She was awoken by harsh knocking. Her brow furrowed, her nose scrunched and she inhaled, burying her face into her pillow. The knocking sounded again. She groaned and buried her head under the blankets, muffling the woodpecker. The third knock made her realize a few things: it was six in the morning, it was still winter and the woodpeckers were not active when it was this cold, and that she had a front door. She lifted her head from under her pillow, looking over at the door of her room as another knock assaulted her home.
She slipped out of bed, shivering when her feet touched the cold wood floor. She dug for and threw on a thick robe and moved down the stairs. She tied her robe up and reached for the door, hesitating for a brief moment and switching hands, opening the door with her left, leaning her right on the wall by the doorframe.
The door swung inwards and she narrowed her eyes. The offender stood on her porch, dressed in a nice black suit with a thick coat, holding a steaming thermos. He was a fairly average man. His brown hair was thinning and turning grey, crow's feet starting to develop at the corners of his ice-blue eyes. Beyond him, several other people were tramping over her front yard, packing down the snow, and there were a lot more vehicles than she would have liked being in her woods, a whole two trucks.
"Good morning—."
"Do you actually know what time it is?" she interrupted sternly. The man took it in stride and switched his thermos to his left hand and twisted his wrist until his watch was revealed.
"Oh, I am so sorry! No I didn't realize it was this early in the morning—."
"No, it's fine," she said sarcastically, "could you do me a favor though, and go and take all your people back down that road you came up and let me know if that 'no trespassing' sign is still up?"
"There is a sign," said the man, slipping his hand into his pocket, "but it's extremely weathered and unreadable."
She thinned her lips and leaned more to her right, "can I help you Mr.…?"
"Smith."
"Is that your real name or the name someone told you to tell me?"
"My real name, Mr. Fredrick Smith, at your service."
"My service hm? Mind taking your people off my lawn?"
"I'm sorry—."
"What do you want Mr. Smith?" She was getting frustrated, this guy wasn't getting the hint, and she really wanted these guys off her property and out of her life. Maybe playing along would make them both happy and get this torture session over with and she can mark it down on her calendar and be done with it.
"Well, as you may or may not know but a meteor landed near hear last night—."
"I saw it," she said, fingers tapping against the wood near a rifle.
"Well my team and I have been asked to come up here to retrieve it."
"Sent by who? And if it landed on my property doesn't that make it mine?" She knew that it did, the other meteor that had landed on this mountain when she was much younger attracted the attention of some local science club, who informed them of the laws surrounding their find, and also offered to buy it from them.
"We are willing to pay you for the meteor and to compensate you for your time," Mr. Smith said with a curt nod.
The woman cocked an eyebrow then narrowed her eyes. In a quick movement she had Mr. Smith by his lapels, dragging him closer. She heard the clicking of guns but her eyes was on his jacket, pulling the cloth straight to read correctly the logo there. She pushed Mr. Smith back to her porch and stepped further back into her home.
"Get off my land, I don't talk to Weyland lackeys," she hissed. All pleasantries had dropped from her countenance, her hand clearly held her gun. Mr. Smith calmly straightened his clothes, and picked up his spilled thermos. Of all the men there, he was the only one who hadn't gone for his gun. He motioned for the others to put their weapons away as he turned again to speak.
"I understand that you haven't had pleasant dealings with Weyland Industries in the past, Miss Rousseau," he capped the thermos and twisted the lid back onto it, the steaming coffee on her porch quickly losing heat.
"What is this really about?"
"The meteor," Mr. Smith said without pause, "it may contain specific metals that interest our company. We've been harvesting several of these in the past years when and where we can. Like I said, we are fully prepared to compensate you for your time and to pay you for the meteor itself, since it is legally yours."
The woman glowered at him, "I don't want your money," she said and swung the door to shut it.
"Perhaps a deal would interest you more then?" Smith said, but not hastily, before it was fully closed. The woman had her hand against the wood, ready to push it the last inch it needed to shut him out completely, "a promise that after this, we will assure you will be left alone for the remainder of your days?"
The door opened immediately and she stepped forward, "I want it in writing," she growled, "'Weyland Industries will cease any dealings, pursuits, interests etcetera of one Hannah Rousseau from this date forward,'yadda yadda. I want it signed by Bishop's brat in ink, not the stupid printable signature he puts on everything else you understand? Black ink. By his own hand."
"Understood Miss Rousseau," Smith said with a nod, pulling from his pocket a thin black phone, "I'll get on that immediately if you'll take my team up the mountain as soon as you can."
Hannah looked out to the group of men standing in the snow, "give me ten minutes. And no guns."
She shut the door and turned, carrying the gun with her back to her upstairs. She didn't bother with breakfast, brushing her hair and teeth, or anything besides getting dressed for the hike. The sooner this was over with, the better for all parties involved. She was down within the ten minute window she had given herself, dressed in two layers of clothes plus her thick coat like the ones worn by the men. She put the rifle back up on the wall but opened up the table by the window and took out a black handgun; a Beretta 84FS cheetah. She ejected and checked the clip to make sure it had a full thirteen rounds of ammunition, then slipped it into the pocket of her parka.
She stepped out of her home, turning and locking the door behind her. She looked over her shoulder, noticing that five men out of the nine that were there were standing closer to her home than she felt comfortable with, but figured this was her 'team' that would be going up the mountain with her. She turned and looked to see that one of them had a pack on his back and recognized a collapsible sled that they were probably going to use to get the meteor down.
"Alright Miss Rousseau, these men will accompany you up and retrieve the meteor if it is small enough to carry down. This is Mr. Dyson he'll be the one in charge of my men," the named man nodded, "I'll be going back to England immediately to get that paperwork written out and signed for you by Mr. Weyland."
He gave her a small salute of sorts and slid into one of the trucks along with the three other men. She glowered as it moved down the road to the south. She then looked at the other five men and exhaled a puff of vapor, "let's not waste time," she growled and moved her scarf up over her nose.
Despite the men being Weyland flunkies, she was impressed despite herself with their ability to keep up with her. She was a seasoned climber, and they were matching the impatient pace she was setting without difficulty. Every now and then there was a slip and a few feet of sliding, especially by the guy who was carrying the sled, but otherwise they were making good time.
"Don't start an avalanche," she continued to warn and would roll her eyes and continue up. The sun was beating against the western face of the mountain by the time the left the timberline and started up the bare white face that marked the higher reaches of the mountain. They could see where the meteor hit clearly; where everywhere else was clean and untouched, dark earth had ruptured out on top of the pristine snow in piles around a small crater, like an infected wound. The mountain here was steeper than previously, and even she was crawling up on occasion, shaking out fistfuls of snow.
Something was wrong, though. There was no meteor where the crater was. She saw that much even before they got to the impact site. It was an empty smear of earth.
Her breath came out in heavy but steady pants, pulling the scarf away from her reddened nose and looking around at the area. The other men behind her were also looking around. This made no sense. She looked further up the mountain and saw some more dirt there, as if the meteor had skipped across the snow like a stone on water. She climbed up to this other, also empty, impact site and saw that parted snow made a trail to a cave she knew well. There were no footprints around the area besides the ones they made. Hannah's eyes narrowed in the blinding light, trying to make sense of it. The meteor had moved into the cave? By itself?
She took a step up towards the gaping mouth of the cave but was stopped by Dyson, "that's far enough Miss Rousseau, we'll take it from here."
"Take what from here?" she asked spreading her arms, "there's nothing!"
"Please calm down miss, you've been a great help, you can go home, we've got this."
Hannah's eyes narrowed and she glanced back at the cave, "no, this is my property. I'm not leaving you unattended to go skipping around as you please. Get your rock and I'll take you down."
"That's not necessary Miss Rousseau—."
"It's completely necessary," she growled, "I'm not fucking blind, something's going on here," she waved an arm around the area, "either that meteor has the best aim in the entire universe, or it stood up and walked into that cave, either way, I'm going in to find out."
"No you're not," Dyson said with conviction and Hannah turned a scathing glare towards the man.
"Excuse me?" she said, stepping intentionally backwards towards the cave, "as far as anyone's concerned, this thing is still mine, and I can do with it what I want," she narrowed her eyes as Dyson offered nothing in his defense. He was hiding something, just like when her mother died, "deal's off," she said coldly, "you're trespassing, get out."
All the men had gone extremely tense and she knew then that they all still had their guns with them. She turned and ran towards the cave, boots hitting the snow hard but sliding on the fine powder. She hit her hands against the snow, clawing her way up but felt her hair grabbed. She yelled out in pain, grabbing the offending hand but was thrown backwards, sliding down the snow gripping a glove. Her face stung with cold and turned red as she scrambled to get up, managing to get to one knee before she heard a click.
She looked up into the barrel of a gun, a Glock, pointed right for the space between her eyes, "that is all Miss Rousseau, thank you for your cooperation," his voice barely managed past her heart beating in her ears. She blinked once, barely thinking of grabbing her own gun and moving her hand for her pocket. She flinched, eyes wide, mouth open as blood splattered against her face. Dyson looked down at his chest, where two invisible knife blades were sticking out of him, graceful curve pointing skyward. White lines rippled from the blades and then from behind Dyson, revealing a huge, green and purple thing with a red mask.
Gunfire erupted around her and a roar rocked the world. She ducked down, covering her head as something hot and heavy tore up the snow around her, charging past to the other men firing upon it. She looked up and over her shoulder, watching the massive creature tear through another man. It was getting repeatedly shot, but it wasn't reacting at all, like it couldn't feel the bullets even though its glowing green blood was melting deep patches in the snow.
It cut through the men as easily as a scythe through grass.
"Bring it down! Bring it down!"
The man trying to give orders was stuck through with the blades and yelling in defiance at the creature, unloaded his entire gun into the thing's abdomen. The monster roared like thunder, cutting upward and with its free hand tearing the man's head from his shoulders, spine and all. It dropped the body and collapsed to its knees, hand held to the horrible wound. It stood to its feet though, holding the man's head by his hair and turning. It was shot again, causing it to drop its trophy and stumbled back, slipping in the snow, clawed hand digging deep to stop its descent.
The lone gunman shot the creature again and again as he calmly walked forward, earning a grunt-like roar each and every time until the monster was laying still, mask facing the sky, chest heaving up and down with a wet wheezing sound. Its hand was still buried in the snow, which was melting perfect edges around it.
"Oh no," said the Weyland grunt with a sadistic grin, "you're not dying that easily, you're coming back with me, alive."
The creature turned its head slightly, peering at the man through the grey eyes of its mask. He lowered the gun and moved to holster it, only to have a small hole blow out through his forehead. He dropped down instantly, red blood pooling into the snow and melting it.
"You forgot someone," Hannah hissed and looked from the body of the man to the thing. Its head moved slightly before dropping against the snow, swaying slightly and it began to slide down.
"Oh shit!" Hannah caught the massive creature's arm, feeling the immense heat through her glove instantly. The thing was heavy, but she managed enough friction with her heels digging into the snow to stop him from sliding down the face of the mountain. She gasped and heaved for breath. She looked at its massive wrist held in both of her hands, then it, and then around, wondering what on earth she was going to do now.