Part 2
Burt topped a rise, saw the headlights pointed at a crazy angle across the desert, and immediately deduced the problem. "That damned sign," he muttered, pressing the accelerator to the floor. "Damned tourists. Goddamned underground monsters." He muttered a few more epithets while his truck hurtled toward the scene of the overturned SUV. He slammed on the brakes and threw himself from the truck, already reaching for a concussion grenade from his vest in the back. He prepared to throw it while assessing the situation. A woman was caught in the thing's tentacles. If he tossed the grenade, the graboid would likely tear her leg off trying to get away. He started toward the woman at a run, reaching for the Desert Eagle at his side. While he watched, the woman bent double, a good sized blade raised above her head, and plunged it into the tentacle wrapped around her leg. It went into the tentacle and into the dirt below, but only slowed the beast.
"Wanting more punishment?" he sneered at the beast. "I've got something you'll like." He reached the woman, who by then had pulled the knife out and was preparing to strike again. When she caught sight of him, she reached for him instead, taking a surprisingly strong grasp on his thigh. He planted both combat boots in the dirt and braced himself. Standing over the woman, he took careful one-handed aim and fired one shot into the tentacle. El Blanco screamed, the tentacle retreated, and Burt popped the concussion grenade. He rolled it across the few feet of dirt separating them, then pulled the woman to her feet and dragged her toward his own truck.
BAM! The concussion grenade went off - far too close. The woman's knees buckled beneath her at the sound, even as El Blanco disappeared.
"No!" Burt shouted, pulling the woman up again and toward the truck. "He's gone," he shouted, "but he won't stay away long. Get in the truck!" She tried to comply, but she couldn't get her legs under her. Burt scooped her up, heading for the passenger side. She reached for the door herself and he boosted her inside, slamming the door behind him as he sped toward the other side. He put the truck in gear, did a tight u-turn, then floored it down the highway toward town.
As Burt had guessed, El Blanco didn't stay away for long. His seismo monitor showed the graboid in hot pursuit. Burt poured on the power, but he knew he wouldn't help the little town of Perfection by leading El Blanco down the main street. Making a quick decision, he swerved off the road at a turnoff, and headed up a stony ridge. The graboid couldn't follow there, and if luck were with them, he'd lose the graboid long enough to make his compound.
"What the hell was that?" the girl screamed. "What the hell was that?" She twisted and turned in her seat, trying to pierce the darkness. "Where is it? Is it following?"
"Underground!" Burt shouted in return.
The girl's shoulders shot out the side as she scanned the dirt speeding by below the truck. "I don't see it! Where is it?"
He grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside. He thumped the top of the seismo. "Watch it on the monitor."
"Is that us?" she shouted. "It's too close! Go faster!"
"Not on this rough terrain," Burt shouted back. But he edged the speedometer up a notch.
The girl slid across the seat as he took another turn, finally loosing the death grip she had on the knife and it went clattering across Burt's seismo monitor and to the floor at his feet. She dove for it but he slammed her back in her seat. "Later!"
He sped along the ridge, noting El Blanco's parallel course. If he could make it in time, he should be able to swing around the back of his compound while El Blanco had to detour around a rocky extrusion. He calculated he'd beat the creature to the gate, but not by much.
As he came over the ridge, the truck took to the air. Not long, and not far, but it was enough to toss the girl around in her seat. She let out a scream as she grabbed the roll bar to keep herself in the truck but otherwise didn't complain as they bounced roughly over the terrain.
He raced the truck down the hill toward his compound, already grabbing for the control to open his gate. He slammed on the brakes just as El Blanco rounded the extrusion and raced toward them. Dust, rocks, and debris flew as he took the turn too fast, but the Power Wagon stayed level. He gunned it again and went flying through the gate, slamming to a halt bare inches from the far fence.
Heart racing, he watched the monitor. El Blanco veered off course, circling around the compound. "Looking for a way in, aren't you? You won't find one," he taunted the graboid smugly. He clicked the gate control and closed them into the compound.
"Are we safe?" the girl cried, her fright-widened eyes scanning the night around them, flicking back to the monitor, then back out to the darkness again. "It can't get in?"
"We're safe," he assured her. "This compound is encased in two foot thick, steel-reinforced cement walls, sides and bottom."
She still searched the night. "Is it electric? That fence doesn't look very--"
He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "El Blanco is an underground monster. He won't come over the walls."
"What's El Blanco?" She still twisted and turned, but her breathing was starting to calm.
"Graboid. Caederus americana," he continued, when all he got was a blank stare. "Haven't you ever heard of a graboid?"
She shook her head, distracted, still scanning the night.
He shook his head. "No matter, later, I can--" He noticed the blood then. Hers. "What happened to your hands?" he asked, pulling the nearest toward him. The palms were shredded, embedded with rocks, dirt and, if he wasn't mistaken, safety glass.
She looked down then, as if she'd only just noticed the wounds when he mentioned them. "When the Rover flipped, the windows went. You're sure that thing can't get in?"
"Absolutely," he said. "We'll need to get you inside and tend to these." He opened the truck door. When he started to slide out, his feet came across the knife she'd dropped. He picked it up and examined it. The hilt was too ornate to be practical, the blade was just slightly over a foot long, which put it severely out of balance, and... "This blade is dull as a butter knife," he accused.
She snatched it from his hands. "It's a ceremonial knife," she explained, cradling it to herself. "It's supposed to be dull."
He shrugged. Tourists. "Well, let's get you inside." He slid out of the truck.
"Inside?" she replied, looking around at the almost featureless compound. He opened the door for her and waited for her to get out. She didn't move. "Inside?"
He nodded his head toward the almost-hidden stairway. "I live underground." When she only looked at him, the puzzled expression her only reaction, he elaborated. "It's quite safe from graboids, shriekers and assblasters, I can assure you."
"From what?"
He wondered if English was her first language. "They're--" He shook his head again. "Later. Right now, let's get your hands taken care of." He took her arm to help her out of the truck. She was just a little thing, he noticed, and his truck was quite far off the ground for someone her size - he wondered if she'd be able to get out on her own. She slid out of the seat and jumped to the ground, but let out a cry as her feet touched the ground. Her legs buckled under her. "Damned graboid," he muttered as he scooped her up for the second time that night. "We'll have to look at that leg, too," he said, by way of explanation. After kicking the door shut, he headed across the compound and down the stairs.
He reached the bottom and paused. He turned around so her back was to his keypad and punched in the code, then opened the door.
The room was illuminated only by the soft glow of the equipment he'd left running. He flipped on the lights and she looked around, then back at him. "What is this, some kind of secret military base?"
"No," he said shortly and deposited her a bit brusquely in the nearest chair.
She let out a yip as she landed, giving Burt a moment's guilt. Perhaps to make up for it, his voice gentled as he turned on the nearby lamp and knelt in front of her. "Now let's see those hands." She obediently put them into his so he could examine them closely under the light. "Hmmm... No deep cuts, but lots of glass and dirt. We'll need to get that out and clean them. It won't be pleasant." He dropped her hands and started to reach for the leg with the smear of graboid slime around the ankle, but she pulled it out of his grasp. "I'll, ah, need to examine your leg. See if it's broken or..."
"Oh. Yeah." She nodded. "Of course." She slid her foot closer to him and he carefully felt the bones from ankle to thigh. Then he took her foot and rotated it slowly.
"Ow!" He looked a question at her, but she shook her head. "Just a little bit of pain, not serious. Not really."
He nodded. "Where does it hurt most?"
"Well, everywhere, mostly..." She paused, apparently considering the source of the pain, then put her hand just where her thigh met her hip. "Here's worst."
He considered a moment. The graboid was pulling pretty hard. It could be dislocated at the hip. Didn't seem likely, though, or she'd be in a lot more pain. Probably just strained. "All right, let's see if you can move it first." He stood and went to her side. "Now lean against me," he instructed, pulling her away from the injured leg. He leaned down and pulled her against his chest until she was nearly vertical and her weight was off the injured side. "Now see if you can move it around a bit."
She could. But not easily.
Then she started shaking. "I-I c-c-c-c--"
"Adrenaline letdown," he diagnosed. "Just try to relax..."
The shaking intensified, her body almost convulsing. When she very nearly spilled off the chair, Burt took her in his arms and lowered her carefully to the floor. "Just relax," he said gently. "Just ride it out..." He murmured other soothing words until the shuddering lessened. When the shaking gentled to irregular quivers, he pulled away enough to look into her eyes. "Better?"
She nodded, though her eyes still looked wild.
"Good," he said. "I'll get you something." He let go of her and got to his feet, going into the safe room and returning with a plastic cup filled with an amber fluid. "Drink this down," he said, kneeling next to her.
He put the cup carefully to her lips, gently pouring some into her mouth. She swallowed then coughed and sputtered. "Ugh! What is this?"
"Whiskey," he replied.
"Ugh." She grimaced.
"It'll help, though. Drink it down."
She took another swallow, doing better this time, then another. She'd almost finished the cup when a sudden tremor shook her and the rest spilled down the front of her shirt and the top of her jeans. She wiped ineffectually at it until her hand slid across a patch of graboid slime. "Eew. What...?" She looked at the slime stretching from her hand to her shirt then took a closer look at the shirt. It was covered with slime, as were the jeans. "Get it off," she demanded, her voice gone harsh. "Get it off!" Her voice rose as she pulled at the shirt. Her eyes went wide again and her breath came in pants as she snatched at it, trying to tear it from her body.
Burt reached out to pull it over her head, but she backed away from him, turning her face away. "No! It can't touch me!" She tore at the shirt, ripping small holes in it, her nails digging into the flesh of her arms.
Burt wasted no more time. Quickly he reached for the knife at his side with one hand, while he pulled the neck of the shirt away from her with the other. Slipping the knife under the shirt, he cut it with one downward stroke from top to bottom. She dove out of the shirt, now struggling with the waistband of her jeans. She tore two manicured fingernails off but got the pants undone, then Burt helped her peel them off.
She crab-walked away from them, still screaming, "Get it of! Get it off!"
Burt crawled after her, taking her in his arms again to calm her. He spoke all the soothing words he could think of but she kept staring at the pile of slime-covered clothes and shrieking "No no no no no..."
She struggled get away and Burt fought to hold her still so she wouldn't injure herself further. Finally he wrapped both legs around hers trying to keep her still, but that only made her buck and writhe more. Her hair fell into her face and she screamed louder.
"My hair! My hair! God it's in my hair!" She started tearing at her hair then, looking for slime and pulling patches of it out.
"It's not in your hair!" Burt shouted, but she was beyond listening. As long as she could see the visible reminder of her earlier ordeal, she panicked.
There was only one thing he could think of to do. He got his feet under him and stood, then picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, then headed for the safe room. He put her down on the cabinet platform he'd built into a bed and sat next to her, pulling her against his chest. "It's not in your hair," he murmured. "It's gone. Your hair is fine. It can't hurt you anymore. You don't have to be afraid..."
He murmured soothing words to her until she stopped screaming, until her breath didn't come in anguished, throat-searing gasps, until she lay quietly in his arms, weeping. He rocked her, back and forth, and she clung to him like she'd never willingly let go.
He pulled away from her, examining her face. Her eyes were dull, listless and staring. "You better now?"
She nodded at last, slowly. "I... I need to... I have to get this... this off." She looked around the tiny room, searching for something. "Do you have a... a shower or something?"
He nodded to the alcove opposite, where a handheld showerhead hung from the wall.
"Could I-- I have to take a shower. I need-- This has to be off."
"That's fine," he said, in that tone of voice you use with invalids and crazy people. He wasn't quite sure which category he planned to put her in. Probably both. "It'll take a minute to warm up the water." Careful to avoid her injuries and keep her calm, he moved away from her and went to his bathroom alcove. He turned the water on and moved about, laying out towels and soap where she would be able to reach them.
When the water was as hot as it was going to be, he went to get her, waking her from some kind of reverie when he approached. "I'm sorry I don't have a tub--"
"Ugh! No!" She shuddered. "I don't want to be in it."
He nodded. "Still, you can't stand long on that leg." He scooped her up again and carried her to the alcove, stopping at the entrance. "It's all one unit," he explained about the plumbing system he'd installed. "So you can just pull that out and sit down if you need to."
"Now I'm in prison," she said, eyeing the toilet. It was one of those she'd seen in jail cells on tv. But at least she tried to summon a smile.
He worked up a half grin in response and set her down. He slowly pulled his hands away as she clutched the wall and took on more of her own weight.
His hands were resting lightly on her waist when he realized she wore only a bright blue bra with matching bikini panties and the knee-high boots she'd been wearing earlier. He snatched his hands away as he felt his face heat up and looked away.
"If you could just... help with the boots," she suggested.
"Sure, of course." He knelt immediately and started working at the laces, but they didn't work. Her leg pulled away as she turned her foot slightly, revealing the zippers at the side.
"Women's clothes," he muttered. "I don't understand..." He unzipped the first one, carefully working it from her injured foot, then she leaned heavily against the doorway as he quickly removed the other.
She limped into the shower and stood under the water, letting it beat against her head, ignoring him completely. He watched her a moment, then caught himself, and hastily pulled the shower curtain closed.
"You should find everything in there," he called. "Let me know if there's anything you need." Not that he'd have it, but...
"Uh-huh," came the muffled reply. Then two wet plops as first her bra then panties hit the floor.
Quickly, he walked away from the alcove, looking around. Clothes. She'd need something to wear. He went to the bed again and opened the deep drawers underneath. He pulled an olive-drab t-shirt from one and a pair of desert cammo pants from the other. He reached into the smaller drawer to the side and pulled out a pair of skivvies then realized his mistake. He quickly stuffed them back in. The shirt and pants would do for now. He laid the clothes out on the bed and waited.
After twenty minutes, he wondered if he should check on her. She was taking such a long time. She could have fallen or hurt herself. He probably would have heard, but... She could be having another panic attack for all he knew. Then the water turned off. He heard her whimpering and gasping quietly. All the twisting and turning while drying herself off, he surmised.
That put an all-too-vivid picture in his mind that he could have done without. He ruthlessly suppressed that and thought about the newest improvements to his geo-phone system.
When she was silent a while, he thought she'd come out but still no sign. "Are you all right?" he called.
"Do you have any bigger towels?"
He thought of the army surplus towels, which barely circled his waist when he shaved in the morning. "No, I'm afraid that's all I have."
She dragged the curtain aside suddenly and stood there, one towel wrapped around her hair and one clutched tightly around her breasts but gaping apart over the rest of her. He saw a line of skin along her side from ribcage to leg. If she hadn't been so small, the towel wouldn't have been long enough to reach the just barely decent status it now held. "These just aren't makin' it," she announced.
He nodded, averting his eyes. "I've got some clothes for you on the-- over here." He pointed to the bed and started for the safe room door.
She sighed. "Well... come here," she prompted.
He paused and looked at her clinging to the doorway and frowned. He was acting like a teenager, he told himself. Of course she couldn't make it to the bed alone.
As he approached, she reached for his shoulder, pulling herself close as he put an arm around her waist. He half-guided, half-carried her across the room. It looked like her leg was moving better for the heated water, at least.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the towel slip just as he lowered her to the bed. He made sure to look the other way. "I'll be just... outside. Call me when you're..."
He fled.