Chapter Two: Courtney
Courtney sat in the cab of the bulldozer, her black hair blowing into her face despite her efforts to keep it back. She listened intently to the verbal traffic coming over her headset, people joking to each other, gossiping. Courtney consulted her watch, "OK guys, clear the line," She said strongly, hushing the rest of the crew, "It's just about that time." Her five foot three inch well proportioned body seeming small in the chair. She was the assistant manager of this particular demolition crew, and one of the few women she knew that was licensed for heavy equipment, the only one on this job. She was proud of the fact that she earned her position. She had known too many of those who had gotten ahead the easy way.
Most of the men on the team called her "la diabla", because she was hell on wheels, especially if they made the mistake of treating her like a shy, sweet senorita. She was also infamous for an exaggerated story of her involvement with the gang known as Los Diablos. A gang she was never really an initiated member of, but you could not tell the guys that.
Her particular team was leveling the whole block for a new set of low-income housing. What a joke, people in this city were either poor or rich, there was no middle ground. The poor were unable to even afford "low income" housing. She looked up at the nearby Griffith Park, wondering vaguely why it had not been torn down. The city had managed to keep developers out, though Courtney did not know why. It was home to so many drug dealers and violent homeless that nobody went there. It was overgrown, dark, and dirty, and the perfect hideout for scum. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with the cynicism of that thought. That was her Mexican heritage, her mother was the same way. She grew up here, watched as the city decayed under the pressure of the drug wars. Watched the police fight a losing battle against both the big businesses crooks and the horde of smaller thieves who usually cleaned up after their idolized counterparts. Her? Well, everyone she knew considered her rich. She made probably eighty dollars an hour for running heavy equipment. She had been the lucky one, they said. But she still took the subway home and most of her money went to supporting her rather large family, her mother, her sisters, et cetera. The largest portion of her paycheck went toward child support, for her six-year-old daughter, Teresa.
Her reverie was broken as Paul burst through the doors of the building. It struck her as being odd, she was distracted from his actions by movement on the second story. She felt herself gape, it looked like someone was still in there! She stood up in the cab. Paul was not ten feet from the entrance when he was bowled over by the concussion of the explosion, snapping her attention back to him.
"PAUL!" she heard herself scream. She sat down hard, leaning on the control panel for support, this was happening too fast!
She breathed a little when he regained his feet and continued his sprint, trying to calm herself as the walls collapsed in on themselves, sending a large dust cloud into the air. Coming up alongside the 'dozer he stopped, smiling at her, panting. She looked away a moment watching the dust settle behind him, feeling her shock and confusion being slowly replaced by anger.
"She's all yours Court!" he said like a boy who was proud of catching the biggest frog in school.
"You think you could have detonated a little sooner? Maybe you could have actually killed yourself." She said sarcastically, not being able to calm her fury, "God! If you ever pull another stupid stunt like that I'll have your license revoked! You were supposed to blow the building from out here." She paused a moment, "did you see anyone in there when you were setting up?" there was an irritated tinge to her voice.
"Do you think I would have blown it if some one had been in there?" he smiled, the comment disarmed her a little.
"No, I guess not." but she was not so sure.
She shook her head as she started the dozer and drove toward the remnants of the building, signaling to the rest that it was clear to excavate. She kept wondering why the management had hired this guy. Oh, he came quite highly recommended. But no one had informed them that he was semi-suicidal, that was twice he had done something that was clearly unsafe. It was like the man did not really know what he was doing.
He was a tall man, about six foot two inches. His dark brown hair, baby blue eyes, bodybuilder physique and perfect tan were the combination most women would die for. A real macho man.
But she hated macho types, the ones who always thought they knew a lot, but always proved otherwise. Courtney always felt especially uneasy around this particular man, he seemed out of place, he had soft hands that did not fit a demolition man's profile. He acted as if he was hiding something. She pondered that thought heavily as she went to work moving rubble into piles for easy pick up later.
After an indefinite period of time, Gui'Yata woke from abysmal unconsciousness to an ache that pulsed red behind his cornea. He tried to groan, but could not seem to pass air over his vocal cords, it came out as an airy wheeze. Slowly he opened his eyes, seeing cold blue filtered through the lenses of his mask, no heat. It was unnervingly quiet, the sound of his own movements seemed amplified. He tried to turn his head, only to find that it was wedged tightly between two pieces of what had been building, seemingly moments before. The tough metal of his mask was the reason he was still alive, without it the debris would have crushed his head, his body was tough but not that tough. His whole body felt to be on fire, and he found it hard to think he knew already that the situation was bad.
His right arm pounded with dull pain, as though the arm was severely swollen. He found with exploratory movement that it was pinned behind him at his elbow, but his hand was free. As he made a fist, the ends of a raggedly broken bone grated painfully making him winced. The impact had fractured the arm, just above where the slab of concrete was resting.
A sharp stabbing pain radiated up and down his left arm. It was that arm he was more concerned with, he was able to see it, it extended slightly away from his body, palm down. From what his visor reported a metal reinforcement used in the building smashed through his arm computer, and had passed completely through his forearm, between the radius and ulna; the rod was firmly driven into the ground. He flexed his hand slowly, wincing as the rod rasped on the ulna, and the muscles pulled painfully, there was no feeling in his digits. He had been lucky, considering another such reinforcement was sunk into the ground just centimeters from his throat, tickling his chin.
He cursed himself, how could he have been so stupid? He should have taken the human out immediately. Instead he had given him time, time to rig the explosive. He growled, angry at himself for not paying closer attention to the weapons report given during his brief. Now he was helpless, both of his arms had been rendered useless in one freak accident, with the destruction of his computer, he would be unable to hunt in the open without being seen, and self destruction was no longer an option.
He began to despair, unusual for a Soua, the hunt had just begun, now it seemed certain he would die, a slow and painful death, not in the hunt as it should be. He was too far from the ship and the elders had said that he would be on his own, once the hunt had started. He could expect no help. Realizing this he tried to relax, to accept his fate.
Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, he forced himself to finish his diagnosis, he had to survive. He could not allow himself to be found by these primitives. He would worry about the hunt only if this situation resolved itself to his advantage. Berating himself accomplished nothing.
He tried to move his toes, and dewclaws, reaction, and no pain. Good, that would mean he could still walk, if he ever got out of this. He tried to get up using his legs, thinking he might be able to shift the slab, no luck. More debris, sitting just inches above the small of his back prevented him from gaining leverage. He was unsure that even his strength could move the tons of rubble sure to be on top of him. That did not stop him from trying, several more times, each without success.
How he managed to get trapped in a relatively clear pocket in the collapse was unclear, but Yahner had clearly favored him. However he was pinned, not painfully for the most part; even if he could move, he would have to sever his left arm to free himself. His arm was throbbing agony in the area of the wound and the left hand was now completely numb. Pinned, as he was, he would be unable to treat his wounds or staunch the bleeding, he would probably go into shock and die, long before he was ever found. He began to wish that the blocks would slip, and make his death quick, obscuring his identity for those who would find his remains.
He was amazed at the range of emotions that washed over him while he lay trapped in what seemed certain to be his tomb.
Then he began to feel, and hear a rumbling, coming closer. The slab above him shifted with a groan, putting pressure on his spine. Gui'yata bit back a yelp, grinding his teeth. His visor began to show heat, inanimate, a machine perhaps, moving his direction. The noise rose and abated several times, each time the picture grew clearer. Gui'Yata surmised that it was clearing the rubble. He was proved more than right when the machine grabbed the chunk that had impaled his arm, twisting his arm up before relinquishing its hold on his swollen flesh, ripping open an even larger hole, before it fell uselessly to the ground. Gui'Yata screamed, long and loud, to be heard over even the machines noises. It was loud enough to get the attention of the operator, who shut the machine down. Gui'Yata was trying to pull his newly bleeding arm back toward him when his visor warned him of approaching body heat, somebody's feet came into view. He had been discovered.
"Shit." he managed to say in English, before mercifully blacking out.
Courtney, who had just started clearing the rubble, stood there in shocked confusion, she was not seeing this, was she? She leaned down over the limb that was too large, and most definitely not human. She had heard the unearthly scream, and fearing the worst, she had shut down the 'dozer to investigate. She kept thinking of the person that she had thought she had seen in the building just before the explosion, but she was not expecting this.
"Holy shit... what the hell is this thing?" She had seen the thing move, as she came up, but now it seemed lifeless. Thinking she was crazy, she picked up the limp hand. It was three times the size of her own, each of the five digits ending in a two-inch long claw. It wore what looked like weight-lifting gloves, having cutoff fingers and pre punched holes for circulation of air around the hand. It was made of a leather she had never seen, it was supple, but so snug fitting she was unable to even slide a finger between it and the skin. There were sharpened metal studs adorning the glove, between the first and second knuckle. The skin color was an overall yellow orange, speckled with spots ranging from dark orange to black. For all its' reptilian look the skin was amazingly smooth and warm, though not quite as warm as her own. Midway up the forearm there was a gaping hole, oozing green, florescent blood. She looked up to the slab she just moved, the blood dripped from one of the steel reinforcing rods that had been exposed in the blast. She tried to see what the rest of the creature looked like, but the noontime shadows were too dark and deep to see much. She began to reach up in trying to feel its features, when the slab groaned ominously. She jumped back lest the pile collapse. If the hand was any indication, the creature was big, even worse it looked ugly.
"Shit, if I don't get this stuff moved soon, it's gonna be flat." She pronounced to her self. She was apprehensive but she rationalized that it was of no harm to her unconscious. It was one of those things she would think back on later and realize how stupid it had been. Not thinking, just acting out of curiosity, not caring as to the possible consequences.
She jumped on the dozer and moved it out of the way. She brought in a smaller scale crane, directed by remote control, for this more delicate procedure of removing rubble. She secured the cable around the largest slab, and biting her lip slowly raised it off the top of the pile. If there were a slip, the thing would be dead without a doubt. That job completed without incident, she felt better as she moved the smaller debris clear of the creature. She left just enough of the pile to screen her actions from curious onlookers.
When the rubble was cleared and the crane directed to off load, she checked her new charge. She was a certified EMT, a desperate necessity in a job as dangerous as this. It was alive, or so it seemed, she could not find the spots corresponding to a pulse. With a little probing she discovered that the creature had an endoskeleton, and seemed warm blooded, so she was not reaching too far out of her league. There was an unnerving flat spot on one side of the mask it wore. The back edge had been twisted away from its head where it had caught on a piece of masonry, then was impacted from above. The chunk had just missed cleaving his head wide open. She would have to investigate further to make sure there was no skull fracture, at least an obvious one. With a sour look on her face, as if she expected to be touching something slimy, she began to feel under the edge of the helmet. What she encountered was something entirely different, there were two or three ridges just above the roots of his hair, stiff spikes grew between them. past the ridges the head was amazingly smooth, with only a few of the quills dotting the surface. In the midst of her amazement she came across what she hoped she would not find. There was a large gash where the masonry had been forced against his flesh. She had no doubt now that there was a concussion. She wiped the weird almost luminescent blood quickly on her pants.
As she continued her preliminary examination she found multiple injuries, though there were considerably less than a human in the same circumstances would have sustained. Its right arm lay at an unnatural angle, looking as if another elbow had sprung up. The break was two to four inches above the elbow, and luckily had not protruded from the skin.
That was a mild set of injuries, a human would have been much worse, if alive at all. The weight of the debris should have crushed him, it, or whatever. As for the wound on the left arm, its' bracelet, or what ever it had been was shattered, and fragments were embedded in the wound. Pulling the bar back out had only embedded them deeper in the flesh.
"No thanks to you, you twit." She chided herself.
As she finished diagnosing the patient, the crane returned, ready as ever for more work. Courtney commanded it to stay put, then she moved to the operations shed where all the medical supplies were kept. She gathered the stretcher and a blanket, emergency splints and some rubbing alcohol.
"Hey, Court'," Paul called curiously, causing Courtney a coronary, "What's up. What's with all the medico's?"
Calming her nerves, she replied venomously, "I've got an injury, you asshole! You were supposed to make sure everyone was out of the building, BEFORE you rigged the damned thing." she did not have to fake her anger.
"Oh man! You need some help?" He asked, not even phased by the ass chewing he just received, all too willing to assist.
"No...That's ok, Me an' the crane can handle it. I'm sure you have more important things to see to." She bristled, walking away.
Paul grumbled to himself for a bit before huffing off the other direction.
She set up the stretcher next to the inert form of the creature. She very carefully straightened his right arm to a more normal position, and quickly splinted it, securing it and his left arm, which she had hastily cleaned and wrapped, to his body. She wanted desperately to get a clear look at that head wound, it was bleeding profusely. However, her desire was hindered for the fact that she was unable to remove the mask, it remained stubbornly sealed to his head. She would get a better look at it later, when she had a penlight.
Struggling, she attempted to turn it over onto the litter, thinking perhaps that she should have let Paul help to make things easier. After what seemed an eternity she was able to get it on the stretcher, it must have weighed over three hundred fifty pounds. She hooked up the crane and directed it and its cargo toward a company van she had borrowed for the occasion. She had to watch very closely, the creature was taller than the stretcher was long, and so as to make sure he did not slide or roll off.
Courtney was just finishing loading the creature, and had covered it with the blanket when Paul magically appeared again.
"What's the verdict Doc'" still as cheery as ever.
"Doesn't look at all good," She said, hastily shutting the van doors to block Pauls view, "Broken arm, possible concussion, major lacerations, he's a royal mess" She ran for the drivers door, "I got to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. Tell Tom that I'll return the van tomorrow, Thanks, Bye!!" she kept the mask of bravado trying to cover the fact that he had scared her, almost finding her "Patient".
Paul watched her go, noticing the iridescent green dripping from her bumper. He smiled and sauntered away from the scene, she was not fooling him. But, he was equally as mad, his prize had just left, another setback. He had been counting on her or whoever found it, reporting the find. That she decided to leave with it was an unforeseen nuisance.
He made his way to the command shed, peeking inside to make sure no one was around. Slipping inside he rifled through the files.
"They've got to have...ah ha!", he said pulling out the crew's roster. He found what he wanted, and jotted down the information he needed.
