Salvation
Five Days After Gunnison
The light hurt her eyes. Bright and pure, scything through sensitive pupils, burning like the aftermath of the bomb, cutting like a knife.
The metal chair bit into her back and ass, and she shifted, irritable, trying to stay awake, her strength and energy sapped by the constant burning, bright light. Every time she tried to close her eyes, she could see the memory, silhouetted against her eyelids.
Those things. Ravenous, murderous, hungry.
Killing. Hunting.
The town gone, destroyed.
She'd told Morales, begged him to come with her. With them.
Gone.
Five days.
Five days of disorientation. Interrogation. Torture. Five days trying to find out what she knew about...those things.
Where was Molly?
Tears of frustration seeped out. Angrily she shook her head, wiping them away, her wedding ring gleaming brightly in the unforgiving light. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight, the memory, the accusation in the band around her slim fingers.
Tim, screaming, ordering her to take Molly and go. And like a good soldier, she obeyed his orders.
The door of the interrogation room slid open, and she jumped, reflexes and nerves dimmed and dulled by exhaustion. Forcing herself to focus as the tall, rail thin man walked in and sat in front of her, placing a slim Manila folder on the table between them.
"Where's my daughter? Where's Molly?"
He ignored her, opening the folder, dealing out the photographs in front of her like a macabre poker hand.
She saw the pictures, those things, sinuous and cruelly graceful. Their handiwork, scattered through her once familiar hometown. She shivered, conscious of the sudden chill in the air, wrapping her arms around her body
He waited, like a shark, angled and poised. Waiting for the weakness, the vulnerability.
She'd had enough.
"What do you want from us? I don't know what to tell you...what do you want from us?"
Strength gone, pride gone. Worn away by the nightmare in Gunnison.
"We need to talk, Gunner O'Brien."
xxxXXXxxx
Five days.
Five days working him over. Good cop, bad cop. Working him like they knew he was nothing but a cheap skell.
They knew which buttons to press. Knew his KAs. Knew his record. Hell they even knew which cheerleader had blown him behind the stadium after the Bowl Game.
Rachel Greig. 22-14 and still the greatest day of his life.
They knew it all and they used it all.
Didn't help that he couldn't tell them what they wanted to know. Didnt seem to matter to them either.
Over and over. Searching for the inconsistencies. Searching for the lies they thought were there.
Dallas Howard was a good liar. He knew how to tell people what they wanted to hear.
He didn't know what these people wanted to hear.
xxxXXXxxx
"I want my mommy."
"I know sweetie, I know." The woman, slender, with longer hair than Mommys, knelt next to her, drawing her into a close comforting embrace. "I'm going to take you to her, real soon. But first, first we're going to play a game."
"A game?"
The little girl looked up at her, tears in those huge, innocent eyes. Searching for reassurance, love and protection.
Just for a moment, she hated her job.
"Yes, sweetie, a game. Wont that be fun?"
"I guess so. Then will you take me to Mommy?"
"Yes, I will. I know she's been looking to see you too, but she has to finish talking to some grown ups first. Important people."
"My Mommys very important. She's very brave."
"Is she, sweetheart?"
Molly O'Brien nodded, her face earnest, eyes wide and serious. "Yes. She kept me safe when the monsters came."
"Did she?"
"Yes!" She stopped herself as her thumb crept towards her mouth. "You believe me about the monsters?"
"Yes, Molly, I do." She reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from the girl's face. "Why don't you tell me what she did?"
xxxXXXxxx
"How is the boy?
"He'll live." The doctor lifted a chart from the end of the bed, standing a few paces back from his employer. "Shock and exhaustion. I've cleaned and patched up the shoulder injury, fished the weapon fragments out of the wound"
"Are they with RED?"
"Hand delivered."
"Good." He watched, waited. Tapping his index finger against thin pursed lips. "Put him in a room as soon as he wakes up. Make sure his story checks out."
"Yes,Mr Weyland."
xxxXXXxx
She sat a little straighter, some of her basic training, sheer willpower, over riding exhaustion and guilt.
"Do you know who I am, Gunner O'Brien?"
"No, sir."
"My name is Colonel Stevens. I ordered the strike against your town. Do you know why, Gunner O'Brien?"
"Containment, sir. You didn't want the infestation to spread out of Gunnarson."
"Very good. But then your superiors did always have good things to say about you." Colonel Stevens shuffled through the folder, pulling out several progress reports. "Good skills with firearms. Good leadership skills and able to work on your own initiative. An ability to follow orders. You're a good soldier, O'Brien."
"Thank you, sir."
"You served in Iraq."
"Yes sir." She blinked back tears, memory and exhaustion warring in he body. "My tour was just over."
He didn't seem to notice the emotion, reading over her file, skim reading the comments from her superior officers. "Why did you enlist, Gunner O'Brien?"
xxxXXXxxx
He cried. He begged. He broke. Spilled his guts, told them what they wanted to hear.
Monsters and aliens. Creeping through the forest. Killing them. Hunting each other.
"Where are my friends?"
All that was left of Gunnarson.
They didn't answer him. Just going back into the questioning. Round and round. Digging over the same facts, hunting for the truth he'd already told them.
Over and over. His nerves stretched taut and broken, shaking with exhaustion and grief. His voice shaking, trembling.
"Why did you take the weapon?"
"We needed it for protection!" He spread his hands, helpless, pleading. Willing them to imagine what that night in Gunnarson had been like. "They were slaughtering us out there!"
"Do you have contacts in Europe?"
This was new. A sudden change in direction, in tactics. Did this mean they believed him?
He tried to remember how many times they'd been over the story. Tried to remember which group of interrogators these were. Tried to remember when he'd last gotten sleep or food.
"Europe? Only time I've been out of Gunnarson was when I was in jail. I don't know anyone in Europe."
A photo, a dark haired man in an expensive suit, kindred clustered around him, thrust across the table like a knife thrust.
"Do you know this man? Have you ever met him?"
Dallas shook his head helplessly, pushing it back across the table. "No."
xxxXXXxxx
"She's still having nightmares."
"Does she remember anything?"
"I think it'll be a while before she sleeps the whole night through. And we are going to have to do some major work to get through her PTSD. But I think with the right counselling and treatment, Molly O'Brien should suffer no serious, long term effects."
"Will she remember what happened?"
"No. With the right treatment, I believe we can suppress her memories."
xxxXXXxxx
"Mr Weyland."
"Ms Yutani. Not a bad few days work, if I do say so myself."
"If you say so."
"Alien life? Arriving here on earth?" He opened a slender bottle, allowing some of the amber liquid to trickle into the intricate glasses in front of them. "We now have access to technology that we only dreamed off when my father, God rest his soul, died in Antartica. Our journey to the stars had begun."
"And we have survivors, Mr Weyland." She lifted the glass in a long fingered hand, her eyes dark and hard as she met his gaze. "Loose ends that need tied off."
He waved away her concerns with a dismissive hand. "Already taken care off, Ms Yutani."
He lifted his own glass, holding it out to her. "To the future, and mankind's leap to the stars."
They clinked glasses.
xxxXXXxxx
"Why did you enlist, Gunner O'Brien?"
So many reasons, so many different stories.
Excitement. Money. To get away from Tim. To get away from Gunnarson. From him.
"To serve my country."
Once, that might have even been true.
Colonel Stevens smiled, his teeth clean, even and white. A predators smile. Like those things...
Tim.
"What if I told you you still could serve your country, Gunner O'Brien?"
xxxXXXxxx
Six days after Gunnarson.
She held her daughter as she slept, soothing her when the dreams came, holding her until
she fell asleep again. Her eyes burning with exhaustion, rubbed blood red. She wondered if there was blood on her hands too.
She took her wedding ring off. Staring at it in the darkness. The last link she had to Tim and her old life.
The last link to Gunnarson.
"Mommy?"
xxxXXXxxx
A cold, dark evening. The sun almost gone, sinking beneath the horizon. Shadows growing, throwing a dark length, across the freshly dug gaves.
Kneeling on the cold earth, hands interlocked behind their heads.
Trying not to cry.
Waiting for the shots to come.
xxxXXXxxx
"We own you, Gunner O'Brien. Just like the military did. Weyland Yutani commands your loyalty now. You go where we say. We own you body and soul."
The soldier in her, the loyal soldier, wanted to refuse. Pledge her allegiance to her country. Deny a foe who would wipe out a town and call it necessary. Lifting her chin in defiance. "And if I refuse?"
Colonel Stevens shrugged, his face cold and uncaring. "Four graves can be dug as easily as two."
xxxXXXxxx
"Mommy?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"The monsters are gone, aren't they?"
She forced a smile. "Yes sweetie, they've gone."
Molly didn't need to know that not all monsters wore an alien face.
Some were all too human
End of Salvation.