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Week Four by Super Chocolate Bear
His boots crunched against the twigs, branches and plants beneath his feet, a layer of fallen plant life that had been building for countless years. William Sheckley remembered wondering as a kid what you would find if you kept on digging down. Of course, he also remembered his father showing him the correct way to hold a rifle and the best spot to aim for on a deer for the quickest kill (even though he never called it that).
A brisk early morning breeze brushed over his face, and he hunched his shoulders a little. Birds chirped all around him, unseen in the echoing forest that stretched out infinitely in each direction. Not that Sheckley wouldn't be able to find his way back to his tent; years of expert tutelage from his father had seen to an excellent sense of direction and the ability to tell which way was north with nary a thought.
He figured that was why all this 'end of the world' crap wasn't going to affect him all that much. He had clothes, several rifles with plenty of bullets, food everywhere and a nearby stream for cleaning and washing. Not to mention the sun that managed to get pretty damned hot at midday.
Sheckley rubbed his fingers underneath the shoulder strap of his rifle, easing the delicate aching that was starting to come through.
Not that he bought all this 'end of the world' stuff anyway. Sounded like a bunch of nonsense to him. Sure, the reception on his portable TV had cut out, but that happened too many times for him to count since he had moved out here. Didn't mean anything. Nor did the fact that he couldn't get a signal on the radio either. He was just in a bad area. Once he decided to move on, he'd find that it was all some hoax by overeager, show-off college kids or something.
Damned college kids and their pranks.
But strange creatures falling from the sky and digging themselves up from the ground? Storms of bright blue energy that knocked out buildings and electricity? Please.
Didn't matter anyway. Sheckley was far away from it all, and it would be a long time before he would find a reason to go back to civilisation. This life was better than what was waiting for him back at Fossil, anyway. Dead end job at the lumber mill seemed pretty damned pointless to him. As old as he was getting (which wasn't much), he decided that he needed to see the world and live life instead of resting on the old Sheckley tradition.
"Someday, boy, you'll be doing the same job as me. Just like my father."
Like hell. Once Dad had passed on, Sheckley hadn't seen much point in staying. He had only gone along with what he was saying out of an urge to make sure his increasingly ill father was happy. He was way better off now.
Something bit him on the neck, and he slapped it irritably. Bringing his hand around, he found it smeared in the brown blood and the corpse of some unknown little bugger.
Yep. Definitely better off here.
A distinctive smear of blood on some leaves ahead of him brought his attention down. Assuming the worst and clutching the strap on his shoulder, Sheckley knelt to inspect the stain. It didn't look too bad; more a drop than anything else. It wasn't necessarily a predator; the animal could just have easily accidentally cut itself on something.
Sheckley pulled the rifle down and checked the bullet was in the chamber. You could never be too careful when it came to your dinner. His stomach growled it's agreement, having been starved for more than a day with nothing but a Hershey bar to go on. Speaking of which…
Thrusting a hand down into his back pocket, Sheckley wrestled with his jeans until he brought up the final morsel of chocolate-y goodness, safely cocooned in the long since opened wrapper. He consumed it like a man starved (which, technically, he almost was) before continuing on, making a concerted effort to be quieter than before.
He walked for about ten minutes, the bloody trail getting thicker and his heart pounding ever louder the more he went on. Some thick bushes eventually blocked his path, the blood leading him underneath. Sheckley eyed the trail suspiciously. He really shouldn't be thinking about this. He should just turn around and go back to the tent and try to find something else.
The evil stomach of doom grumbled, almost bowling Sheckley over with it's power.
In he went.
Getting down to the ground and with rifle aimed firmly forward, Sheckley started crawling beneath the bushes.
The leaves made far too much noise as he went underneath, but he didn't hear anything snorting or making any sudden moves. And so, with the assumption that he was safe for now, Sheckley crawled on.
His assumption was wrong.
The first clue was the boot he found at the exit of the bushes. The second was the severed foot inside said boot. Following the trail of blood, he found it didn't belong to any animal. A man, looking all too similar to Sheckley's father for his tastes, lay crumpled in the middle of the clearing. He was pretty clearly dead, the sheer volume of blood pooled around him leaving little room for doubt.
And the cause was fairly obvious, too.
Some hideous green and yellow monstrosity crouched over the body, playing with it like a cat with a mouse. With long, yellow pointed arms it nudged the limp corpse one way and the other, looking somewhat disappointed that it didn't want to play anymore.
All Sheckley had wanted was a deer. Now he knew where they had all been disappearing to over the past week.
His breathing was incredibly shallow, and he used all his willpower to keep it as inaudible as possible. So. Maybe that 'end of the world' news wasn't as much crap as Sheckley thought. The thing in front of him looked real enough.
Slowly - oh so very slowly - Sheckley started to edge his way back, the temptation to shoot the damn thing dissipating quickly. He had no idea if a bullet would be able to penetrate the hide of the… thing, let along kill it. Better to simply leave it alone and get the hell back to civilisation, which had somehow gained back some of it's appeal.
A twig snapped beneath his shuffling knees.
The clicking purr coming from the creature ahead stopped instantly. He could hear the pointed legs thudding along the thick ground. Alien breath brushed past his nose, and he tried not to make a sound, even though the scream burned in his throat.
The thing hissed, and a yellow limb stabbed down directly in front of Sheckley's face, skimming his left cheek and embedding itself in the ground.
That earned a scream.
He shot up, uncaring of the way the leaves, twigs and branches scratched and cut his face. Stumbling as he turned, Sheckley turned the fall into an awkward roll before setting off in a full-on sprint through the trees. Heavy walking boots kicked up dead leaves and earth as he went, feet pounding along with his heart as he weaved between the trees.
Finally, feeling as though he were a good, healthy distance away, Sheckley skid to a halt and slammed his back to a particularly thick tree. He squeezed the rifle so tight he thought it may pop in his hands. Breathing heavy and laboured, Sheckley slowly moved his head around the corner, glancing around the suddenly ever so silent forest.
Nothing. His scream alone probably scared the thing away. Letting himself calm down, Sheckley closed his eyes and rested his head back against the thick tree.
Something clicked above him. Opening his eyes, he saw the creature nestled in some branches above his head, twisting it's mouth (which seemed to be separate from the body) this way and that in a curious manner. Sheckley instinctively brought the rifle up. The alien obviously had no idea what it was since it made no move.
Sheckley pulled the trigger.
The shut rang out through the forest and Sheckley's ears, and he watched as one of the pointed wings of the creature exploded in a shower of yellow-green blood. Except, much to Sheckley's discomfort, the bullet didn't kill the creature. Instead, it simply twitched the wing in question before dropping from the tree and coming down on him.
He didn't even have a chance to move as it landed on him, pinning him to the ground. Spiked yellow claws stabbed down on his head, and Sheckley frantically moved his head to avoid being skewered. With a sudden swing that surprised Sheckley with it's speed and ferocity, he swung the rifle across the creature's side, knocking it from him like a baseball. He lost his grip on the rifle in the swing, leaving him to merely watch as it flew over the monster's head and thudded to the ground behind it.
"Oh, shit!"
The exclamation did nothing to deter the alien, which came for him again. Sheckley scrambled to his feet and started running. Dodging through knee height bushes and ducking underneath branches, Sheckley barely had a chance to check behind him for his hunter, his only indication of continued pursuit the occasional buzzing and clicking noise.
The sound of running water came to his ears, and Sheckley bust through some thick bushes, only to fall immediately down into a sudden creek. He rolled against the rocks and mud, coming to a final, splashy stop, facedown, in the stream below. Groaning, he pushed himself up from the cold bath he had given himself. Another click made him look around, and he saw the creature standing next to him, blood dripping and breathing looking slightly laboured. Whether the damn things could even breathe or not, Sheckley didn't know, but still… it looked like it was tired.
It brought up it's claw, and Sheckley reached for the machete in his boot. He had no chance to stopping the creature from killing him, he knew that. But at least he could take the son of a bitch with him.
And then it exploded.
And green shit went everywhere.
Sheckley simply lay in the water for a while, staring blankly ahead at the spot his killer had once occupied. The yellow-green blood was drifting away in the water beneath him. Looking down to his clothes, he found himself caked in the stuff. Then he noticed that he had the urge to cough. Letting it happen, he found with a certain amount of revulsion that he was spitting up green. Just… green.
At least it was only blood. He wasn't sure how he would handle alien organs being in his mouth at this point.
A shadow cast itself over him, and Sheckley looked around to who he presumed was his saviour. Finding a hunched over, scaly brown thing with a huge red eye, he scrambled back in the water, backing his way up to the shore of the stream with his machete out in front of him warningly.
"Back up! Back the hell up!"
It was then that Sheckley noticed that there was not only one, but four of the creatures. The one in the middle, seemingly their leader, looking to the others curiously. A low growl of a voice emerged, and, in a display that Sheckley wouldn't forget for the rest of his life, began talking to each other.
At the same damn time.
They weren't speaking English, but then, Sheckley wasn't expecting them to. They were aliens, after all.
Finally, the lead thing turned to look at him.
"The human… must not fear," it managed, voice guttural and strained, as though struggling with the concept of speaking.
Sheckley just stared at them for a few moments, letting the sounds of the forest surround them all.
"Uh… what?"
"Fear. It is unnecessary. These ones shall not harm you. Vortikind are the least of mankind's concerns."
The others nodded in agreement. Off to the right of the central alien, one pulled up something about the size of a football that had been, thus far, dangling limply from his spindly arm.
"And we have sustenance!"
This brought about a group enthusiasm, all of the aliens nodding excitedly and chorusing 'Sustenance'.
"The human will join us in the feast!"
Squinting, Sheckley tried to make out whatever the hell it was that the thing was carrying. On closer inspection, it looked like nothing Sheckley had ever seen, either in person or on documentaries. Another alien. Aliens hunting aliens. Made sense. Still, he decided he wasn't too hungry for that kind of food.
He put up a polite hand. "Uh… no thanks."
They all glanced to each other. "Is it not… satisfactory?" the leader asked, almost sounding hurt.
"Oh, no, um… I just, uh… I'm not hungry."
Like a sarcastic best friend, Sheckley's stomach took that moment to growl so loud that he was sure it echoed all the way to Fossil and back.
Once more, the aliens looked to each other before the leader spoke again, sounding slightly amused. "It is likely the human is attempting to be…" it struggled for a moment, then finally found the word it wanted. "…polite. It is unnecessary. We appreciate that the human taste buds have difficulty with the delicate flavour of headcrab."
"Headcrab?" Sheckley blinked and shook his head. "Wait, you know about politeness? And manners?"
"Indeed," the headcrab holding alien chimed in, nodding, "the Eli Vance has taught us much of these things. Certain actions are acceptable, and others are not. It is rather strange, but we have decided to adapt to the human culture. We are, after all, guests."
Struggling to take in about a hundred different concepts at once, Sheckley pulled himself to his feet and slipped the machete away. "Eli V- human… guests?"
The alien paused. "Indeed." It took a few steps towards him, and Sheckley pressed himself to the rock face behind him.
"Do you have mental deficiencies?"
"What?"
"Ah. This one apologises." The thing took a breath. "DO YOU HAVE MENTAL DEFIENCIES? THE ELI VANCE HAS TOLD US OF HUMANS THAT HAVE DIFFICULTY GRASPING SIMPLE CONCEPTS-"
Sheckley threw his hands in the air to stop the booming noise. Damn, it echoed all around the forest like a foghorn. "Stop, stop! I understand! Christ, my ears…"
"Once more, this one apologises." The alien bowed it's head graciously. "You merely seemed… unresponsive."
"Well… this is a lot to take in," he muttered defensively, rubbing his temple.
"Understandable. We had a similar experience adapting to your… unusual forms."
"Unusual?"
"Indeed. You have no third arm, and only two almost symmetrical eyes, qualities most unattractive to Vortikind. And the reproductive cycle…" it shuddered. "Most troubling."
The others nodded their emphatic agreement, muttering 'troubling' in chorus.
"Uh… yeah."
"So. Now that we have exchanged 'the pleasantries'," the alien clasped it's hands together in a disarmingly human gesture, almost pleading. "Does the human wish to join us in our feast?"
A cheer of 'feast, feast!' went up from behind him.
Sheckley's throat suddenly felt rather dry. "Um… I guess."
"Feast!" they roared, and went scampering off away from the stream, climbing up into the forest and gesturing for him to follow.
"But I reserve the right not to eat any alien… things!" he yelled after them, scrambling to keep up with their surprisingly brisk pace.
He watched and walked with the aliens (which he soon found out were called Vortigaunts) as they hunted the headcrabs and killed Antlions (the thing that had been hunting him earlier) with ease. And there were varieties of headcrabs, as well. Well, two, but still, that was two more than Sheckley knew existed this morning.
Later, with the night sky above them and a glorious full moon lighting the way, the Vortigaunts watched with fascination as Sheckley started a fire at his campsite. While one rotated seven or so headcrabs on a spit above the fire, the others became instantly enamoured with his tent. Not just the tent, but the concept of camping in general.
"Does such thin shelter provide protection from marauding consciousnesses?"
"Is the blue of any significance?"
"Does not eating in such a place introduce hygiene issues?"
That last one seemed rich coming from a scaly alien that seemed to have slick sheen to it, but Sheckley let it pass by.
And as it turned out, Sheckley took his reserved right to abstain from headcrabs. But that didn't stop him from wanting some himself.
Not only that, but thanks to his collection of supplies, he now knew that headcrab went very well with ketchup.