The Zerg were reported leaving this sector almost a year ago but apparently they left some of their troops behind. If I didn't know any better, I’d say it was done on purpose. Troops left behind to clean up people like me who are coming for whatever scraps remain. But I do know better. These troops were abandoned here; left to fend for themselves. There would be no going home for them. Their home was here now and with me here too, it’ll be their graveyard.
I've seen three other settlements, like the one I’m in now, since I hit the ground and there are no survivors. Not even traces of humans left here. No bones, no clothing, nothing. I can feel their presence, like specters, shadows of who they were. I can feel their pain as they were slaughtered even after all these months. Their bodies are long gone but I feel their souls all around me. This place is hell.
The atmosphere has been all but poisoned by the Zerg. My rebreather strains constantly as I make my way from one wasted settlement to the next. If I didn't have to stop to sleep, it would give out from overuse. Somewhere around here is where Scrabble bought it, the poor rookie. He had no idea what he was up against. He wasn't completely trained to deal with the Zerg and in one of these gutted units I hope to find something left of him. They told to me to see if he was still alive, still able to somehow hide long enough to wait for rescue, but I know better. I've run this mission a dozen times and all I’ve ever found were dog tags if even that much. And what they really want is data recorder he was carrying. It could hold a record of the Zerg’s movements on this rock, some plans for a secret base, or maybe a recipe for some fat cat’s favorite sandwich, I don’t know. I’m not privy to that information. I just get what they tell me to get.
I rifle though closets, storage crates, shelves and nothing turns up. I found a book in the last one, a religious tome of some sort. I don’t have much faith in god anymore so I left it behind. The souls there could use it more than I could.
My wrist sensor blinks a soft red and I touch its screen. Something is approaching. I cycle the cloak switch and the optical refractors hum for a second and kick in. I’m invisible. Instinctively, I duck behind a dead refrigeration unit as three Zerg Hyrdalisk guards slither around the corner. I’m glad I have the rebreather. I hate the way these things smell. Their red carapaces look black in the dusky light and the slime that drips from their mandibles, normally clear, looks like blood. They are completely unaware of my presence for the time being but they have no reason to think that I’m even there. It won’t last long; they’ll smell me soon enough. I reach down and quietly and unhitch my rifle from my leg holster. If there are only the three of them, I’m safe. I can take out two before the third one gets its balance. Then I can take one on by myself. If they have friends, this will get ugly. I slowly raise my rifle and take aim at the closest one to me; I need the initiative.
Suddenly, its demeanor changes. It stops mid-slither and stands more erect. It’s smelled me and I have no more time. I flick the power switch with my thumb and the quiet but high pitched whine of the capacitor charging removes all doubt from my enemy and it turns to face me directly. This gives me sick pleasure because I now have a clean shot of the center of its face. I take it. With a spit of energy and crackling of light, the Hyrdalisk’s face caves in on itself and escapes through the back of whatever it is that acts as a skull. The sudden power drain causes my cloaking field to drop and its two partners swing on me and rush in. I get off one shot that takes a two foot chunk out of the bone-like cowl above its eyes and I have to fire again. This is precious time wasted. The second shot removes its head and the saber-like arms flail dangerously close to my own head as it collapses to the dirt. I can’t swing the rifle around fast enough to bring a bearing on the third Hyrdalisk but I knew that before I beheaded the last one so I don’t even try. Instead, I drop the rifle and grab the creature itself as its powerful mandibles chomp at me. I drop to the ground pulling it down on me and just when we’re about chest to chest, I bring my legs up into its thorax and catapult it over my head and behind me. Weighing about three times what I weigh means it didn't go too far so while I scramble to my feet, I pull out my tech-blade.
When I spin around to face it, I’m shocked to see two more round the corner hissing and writhing. Between us, but closer to them, my rifle lies in the dirt. I back away not slowly but not quickly either. I’m hoping I can pull off my Hail-Mary without destroying my rifle in the process. I put my tech-blade back in its sheath. They rush me and I charge backwards grappling for a grenade. Just as the last one passes my rifle, and the first one is slashing at me, I throw the grenade to the ground and leap back with everything in me. The explosion both blinds and deafens me and sends me twenty yards up and back.
* * *
My eyes flutter open and I am disoriented. I have no recollection of where I am or why my vision is blurred. I reach up to my face and am shocked to find something in my mouth. It feels like a rebreather. And then it comes to me. Hyrdalisks! I leap to my feet and pull out my pistol. I’m straining to hear clues of movement around me. I’m squinting and trying to focus my vision as I swing the pistol from side to side at shadows that aren't there. But I feel no presences. I can sense nothing alive around me; or at least very little. I don’t drop my guard but I stop moving frantically around. My eyes eventually focus and I can see that I am covered in Hyrdalisk ichor and slime. Around me are the scattered remains of the aliens. One of them is still moving but it won’t live long. I oblige and shorten that time span with a single bullet. On its body I find Scrabbles dog tags and the data recorder attached to the chain. Poor Scrabble. I knew he wouldn’t make. He was too green to be here.
I pick up my rifle, dust it off and place it back in its holster. I try to radio in for an evac since I now know what happened to Scrabble and I don’t need or want to be here anymore, but the radio has been fried in the grenade explosion. Just my luck. I check my bearing indicator, which seems to be functioning fine, and slowly begin the six day journey back to the drop zone. I can trip the beacon there and call for a pick up. Dusk falls on me... At least I think it’s dusk.
(Note: This was originally written in 2009, I made one or two edits before posting it today.)
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