A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth
| 75. Holes. | 77. Start with Violence. |
|---|
76. Butterflies
Barracks. Claws is turning back his blanket, Spots is picking up her rosary.
"Hey, Spots? Am I layin' it on too thick? The age bit."
"It has gotten a little bit... well."
"Old?" Claws ducks when she mimes throwing a pillow. "Seriously. If it bothers you, I'll stop."
Spots kneels in front of her rack. "I don't mind the ribbing, but you could use some new material."
Claws chuckles. "So noted." And switches off his light. Ten minutes later Spots's rosary beads settle onto her night-table and her light flicks off too.
Office. Peaches is working on paperwork at the desk when her com beeps.
"Bonnet here."
"This is West. We're in the Boardroom with the new specimen now, Lieutenant."
"Go ahead and get started, I'll be there in five."
Peaches finishes, sleeps her computer and heads down the hall. She is almost to the room:
"Boardroom, emergency, we've got—****!" Gunshots. Screams.
Peaches. "Security, medical teams to the boardroom!"
Peaches draws her sidearm and sprints for the door, opening it on an abattoir: four people are down, pouring blood. As she enters, the crab—very much alive—kills the intelligence officer. Crabs can slice through armored limbs; what they do unarmored humans is unspeakable. And quick.
Its back is to her. She brings the sidearm up, gripping it with both hands, and shoots it in the head. Again. And again. She empties the magazine into its head and thorax.
It turns toward her and lurches, swinging scythed claws. Peaches knocks the dissection table over and kicks it, smashing the crab back, but it keeps coming. She throws the empty pistol at it then grabs the framed photo on the wall. As the crab leans toward her, she ducks inside its reach and breaks the frame over its head, then uses the wooden edge to wield a glass shard on its eyes.
It collapses—
—onto her.
Avril pounds in a moment later with Gunny and two men, followed by a medical team.
Avril. "****! Help me get this off her."
Peaches, from beneath. " 'm... kay. I'm okay." They lift it and she crawls a step, holding her shoulder. "I think one... one of the specialists is still breathing—"
The medical team is already checking the fallen.
Avril. "Savannah!"
Peaches, very pale. "****, I think it broke that... that damned collarbone again."
Avril. "What the hell happened?"
Peaches. "Recon team... brought in a dead crab for dissection..."
"But it wasn't really dead?"
Peaches, deep breath. "Paul, they ***ing dragged it halfway through the Warren on its back. After one of them put a hole in it."
Avril, looking at the crab. "****. It let itself be dragged here?"
Peaches. "I don't know. But I want an answer. We need to call the Fiddler... uhn."
Avril, catching her as her elbow gives. "Savannah? Savannah!" Touches her leg. "Crap, that's yours, not someone else's. Corpsman!"
Peaches, struggling to sit back up. "No, I want... want to stay... for this!"
Avril. "I'll debrief you the moment it's over. God, Savannah, lie back down!"
The medical team leaves with six stretchers; Peaches is on the last one. Watching them, Avril says, "Gunnery Sergeant? Did they already start the recording for the procedure?"
Gunny, checking. "Yes, sir."
Avril. "Flag it for me. I think they're going to want to decorate Lieutenant Bonnet for trying to save these people. Now let's wake up the liaison team."
Private, glancing at the blood and wreckage. "Sir? Are we moving somewhere else?"
Avril. "No. Maybe the alien can learn something from the body before we drag it to the incinerator." He crouches, picks up the soggy remains of the framed picture: butterflies with pins through them, washed in scarlet, dripping. "I'm not going to hide the cost of silence from him."
| 75. Holes. | 77. Start with Violence. |
|---|
Stardancer.Org