As promised, here is the same night, but from Katja's POV! Curious to know what you all think.

Chapter 5

They mostly come at night… mostly…

Katja's night

After the meteor had disappeared from the sky, Katja had radioed base personnel. They had confirmed that the 'explosion' (for lack of a better term) had indeed been the meteor crashing into the atmosphere.

They had then informed her that another platoon, on assignment further up the mountain, was not responding to the base's hails. The unit's last position was near the most isolated home in the area – a dwelling closer to the mountain's summit, where the meteor pieces had landed.

Her new job, base had informed her, was to take a few men and attempt to link up with the platoon – and homeowners – and see if they were injured or in need of evac. She had also been warned that the farther up the mountain she went, the spottier the radio signal was going to be.

Though Katja had complied, she had an unsettled feeling about what they were headed into. After something as disruptive as the explosion, the missing unit should have immediately checked in, as she had.

After signing off with base, Katja had taken out her map and located the house. Immediately she'd deduced that it would be well into nightfall by the time they reached it, and had decided to get underway as soon as possible. She didn't relish doing search and rescue in the dark, and with possibly no radio signal.

Now, nearly ready to depart, Katja hopped onto the runners of one of the army trucks for a last word with another of her lieutenants, Volkov.

"Volkov," she said, trying not to think about how silly she probably looked. Her chin barely cleared the window.

Inside the vehicle, Volkov turned to look at her. "Yeah, Captain?" His name meant wolf, but he was anything but fierce. She knew he came from a privileged family.

"Keep things moving. It'll be night soon, and I don't like the idea of this whole convoy trying to drive down narrow mountain roads in the dark. And… don't stop for anything."

"Understood," he responded, sounding bored. "I'm more than ready for supper, anyway."

Katja's teeth clenched, disliking his attitude. Could he not see that this whole situation had become… off… since that explosion?

Volkov was the youngest of her lieutenants, and the rawest. She had a lot of work to do with him. "You're in command until I return to base, Volkov. I need you to take care of our guys and those civs, understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

He still wasn't taking her seriously. "You have to step up," she stressed, "because Senior Lieutenant Petrov won't be around. He volunteered for my mission."

"Shocking," Volkov muttered under his breath, and Katja was taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing," he said immediately. "Never mind, Ma'am."

Was he implying something? "Get moving. Now. And I'd like to see you privately when I'm back at base."

Hopping down to the ground, Katja rapped on the side of the last truck in the convoy, signaling it was time for them to go. A moment later, the line of vehicles was in motion, their noisy diesel engines rumbling as they headed into the rapidly darkening line of trees that trailed back down the mountain.

Due to the cold and the late hour, Petrov had been the only volunteer for the evac, and she'd instructed him to pick three other 'volunteers' to accompany them. Her only direct choice had been Alexei, much to the boy's chagrin. She also had him leave his weapon with the trucks to return to base. Last thing she needed was friendly fire for a short trip.

Even now, Alexei was watching the trucks depart, hunched and tense, his hands balled into fists. Even for Alexei, he looked scared.

"No," Katja amended to herself, looking closer at his face, "he looks panicked." The real question was why? The meteor had impacted, the immediate danger had passed, for the most part… hadn't it?

"Don't worry, Private," she told him. "Camping isn't that bad." This elicited a vicious smirk from Petrov – he really must have not have liked Alexei – and a few chuckles from Preobrazhensky, Zaitsev, and Yahontov, the three men Petrov had chosen.

Alexei paced in a circle, muttering under his breath.

Katja waited, hoping he'd spill something, anything, that would explain what the hell was going on. At this point, she'd believe anything he'd say, too. Even zombies.

"We're in danger," he moaned, finally dropping onto a fallen tree. "Don't you get it?"

"Scared of a little cold?" mocked Zaitsev, and Katja immediately held up a hand to silence him.

"No, I don't get it, Antonov. Something you want to share?" she asked, layering just enough pressure in the request to make him look at her. What is wrong with the meteor?! she wanted to scream at him.

Alexei gripped the bark on the log to either side of him, squirming under her stare. But whatever he was hiding, he feared it more than her. "I don't… I can't… Can I please follow them back to base? I'll even walk!"

He grabbed her hand between his, squeezing it tightly, and looked up at her appealingly.

Katja shook him off and didn't bother to answer; though it was disconcerting that Alexei was willing to walk back to base on rough terrain, even after running laps around the trucks.

But clearly, he wasn't going to talk until he was forced into a position where he had no other choice. And where he didn't want to go was closer to the meteor epicenter.

So that's where they'd go. She was counting on the fact that Alexei didn't want to die to protect the rest of them before… before they encountered whatever was terrifying him.

"Move out," she called, praying over and over that she wasn't making the wrong decision.

The temperature dropped quickly, along with the remaining light. The higher they climbed, the more the wind slashed at them.

Katja's small team walked close together, and from time to time rotated the point man, who was forced to take the brunt of the gale. Needless to say, there was a lot of grumbling by whoever was up front.

"Do you smell that, or am I going crazy?" Petrov asked Katja from her side. They were nearly shoulder to shoulder, their boots sinking into snow with each step. Yahontov was just ahead of them, and the other three were behind them.

"Please tell me you're not making a fart joke," she begged through cold lips. That was the worst part of this job. Being stuck with a group of crude men in enclosed spaces. Even her brother was not always exempt from that list…

When he was still alive.

Petrov made a noise she could only describe as an insulted squawk. She could barely see him in the outer edge of her helmet light, but she could imagine his expression easily. "Captain, why would I… I'm serious!"

Some snow kicked up and hit Katja's vest, and she brushed it away quickly. "All right, all right," she conceded, lifting her nose into the cold. "But I don't–"

The wind shifted slightly, and it reached her very suddenly: a scent that was both familiar and concerning. "Smoke," she observed.

"Chimney of the house we're looking for?" Petrov asked hopefully.

He was picturing himself warming up by the home's hearth, she realized. Not that she blamed him. "Or the meteor started a forest fire."

"Let's hope not," he said grimly, stepping over a knee-high snowdrift. "It'd spread way too quickly with this wind."

Katja was about to reply to him when, over the shrill whistle of the wind, she heard the howl of a wolf; piercing and chilling. It didn't sound too far away, either.

Behind them, Alexei jumped straight up in the air. "What was that? Did you hear that?" he cried.

"It's just animals," she called back to him. "Stay sharp." He didn't seem convinced, so she took a few extra seconds to reassure him. "Alexei, wolf attacks on humans are extremely rare. You're more likely to be struck by lightning. Trust me, there are bigger and badder predators out here to worry about than wolves."

"Like tigers and bears," Preobrazhensky taunted the boy, to which Alexei whimpered in fear.

"Or the ghost of Siberia," Yahontov spoke in a faux-spooky tone. "A specter you can't see until it comes and snatches you away!"

"Stop with that nonsense," Petrov groaned.

Katja didn't know Yahontov quite as well as the others in her group (aside from Alexei), but she did know he was especially superstitious.

"Not nonsense. Many eyewitness accounts in the nineteen-hundreds described seeing a ghost in Siberia. The stories were consistent, too. My theory is it got Dyatlov's people; you know, back in the fifties," Yahontov protested.

Before Katja could cut in and break things up, she saw light as Zaitsev's lamp caught the corner of her eye. He must have seen her irritation, because he spoke up. "Hey Alexei, want an American slushee? We only have lemon flavor left, unfortunately," he stated with a smirk, switching the subject. The rest of the men laughed at the immature joke – except Alexei, who just huffed.

"I do want a slushee," he mumbled.

That was when she took notice that the group was slowing… tiring. "All right, everyone," she called out into the night. "I know this weather isn't ideal, but the map said that the house should be right around here. We're within a half-klick. Let's tough it out just a few more–"

Katja broke off when Yahontov, who was still running point, abruptly fell forward into the snow.

Preobrazhensky and Zaitsev immediately howled with laughter, but something about it unsettled Katja. He had fallen over something, not just tripped.

"Quiet," she ordered, and stepped toward. "You all right, Yahontov?"

Yahontov struggled to his feet, still half-atop whatever had stumbled him. "Yes, fine, Captain. I just ran into something." Finally on his feet, he gave the dark lump below him a retaliatory kick.

To Katja's surprise, it didn't dissipate as snow would've; nor did it stay firmly in place, like a boulder or log. Instead, it yielded, then settled back into its original position.

"It's soft!" Yahontov said with some surprise. "Someone bring a light?" he requested, as he was the only one in the group wearing a military beanie hat instead of a helmet.

Katja signaled the rest of her men, and everyone moved forward, tilting their heads down to aim the helmet flashlight beams at the object.

"Oh, god, oh, god!" Alexei began to whine, and Yahontov staggered back very suddenly, mumbling about his ghost and praying. Zaitsev swore viciously, and Preobrazhensky started retching.

Katja didn't blame them. Even for seasoned veterans like her unit, who had seen plenty of graphic things in their various tours, the… remains… before them were truly appalling.

Petrov leaned toward her. "What did that?" he asked quietly.

Katja set her jaw, staring at the corpse before looking away. The young man looked like he had swallowed a grenade that detonated midway down – it was just that grisly. "No idea. But I know who does know."

"Ma'am?" Petrov asked, but Katja was barely listening.

She lifted her chin to aim her light at the snow beyond the body. "See that incline there? The snow has big depressions. He fell, or was attacked, and rolled down here. We can follow his tracks back."

"Back where?"

Gesturing at the body, Katja said, "He's wearing civilian clothes, and I don't recognize him as one of the people we saw back at base. He doesn't have shoes or a jacket, so he couldn't have come from very far." Even as she said it, she couldn't help but think of what Yahontov had said just minutes ago.

The body and its strange mutilations were eerily consistent with what she'd read about some of the deaths in the Dyatlov's Pass incident.

Neither the time or place to be pondering it, however. "He has to be from the house," Katja said firmly. "We have to get there."

Petrov seemed uncertain. "Ok, but, if he was running from his house–"

"It would at least be defensible. We're literally in the dark, with no shelter. It's our best option," Katja insisted. The skin on the back of her neck was prickling. There was… something… out there. She could feel it, somehow.

"Move out!" she called, collecting her AK-105 and bringing it up to a ready position. "Move out now! West, up that slope! GO!"

"Which way's west?" she thought she heard Alexei cry. The boy had a glow-in-the-dark compass attached to his vest, and still didn't know which way to go.

Petrov took point and led them forward.

They only made it as far as the footprints before they were ambushed. A pale, fat snakelike thing with a segmented body slipped through the snow and wrapped around Yahontov's ankle.

He yelped and began shaking his leg frantically. "Getitoffmegetitoffmegetitoff!" he chanted over and over again.

Katja took a few seconds to process what she was seeing, and realize she couldn't use her weapon without hurting Yahontov. On instinct, she dove forward onto her stomach and grabbed the snakething.

It made a horrid noise, somewhere between a hiss and a screech, and its head – or what she presumed was its head – flailed wildly, as though it was about to bite her. It almost made her flinch and release her grip, but she forced herself to hold fast.

Then, she pulled.

But, for its size, the snakething was strong. Slimy as it looked, it gripped Yahontov's leg like a rope, clamping down tight.

Yahontov, frantic, made a fist and began pounding on it repeatedly.

"Stop, stop it!" Katja ordered, wincing as one of his punches caught the edge of her knuckle. "You have to hold still so I can get it!"
Shuddering, Yahontov showed great restraint by actually obeying the command; though he was all but twitching as he stood tensely.

Now realizing the snakething would've injured them by now if it was capable, Katja grabbed it behind its bulbous head and slowly unwound it from Yahontov's leg. It did screech up a storm, however.

When it was free, Katja tossed it aside into the rocky, snowy terrain. Yahontov's upper body collapsed with relief, and Petrov walked over to the snakething and stomped on it several times, until it was crushed and broken beneath his boots. Once he was sure it was dead, Petrov used the muzzle of his gun to lift the unidentified creature.

Everyone was silent, each of them coming to grips with all that had just happened. With reluctance, but clearly knowing the creature was somehow important, Petrov stuck it in his cargo pocket for later inspection.

Katja was about to repeat her orders to get moving for the house when a human scream ripped through the night. Primal and terrified, it sent shots of adrenaline through Katja's system. The voice was so raw and uninhibited, she couldn't even tell if it was male or female.

Unlike the wolf, however, it sounded quite far away.

"What th–" Preobrazhensky sputtered, swiveling his head in the direction of the sound's source.

Before any more could be said, the distinctive sound of gunfire sounded; not the methodical and uniform sounds of a gun range, but wild and uncontrolled bursts.

Unclipping her radio, Katja called into the microphone for the other unit that she knew was in the area. "Dagger 2-1, status report!"

Silence responded.

The others crowded around her, straining to listen; though Petrov kept his weapon at the ready, scanning the woods.

"Dagger 2-1, acknowledge? This is Captain Jekaterina Mikhailov, we hear gunfire. Have you made contact? Over?"

She tried a third time.

A fourth.

A fifth.

Desperation setting in, Katja switched channels to try and reach base instead, but received only static.

"Crap!" she hissed, stuffing the radio back on her hip.

Alexei shifted in place nervously. "The base did say the radios might not work up here," he pointed out.

More gunfire rattled through the night, getting progressively quieter. Whatever was happening, it was moving away from them, instead of closer. Or, they were losing people…

"Orders, Ma'am?" Zaitsev asked tersely.

She looked at her men, their faces pale in the moonlight and wandering beams of the helmet lights.

The Captain always had to have the answer, be clairvoyant and omnipresent in front of the men. Even when she didn't have the answer, she had to at least act confident in her choice, lest low morale set in and kill them all.

Her hands suddenly hurt, and she realized her hands were in fists, clenched so tightly it was paining her – even through her gloves. "You're going to abandon all of them?" her heart asked, chiding her. "Your allies?"

"You know you have to," her brain responded.

"Same as before," she rasped. "The civilians take priority. If there are more back where he came from, we have to help them. Get to the house. And you–" she stabbed a finger into Alexei's chest, " –are going to tell me everything you know. Everything. I want to know exactly what we're up against before we start any rescue mission of Dagger 2-1 afterwards."

Alexei swallowed hard and looked around him at his fellow soldier's faces, which were transforming from confusion to accusation as they realized what their leader was implying.

Finding no sympathy or allies among them, Alexei nodded weakly.

They reached the house without further incident. Inside, Zaitsev shoved Alexei into the wall and held him in place. Spitting some curses at the younger man, Zaitsev demanded, "What do you know about all this that we don't, you little ass?"

"Zaitsev, hold that thought," Katja ordered, closing and bolting the door behind her. "Clear the house first."
The men immediately fanned out – aside from Alexei, who continued to press himself against the wall fearfully under Katja's watchful gaze – and quickly worked on searching the dwelling.

It wouldn't take long, Katja reflected. The structure was more like a cabin or shack than a house; only one story, with a mere three doors leading away from the main room – which included both kitchen and living area.

All three doors were wide open, Katja noted – just as the front door had been when they'd arrived. Even so, the place was pleasantly warm after the outdoors.

"Clear," called Petrov, Zaitsev and Yahontov, almost at the same time; but they were quickly followed by Preobrazhensky's more grim report.

"Two civilian casualties in the bedroom here."

Everyone made their way to the larger bedroom where Preobrazhensky waited – perhaps more out of morbid curiously than duty.

"Ugh, not again," Alexei groaned, and turned away.

Sure enough, the two victims were in the same grotesque state they'd found the previous body. But while the first civilian had been young, maybe early twenties, the man and woman before them were older; perhaps around fifty.

The couple were dressed in their pajamas, clearly in the stages of getting ready to sleep before they were attacked.

As Katja peered around the room, a clear picture of the events that had taken place in the house began to form. Still, horrific as it was, she wanted to use this as a training moment. It would better prepare them for what she suspected was coming. "What do you make of it?" Katja prompted her men.

The soldiers seemed to be handling the gore better this time around. They were focused, and calmer.

"Window's broken," said Yahontov, gesturing at the jagged edges of the frame in the side of the bedroom. Katja had noticed it the moment she'd walked into the room.

"Right," she agreed. "What else?"

"There was a double-barreled shotgun thrown to the side, broken open and one shell fired, back out in the main room," Petrov noted, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb. "It had skidded under some furniture, but it was there. Overturned box of shells on the kitchen counter, too."

"Good catch. And?"

"All the doors were opened, even the front one," sniffed Alexei, who then looked like he wished he hadn't drawn attention to himself.

"So, what happened here, gentlemen?"

Zaitsev scratched his neck. "Something broke into the house, through the window. Attacked the old man and woman."

Katja nodded.

"The kid we saw outside, probably their son, tried loading the family's hunting gun to save them, but couldn't do it fast enough," said Preobrazhensky.

Petrov broke in. "They – it – started chasing him, so he ran outside into the snow; but whatever it was caught him. That's why his footprints are the only set we found going in or out."

"That's my interpretation, too," Katja said with a nod. "Well done, gentlemen. It's extremely unfortunate we were not able to complete our civ rescue, but at least we have something to report."

Zaitsev glared at Alexei. "Now can I make the little rodent talk?"

"Oh, he'll get his due," Katja assured him. "But we need to barricade this place up first. Or whatever is out there will be breaking in through more windows."

Now that she had a plan, autopilot took over, and she began rattling off orders. "Use anything you can find. They're a rural mountain family; they must have tools and materials. Zaitsev and Yahontov, find firewood, furniture, whatever. Petrov and Preobrazhensky, I saw a shed out back. Look for hammers and nails. When you go outside, stay beside one another at all times. One of you carry supplies, one of you keep weapons ready. I don't care who does which task, but cover your teammate."

"Like 'Night of the Living Dead'…" Alexei mumbled.

"Alexei and I will be handling lookout. Let's get this done. I don't want as much as a mosquito to be able to get in, understand?" Katja continued.

Everyone nodded, and soon the process was underway.

Katja, not trusting Alexei with a gun, sent him into the kitchen to work on adjusting the radio; both to keep him out of the way, and try to finally reach base – or even the other unit.

Meanwhile, she kept her eyes and helmet light glued to the outdoors, straining to see even the tiniest ghost of movement.

As her men were finishing the last window, Katja finally looked away from the darkness and went to Alexei, who was still concentrating on the radio.

"Come on," she told him, slapping his shoulder. "We need to move those bodies."

Dropping the radio box, Alexei paled. "We… what?"

"Bod-ies," Katja broke it down for him slowly. "You don't want to be hanging out with corpses, do you?"

Licking his lips, Alexei darted a gaze to the bloody scene in the bedroom. "Maybe… Maybe Mr. Petrov could help you do that, and I can take over hammering the window?"

"Oh, Alexei's a handyman now, is he?" Katja asked dryly. "Get up."

Pouting, Alexei did as she said. As he was following her into the bedroom, she heard him muttering under his breath, "I could be a handyman if I wanted. Smarter than all of you…"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Katja stepped over the woman's body and looked down at her, pondering the best way to move her through the house.

That was a mistake.

Katja started noticing details; details that made it too real, made the necessary detachment of the situation start to slip from the iron grasp of her professionalism.

Details like way the woman's hands were strong and calloused, with ragged, uneven nails, indicating her lifetime of hard work in the mountains – yet they were also weathered and beginning to wrinkle, showing fragility.

Details like how her nightgown, homemade, was imperfectly aligned at the hem. How she'd taken the time to neatly braid her hair before bed.

Blinking rapidly, Katja looked away.

When she looked back, she was Captain Mikhailov, about to do her job.

"Okay, smart boy, get the quilt off the bed. We'll roll them onto it and take them out one by one."

Twisting his mouth unhappily, Alexei tugged at the comforter. "Can't I have gloves?"

"You're wearing gloves," Katja pointed out.

"I meant medical gloves."

Katja just stared at him. "Help me push her."

They inelegantly strained, prodded, shoved, and eventually rolled the woman onto the quilt – Katja doing most of the work, naturally – and used the fabric to drag the body outdoors. Then, they repeated the process with her husband.

Once the bodies were laid out side by side, a few meters beside the house across from a well, Alexei wadded up the quilt and threw it aside, then crouched and wiped his gloves in the snow repeatedly.

Taking out her handgun, Katja said, "Alexei, keep an eye out. I need a second."

Alexei held out his hand for the weapon, but she shook her head. "No, if anything comes, I'll shoot. You just spot."

Alexei grumbled to himself, but self preservation must have kicked in, because he began to look around for any threats.

Quickly, not wanting to put them in unnecessary danger for too long, Katja stepped over to a nearby pine tree and plucked off two small branches.

Returning to the bodies, she framed the woman's head with the sweet-smelling pine needles, creating a connecting arch with the branches.

Then, she repeated the process for the man.

Finally, crouching over them, she whispered quickly, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry we didn't get here quickly enough. And I'm sorry we can't bury your son. But we will find out what did this. I promise."

With that, she grabbed the discarded quilt and spread it over them.

As Katja stood up, her eyes caught sight of the incredible, endless dome of stars stretched above them. For a moment, the sight took her breath away, and she forgot about what they faced.

"Can we go in, now? I'm cold," Alexei whined, and Katja nodded.

"Absolutely. I have some questions I'm just dying to ask you."

Inside, after barricading the door, Zaitsev shoved Alexei down into a kitchen chair. Before Katja could say anything, Preobrazhensky drew back his fist and let it uppercut, right into Alexei's stomach.

Alexei doubled over and made a noise like a balloon leaking air, unable to speak.

"Preobrazhensky, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I do need to ask at least one question, first," Katja said wryly.

Muttering, Preobrazhensky stepped back.

Taking his place, Katja reached forward and grabbed Alexei's hair, pulling his head up until his eyes met hers. "Listen up. I am your only friend here right now. And I'm not even your friend. So get talking, and maybe I won't let my guys here hit you more. Got it?" She was not normally so harsh and posturing, and it felt strange to be threatening him like a silly cartoon villain; but to protect the lives of her team, she would do almost anything.

Alexei coughed, then panted, catching his breath, still recovering from Preobrazhensky's punch. "Got it," he said, and for once there was no backtalk.

Katja gathered her thoughts. "You're not military."

"That's not a question," Alexei said snidely, then immediately cowered as Petrov subtly curled his hand into a fist. "I mean no, I'm not, I'm not. I'm a scientist."

"Oh?" Katja asked, completely unsurprised. "For the Russian Space Program, right? Roscosmos?"

The other four soldiers looked at their captain in shock. For his part, Alexei's mouth opened a bit, and it took several seconds for him to think of something to say. "How did you know that?" he asked, almost offended.

"Your tablet. Believe it or not, other people do know how they work."

"Yeah, well…" Alexei rubbed his stomach and winced. "The Roscosmos thing is just an official label to keep mid-level government staff from looking too closely. What my group does is study, umm. Well, I'm sort of a biologist, and…"

"What?" Katja demanded.

"I'm a xenologist. We study aliens."

Zaitsev scoffed, amused, but the rest of the team stayed silent.

One of the logs in the living room fireplace, where someone had started a fire with leftover wood, popped loudly, startling Alexei.

"Is that what Petrov has in his pocket? The thing that attacked me?" Yahontov asked, leaning against the counter. "It's an alien?"

Petrov's back stiffened; he had clearly forgotten about it until Yahontov had spoken up. Hastily, he dug in his pocket and took out the snakething. Its broken, mangled body was beginning to ooze green sludge.

When the sludge touched Petrov's glove, he cursed violently and dropped the creature.

"Oh, yeah. Their blood is acid," Alexei said nonchalantly. "Probably shouldn't touch it. Must have just started heavily bleeding now, or you'd have felt it before this."

"What?" Katja cried. She reached over and took Petrov's wrist, inspecting his hand. The blood had eaten away at his glove, but thankfully the damage to the skin underneath seemed minimal.

Remembering the medical treatment for acid burns, Katja immediately directed Petrov appropriately. "Petrov, go run that hand under cold water. Several minutes, okay? I'll help you clean it up in a bit."

After a death glare in Alexei's direction, Petrov stalked over to the kitchen sink and turned it on. Water – probably, Katja realized, sourced from the well system outside – sputtered but eventually fell in a steady stream.

Concentrating on Alexei again, Katja narrowed her eyes. Now, it didn't feel unnatural to be ruthless with him. She was mad. Was he trying to get them killed?

She kicked the back of the chair, and he toppled over onto the floor. He gave a small shriek as she crouched and grabbed the collar of his uniform.

"No, no, don't hit meeeee–!"

"Shut up. Shut up. Those worm things, they killed the family?"

"Yes, yes! I mean, kind of, technically speaking–" he babbled.

Preobrazhensky shook his head. "Strange. Aren't very tough for such vicious creatures, are they? At least, this one didn't put up much of a fight. Didn't even need a weapon to kill it."

"No, not now, not this, at this stage of life," Alexei said, stumbling over words. "This one was probably just surprised by us and reacted. They're usually more afraid of us than we are of them in this point; it normally would've run away. They've got cycles."

"Huh? You better start making sense, kid…" Zaitsev trailed off warningly.

Alexei threw his arms over his head dramatically. "I can't. They said they'd 'silence' me if I told you anything."

Katja exchanged looks with her men. "Who did?"

"The officials who sent me here, I don't know exactly who they were. Our government, our military, someone… you're all the same sort of barbarians, really."

Planting her boot near his head, Katja said, "Well, Alexei, you're free to leave now and go to them, down the mountain all by yourself, and tell them you're a good boy who kept your mouth shut. Or you can stay in here with us lesser barbarians. But if you stay, you're telling us everything. Guess it's die now, or die later."

Pinching his mouth closed, Alexei looked at the door, then groaned. "Ok, ok, I choose later. I'll tell you what I know."

Sitting up, Alexei began to explain his mission in detail. For more than a century, the Russian government had encounters with these 'serpents'. The alien creatures spread via host, and gradually grew into huge, nearly unstoppable beasts.

The government had suspected they were going to arrive on the meteor, which was why they had sent so many units to evacuate the people. But, Alexei said, the meteor had detonated earlier than what had been forecasted, and now he was in the dark as much as they were.

"What exactly was your mission then, Alexei?" Katja asked.

He shrugged a shoulder. "Specimen collection, observation. Documentation." It sounded deliberately vague to her; she could've guessed that much. Still, now she knew for sure why the major had stuck him with her.

She tilted her head. "And where were you supposed to take them for 'observation'?"

"The train." Alexei crossed his legs and started playing with his bootlaces. "You didn't think we needed that whole thing just to transport your unit, did you?"

Yahontov smacked the back of his head. "Stop being insolent, you little shit. And speaking of units, what about the other unit out there?"

Katja had been wondering the same thing. In fact, it had been weighing on her ever since hearing that scream.

"Oh, they're dead. For sure," Alexei stated calmly.

Petrov took his had away from the sink, clearly prepared to tell off Alexei – either verbally or physically – but Katja froze him in place with a pointed finger.

"You, you stay there and keep your hand under the water. And as for you–" she changed the direction of her point to Alexei, "–you don't know that."

Alexei held up a hand and gestured above him from his seat on the floor.

"Didn't you see what happened to the family here? And by now, the creatures have had enough time to grow to their full size. Even with your big guns, it would take like, probably, twenty men to bring just one of those things down. If we went out there, all we would find is more bodies – before we got killed ourselves. Why do you think they didn't answer the radio before? They would've heard us. They were in range of us, unlike the base."

Katja wavered, unconvinced.

Seeing her hesitation, Alexei waved towards the radio on the counter, where he'd left it earlier. "Try, then. Try it again. I've been working on that thing for an hour and there's nothing wrong with it. If you get an answer, I swear to you I'll go out there with you all and help them. But I am not risking my life for people who are already gone."

For a moment, he sounded unlike the whiny, childish man she'd grown to know, and it made her understand that he at least believed what he was saying.

Yahontov slowly grabbed the radio and carried it over to Katja.

For some reason, as she lifted it to speak, her eyes met Petrov's. His face was pale and grim.

"Dagger 2-1, acknowledge," she called.

There was no crackling static, no interference.

And no answer.

Though she hadn't expected anything different, Katja still felt sick.

Listlessly, she called into the emptiness a couple more times. Though she wanted nothing more than to throw the radio into the wall, she took a shaky breath and refrained, knowing it would be a stupid move in case they needed it later – and knowing it would demoralize her men to see her lose it.

"I'll go out and look for them. You all stay here, and I can at least–" Katja began.

The group erupted in protest, and it took her a few tries to get them calmed down and quiet.

"This isn't a democracy. Now, I don't want to put you guys in harm's way, but it is my job to check in on all with other companies and company commanders," Katja stated.

"With respect, Captain, there's nothing we can do tonight," Zaitsev said. "You know there isn't. We aren't prepared for this. We have almost no food, very few supplies, and only a bit of ammo. We don't even have night vision gear. It all went back on our convoy, because we weren't supposed to need it, because there weren't supposed to be hostile aliens out here!" His volume escalated until he was shouting, and it seemed to echo off the flickers of light from the fire.

"All right, all right," Katja said, knowing she had stalled on the decision long enough. "You've made some good points. We'll wait out the night in here – but first thing in the morning, we're going to head back down the mountain and get in touch with the base, and ask them to send reinforcements. Understood?"

They all nodded except for Alexei, who merely said, "When you tell them about the aliens, can you not mention I told you? Please?"

Instructing Yahontov to temporarily keep an eye on things so she could confer with her lieutenant, Katja searched the supply room for medical supplies, then pulled Petrov into the son's room.

"Sit down," she instructed him, and he dutifully sat on the edge of the bed. After unwrapping the gauze she'd found, she sat beside him.

Turning his hand over, she reassessed the damage on his palm. "It isn't too terrible. Looks like the glove got the worst of it. Does it hurt?"

Petrov wriggled his fingers experimentally. "No, not terribly."

She began loosely winding the bandage around his hand, wondering if he was lying or not. "Still, we'll have the medics take a look at you right away when we get back to base."

He watched her work. "Should that be tighter?"

"No," she said patiently, "it'll make it worse if it's too tight."

Curiously, he asked, "Where did you learn to treat burns like this?"

"On one of my tours, before we were in the same unit. Some girl tried to leave her fiancé for someone else, and his solution was to throw some acid on her. Thankfully, his aim was as bad as his temper. She got lucky with only a few small splatters on her arm. But she was understandably scared, so when I brought her back to base, she asked me to stay with her while the medics treated her. So, I did."

His mouth half-lifted in a lopsided smile, and his free hand went to her shoulder. "You're… you're a very good person, Captain, you know that?"

Hardly noticing the touch, she carefully turned his hand over and delicately tied the ends of the gauze in a knot, just behind the rough skin of his knuckles. "Not sure that's gonna help us here, Maksim. Didn't help this family."

Petrov's smile turned to a frown, and he gently squeezed her shoulder. "You can't blame yourself for that. Look, I'm upset, too. They could just as easily have been my own parents. But it isn't our fault."

Katja wondered if there was a particular reason he was thinking of his parents. She knew they were both physically disabled from a farming accident, and that they lived with him. She also knew he spent all his free time caring for them, with only the occasional assistance of a caretaker. According to base gossip, he even had trouble keeping girlfriends due to his unflagging commitment to his mother and father.

Was he worried that he would die here, and his parents would have no one to support them?

No, she wouldn't let that happen. To any of them.

That was when she noticed his hand, while warm and comforting, had been resting a little too long on her shoulder. It confused her, more than anything. It wasn't that she disliked him, or even felt uncomfortable with it on a personal level; but he knew as well as she did that fraternization of any kind between different ranks was not allowed – especially between a direct superior and subordinate.

She couldn't deal with it now, here. Maybe later.

"It's my fault for not helping the other unit," she pointed out while discreetly rolling her shoulders to remove his hand.

"We both know that most of them were dead before we even arrived," Petrov countered.

Katja folded her arms. "Stop trying to make me feel less guilty," she told him flatly.

"I'm not. We only heard one scream, and one gun. These… aliens… were tearing through the mountain for hours before we got here." He set his jaw. "The only ones responsible are the bastards who decided to send us all here blind, with no way for us to protect ourselves – or these civilians."

Katja nodded, if only to leave the subject, deciding not to chide him this time about questioning their leaders.

She couldn't help but wonder what her brother would have done in this situation, but morosely realized it was a foolish hypothetical notion. Karik would've never gotten himself into this mess in the first place.

Petrov tapped his foot. "So, how did you know about the kid and Roscosmos?"

Resting her hands on her knees, Katja leaned forward slightly. God, she was tired. She wanted nothing more than to sink back on the bed and sleep.

"Like I said, I saw it on his tablet. The logo was right there. I should have questioned him right away about the meteor, but I didn't. I figured he would let us know before we got into anything too dangerous, but… but I was expecting radiation or something, not this."

Petrov scratched the back of his neck. "I don't think any of us were expecting this, Captain."

They lapsed into silence, each caught up with their own thoughts. Katja knew she had to go back out and be Captain, but for now, she had a moment of peace just sitting here with her lieutenant.

"Maybe it wasn't a good idea to barricade the house," Katja said finally. "You smelled that forest fire earlier."

"Yeah, but I haven't seen or caught wind of it since. You?"

She shook her head.

"They kept an axe by the fireplace," Petrov said. "If we have to, we can get out quickly."

"Good."

With that, there were no excuses left. She had to get back to work. "Come on, Petrov. Let's get out there."

As Katja walked back into the kitchen and living room, she felt her posture straightening. When her men saw her, they turned to her attentively.

"Ok, we are going to hole up in here until light, then regroup with whoever is left out there. We'll sleep in shifts. I want one person watching each approach while two get sleep," she explained.

"Ok, I'm not sleeping on the bed with blood, so I call the other one," Alexei immediately put in.

"Thank you for volunteering to take first watch, Alexei; Petrov really needs the rest, with his hand and all. Yahontov, you join him; you've had a hard day too," Katja ordered.

The night progressed endlessly, but without incident – other than scattered gunfire. Interestingly, however, when she heard the concentrated burst fire, she could have sworn it didn't sound like Russian weapons that were rattling rounds off.

It confused her enough that when it came to be her turn for sleep, it didn't come easily. She mostly drifted in and out, for a few minutes at a time.

When light broke, everyone regrouped in the living room, but nobody spoke; they mostly just looked at the floor, disheartened.

"Can someone make food? My blood sugar is very low," Alexei pouted, his stomach growling to reinforce the point.

Sighing, Katja got up and headed out the back door, blinking into the sudden brightness. She was secretly grateful for the distraction. Yahontov tagged behind her to cover her, if needed.

There were several crudely constructed livestock pens outside; but they were all destroyed. Based on the drag marks in the snow – in addition to the massive amounts of spattered blood – it was safe to say the aliens had found them. Perhaps they needed to eat, too. Or infest – if Alexei's information was to be believed.

Glancing at Yahontov, Katja asked, "You holding up all right, soldier?" He had, after all, been the one who'd been grabbed by the alien.

Shrugging, he replied, "Ask me when we get back to base, Captain."

Katja nodded in understanding, and Yahontov continued.

"I've always loved conspiracies. But I think I changed my mind. This is…too much. It's insane."

"I know," Katja sympathized. "I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it myself."

Yahontov pointed to the animal pens. "Looks like the conspiracy ate our breakfast."

"Looks that way. Let's go back. I'm sure there's something to eat here, somewhere."

Returning to the house with Yahontov, Katja opened a small pantry in the kitchen and found canned soup; probably kept for emergencies, in case the livestock couldn't be used as a source of food.

"Soup?!" Alexei exclaimed indignantly.

She slammed a can on the counter, nearly at her last straw. "What? You have a problem with soup now?"

"I hate wet foods, and soup is the wettest of all foods!"

"Well, it's that, or starve," Katja huffed.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"Do… do they knock on doors?" Yahontov asked. Everyone turned to Alexei, who just shrugged. Deciding that standing around would accomplish nothing, Katja pulled her Glock 17 out of the leg holster and opened the door, ready for an attack. She felt her men flanking her.

What she was greeted with was yet another surprise on this insane excursion.

An American.

Based on the patch decorating his shoulder, he was probably MARSOC or MEU. He seemed stunned to see her and was moving his jaw to speak, but nothing came out at first.

"Uh… do svidánija?" the marine greeted. Actually, he was saying something else.

"That means goodbye, sort of, and I do speak three languages," Katja retorted to his awful Russian in English. The American gave a long pause.

"…English one of them?" he asked tentatively.

That's when her men seemed to snap out of their 'American-knocking-on-their-door-post-alien-attack' trance, and put their weapons on him. He didn't seem concerned at all, though.

"Woah, blue, blue," he said with smug confidence. The self-assurance of a man who knew he wasn't about to be shot. Damn him for the correct assumption.

"Who are you?! What are you doing here?!" Petrov demanded, struggling a bit with his English.

"Sir, I'm with the United States Marines, and I'm here to help."

Second writer here,

It was a pee Slushee for anyone that didn't get it.

Petrov has a bit of a thing going with his commander, it seems. I hope that won't be a problem later down the road...

Also, I had very little involvement in this chapter's inception. I honestly thought other writer was going to make Call of Duty Zombies out of this, but with Xenomorphs.