Author's note. Very quick chapter, school started, much less time. Please read and review and give me suggestions for future chapters.
PS_ while writing this I listened to Requiem for a Dream by Clint Mansell and Time by Hans Zimmer.
His breath came quick and rapid. He took deep gasps of air, as if his lungs could not fill properly. Blood poured from a wound in his side. He ran and ran and ran. Branches smacked him in the face, thorns scraped his knees. Green plasma bolts snapped through the air, cutting through trees, scorching the earth. His earth. Humanities earth. Who were these alien motherfuckers who thought they could just take it away from them. Who was he kidding? He was no soldier. He was a high school student for Christ's sake. And yet here he was, running through the fucking jungle with a kitchen knife stuck through his belt. Blood gushing from a wound in his side. A wraith mortar blast had landed in his house, sending a piece of rebar into his side. He had ripped it out and started running. He sprinted out of the building, to watch his mothers car, careen around the corner and smash into a pole. His 8 year old sister was catapulted through the windshield, a 6 inch piece of glass imbedded in her forehead. His mother's head was at an awkward angle, neck clearly snapped. The boy turned and looked down the street, a pack of grunts were jogging toward him. He ran, as fast has he could. And here he was, the aliens chasing him. The boy tripped, a root had caught his foot. He went down, hard. His breath was gone, a rib was broken, his breath was ragged and sharp. A stabbing pain, evertime he took a breath. His wound was on fire. He crawled for a tree, taking cover, fighting for traction on the mossy wet surface. Wet with his blood. He heard the chattering and yipping of the grunts. They were getting closer. There was no where to run, he could hide no longer. And so he stood, on quivering legs, to face an unbeatable enemy. An enemy that knew not the bitter taste of defeat. The same taste on every humans tongue for the past 20 years. These bastards knew not the feeling of loss, nor the feeling of helplessness. And yet they were winning, and would win. Unless every human banded together. To rise up and stop this threat. If they could not stand together, they would die, separate and alone. And so the boy reached for the knife. Feeling its weight and balance. The blade rose, for his sister, and his mother, and for his father, a dead Marine who had fought for everyone, giving the ultimate sacrifice. And here he was, prepared for that undying glory, of giving of yourself for the greater cause. The survival of your species. And he turned around the tree, running at the grunts, a battle roar in his throat. And with him ran, unseen, his mother and father, his sister, and every other human that had died at the Covenant's hand. They ran with him. Into the gates of hell. Never to return.