Posts Tagged ‘guns’

Deep in a subterranean shelter, hidden from the insect-like alien invaders known as Skitters that ruled the surface, we began dissecting a recovered alien corpse.  The shelter was still in construction when the aliens fell from the skies, so a gaping hole to the next level up hung above our heads instead of a ceiling.  I was nervous about the utter darkness of that hole beyond the illumination of our shop lights, but my two companions didn’t seem to mind.  Both were women; one a qualified doctor doing the operation, and the other the love of my life.

The deceased subject lay on a metal table in the center of the large room. The doctor gingerly moved aside some slimy tentacles from its body and the puckered mouth in the center of the carapace reluctantly opened with the aid of her forceps.  She placed a small cloth disk inside to keep it open.  I stood off to the side against the wall with my girlfriend.

The doctor was engrossed in her work.  A few alien tentacles twitched where they draped over the table to the floor.  Again they twitched, this time a little more.  It slowly dawned on me that the alien was not dead, and worse, it was sending out some kind of signal for help.

I grabbed my machine gun and my girlfriend did the same with hers.  We sprinted out the door into the hallway.  The hall turned left and proceeded straight, sloping gently upwards to end in a set of steep stairs leading to the distant surface.  The ceiling here was unfinished as well and alien bugs the size of dogs spilled out of holes into the hall.  I squeezed the trigger and swept the barrel side to side, unleashing a stream of armor piercing bullets.  Bug after bug erupted into a fountain of green and yellow gore that plastered the ceiling and walls. Egg pods began to drop from the ceiling and hatch. We kept firing and they just kept coming.

I threw down my gun and unslung the flamethrower from my back.  Liquid fire spewed out the end of the barrel and I began to make headway against the alien swarm.  Walking slowly up the sloping hallway, I nearly reached the base of the stairs when I heard the chittering of thousands of aliens.

“Get back!” I screamed.  “I’m turning on the afterburner!”  My girlfriend ran back into the room and I flipped a switch on the flamethrower.  The force of the blast nearly knocked me off my feet.  A stream of near invisible white hot death ascended the stairway.  Countless aliens were incinerated instantly.

The blaze was too much for the shelter.  Flames spilled out on the floor and licked up the walls to turn the ceiling into a canopy of fire.  The stairs were the only way out.  I retreated to the back room to find the doctor and my girlfriend cowering in the center of the room.  The flames drew closer.   Unable to stand the heat’s inexorable advance, the doctor ran for the wall where a bank of large ovens sat.  She dove inside one and reached out to turn the knob to max.  A brief explosion of flame signaled her quick and relatively painless death.

I drew my girlfriend to me and held her close as the firestorm closed in around us.  It ignited our clothing and singed our hair.  We embraced with one final kiss as the inferno consumed us.

I lead a caravan through the parched desert.  A steam of people carrying their belongings followed me across the dunes.  Men, women, children, all huddled together in a line, fearing another attack by one of the local tribes.  They had already attacked us several times.  They were fierce, muscled warriors with pale, albino skin that braved the wastes in nothing but loincloths.  We soon spotted a group of them heading towards us on the rise of a nearby dune.

I raised my hands to bring my mini-gun to bear.  That would slow them down.  I fired, but the tribe kept coming towards us at a slow, steady pace.  I looked down to realize I wasn’t firing a gun at them.  I was just pointing my finger.  In fact, I didn’t even have a gun.  “I’ll stop them,” I said.  “I have Fists of Steel.”

To my surprise, the tribe did not attack us, but veered off to the side to pass.  They eyed us warily but kept their spears and swords lowered.  One particularly large warrior walked passed me and I bumped him in the shoulder.  He growled and raised his sword, but did not attack.  I looked back to see their group passing our caravan.  I realized they must be circling around the back to attack us from the rear!

I turned and charged back towards the retreating warrior, tackling him around the waist and bringing him to the ground with a thud.  He did not fight back.  I turned him over and straddled his chest, pinning him down.  “Why aren’t you attacking?!”  His grim face simply stared back at me with contempt.  “Tell me!” I screamed.  I gripped his throat in my hands and began to squeeze.  He only sneered.  Tighter and tighter I squeezed, until I could feel his tendons straining to keep my hands from crushing the life out of him.  Finally, with a slight grimace, he managed to whisper, “The Blood Snow.”

I immediately released him and got up.  Of course, the Blood Snow!  They were seeking shelter from it.  Anybody caught exposed in the freezing storm would surely perish.  We had to find some place to take cover.  I stopped the caravan at the top of the next dune.  Down the other side the dune ended along the shores of a small lake bordered by tall palm trees.  A direlect houseboat lay crashed at an odd angle on the shore.

I decided our best bet to stay warm would be to dig a cave in the side of a dune.  We could line the roof with brush, cover the brush with a nearby blue tarp, and then cover that with sand.  That would provide plenty of insulation against the Blood Snow.  As I sat beneath a wind beaten tree on top of the dune, working out the details, Kevin returned from a visit to the old houseboat.

“We can use this guy’s body heat to help us,” he said.  Trailing behind him was a monkey the size of a man.  He had a broad black-furred face fringed with white and golden hair and leaned on a staff as he walked.  He wore two mismatched black boots, with the boot on the right foot rotated around backwards.  He extended his hand toward me.

“Theodore Winchester.  Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

I shook his hand.  “Earl.”

His eyes lit up.  “Ah, Earl, as in the the English title and 16th King of the Britons?”

“Yeah, sure I guess,” I replied.

“You know you were murdered back then, don’t you?”

My shoulders slumped a little.  “Well that wasn’t in the brochure.”

Two frustrated men stood outside the office’s side door, obviously having forgotten their security badges to get in.  I approached them and smiled, gesturing to my badge.  They stood aside as I opened the door and held it for them to enter.  The elevator ride up to the reception area was quick and quiet.

The secretary behind the desk smiled and waved at me as I passed, then turned to greet the two men I had helped enter the building.  Her smile quickly faded as each pulled a handgun from his jacket and pointed it in her face.  I reacted in an instant, reversing direction and sprinting towards one of the gangsters.  So quick was my move that they couldn’t  react until I had one in a firm choke hold, squeezing his carotid artery off and rapidly plunging him into unconsciousness.  His companion whirled towards me to fire his gun, but I disarmed my human shield, took up the gun while maintaining the strangle lock and fired a single shot, dropping him.

The flailing gang member still in my grasp tried to reach back to get hold of my head or free himself, but was too weak to put up much of a fight.  I placed the gun’s barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger.

It took days for me to recover from the adrenaline surge and subsequent crash of the realization of taking two lives, even if they did turn out to be from a rival gang,  but I hoped a trip to Big Al would help.

“Ain’t no nothing, icing somebody,”  he said. “Gotta keep on doin’ yo thang.”

Thanks, Big Al.