Second Wave -- 32
Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Most of the Pug-bears that faced the Warlord's gang were ferals and ended up being used as shock troops by the normally subservient Pugs. We heard via the inter-mountain grapevine that the ferals were fierce fighters but not noticeably intelligent.
The Pugs, normally the front-line cannon fodder, seemed to be running the assault but were less aggressive than I expected, probably due to the absence of their intelligent masters. As a result, the front-range invasion seemed to be at a standstill.
I'd told the townspeople that the Pug-bears needed the symbionts in order to reach their full potential, and the word had gotten over to the Warlord's people. We were in a somewhat cooperative relationship with them by now. The antagonistic status of the recent past had been modified by having the aliens to fight. Every human cooperated when it came to killing the invaders.
I'd mulled over what I knew about the invaders from their first attempt. The Pug-bears that bore the symbionts were the brains of the operation, and they seemed to have a fierce determination to make the Pugs fight. However, the Pugs weren't very good as organized fighters, in spite of their physical toughness. They lacked a sense of strategy. Their idea of a good fight was to rush out in a group and then start shooting. Their problem with this tactic was that the people on our side were notably good shots. For their part, though, their weapons were more deadly than ours. They either had a miss or a kill with the splinter-guns, and the anti-matter weapons were enough to keep humans hiding. As a result, our side had evolved a strategy of mass sniping and then rapid movement to avoid the return fire.
Every now and then, a group of Pugs would come over the pass and descend towards Grand Lake. We'd managed to kill all of them that presented themselves, but some lone Pug-bears had found their way past our blockade.
These awful creatures posed no collective threat, but they were a constant problem for the ranchers and sheep-herders in the area. Not only did they kill lots of livestock, they were a menace to any human they encountered. They were mostly impervious to hunting rifles unless they were of magnum power and loaded with solid and heavy bullets for lots of penetration. Even then, you had to hit the things through gaps in their natural armor. A high-caliber bullet would just bounce off of their back plates.
The best place to aim was at their neck, below the armor, or right down their throat. They had a habit of raising their heads and staring at you while opening their mouths, which made it possible to hit the sweet spot in the back of their throat if you were calm and aimed carefully. A shot down the gullet usually made them considerably less interested in eating you.
Michael and I remained at our homestead. I depended upon Jefferson to alert me of any intrusions and, for the most part, he was reliable. The only times he was distracted were usually at night when some other Tom would drop by for a fight or an argument over a female in heat. Jefferson always settled those issues quickly, though.
The other Tom would vacate at a full run, often with a chewed-up ear and always missing clouds of fur. Jefferson would court the female, do his best to ensure that more of the local cat population bore his signature orange coat, and then pop back through the cat door with an air of satisfaction mixed with a smug look of superiority on his face.
He always wanted to lie on the bed after such an escapade, but I had a problem with that concept. It was because he was often bleeding from a variety of scratches, and I didn't like to have my covers stained. My normal strategy was to wake up when I heard the sound of cats cussing at each other. The noise would rise to a crescendo and after the other cat fled, he'd come inside. I'd catch him, sponge off any bloody patches and dry his coat.
He submitted to this treatment happily. I think that he believed that my ministrations were the natural order of things. He seemed to think that I could take care of any wound. In the back of my mind, I dreaded the time that would inevitably come. He'd get older and become less adept at his fighting, and I could see that he was too bull-headed to back off. I just hoped that my medical skills were up to the challenge when the time came.
One windy night, I heard the usual catfight noises—a series of yowls and counter-yowls mixed with screeches. Before the fight had gotten really started, Jefferson came flying through the cat flap and leaped up on the bookcase with every hair standing out. I could hear the other cat let out a loud screech that terminated suddenly in mid-cry.
This didn't bode well, and I jumped out of bed, seizing my heaviest rifle. Dec had taken his beloved Win-mag, but I still had the old .338. I hated to shoot the heavy thing. It had a roar like a thunderbolt and a kick that made my shoulder sore for a couple of weeks. In addition, it was almost too heavy for me to handle, but I kind of liked that feature since it helped with the recoil. It was a bolt action and held a couple of cartridges in its magazine in addition to the one in the chamber.
With the rifle and a flashlight, I cautiously looked through the window near the door. Just as I did, there was a horrible moaning noise that set the short hair on my neck standing straight up. It was a sound that I'd never forgotten: a Pug-bear. There was a scrabbling at the cat flap, and the thing's taloned arm came through and felt around on the inside.
Finding nothing in reach, the arm withdrew, casually ripping the flap out of its hole and leaving an open space that the creature shoved as much of its face into as would fit. It obviously sensed us, and I suddenly felt a mental compulsion to open the door and come out. The level of desire to go out rapidly mounted, and I found myself with my hand on the thick piece of steel that barred the door.
That shocked me, but what was worse, something pressed against my hip at that moment and I realized that Michael was trying to open the door with all of his might. He didn't have anything like the resistance that I had to the alien's mental compulsion and had been completely snared by the creature.
Behind us, Jefferson sounded his battle cry from the top of the bookshelf but didn't make any effort to come down. I shoved Michael away, but he came right back to me and clawed at the barred door.
Dropping my rifle and the flashlight, I grabbed him with both hands and rushed him over to the bed. It was the work of seconds to roll him tightly in the covers and then wrap one of Dec's belts around the bundle. As I buckled the belt, he began to cry in gasps and sobs, wriggling as he still tried to obey the Pug-bear's compulsion.
The alien was hungry, and it drew prey to it with its mental powers. It suddenly pulled its head away from the cat flap, and the door shook as it shoved its heavy bulk against it. Dec had built the door out of heavy and well-seasoned oak boards, and I had always kept it barred at night since he had gone. The Pug-bear's shoves rattled the door in its frame, but it held.
The sounds ceased for a moment, and then the creature jammed its head through the kitchen window. The glass shattered and let in the ammonia-like stench of the alien, along with a gust of cold night air. I screamed and jumped to my rifle. I fumbled the safety off and got positioned with the flashlight in my left hand, held against the front stock.
When the light came on, the Pug-bear moaned and renewed its thrusting against the window frame. There were only a few shreds of glass left, but the frame was too small to admit the thing. Its bulky carapace wouldn't fit through the opening in the logs. It didn't seem to realize that and continued to try to shove its way into the room by brute force. This was obviously a feral without the symbiont. Its mental attack was too weak to be anything else, and an intelligent one would have quickly understood that the only way in was through the door.
I carefully aimed and squeezed the trigger. A huge ball of flame shot out of the muzzle, blinding me as the rifle kicked hard, and I lost my balance and sat down on the floor. I could hardly hear for the ringing in my ears caused by the concussion of the high-powered round in the confined space, but after a moment, I made out the high-pitched screams of the Pug-bear. I'd hit it somewhere in the neck area, and it had flipped over onto its back on the porch and was thrashing around.
Mindful of the possibility of some of the alien's venom having gotten on the broken glass, I pulled some boots on and carefully climbed up on a chair well away from the window. I didn't want to just go over and look out. If it were still able, it could easily stick a poison claw in me if I were that close.
From the vantage of the chair, I could see that the thing was lying partway off the porch with its head pointed away from the house. Its feet were scrabbling wildly in the air, but then one of them hooked the porch rail and spun the creature, still on its back completely around and off of the porch. Once on the ground, it managed to slowly right itself and face the window.
I knew it was injured. They usually were able to come off their back rapidly. This one was moving slowly but wasn't yet out of the fight. I shakily climbed down and located the rifle. Once I'd ejected the spent round and chambered a fresh cartridge, I climbed back on the chair and then up onto the table. The Pug-bear was still moaning but with a higher-pitched overtone to its sound. The harmonics from its call seemed to be specially designed to strike fear in humans, although I knew they were not used to us as prey.
Wincing as I shouldered the rifle, I aimed at the hateful thing's opened mouth and fired a second shot. The results were even worse than the first shot. I was blinded by the flash, and I dropped the rifle as the table collapsed. It wasn't designed for that kind of stress and I pitched off and banged my head on the side of a cabinet.
It was maybe a little later. I was aware of me moaning somewhere deep inside my chest, but I could hardly hear anything. Jefferson was crouched on my chest, licking at my cheek, apparently trying to help me recover my wits. I pushed him off and sat up, foggily realizing that he wouldn't be down off the bookcase if the Pug-bear were still a threat.
I rubbed my head and gradually climbed to my feet, holding onto the cabinets for stability. The flashlight hadn't gone out and was still shining on the far side of the room. I picked it up and checked Michael. He was wrapped in the covers with his head out and a strained expression on his face. I kissed him and was alarmed when he didn't respond. Even so, I had to make certain we were safe before I investigated further.
I retrieved the rifle for a third time, reloaded, and approached the window. By glancing out, I could see the carcass lying on the ground by the steps. My second shot had done for it.
I located a lantern and lit it. In the yellow flame from the wick, I swept up the broken glass into a pile near the window. I was afraid to touch it. If any of the alien's venom had been dripped on the glass and I cut myself, it would be my end. They were that deadly. The things liberally dripped venom from their claws and teeth when they were in a fight and it was almost a sure bet that some was spread around on the cabin floor.
I retreated back to the bed with the rifle and the lantern. Unwrapping Michael seemed to take forever. He was unhurt physically, but he was unresponsive. I sat there holding him with Jefferson crouching by my side.
After a time, perhaps a few minutes or even so much as an hour, I had reached a calm state and felt ready to try and contact his mind. I carefully extended my mental touch. He was locked into a small compartment that radiated fear to the point of blind, unreasoning panic. I began to work at calming him.
By dawn, we hadn't moved much, but he was now responding, although in a sleepy way. From his words, I knew that he really didn't remember or comprehend what had happened. That was probably a good thing because I was still trying to deal with the horror of the night's events. If he didn't remember, perhaps he'd recover quickly.
It was maybe ten in the morning; the sun was shining brightly, and the cabin was a bit warmer. I'd wrapped us in all of the covers to keep warm, and just recently, I'd had to remove part of them. My ears were still ringing, and I couldn't hear too well, but Jefferson alerted, and I quickly unwrapped, lifting the rifle from the floor. Then, I heard a series of loud curses from outside. Glancing through the window, I saw a horse tied to the porch rail, then there was a thunderous pounding on the door.
I unbarred the door, and it was shoved open. William came pushing through and grabbed me in his arms before I could raise my hands.
“Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Are you alright?” His eyes were dark with concern. He glanced around the cabin, taking in the scene. “I was riding by and I saw the dead Pug-bear by the porch. I was afraid that you were – you were – ” He drew a shaky breath and kissed my forehead, “I was afraid that you weren't alright. I should have known better. You're the most capable female I've ever known.”
I gently disentangled myself from his embrace. It was obvious to me that he cared about my safety, and I appreciated that, but his arms around me were a little too intimate. I turned and righted the chair from the floor, then sat down, placing the rifle on the floor as I did.
“I'm OK, William. The Pug-bear is dead, and it didn't hurt us. I don't know what I'm going to do about that window, though. Oh! And the blasted creature destroyed the cat door, too!” I realized that I'd been in almost a state of shock. His presence forced me back into a more normal mode of thinking.
“I've told you that you shouldn't be out here alone!” William's eyes flashed, and he looked at me angrily. “Even though you killed that thing, you could have been injured. You need to be in town or...” Here, he paused, considering his next words. He shook his head as if to reassure himself that he was right and then continued, “You need a man here with you to protect you.”
I didn't want to argue the point, and Dec seemed very far away right now, so I just nodded. He was correct in a way. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I'd have to move into town and take advantage of Molly's hospitality, at least until spring or until Dec returned. William, however, chose to take my nod as assent to his latter point and added, “I'm available. I know that it hasn't been very long since your husband left, but you've got to realize that he's not going to be coming back. No one could fight those things alone and live. There hasn't been any word of him from the Warlord's people, and they've had all they can handle fighting the aliens. No, he's not coming back. You'll need another man. I'd be honored, and I promise to care for you and both of your children.”
I was taken aback. I'd known that he was interested in me, but this amounted to a proposal. I wasn't interested. I was still Dec's wife, but I realized that the country was wild and my children needed security. I wasn't going to be able to cope alone, especially as my pregnancy progressed. Somewhat offended, I said, “I'm married to Declan, and I'm confident that he is still alive. I appreciate your offer, but it's – I just can't think about such a thing now. I'm going to see about moving into town for the winter. I'd appreciate your help, especially if you'd drop by here and keep an eye on things. I don't want any squatters moving in while I'm away.”
He drew a deep breath and prepared to argue, but then he just sighed, “Please forgive me if I put too much pressure on you. I would be really happy if you'd agree to marry me, but I can wait until you satisfy yourself that Declan isn't coming back. I'll keep an eye on the house here, and I'll help you move into town. I hope that you'll let me come by and see you often in town. I want to keep an eye on you, also. You're too independent for your own good, you know.”
I didn't like his patronizing tone, but I understood that he really was worried about me, so I just smiled and said, “I'll be happy for the help.”
I reasoned that I could deal with him dropping by to visit me later. I didn't want my town friends to think he was courting me, but I thought I could keep it on a business footing if I just concentrated on having him report on the status of our homestead.
By the end of the day, we were safely moved into Molly's spare room. William had been a godsend and had overseen every aspect of getting us packed, boarding up the cabin, and moving us into town. I was exhausted and I was sure he was also.
My major concern was that Jefferson had vanished. He didn't care for William, and I was sure that he wouldn't move into town either. I planned to ride out tomorrow and see if I couldn't locate him. At the least, I'd fix the cat door and make sure there was plenty of food and a warm place for him to nest during the cold nights.
As I lay down beside Michael's warm, snug little body in Molly's feather bed, I reflected on where Dec might be. I had lost contact with him, and that didn't reassure me. What if he were injured or ... killed? What would I do then? I sank into a restless sleep.