoughts swirled through my brain. Why had I made such an issue about being called Dr. Davenport earlier? I wasn’t really a doctor. In the real world I wouldn’t even be able to apply a butterfly Band-Aid without a resident breathing down my neck.
But there they stood. Their eyes huge, faces
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