.x.
As the hunters set about gathering trophies, I walked over to lean against the cavern wall with a nonchalant calm I didn't feel. Like before, the aftershock of what had just occurred was setting in, and in an effort to hide my reaction from my companions I laid both my weapons on the ground beside me, crouched, and balled my hands into tight fists in order to control their trembling. Despite my quick breathing, despite the icy dread that was now winding its way throughout me, my mind was still clear, and as I began to replay the recent battle over and over in my thoughts, I found myself at a revelation that made me close my eyes.
Fighting the aliens, killing them—it had been an ordeal yes, a terrifying situation that I had no wish to face again. But there was something exhilarating about it, too, something inexplicable that gave me a certain amount of pride; I was the victor despite all odds. I was the one who had triumphed. I opened my eyes again, and let my gaze fall upon the nearest of the predators—Tank—where he knelt at the side of his kill, meticulously and carefully stripping the carcass of its teeth with the point of his knife blade. Was this what drove their race? I wondered then—this exultation, this satisfaction in being the one to survive in the wake of such a struggle? Being able to prove that your skills, your prowess, are superior to those of your enemy?
Perhaps that was the reason the predators hunted as they did, but for me it was a different story. In terms of pure physical strength and agility, I had nothing on either the hunters or the aliens. My survival was less a test of battle worthiness than it was a trial of luck. Without weapons, I was just anyone's meat; knowing this, Scar and comrades had for some reason decided to bring me along anyways. Why? It was a question I both dearly desired an answer to and dreaded knowing. Everything that had befallen me so recently was a result of the goddamn mark upon my cheek that had been etched with acid by the hand of Scar … my gaze wanted to find my former savior turned abductor, but stubbornly I trained my eyes on the alien I had slaughtered where it lay in a steaming pool of its own blood. I had him to thank for all of this, I thought then with anger and resentment, and oh, how I wanted to hate him for it …
But I couldn't. And that was the absolute crux of my situation.
I was jolted from my grim reverie by a growling bark from Tank meant to catch my attention. Done dismembering his own kill, he pointed once with his knife at the alien I had slain before sliding the blade across the uneven ground to my side. His meaning was clear—I was to take some trophies of my own. I glanced from his proffered weapon to the carcass surrounded on all sides by its caustic blood, and back to the weapon again. As much fun as separating body parts from the corpse sounded, I really didn't want to do it. Tank snarled then, shaking his head so that his hair rattled, and gestured with more emphasis to my kill. Contemplating refusal but reluctantly realizing that by doing what he indicated I would further endear myself to he and his companions, I sighed and stooped to pick up the knife. I was fully aware that endearing myself to Scar more than I already had was actually something I should try and avoid doing, but my past experiences with angering or insulting the hunters had been alarming enough that I chose the lesser of two evils.
Knife held tight in my gloved hand, I approached my kill and knelt beside it, beyond the reaches of the blood pool. I stared at it for long moments, uncertain about what type of trophy I should attempt to gain. I'd seen Scar gather the end of the alien tails and slice off their clawed fingers from their joints, and of course I knew that teeth were a good choice too. The only problem was attaining these pieces of anatomy without getting the acid blood on myself. After brief contemplation I decided the safest route was to try for the teeth, and so I leaned awkwardly over the black carcass and nudged with some trepidation at the jaw of the alien. It remained motionless, and feeling somewhat the idiot for my foolish fear I set about trying to wrench the jaws apart.
And found that it was a lot harder than I had anticipated.
Perhaps it was rigor mortis. Perhaps it was just the alien's dying belligerence. Whatever the reason, the long mouth of the creature was most firmly locked together, and no amount of swearing, threatening, or prying on my behalf could get it open. After a while I sat back on my heels, thoroughly frustrated and sweating slightly, and glared at the offending mass of lifeless muscle, carapace, and bone. It was a low, rasping trill that prompted me to turn my head around. Tank, still kneeling, with a string of severed alien fingers dangling from one hand, was laughing at me. Beyond him I could see Scale and Scar still occupied with their own collecting, and felt a small measure of relief that my futile attempts had been witnessed by only one of the hunters.
"Laugh it up," I muttered, disgruntled. Maybe I'd been brought along for entertainment.
Still making his amused noise, Tank fastened his gruesome adornment to his belt, and when he stood the many fingers fell almost to his knee. He crossed the distance between us and crouched beside me, holding out a hand. Pursing my lips in irritation, I gave him back his knife. Holding it up to ensure he had my utmost attention, he trilled briefly before moving the blade to the junction of the alien's jaws. He plunged it in to the hilt, glanced to me, and twisted the weapon to the side.
The mouth sprang open with the sound of breaking bones, a small trickle of blood leaking forth from the wound to spill over onto the ground. With another growl to ensure I was watching, Tank pulled the alien's black, wrinkled equivalent of lips up and away from its teeth, and then with a deft movement inserted the knife at an angle. He rotated the blade a few times, and suddenly one of the long, curved fangs of the dead beast fell free. Catching it before it could fall into the caustic blood, Tank tossed it to me before holding out his weapon hilt first. Apparently, it was my turn.
Tucking the tooth into my breast pocket, I took and hoisted the knife in a fumbling manner, ignoring the snort that came from Tank, and drove the knife in above another fang. Sharp as the weapon was, I had a hard time penetrating the bone and flesh, and had to really exert myself. Once the blade was sunk hilt deep, I took a deep breath and twisted it with some difficulty, feeling the sharpness grating against flesh and bone and trying to ignore the disgusting sound that was made. I was about to give up when abruptly the tooth popped free. Catching this one as well, Tank made a noise of approval, and I smiled triumphantly at him before I realized what I was doing. Handing me the fang with one hand, clapping me hard on the back with the other, the hunter stood, and I followed suit. Upon giving him his knife I noticed Scar and Scale approaching; both had significantly more alien body parts adorning their persons than they had before.
The predators began to converse with each other, an odd mixture of hand signals and guttural sounds. Scale brought up the laser image on his arm device, and Tank stepped closer to observe it. Scar, skirting them, came to stand before me, and though his presence made me both apprehensive and relieved I remained where I was. Seeing what it was I held in my hand, he tapped the crude necklace I wore with one finger. Understanding what he meant I reached back and untied the length of wire from around my neck before holding it out to him. He took it between two fingers, I then held out the tooth which he took with a grumble. Once he'd fastened that one next to the first fang he'd given me, I removed the other from my pocket and handed it over. When he was finished, the three teeth hung side by side with the metal band riding between two.
He gave it back to me and as I bowed my head to retie it back around my neck I felt his fingers suddenly tangle themselves in the stray lengths of my hair that had escaped their bindings in the earlier struggle. To my credit, I didn't move away as half of me wanted to. I merely raised my head and fixed him with what I hoped was an intimidating glare. His hand stilled where it was. And then his fingers tightened around one of the longer tendrils, and with an amused growl he tugged hard enough to make me splutter an objection. Releasing my hair, he stepped back, and with another glower in his direction I spun on my heel and stalked off to retrieve my weapons.
"Goddamnit! What the hell?" Said a voice—my voice—from behind me, mocking me with my most recent words. This was followed immediately by Scar's trill of laughter. Against my will, a smile crept across my face, but I managed to suppress it as I swiveled calmly and gave Scar the global gesture of annoyance. I was fairly certain he had no idea what the extended middle finger meant, but for good measure I made sure that I hurried past him to stand on the other side of Tank's formidable bulk. A second later I noticed I was still smiling faintly, and I groaned inwardly at the implications that accompanied this.
I was enjoying the hunters' company. Shaking my head to dispel whatever amusement lingered there, I focused on the dire situation I was in. I had been dragged down here to hunt down and slaughter a creature that was a hybrid of the two fiercest species I've ever had the misfortune to encounter. I'd been given a mark by a predator that somehow bound me to his kind, and said predator was now harboring a certain undeniable fondness for me. I was outweighed, out-muscled and out-skilled by my traveling companions, and all I had for weapons was a retractable spear for close combat and a shotgun with very few rounds left. Why then, after taking into account all of this, did I find this little excursion less terrifying than it was entertaining? I was still afraid, appropriately so. I could still feel the lingering traces of the adrenalin that had previously flooded my system. And while originally I had been furious with Scar for doing this to me, that anger had faded somewhat, leaving me bemused and wary in its wake. But somewhere along the way I had ceased to fear the hunters, ceased seeing them as a danger, and began to think of them as allies, as comrades.
As friends?
No, I thought inwardly, watching as Scale dispelled the laser map and gestured to Tank and Scar with one arm down the steep incline from which the aliens had come. They weren't my friends—at least, I didn't think Tank and Scale were. That they tolerated me I was more than aware of, and granted, they were nicer to me than Celtic had been. I was afraid to know the extent of my relationship with Scar, but I was willing to bet he was the closest thing I had to a friend down here. What was a friend anyways? How did I know what the hunters considered to be friendship?
When the hunters began to ready their weapons again, cannons moving into firing position, spears and wrist blades held ready, I decided to take stock of my own armory with the beginnings of nervousness once more. The elder's spear was hanging again at my waist, but as I cracked open the barrel of the shotgun I was met with an unwelcome sight. There were only two rounds left, and after I'd spent them, every enemy I encountered from that point I would have to deal with in close combat.
That thought in itself was enough to effectively dissipate all remnants of amusement.
.x.
We resumed our trek further into the mountainous depths of Bouvetoya, Tank in the lead followed by Scale and myself with Scar bringing up the rear. I had been worried that I wouldn't be able to keep up with the predators once the hunt truly began, but we continued now at what I guessed to be a leisurely pace for them, and it was one I could maintain at a steady walk. We strode in silence, or as much silence as a party of our caliber could maintain, though it was still a marvel for me to witness these huge, hulking creatures moving with the grace of a stalking cat. I tried as best I could to keep quiet, and I must have managed it all right, because I received neither a rap atop the head from Scar nor irritated snarls from the other two hunters.
After quite some time the descent we'd been following leveled out, and we found ourselves standing before a circular tunnel in the wall of the enormous cavern. Opposite the passage, however, spreading out so far I could not glimpse where it ended, was a dark, still pool of water. The path we'd just traversed wound its way up and around the pool in a spiral pattern. Here and there jagged pieces of rock thrust themselves out of the water's surface, and I was curious how deep and how cold this underground lake was. Seeing it immediately alerted me to the fact that we would find more such things as we progressed, for this was undoubtedly an enormous aquifer. Fascinated by this natural occurrence, I had taken two steps towards the water when a beckoning growl from Scar brought me up short. Sighing, I rejoined the ranks of my party, and couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited us as we entered the tunnel.
I didn't have to wait long to find out.
They caught us off guard, falling from the impenetrable black depths of the tunnel roof. I had a split second to wonder why Scale's laser map hadn't alerted us to their presence, and then realized perhaps it had—hence our entering this tunnel. Tank went down immediately beneath the combined weight of two of the aliens; he came up in a furious rush as an explosive burst from Scar's cannon alleviated him of one of them. Scale had been shoved hard into the wall by one of the screaming ebony creatures but had managed to ram the entire length of his elongated spear through its throat, effectively impaling it. In all the roiling chaos, in all the swift, brutal commotion, I never saw the alien leaping for me until it was too late.
It struck me hard in the side, claws digging into my clothing, into my skin, as the force of its movement sent us both hurtling out of the tunnel and back out into the large cavern. Locked together in flight, it was me who hit the ground first hard on my back and the jolt from the landing dislodged the alien, which skidded across the uneven rock with a shriek before tumbling into the water. I regained my feet as fast as I could, crying out as my body's wounds—both old and new—vehemently protested the movement. I'd only just brought the shotgun up to bear as the alien rose from the lake in an eruption of water. Hissing, it climbed quickly onto the stony shore. It began its rush as I reflexively pulled the trigger, and the first shot struck the glossy chitin of its skull before ricocheting to the side. I had no time for dismay as the second shot struck it a glancing blow in its upper shoulder, and as it hesitated, screaming, I dropped the now useless gun and fumbled for my spear.
I freed it just as the alien lunged. The extended length struck the creature as I swung it like a club, attempting to maintain a distance. It staggered but managed to right itself quickly, and for a long moment we stood hunter to prey, human to alien, and I had all the time in the world to realize that this was going to be a battle like none I'd fought before. The alien's tail switched to and fro, and as it revealed the long, gleaming lengths of its teeth at me I felt something akin to resolve settle within me. Either I triumphed or I died—that was the ultimatum I found myself faced with, and there was no escaping it.
In a rush of limbs it came for me, and I twisted aside before thrusting out awkwardly with the spear. An enraged and strangled shriek let me know I'd struck home. Wrenching the weapon free and stumbling back I turned to find that I'd pierced the alien through the side. Though blood was streaming in torrents from the wound, it came for me again. My arms, trembling, brought the spear up to bear.
It leapt for me again, double jaws snapping. I dropped to a crouch and rammed the spear with all I had upwards. The weapon was torn from my grasp as the alien's kicking legs caught me in the side. I went down hard and unable to breathe; as my lungs struggled to function against the searing pain in my ribs I wondered what was taking the alien so long, for it had me now … I was effectively helpless.
I realized then that I could hear nothing, no sounds of struggle, no cries of agony. Struggling into a sitting position, unable to help the whimper that escaped my lips, I found that my enemy lay in a crumpled heap only a few feet away, my spear protruding from its midsection, buried almost to the grip. I had just climbed slowly and painfully to me feet when Scar appeared from within the tunnel, red laser sights dancing towards the alien corpse before dying away completely. Trying not to concentrate on the torture that I believed was stemming from a bruised rib, I crossed falteringly to the corpse and bent to retrieve my spear. It didn't come free without a struggle, and when finally I held it in my hands my eyes were watering from a myriad of hurts. Scar had approached and stood several feet away, watching me intently with head tilted—gauging if I was all right? Warring within me then were several things—triumph, terror, sorrow, rage—and it was with a heavy heart I walked past him, ignoring his growl, ignoring his outstretched hand. It was only when his fingers closed around my shoulder that I halted, head bowed, unwilling to face this being that created within me so many tumultuous things.
We remained thus for long moments while I struggled with all my inner turmoil. I'd just escaped death, and yes, I was afraid, but tinting that fear was exultation and pride; I'd killed the alien on my own, without the aid of the hunters. Why wasn't I breaking down? Why wasn't I panicking, trying to get free of this place? Why was a part of me taking a primal, ancient satisfaction in the fact that I had proven myself not once, but twice against creatures both ferocious and deadly?
I lifted my own hand then, wincing inwardly as the movement incited bruised muscles to sing their complaints, and covered Scar's own with it for just a moment before lifting his fingers free of my shoulder. He didn't resist, which amused me on an ironic and grim level. We both knew his strength was much more than my own. Instead he tugged again on the same lock of hair he'd pulled before, but more gently this time, his growl rumbling softly on the air around us. And when his hand moved to my face to trace as always the mark on my cheek, I let him.
What bothered me the most was that I didn't mind his touch any longer.
.x.
