Hm, no takers for this story so for some reason inspiration hit and I have more to add to it. I have a weird feeling everyone is sort of holding their collective breath and waiting for the afore-warned rapey scene. Rest assured - or, for some of you, sorry to disappoint - but it's not in this chapter. There will be, however, bad language, worse manners, dirty thoughts, terrible judgment and way too much naughty innuendo. Not to mention it hopefully continues to be a fun and entertaining read.
Surprise, surprise, I'm happy to report I can also guarantee another quick chapter posting to this story. I tried to make my brain work on L'tor and Anya but instead it wants to fiddle around with Skemte and Flic. I suppose that's one positive side to having multiple incomplete stories running. Yay for me!
Heaps of crap happening in my personal world, folks, and it means I have no apology for falling off of FFN. Lots of sick people that need lots of support, which leaves no room for my brain to pursue storytelling or character shaping or world building. While I'm sure my readers are disappointed that I can't update more frequently, I'm hoping you'll continue to give me feedback whenever I can get a chapter up. You readers are awesome, and I thank you.
As always, this is a Mature rated fiction story. That also means that while it wasn't written with any intent to insult anyone on the planet, I'm sure it's amply capable of doing so. If you agree to just read it for the oohs and aahs we'll all get along just fine, thanks so much!
I woke to the sound of Sarge shouting orders, rallying the team and calling everyone to order. For a moment I dared to ignore him, lying in my bunk and blinking blearily, half wondering what had happened to me. What was happening to me.
I was breaking down. Had to be. Everyone had limits and I'd apparently discovered mine.
Maybe if I just stayed in my rack no one would notice and they'd leave without me.
"Flic? You okay?" Sarge grunted, charging into my tent. He tromped across the boards to stand over me, his face animated and excited. Yep, apparently it was hunt time again.
"Ugh."
"There's a pulse rifle out there with your name on it, soldier," he said, tugging the threadbare blanket off of me. "That means your keeper says you're cleared to join the party. Let's go!"
"Not in the mood," I groaned, one hand over my eyes, the other anxiously touching the edges of the coating over my shoulder wound.
"You don't want those sonsabitches comin' in here to hunt you in bed, do ya?" he bellowed, and I winced. Damn, but Sarge got all charged up over the prospect of a battle. I'd swear he was downright excited. "Up, solider, let's go. Gonna try a new formation today!" he said, sounding cheerful.
"Peachy," I muttered, but gave in and rolled off the bunk and upright. He stood over me while I pulled on my filthy camouflage pants, wincing in disgust, then my equally disgusting boots, fussing over the tattered laces and dragging it out long enough to hear a deep baritone growl from outside the tent. "I'm comin, I'm comin," I barked, recognizing Aw Fuck's distinctive "last warning or I'm coming in there and fucking you up" sound. "Alright already," I bitched under my breath, scowling as I stood and crouched to test the hold of my laces.
"You're sticking with the team today," Sarge informed me, pulling my BDU shirt from the rafters, giving it a smart snap and holding it open and out like a jacket. I blinked at him, then sighed and laced my hand through the right sleeve as I turned and let him help me into it. He took me by the shoulders and turned me around to face him, adjusting the front and securing the buttons for me. "We're staying together. Forming a delta on my mark. You're taking left wing, keep that right shoulder inside to keep it protected," he continued, tugging lightly at the tear the bullet had made through the top of the sleeve, ignoring the crusty bloodstain. "Number five slot. Got it?"
"Number five, left wing, got it," I nodded automatically, trying to rally myself.
"Stay frosty. If I see an opportunity for you to cut loose and search for another sightline, I'll holler for you. But until I do your job is to cover your nine-to-three, watch your overlap and stay in position. Understood?"
"Roger that," I agreed, a bit sullenly.
"Look alive, soldier," he added, his tone sharper, his eyes narrowing. I lifted my chin a bit more and set my jaw, making the deliberate decision to feel sorry for myself later. After the hunt. No doubt I'd have plenty of time to pencil it into my otherwise empty agenda.
Sarge nodded to me then turned and led me to the tent flap. Aw Fuck was waiting impatiently, and he grunted a sharp rebuke at the Sarge before fixing his fierce attention on me. I hesitated, still standing on the front porch as Sarge jumped down and double-timed it toward the others, hollering their names and getting a "Here!" in response for each one as they gathered around him and formed up, making two tight lines.
He didn't have his mask on yet, and those big tusk things at the ends of his lower mandibles were rubbing together in front of his mouth. I wondered, oddly enough, if that was some kind of nervous tic. He turned his head and glanced at the soldiers, then motioned toward them with his prominent chin and mandibles, letting off a punctuating grunt.
"Flic!" Sarge bellowed, and I looked to see they were all staring at me. "Let's go! Form up!" he ordered.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, then I let out a sigh and cringed a bit as I stepped down off the porch and past Aw, feeling my back twinge as he immediately took position behind me and followed on my heels. As I picked up my pulse rifle he pulled his mask off his hip and palmed it into position over his crest and face, rocking it slightly left to right to settle it more comfortably into place as I automatically ran a quick equipment check. He remained where he was as I took my position on the line to the left, then Sarge led us into the jungle. The keepers quickly vanished once we picked up the pace, using a game trail and moving briskly in formation instead of scattering into smaller units.
The exercise did me good, apparently, and I started feeling better as the sweat flowed and I settled into a steady jog. We maintained as much silence and discipline as we could, all eyes and ears searching for the first sign of our attackers as we watched our steps and kept sound and panting to a minimum. The wound on my arm pulled with every stride as I held my rifle at the ready, but it wasn't painful. Just enough to remind me it was there. Every so often a badly placed step or uneven footing tweaked my ankle but all in all I was feeling solid. Enough so that at the first shouted warning of "Contact!" I snapped my weapon up and sighted in tandem with KC in the four position and Carter in the six, turning outward and covering my field of fire with avid anticipation. The few mile jog had nicely woken us up and worked the kinks out, settling each of us into a nice steady idle that collectively put us at our most formidable.
"Form up!" Sarge roared as we automatically came to a stop and he ran up and down the lines. "Form up! We got contact, ladies and gents! Time to bring the pain!"
Rifles on the wing behind me started reporting as we continued to open up the delta, the guys sitting at the seven position on either wing and Sarge all watching our six. A rifle higher up the line blatted, a quick burr of pulse rounds, and I heard the squeal of a hunter. It was game on. In a few minutes the sound of sixteen pulse rifles blatting in unison was music to my ears, and over the bellows of the young hunters I was attuned to the barks of our keepers calling them out when they were hit. The air was ripe with the stink of ozone; with so many stun rounds going off the cartridges heated up to a nice steady cook and the acrid scent hung in the humidity. My wing of the formation made a good-sized dent that I fully intended to run through, and I was hella primed and keeping one ear toward Sarge, waiting for him to call my name and give me the go-ahead.
"Flic! Three o'clock!" he bellowed from my left, and I leaped forward, ready to run, then realized what he'd said and spun, barrel first, then triple-tapped the charging young hunter. There was another one right behind him, using him for cover, and when the first one fell I tagged the sneaky bastard right in the throat. The stun round slammed him backward off of his feet. "Hold the line!" Sarge ordered, knowing I was just waiting for the opportunity to make my move.
I ground my teeth together and obeyed, though it required a forceful holdback of will and habit. The two I'd knocked down were pointed out of the game and off the playing field by Loco Marrón, who pretty much just missed taking a round to the face when he suddenly appeared right in front of me. He trilled as the younger hunters gathered themselves and stomped off, then tapped at his gauntlet and disappeared back into thin air again. I felt him brush past me as I lifted my rifle again, and for a moment I was distracted by wondering if it was an insolent brush-by or an approving nudge.
"You're going down!" Sender was bellowing from somewhere to my right, followed by the blatting of his rifle and a pained squeal. "Boo-yah!"
"It's a beautiful day, idnt'it?" Nubby hollered to me and the Sarge, then he tossed me a wink before swinging back into position.
It fucking was. No rain and no threat of rain, plus we were so on it was like a symphony. Sarge hung slightly back, somehow able to keep eyes and ears everywhere, shouting out orders and keeping the unit in sync while providing cover wherever he was needed. We were moving forward at a steady pace despite multiple attempts by the young aliens to break our ranks. So attuned to each other that we were moving and working in tandem, resting one soldier and one rifle alternately, the other providing cover.
"Stay frosty, team!" Sarge hollered. "We got this one!"
Holy shit, I thought, we did, didn't we? Another smaller alien broke cover in my field of fire and was taken out by KC to my right. And still our unit kept advancing, like a tidal wave crashing into these monsters, forcing them from cover and annihilating them once they were exposed. We'd never come out of one of these hunts triumphant, and I settled into my place and switched gears from looking for an opportunity to run to joining cohesively into an overwhelming force. This, I realized, was why the Sarge had told me to hold the line. So we could fucking win one. Escape was key, but so was fucking winning one of these hunts, just as much of a morale boost and shot of adrenaline as getting the hell out of here. Sarge was a brilliant tactician, and while sending me out to look for a direction for us to run in was important, so was individual effort that resulted in group victory.
I could hear the rifle reports from the wing behind me, staying alert, rifle up and ready, sweeping the field in front of me as I continued to advance. There probably wasn't a unit in the army that could boast of the combat experience that this one had at this point, and I was alert and aware of each step of a teammate to the right or left of me. We continued the bold, relentless advance, pushing forward until we contacted keepers, two to the right wing, two to the left.
"Hold!" the Sarge bellowed, his right fist raised. Automatically and in sync, we all froze, keeping our steaming rifles up but halting our advance. The Green Meanie and Aw Fuck were in plain view, palms held up, then Aw Fuck motioned us back. Such a thing had never happened before, and I eased my rifle down slowly, staring at my keeper. He gestured again, pushing us back, and I heard my squad-mates to the left and right lower their weapons and huff out sighs of relief.
"We did it?" the Sarge yelled, then: "We did it!"
There was an explosion of cheers to my right and left and distantly from behind me. We won. We'd won, and now we were being herded back to camp. Rifles were lowered and my unit cheered, passing around congratulatory back-slaps and whoops of triumph. Green Meanie sauntered off and my new friend Skemte – Aw Fuck – actually felt comfortable enough to turn his back to me, apparently fascinated by Calm and Tox's triumphant and exuberant chest-bumping ritual. My squad-mates rallied and started heading back, the pace leisurely and their spirits high. I stood perfectly still and listened as they moved off into the jungle, holding my breath and willing myself invisible.
Their noise faded out, and still I waited. A single frog trilled tentatively, testing out the silence, then another answered. And then suddenly the jungle came alive with its usual clamor all around me and I let out a slow, quiet breath.
Maybe this victory had finally earned us our freedom. Hard-wired survival instinct was pulling at me, urging me to turn and follow the others back toward camp. I should join in the celebration, stick with them in case the keepers decided to fade off into the jungle and leave us.
What kept me still and standing was a cold, practical awareness that this wasn't over. We would never be set free. The keepers were not only intelligent, but very knowledgeable about our kind. That meant that these weren't the first of them to come here. For all I knew, we weren't the only group who'd been kidnapped and held hostage to play this game. There was a reason we were being used to train their young. The only way these predatory aliens could ensure that their existence remained a secret would be to ensure the elimination of any humans they came into contact with. No doubt that included us. Me and my team, who individually and collectively fought our asses off every day just to keep living.
A flock of noisy birds settled overhead and I blinked, then squinted up at them in the canopy. So long as I was alive and out here on my own, the game wasn't over. While the keepers escorted the main unit back to camp, hopefully oblivious to the fact that I wasn't with them, I had my chance.
I slung the rifle over my back after checking to make sure it had cooled down a bit, then I settled the strap comfortably, picked the path of least resistance and headed in the opposite direction the rest had gone. My ankle still tweaked a bit with any uneven terrain, but the pain was manageable and I'd laced the ankle support of the boot extra snugly on that side.
This was, as ever, dangerous. For now it wasn't Aw Fuck I was concerned about, it was everything else. I had a half full canteen that probably wouldn't last three hours, and no protection other than a pulse rifle incapable of killing anything larger than a small bird. We weren't allowed to have our Ka-Bars with us for the hunts, no doubt to protect the smaller ones from being seriously injured by us.
I moved cautiously, tuned in and turned on as I kept pushing, aware that the cliff was somewhere behind and parallel to my position. Sarge's combined delta force formation for today's hunt and our unbelievable success meant that our momentum had carried me into unfamiliar territory. Instead of turning and heading the the cliff, I kept moving forward to see what I could see.
Eventually a small game trail intersected my wandering course, and I paused to take it in cautiously for a moment before stepping onto it. There were tiny hoof prints here and there in spots of exposed mud, showing evidence of traffic moving in either direction. I slung my pulse rifle into the ready position and checked the trees as I moved along the path, deciding to see where it led. Around a bend hidden by heavy brush I came upon a small clearing with a muddy puddle in the trail, and scared up a flock of rainbow-colored birds who'd been using it as a bathtub. They were noisy as hell and I winced, then double-timed it forward as they settled into the surrounding trees to screech at me. Their warning was picked up by the small monkeys in the canopy, who got caught up in the excitement and added their own shrieks and hoots. Knowing they would draw attention to me I kept up a good pace, aware that some of the damn monkeys followed me for a bit to continue hurling insults, then I finally left the cacophony behind.
I dodged a massive spiderweb and found the evidence of what I'd been worrying about: the clear indentation of a jaguar print in the mud on the game trail. I was no tracker, but the thing looked pretty damned fresh to me. I stared at it, adjusting my grip on my rifle as I wondered how big it was. How close. The print showed that the cat had been heading in the opposite direction I was, so maybe we'd already missed each other. It still put me on red alert, though. I had no interest in finding out how useful my dumbed-down pulse rifle would be against a big cat, sure that if it worked at all it would probably only stun it, then hopefully give me time to find a nice heavy branch to beat it to death with.
In the wake of the parrot and monkey concert, I noticed that it was fairly quiet, and that made my skin prickle. Deciding that my best course of action would be to keep moving in the opposite direction of the jaguar, I got going again. I kept just to the side of the center of the trail, my eyes darting to check for prints, watching the trees, and sweeping the jungle on either side in a constant, restless scan. From time to time I stopped to just listen, honestly surprised as hell at how long I'd been on my own. It was entirely possible that Aw Fuck had decided to teach me a lesson today and let me find out how much fun it was to be eaten by something; I would not put such a demonstration past him.
I took a mouthful of water from my canteen, held it a moment, then swallowed as I checked the trail behind me, watching for a moment. There had been no more cat prints, but plenty of cloven hoof marks, and the occasional monkey hand print, especially near any muddy pools. Here and there were massive columns of ants, so many that they covered an area two and three feet across, that bisected the path, carrying along debris with them like an unstoppable tide. I jumped that shit, not interested in getting swept up and carried away.
The sun climbed above the canopy and I was sweating pretty good when a sound came to my ears. The jungle had quieted down in the mid-day heat and I tuned into the sound as I kept moving. It was constant, a low roar that was gradually getting louder, telling me I was getting closer. Saw my first constrictor snake, oozing across the trail ahead of me, as fat around as my leg. I elected to wait for it to finish crossing before I continued toward the sound. There were monkeys overhead giving it hell, tracking its progress from the trees and warning everybody within a half mile that there was a snake in the neighborhood.
The trail curved to the left then swept back to the right, winding around denser patches of vegetation and fallen trees, and now I heard a steady hiss accompanying the low roar and realized what it was. A waterfall. Not huge but a decent size. The jungle thinned out and the dense air seemed to clear a bit, and I followed the game trail right to a clearing, finding the small river and paralleling it to where it fell off a jutting expanse of rock that looked like it had pushed itself up from the damp earth.
Taking advantage of the slightly higher terrain, I scanned the jungle beyond the waterfall. It looked fucking endless, but I knew that my view was limited and obstructed by the canopy ahead. For all I knew there could be an entire city beyond the maybe mile or two of jungle I could see.
I made a stupid, potentially fatal mistake as I concentrated on trying to see what was out there: I forgot to pay attention to my surroundings. Over the all-encompassing sound of the water rushing over the rocks, I could barely make out a voice, and the second it registered I panicked, ducked, spun, and brought the pulse rifle up, all in one swift movement.
Aw Fuck bristled at me in an instant, then I was blinded by red lights in my face. When they trailed down to my chest I realized that he was painting me with some sort of laser targeting sight, a pyramid of red dots beamed from his mask.
"You scared the shit outta me," I huffed, lowering my weapon. In response, the triple laser beam drew back and winked out, and I tried to catch my breath as my body tingled from the adrenaline overload. "I'm gonna need a prescription for a shitload of Xanax and a fuckton of therapy if I ever get outta here," I informed him. He remained unmoved.
Seeing him fully exposed in the clearing by the river, in the blazing sunlight of high noon, the sheer size of him struck me anew. His sort of rough hide was gleaming with what looked like it could be sweat, but I didn't know if he actually could sweat. Reptiles didn't, but then again I'd never seen Aw Fuck basking in the sun to get his body temperature up, either. The metal of his armor and weapons and mask was a dull, lusterless grey that barely reacted to the sunlight. I could make out patterns in his skin, designs in his armor, subtle variations of complimentary colors that all seemed to coordinate and blend together to create dark, drab camouflage.
What I was looking at, I decided, was a technologically advanced monster. Something that was never meant to be seen so clearly, something that existed in the darkness, that moved at the edge of the light, that went bump in the night. Yet here he was, leaving the gloom of the jungle to come into broad daylight and stare me down. And as I stood there staring back, his right arm bent enough that his hand was able to comfortably curl around the grip of the huge dagger he wore on his hip. Aw Fuck was all about understatement and messages delivered subtly but clearly. If you blinked you would miss it, but then that would be your problem, not his.
I pulled the rifle's sling over my head, then held the weapon by its strap down low at my side. Normally Aw Fuck had no problem storming at me and demanding I hand over my weapon. Apparently his little experience with Tox and maybe our being jumped by those soldiers had made him a bit less casual and demanding around armed humans. I must say, it was a nice change to be confronted by respectful caution instead of impatient demand.
He waited, and I heard his pensive ticking sound before he released his grip on his blade. Another monkey shitfit kicked up from somewhere behind him in the jungle; the snake must have done something exciting. Aw Fuck cocked his head a bit to train one ear back over his shoulder but didn't let me out of his sight for a second.
In the interest of keeping the peace, we had always taken our cues from the keepers. Self-preservation in this game meant that you kept part of your awareness on them at all times, followed the tone that they set, and played along. That he was not vocalizing at all to me put me on high alert. We had established somewhat of a relationship, I'd thought. Or at least maybe even just a sort of comfortable and familiar pattern between us? Silly me.
The background cacophony of screaming monkeys ramped up and put me more on edge. I hoped the fucking snake ate every last one of the little bastards.
Seeming to come to some sort of decision, Aw Fuck went from rigid stillness to motion, balling his fists and approaching me with heavy, methodical steps. Unsure of what to do I stood my ground until he came to within a half dozen feet. At that, I instinctively shied back a step and he stilled, then raised his hand to me.
I could smell him now, and I imagined I could feel the heat pouring off of him. Nothing too bad or coffee-ish, just sort of musky and maybe a bit sweaty. I cautiously eased across the few feet separating us and lifted my rifle; he took it, looked at it, then swung it behind his back and attached it to his armor.
"Saw you at the hunt," he rumbled. I blinked and let out a quiet breath, relieved he'd finally decided to speak to me.
"Yes," I nodded.
"Did not think you would run, hermana," he continued, his voice ominously lower in tone.
"I didn't run," I protested, sensing his annoyance. He grunted, lifted his head, and glanced around before returning his attention to me. Point made and taken. "I walked," I said, honestly, then I gestured at the waterfall. "Wanted to take a nice shower, is all. Rinse off."
His expressionless mask stared me down for a few tense moments, then he glanced at the waterfall. "Shower?" he trilled, returning his attention to me after a few pensive seconds. "What means this?" Another questioning trill.
"Y'know. Wash," I said lamely, having to expound on my made-up story. So much for attempting to crack a joke to lighten the mood. I actually lifted my left arm and rubbed at it with my right as if I was holding a washcloth. Standing there in the full light of day doing pantomime like I was playing charades for an aggressive and pissy alien.
He watched my motion, looked at the waterfall again, then back at me. "Show me," he growled.
"Seriously?" I squeaked. I had so not anticipated him calling my bluff. Now he cocked his head as he regarded me. Steeling my spine, I straightened and lifted my chin. "Just do me a favor and don't try to cut my head off," I muttered sarcastically, more under my breath than out loud. Even so, Aw Fuck huffed out a snort, the sound more amused than aggressive.
"Not today, novio," he rumbled, then turned away from me and started down the rise.
I stared after him for a moment, mulling his words over and wishing he'd expound on his statement. Like, would there be a day he'd try to cut my head off? And if so, was that day soon or so far in the distant future I shouldn't lose any sleep over it? When I lost sight of him in the brush I fidgeted a bit, then picked out a path that looked like it sort of led down to the pool at the base of the fall. I was sweating after the cold wash of dread the alien's arrival had doused me with, and I struggled as I thrashed my way through the tall, heavy vegetation that ringed this little oasis, cursing at the cobwebs that clung to my face and getting pelted in the face by tiny frogs every other step. When I finally forced my way out of a stand of elephant ear plants with leaves larger than me and emerged onto the rocks around the pool with my eyes squeezed shut as I spat and repeatedly wiped my webbed-up face against the arms of my sweaty fatigues, I found that my captor was quietly waiting for me. He was crouched comfortably on his haunches, his shoulders hunched and his hands dangling in the water, his head cocked as he watched my gymnastics.
For just a second I thought to unload on him, to demand to know why, if he saw an easier path down, he didn't bother to share the information with me. For just a secondary moment of vulnerability, I hesitated and wanted to break down. I was exhausted; my whole squad was. Despite the fact that compared to most of our species at this point we were superhuman thanks to our captors, I didn't think I was alone in feeling a level of fatigue that defied all rational description.
For just a moment, I felt that vulnerability, then I took another, equal moment to stand and scowl at Aw Fuck, who continued to soak his killer's hands like he was enjoying a spa manicure. He stared back at me, patiently awaiting a performance to show him what a shower was and knowing without a doubt he was going to get what he wanted. Apparently he had nothing better to do and nothing more pressing on his agenda for the rest of his day than to screw with me to entertain himself. I let out a quiet sigh of surrender that deflated me, then made my way toward the water to follow through. Wasn't like I had a whole lot on my to-do list, either, and come to think of it, a shower was an excellent idea.
