Veronica; the bringer of victory. Not just a good luck charm. Victory needs dragged; kicking, screaming, choking down blood and coursing the name Veronica. She didn't feel any victory in this sickly warm prison. She was bound with purple, organic cocoon around her arms and behind her back. It wasn't even in a strong position, her toes pointed under the mess of mucus restraint. Her limbs itched and burned. Something injected in her blood. Something that made her body tender and soft. She had never been in as much pain but whatever they were putting in her body made her euphoric about it.
She almost lost her head. She had almost given in, like the others. Girls all, their breast swelled, exposed. Victoria found them doe-eyed and doughy. They forgot where they were. They forgot the men that fled and died. Some fought terribly and died easily. All, at the hands of pigs and thick lizards. Even the complaints started to fade as hysteria melted into complacency.
Moments after being restrained, hundreds of spider creatures flooded the tissue covered chamber. The crawled up the girls, fighting in a race to balance on a chest to get to the throats that had been forcefully penetrated by bastards grey prawns made of moist flesh. They are hiding in the corners now, inside the walls or just behind her view. Prowling like insects guarding a kill.
She bit one. Killed the little rapist, too. But there were more, much more. She could never forget the blunt limb protruding from the beast. It punched her, and shoved itself down her throat, cutting off her air for an eternity. She cried. Resisting was all she had but she was too slow. Her body could not raise to her will naked, suspended upright.
The other girls skinny and beautiful like she once considered herself. Pumped full of drugs or hormones. They swelled with weak joy. Some were so far gone Victoria wanted to end them herself. They would say the most horrible things.
"My baby," moaned with such earnestly that it was almost believable, but the moving bumps made from deep within their skin proved it perverted their instincts. Victoria wasn't sure if her skin was crawling or if she had passengers of her own. Feeding off her.
As with all disturbing trends there was a first. Brenda was a blonde with short quirky hair and bright blue eyes. She had cried that entire first night. After being, kidnapped together, off the main street, hiding behind an overturned shoe sale sign. In hindsight, the things were looking through some sort of goggles and probably could detect them. It would have been better to run. "Next time," Brenda joked through her sobbing.. She raised her head for the first time in days, "Next time, we hid in a fridge." Snapping to attention, full of zest. She decided to stop grieving her boyfriend or brother, veronica didn't know, who thought they would save her by stashing her away and fighting. "I'm not going to die displayed like some life-size Barbie set to stand in a fucking dildo, without a shirt."
The crying eventually died down. Whether it was nighttime sleep or just passing out from pain, some girls went limp in their restraints. Brenda was real concerned for some of the girls she could see with bullet wounds. Even a non-fatal wound will kill you eventually. She was a the best damn nurse serving in an army unit and now that she was stateside she was going to become the best damn doctor L.A. has ever known. Even when recounting Iraq she was never strayed away from talk of escape. Then the alien's gray insects violated them.
Something dug through them like needles. Moved underneath their skin. However, dosed with hormones, Brenda observed that, it must have increased after the attack. It was sick. Victoria recalled this feeling, but it was Brenda that said the unthinkable. "Is this what it feels like to be pregnant?" Victoria forgot about her sore back and the pain from the bar of metal stuck in her arm and her lack of clothing. Her mouth went dry. Her breathing went shallow, as she tilted her head back. Her brow weighed heavy on her eyes as she struggled to keep the tears back. She didn't want to know, to speculate, to think about something being inside of her. Her body felt wave of hesitation and felt lighting as her head swam in the consequences of her thought. She knew. It was exactly pregnant. She had miscarried, before.
She just wanted to lay back. She just wanted to close her eyes and forget about everything. Forget about her fellow victims and her botched hiding place. The laser blasts burned despite not hitting her directly The broken buildings and debris that replaced her favorite shopping getaway. Her ill-fated flight as she was thrown by a pig on to exposed rebar. Even anniversary surprises and the reason she wasn't wearing panties.
There is always risk with surprise. Would his parents leak the secret. Would the receipt show up before she could hide it. A perverted wind or up-draft from a subway vent. She didn't think aliens would show up and take her and lose her cloths. Her memories evaporated with a haze.
It was gone already. Ill fated glass making a slow descent to the floor. She had held on to the thought for a day. She had stopped speaking to Brenda for the sake of holding on to the blood slicked precipice of sanity. She pictured it in lieu of conversation or escape plans. She questioned herself. is picturing holding on to sanity a sane thing to do? Then Brenda spoke.
Brenda couldn't take the dose. Her conscience had already hit the floor. Shattered women, like shattered people, speak in the things they directly feel. They don't think for the consequences of deep contemplation. "You're crying," Brenda observed. Blood dripping from the side of her smile. With tired excitement she asked, "do you think Mine will be a boy or a girl."
What? Victoria choked on her own sore and stale mucus in her throat.
"My baby, it could be a boy or an adorable little girl." Her stomach bloated. She motioned with her elbow wishing she could reach it.
No. Fuck. Bitch. What the hell is happening to us? Victoria's eyes asked in panic.
Brenda began to prattle on for hours. Sadness turned to anger and Victoria bared her teeth wishing that she could threaten her former cohort. If only she could spit. The noise began to echo as silence grew to a whimpering moan of baby talk.
Victoria held on to her pain and embarrassment to keep out the voices around her. She twisted her arm to feel the bar, buried in her flesh. She held on to everything the drugs tried to make her forget, everything that they had forsaken. There was no baby in her or any of them. Monsters took them and it would only bring more monsters to let them win. Brenda's stomach was no longer flat. Her pink bunny tattoo that peaked over her left thigh was fully exposed and blown-up. Suddenly, her eyebrows raised and her lips smacked. She began to open her mouth for one last time.
Brenda burst. A pink cloud blinded Victoria and she closed her eyes in recoil. Limbs, tattooed with Brenda's favorite quotes, and stains on the floor were all that remained.
Small metallic balls of terrible knowing and clicking sounds had emerged from the flesh that once held Victoria's friend's form. Tiny mouth populated a protruding jaw and to red domes housed many peering bounced without use of their razor tentacles.
Victoria watched. These were inside of her, Inside every girl. To look away would be to give in. She still had her wits and forced her mind to comprehend her enemy. Her assailants. Murderers. They bounced and devoured. They seemed to suspend themselves in air between bounces. Within the hour they doubled in size. They were about as big as a footballs.
Brenda had struggled none stop. Brenda wanted to escape and if there was a way out she would have found it. Victoria stared at the stump in front of her. Feeling her pain. Clinging to her capacities. Why could she think? Why didn't she go delirious? Why did was she able to witness?
She heard for girls more scream and pop. She was glad she was in this nook and didn't have to witness more than.
It started as a distant echo. Ra-ta-ta-ta, like a drum line. The crash of cymbals and ringing of engines bounced and bent through the mushy halls. Is this what it is to lose my mind? She thought. She perked up. Gunfire. She leaned to extend her bonds. past a wall and a column, she saw a myth.
There had been another invasion, several years before. The rumor that one man was able to quell the onslaught, kill the alien emperor and turn the invasion. She saw him on television once. She never believed it. The aliens could be so disorganized and vulnerable that killing one still allowed them an organized retreat? It didn't make sense. Before it seemed like a lame conspiracy to save face of being taken and used as a planet. Then claim that we can hurt them enough with a single strike that they retreated. Then say that it was a single person, ridiculous. It would be, if it weren't for the pitiful claim of the Global Defense System. Like a silent rape whistle.
There is the steroid-injected, dry framework, from some tri-county car show muscle man competition, she thought. Bleach blond buzz cut hair, leather suspenders with useless holsters, a wife beater and camouflage pants. Carrying an over-sized rocket launcher. Victoria deadpanned in pain and disappointment. Explosives in narrow corridors is the most idiotic thing she could think off.
Still, it lent her some hope. He made it through the defenses. Maybe she could get out. He shifted the weight of the over-sized barrel to smack a soft sack protruding from the wall and giggled as it jiggled. Maybe there was no defenses in the first place.
Victoria settled back into her struggle out of sight of the fiddling interloper. The sound of coos and women mumbling about their baby weight engulfed her hearing once more.
Two voices perked up above the rest. They were talking, directing their voices at a person instead of droning. "What is happening to us?" a soft voice squeaked. "I feel like it is coming." Their words echoed solemnly in Victoria head, as she had allowed similar last words of others. A kindness, she hoped someone would do her the dame favor. She doubted even that wouldn't be allowed to her.
The low voice responded like he was grinding rocks with his teeth, "I guess you're fucked." It tore against Victoria's mind. She stare at the ground and asked herself why. Her eyes ached as dry small tears stalled just under her eyes.
Voices mimicked each other around Victoria. She fought the urge to join the course of begging and despair. She tried to hide her head between her shoulders as the wave of moans gave in to the squishy bursting that tended to follow. The man began to yell, coaxing the parasites to come out. The metallic clicking of the balls of teeth and needles groaned into consciousness. Sudden silence.
The humid air disturbed by a rush of dry heat and fire. Victoria's ears flashes in deafness as wet hot blood appeared. Her weakened soft body battered by the rushes of air barreling down the narrow corridors and even into her prison nook. He had opened fire. He let rockets lose to bounce and detonate shock-waves in the air, that beat upon the women and fleshy walls. What she hoped was an aired rocket would snuff her out, for a second that quickly passed. She really wanted free. One propelled itself through the air straight into the wall next to a shaking girl in bikini bottoms. Ebony skin made pale by her burden. She hadn't shown signs of bursting. Yet, now she lie limp, killed by the impact and rush of hot expanding pressure. A rocket was no means of salvation.
Heat stung Victoria's eyes. The direct pressure smacked her where it hurt, everywhere. She hadn't realized just how much shielding she had been given tucked away in her crevice. The noise died down after one last loud dull explosion. The man coughed as he fought through some mucous that the crawlers projected.
He left the room a bloody mess of red, green, and tan. Instead of girls with holes, there were pieces. The walls eerie glow started to fade and the tendons of the wall started to shrink and lose their luster. The hot wet heat of incubation cooled.
Perhaps the walls were alive because of the girls, she thought. It doses the girls, Infects them, and then uses their bodies to heat and power the hive growth, maybe. Perhaps, it scales the energy to the rooms.
It didn't matter at her until she realized she could think clearly and the tendons had loosened. She arched her back and leaned against the rebar to pull her other arm out of it's restraint. It slowly began to give-way, at first, but all at once released. Victoria lurched forward and her arm flopped in front of her unrestrained. Squeezing her fist she tried to get blood and strength to her pale arm. Her neon blue nail polished nails shined in her imagination. She thought she would never see them again.
She reached behind her back and found the base of the rebar, where it had embedded itself in her arm. She grasped it and pushed away as she leaned forward. She pulled all she could with her punctured arm but the rebar would have to do most of the work. She was able to pry her injured arm from the tissue. She fell forward from her hips.
She was barely able to move her newly released hand. As, it attempted to make a fist. Only her off-hand was useful.
About to free her legs, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She couldn't see but she knew what it was. The metallic squid with teeth. It was pushing it's way out. She could feel it wriggling. A wriggling. At least three wriggling. It wasn't strong though. She had managed to starve it. Pale blue shined through her skin. Maybe one. One had eaten the other two instead of starving.
Just one. She thought. I can kill just one. There was a pointed end to the rebar where the teleport field's edge had been. It was a blunt metal before being teleported. What got taken was sharp. Sharp hovering an inch over her skin. Aiming for the pale light of it's eyes as it pressed against skin and muscle.
The bar plunged into her skin. Her whole body felt the tremor of metal on metal. She used her scream to try to catch her breath and pulled it out. The rimmed bar kept some skin. The wriggling pressure ceased.
Victoria stabbed the floor. Anything that looked like a tendon with something in it. She gnashed against the muscle until the she made contact with the cement floor underneath. She rocked her legs, pushing and pulling. She leaned and stretched. She arched her back and shifted her weight until she could feel her legs getting loose. Her butt hit the floor, saved by freshly shaved legs. Then again, the alternative probably wasn't as bad as a wax. Her body tried to laugh but a dry wheeze escaped. This was almost happy.
Where to go? There were two ways. Risk after the butch-cut murderer. If he was still alive. Deciding that if would be a good thing, she left in the opposite direction. If he was as big a threat as rumored and if the were focusing on killing him then their forces would be weakest where he had already been.
The incubation room led to a corridor. As she walked down the halls, half crouching and leaning against a wall and using her rebar for support. The tissue covered stretched thinner and revealed the cement walls and floor, until a few thick root-like tendons were left clinging to the floor and wrapped around pipes.
Lots of rebar here, she thought. Then, realized this is the most she had ever thought about rebar in one day, or ever. With a few hundred paces she wasn't sure if her strength was weaning or if she was shivering. She walked across a decal that read DESTRUCTORS. They had taken over the football stadium. Small lose.
The hall ended in an exit, a hole in the ceiling, and an officer in riot great hanging by the chains of a fluorescent light. Finding the door locked she involuntarily pivoted on her heel and landed against the door frame. She stared at the lifeless man. Face Shield smashed. Black burned holes in his armor. Blood pulsing underneath him. A picture tucked in his collar. Gun dangling from his fingers. Bloody mud caked on his boots. Wait. Gun dangling from his hand. Gun.
She reached up. Gun. Her hands made slick by the greasy blood. Her stomach ached as she stretched. Her outstretched arm went to coddle the injury but quickly realized there was nowhere to touch to hold in the pain. Gun. Bit of punctured muscle. Gun. Torn skin. Squishy innards cling to skin. Gun. She was entirely sore. Gun. She thought of the help she needed; surgery, stabilization, stitches, ice, gauze, lots of laying down and eating cheap apple sauce. The gun was close. She batted at it, just out of her reach and the arm swung. The gun clung to the dead soldier's glove by his dried blood.
Her fingers hit it with a second bat. The hand swung and the gun fell with a slight rip of loose fabric. The gun fell to the floor. Veronica felt herself smile as her hands fell to her knees for support. She carefully reached down for the gun as the aluminum light. The dead man hung suspended and crooked.
The floor seemed to breath as she focused her attention to the free firearm. It came close. It backed off. Her hand neared the barrel. The floor suddenly jumped at her face. The body of the dead man fell from the light and pancaked her against the cold cement.
For a minute, Victoria watched the ground fog with every labored exhale.
"Mmgh" Her voice. She had almost forgotten she could talk. Like an old friend.
"Hey, get off. Dead useless fuck! I really don't want to die."
She tried to lift herself but her arms had lost too much strength. Things went black and the flat sound of her hitting cement echoed in her ear. She wondered where he strength was. She found it in her legs. Pushing up with her butt to let the clunky body roll off her. The wounded flesh clung to the floor.
The body was down. It stared at her with a silent need. He was young. He had eyes like Brenda. Now silent in their stare into the dark.
She couldn't think of anything more useful than the gun but she tried to search the pockets, anyway. The questions didn't prioritized themselves. What is happening to me? Should I take his cloths? Would it get me any farther? Am I better armed than naked? Does it even matter if I bleed out? Is there a first aid kit. The buttons might as well been fused on. The zippers felt like fighting back molasses to open. There was no piece of clothes she could get off. She stared at her finger. They shook with effort. Or, was she trying to keep still. It was hard to keep track. She found two magazines, a pair of handcuffs, mace, a flask of vodka and a CPR mask. None of it mattered without pockets.
She picked up the gun. Her thin fingers gripped the handle. The small textures pressed themselves against her had, making the gun heavier in protest. Her aim met the lock in the industrial door. The single nub, right between the rear two nubs, she thought as she held the gun in front of her. Two shots disappeared into the soft metal of the door, leaving holes and spider-webbed paint. One to the left and one in the other door. She stumbled up and shot the lock point-blank, closing her eyes several pieces of metal met and rung in quick succession that hit her ears all at once. She ejected the half used magazine to the floor and slid one, that she found in his pockets, until it clicked. Guns weren't so hard. She flipped the safety to red and whimpered as she pulled back the action to see the round in the chamber. She pressed her entire body against the door to get it open and made her way through the hallway, gun hanging low by both of her hands.
Light. A hole in the wall. Burn marks framed the exit. Someone made their own entrance. Someone could be on watch. She squeezed the gun handle. It was the only heat. Heat so genuine and warm that couldn't believe.
Light. She hadn't expected to see the sun again. Another casualty of capture. The dry air hot air from the desert made the moist dampness of her skin start to crust.
Her eyes adjusted to see the hobbled figure of a six-foot tall hog. It breathed through thick snot and growled at her. He carried a club but broke it in rage or as a display of aggression. The club splintered and the beast lowered it's head to charge.
Victoria choked on the free air and raised her gun. Unable to breath she looked down the barrel placing the front single sight between the back two. Her aim was overcome by her desire to fire. The force knocked her back. She fell on her thigh. She sat back and squeezed the gun. All her anger. All those girls now pieces. This thing too will die. She stared back down the sights. steadying her aim with her knees and weak arm. Another shit. The thing stumbled as it passed into its huge gut. Another shot in the shoulder. Three shots in rapid succession into the things chest.
It stopped running. It fell to its haunches. Blood filled up it's longs it coughed a thick red mist. It stared at her. Food, victim, prey. She looked down the sights at it's once dark eyes now blue and wide. She released another round.
She walked through the war-torn streets of LA. For having choppers and soldiers swarm and fight, the streets were relatively peaceful now. She was walking topless and didn't have any annoying catcalls. It was almost an improvement. It would have been nice if there was an ambulance. She could just pass out and be woken up by a concerned EMT full of information that would calm her. If she could see him and his nerdy glasses once more. No, she couldn't take anyone up on offers for help. She walked to the receptionist and ask for the emergency room, describing a fever, toxin, and some clever surgery to pack in all of her guts.
"We'll need you to surrender you weapon."
"Considering what the last few days have been like, I would sooner hide it in my cooter than give it up."
The receptionist found her a waiver instead.