helplessness and terror sitting like lead in the pit of my gut.
Again I will the weapon to fire.
Nothing happens.
The Drau lifts his hand. He’s holding something metallic and smooth. It doesn’t look solid. It appears fluid, jellylike. It’s some sort of weapon. A million lights come at me, like the lights that made Jackson snarl in pain. Then all I know is agony, bright and deep.
I’m locked in the horrific compulsion of the alien’s stare. I need to look away. I can’t look away.
More shards of light disgorge from its shimmering weapon. As they hit, pain bursts on my skin, piercing me like the stingers of a hundred hornets. An invisible band tightens around my torso, constricting my ribs. Crack . The sensation of my rib snapping is sharp and pure and agonizing. I can’t catch my breath. My vision goes gray at the edges. The bitter taste of my fear scrapes my tongue.
I think I cry out. Then I think that maybe my scream is locked in my mind. It takes me a second to realize that the sound I hear is actually coming from behind me, an inhuman cry followed by a human one, desperate and terrified.
“Tyrone!” Richelle’s voice. There’s a beat of silence, then a high, tortured scream.
Someone’s hit. Someone’s hurt. I want to look. I want to help. I can’t. The alien holds my gaze, a predator mesmerizing its prey.
Miki! Jackson’s voice is inside my head, shooting past the pain, both sharpening and shredding my focus.
From the corner of my eye I catch a flash of movement: a black-booted foot at the end of a khaki-clad leg. Then the alien’s weapon flies up in an arc, spinning end over end, and the devastating pressure on my lungs eases. Dragging in a breath, I wrench my gaze away.
I’m shaking. My teeth are chattering. My fingers feel numb and prickly, like I’ve been out in a blizzard without gloves. It takes enormous effort to stay up on my knees and keep my grip on my weapon cylinder. I still haven’t figured out how to use it, but I’m not willing to let it go.
The alien in front of me takes a step closer. Just one. It doesn’t dart in for the kill . . . because it’s toying with me.
Predator. Prey. It likes this game.
I will the cylinder to fire, but it sits smooth and inert in my grasp. So I chase the only option left to me and dive for the jellylike gun that Jackson kicked from the Drau’s hand.
The alien’s a beat faster. It has its weapon. I have mine—which is a boatload of useless because I still haven’t figured out how to make it work. My heart gives an ugly lurch in my chest.
To my left there’s another cry, high and short, even more disturbing than the one I heard before. The sound chills me. I don’t dare look around to try to see who’s been hit. I don’t dare look anywhere but at the creature stalking me. We’re separated by only a few feet now.
Sofu taught me to mask any fear and uncertainty because seeing it would give my opponent the edge. Aim to intimidate, Miki, even when you don’t feel it . I remember his words as I huddle here facing an impossible foe, and I snarl, “You’re going down,” mostly because I can’t dredge up anything better. Maybe if I say it, I’ll actually believe it.
The Drau moves closer. Its face—almost human—looms larger and larger, filling my vision and my thoughts. I try to avoid its eyes, but in the end, I fail. Pain sears me, stronger than before. Unbearable.
I stumble and scream, my cry of agony reverberating through the room, echoing inside my head.
The pain, my fear—they piss me off. This is not the way I plan to make my exit from this life, kneeling on the floor, shaking and gasping. If I’m checking out, it’ll be on my terms—just like my mom. Near the end, every doctor agreed that there was no hope and every test confirmed it, so she signed herself out of the hospital, declined heroic measures. For the longest time, I’ve been angry with her about that, too. But maybe, in this second, I understand her
Again I will the weapon to fire.
Nothing happens.
The Drau lifts his hand. He’s holding something metallic and smooth. It doesn’t look solid. It appears fluid, jellylike. It’s some sort of weapon. A million lights come at me, like the lights that made Jackson snarl in pain. Then all I know is agony, bright and deep.
I’m locked in the horrific compulsion of the alien’s stare. I need to look away. I can’t look away.
More shards of light disgorge from its shimmering weapon. As they hit, pain bursts on my skin, piercing me like the stingers of a hundred hornets. An invisible band tightens around my torso, constricting my ribs. Crack . The sensation of my rib snapping is sharp and pure and agonizing. I can’t catch my breath. My vision goes gray at the edges. The bitter taste of my fear scrapes my tongue.
I think I cry out. Then I think that maybe my scream is locked in my mind. It takes me a second to realize that the sound I hear is actually coming from behind me, an inhuman cry followed by a human one, desperate and terrified.
“Tyrone!” Richelle’s voice. There’s a beat of silence, then a high, tortured scream.
Someone’s hit. Someone’s hurt. I want to look. I want to help. I can’t. The alien holds my gaze, a predator mesmerizing its prey.
Miki! Jackson’s voice is inside my head, shooting past the pain, both sharpening and shredding my focus.
From the corner of my eye I catch a flash of movement: a black-booted foot at the end of a khaki-clad leg. Then the alien’s weapon flies up in an arc, spinning end over end, and the devastating pressure on my lungs eases. Dragging in a breath, I wrench my gaze away.
I’m shaking. My teeth are chattering. My fingers feel numb and prickly, like I’ve been out in a blizzard without gloves. It takes enormous effort to stay up on my knees and keep my grip on my weapon cylinder. I still haven’t figured out how to use it, but I’m not willing to let it go.
The alien in front of me takes a step closer. Just one. It doesn’t dart in for the kill . . . because it’s toying with me.
Predator. Prey. It likes this game.
I will the cylinder to fire, but it sits smooth and inert in my grasp. So I chase the only option left to me and dive for the jellylike gun that Jackson kicked from the Drau’s hand.
The alien’s a beat faster. It has its weapon. I have mine—which is a boatload of useless because I still haven’t figured out how to make it work. My heart gives an ugly lurch in my chest.
To my left there’s another cry, high and short, even more disturbing than the one I heard before. The sound chills me. I don’t dare look around to try to see who’s been hit. I don’t dare look anywhere but at the creature stalking me. We’re separated by only a few feet now.
Sofu taught me to mask any fear and uncertainty because seeing it would give my opponent the edge. Aim to intimidate, Miki, even when you don’t feel it . I remember his words as I huddle here facing an impossible foe, and I snarl, “You’re going down,” mostly because I can’t dredge up anything better. Maybe if I say it, I’ll actually believe it.
The Drau moves closer. Its face—almost human—looms larger and larger, filling my vision and my thoughts. I try to avoid its eyes, but in the end, I fail. Pain sears me, stronger than before. Unbearable.
I stumble and scream, my cry of agony reverberating through the room, echoing inside my head.
The pain, my fear—they piss me off. This is not the way I plan to make my exit from this life, kneeling on the floor, shaking and gasping. If I’m checking out, it’ll be on my terms—just like my mom. Near the end, every doctor agreed that there was no hope and every test confirmed it, so she signed herself out of the hospital, declined heroic measures. For the longest time, I’ve been angry with her about that, too. But maybe, in this second, I understand her
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