From behind the dugout, Nestor lifted one of the larger handguns he’d found back at the armory. He pointed it at the creature from Hell as it rushed toward them. He pulled the trigger repeatedly and called out as he did so, words he would never have allowed his daughters to hear him utter, his fear pushing the sounds out of his throat even as his flimsy bravery held his feet firmly in place.
At his side, Amara held a rifle, using the top of the dugout to steady the barrel. She was firing as well, her expression cool as always. Only now, tiny beads of sweat ran over her scalp and into her face. She was brave too, but Nestor always knew she was. He only wished he’d been able to get to know her better. There was little chance of that happening now. All they could do was fight until this seemingly indestructible gift from the necros tore them apart.
“Shoot the fucking missile at it!” Nestor managed to call out.
The creature was nearly on top of them now, seemingly impervious to the bullets being fired at it, its face like every nightmare the baker had ever had experienced all rolled up into one convenient visage.
“Fuck!” Jubal was having problems…
* * *
Jubal had never fired a rocket launcher, and now discovered he had no idea how to use the thing. A cone-headed missile protruded from the front of the long tube, and there was a trigger to pull; he even had it pointed in the right direction, yet when he tried firing it at the beast, nothing happened.
“Fuck it!” He dropped the launcher to the ground, yanked out his Desert Eagle and blasted away. “Burn in hell, you alien piece of shit!”
He flinched as a figure leaped atop the dugout.
It was Amara.
* * *
Weaponless, standing atop the dugout with her hands on her hips, Amara focused her mind on the approaching creature, delving deep into its thoughts.
The creature suddenly stopped running, sliding across the blood-drenched grass until it came to a halt several yards from the dugout. The beast’s dark eyes focused on the woman who dared confront it. It growled deep in its throat.
She had gotten its attention.
Using everything she had, everything she had ever learned about her special gift over the years, Amara focused her thought energy like a dagger and drove that psionic weapon deep into the creature’s mind, hoping that if she couldn’t kill it outright, that she could at least stall it long enough for Jubal to come up with a plan.
The alien beast bellowed with pain and rage, lowering its head to the ground and covering it with huge paws. It mewled and cried, clawing huge chunks out of the field with its back legs, spitting and hissing as it fought against the unexpected attack.
It was working!
Then the alien beast slowly raised its head again, back in control.
Formidable. It had resisted her attack.
The creature squatted low, shook its hind quarters, then launched its bulk into the air, flying toward Amara claws outstretched, six legs wide, as if its considerable bulk weighed nothing.
* * *
“No!” Nestor cried as the creature flew headlong into Amara, knocking her from her perch and carrying her forward with its massive momentum, beyond the dugout and into the area beyond. When the beast landed, it landed directly on top of Amara.
The little baker winced when he heard the snapping of her bones beneath its bulk.
Nestor launched himself toward the creature, yanking the trigger on an empty weapon, bellowing out his anger, wanting nothing more now than to save his friend from this monstrosity.
And not caring one bit what happened to himself.
The beast swiped a paw at him and his world exploded in pain.
* * *
Jubal looked on in shock as his two friends were disemboweled before his eyes.
The beast made slow work of them, playing, like a cat with a mouse, as if it knew Jubal was watching and it wanted to torment him to the fullest extent.
He bent down numbly and grabbed the rocket launcher, his hands running over its surface, feeling for a lever or switch he had missed the first time. He kept an eye on the creature, knowing that the second it had finished mutilating Amara and Nestor it would turn its attention back to him.
And his chances against its heavy, rippling muscles, its lightning dexterity and its thick skin were zero.
Something moved beneath his questing fingers, snapping into place. He lifted the rocket launcher to his shoulder, pointed it at the creature…
A glance, and he saw what was left of Amara and Nestor. Bloody ribbons and a stew of flesh and bone.
In one fluid movement, the creature turned and launched itself at Jubal.
The ground quaked beneath his feet as the giant creature landed a mere two yards away from him. It swatted the launcher out of his hands even as he found the trigger.
But it was too late. The launcher flew through the air, across the bloody field.
He was defenseless—just like that.
He stood weaponless against an alien killing machine that had made quick work of a large village of able-bodied weapon-wielding people without even breaking a sweat. He stared into the black pits of its eyes as it stared back at him. He could feel it inside his head now, timid but probing with some form of alien fucking telepathy. He experienced its emotions and he was shocked by what he discovered.
This thing despised him.
It raised a heavy paw with claws like razors. It opened a gaping mouth crowded with pointed teeth. Its breath smelled of carrion and something like motor oil.
Jubal was frozen in place, resigned to his fate. Unable to respond. He gazed into the face of something so alien, so full of otherworldly power, that his mind was pinned beneath the waves of hatred rolling from it.
Then someone bellowed. Someone with a familiar voice.
Mother appeared next to Jubal.
Jubal looked at him, not sure if he was really seeing his friend.
Mother shouted something, but Jubal didn’t know what he was saying. It was if his thoughts had been wrapped in thick layers of cotton.
The big man jerked at something around Jubal’s waist.
The grenades. Jubal had forgotten about the belt of grenades.
With the web belt clutched in his hands, Mother climbed atop the dugout behind Jubal. It was a crazy, desperate move. Jubal wished he’d thought of it.
Mother leapt from the top of the dugout and landed atop the beast’s neck, bellowing like a madman. He pulled the pin on one of the grenades and thrust the entire belt into the monster’s gaping mouth.
The beast flung the big man off its back with a twist of its head.
A world of sudden and extreme noise and pain…
…
…
* * *
Light penetrated the darkness of his mind. Light but no sound. Hearing nothing, as if his ears had been stuffed with cotton. Shadows and shapes moved over and around him, blocking the light, bobbing around like birds pecking at seed. Something brushed his shoulder then gripped it. A hand.
A black man with scars was screaming into his face but he couldn’t hear a thing the man said. The man looked happy though. He wondered what made the man that way.
Then he remembered everything.
Tears rushed from his eyes, bursting free, as he sobbed, rolling his head back and forth, finally and totally overwhelmed by all that had happened since the necros came: The death of his mother, of his fiancée, of his hometown, of friends and loved ones all along the way. Of the constant fight against a world gone insane, a world he no longer recognized as his own. A world that now belonged to the dead.
Mother lifted Jubal to his feet and pointed toward a large group of people moving slowly toward them.
The people were dead.
Jubal wiped his sleeve against his eyes, drying them. He took the Desert Eagle from Mother’s hand and gave Heather and Robin—both armed with their own guns—a smile.
He still couldn’t hear a thing, just a constant ringing from the string of grenades that had gone off so near him. He looked around and found himself near the dugout; he hadn’t moved far at all. The explosion had knocked him on his ass and then out.
Something large and dark lay unmoving next to him. Something that no longer had half its alien head.
He turned away from the defeated beast and began firing at the oncoming mob. And even though he couldn’t hear his gun fire, he could watch as the dead men and women fell to the ground, never to rise again.