Authors: Taylor Anderson
“I do . . .
did
love you, you big ape!” Pam hissed.
“See? I knew that—an’ it ain’t fair. This war, what I do—in spite of how I do it—is the best thing I ever did. I expect to burn in hell for
how
, but good folks, folks like you, will maybe have a chance. To make sure o’ that, an’ to make sure all the folks I care about have the same chance, I’m in this war to the bitter damn end, an’ I don’t see that comin’ anytime soon.”
“So you
did
cut me loose because you care, just like Sister Audry said!”
Dennis growled with frustration. “Damn it, I ain’t doin’ this right. Gunny Horn was right. Look, doll, there just ain’t no future for you an’ me, not while there’s this war, see? I can’t make it any plainer than that.”
Pam put out the light and surprised Dennis by crawling in the hammock with him. “That’s fine. An’ I guess it’s all I really needed to hear.” She snuggled up against him. “Besides, the war might not last as long as you think. They’re workin’ on a secret weapon in Baalkpan that might wipe out the Grik for good.”
“How do you know that?” Silva asked, remembering a conversation he’d had with Bernie Sandison. Pam shrugged. “Everybody knows about it. I bet Adar’s the only one who doesn’t
know
everybody knows!”
“Huh. What’s this weapon do?”
Pam shrugged. “Nobody knows.”
“Ever’body knows about it, but nobody knows what it does,” Dennis muttered thoughtfully.
“Well . . . That doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“Hard to say.”
A short time later, Silva squirmed out of Pam’s embrace, still considerably uncomfortable with her sudden, unexpected tenderness after such sustained and apparently sincere hostility. He was always amazed how women could keep so many different personalities wadded up inside them all the time.
Must all be skitso-phobiacs, er whatever. Every damn one!
he decided. Carefully he moved onto a branch and looked back at the gently snoring woman. She was heartbreakingly pretty, particularly when her face was relaxed in sleep. He shook his head.
That didn’t go like I meant at all,
he thought
. I spent all this time tryin’ to save her from me, just to let her snuggle back up like that
. He’d known for a while he had a soft spot. Chack’s sister Risa found it first, then Princess Becky wormed her way deep inside it. Pam found it too eventually, but then tried to crack it wide-open—into a dangerous gap in his armor. That wouldn’t do, he’d decided, for him—or her—in the long run. But all it took was a bite on the hand and a little kindness . . . and now it looked like he was back to square one with her. He snorted angrily at himself and descended slowly to the ground.
Urinating against the closest neighboring tree trunk, he saw a rope snaking up into the darkness toward Horn’s hammock.
That’s dumb,
he thought.
Leave a ladder for all sorts of nasty boogers to scamper straight up in bed with ya. Why, somethin’ like
me
might wander by!
Any number of boogers might visit their hammocks from the trees, but the dangling rope struck Silva as sloppy. Suddenly inspired and somewhat annoyed at the China Marine, he took a piece of dried fish out of his pocket and tied it securely to the rope. Then, after checking the fires, he climbed back up to his hammock.
* * *
“HOLY MOTHER O’ GOD! WHAT’S GOT AHOLD OF ME?!” came the sleep-muddled shriek of Gunnery Sergeant Arnold Horn.
Silva came awake quickly, as he’d learned to do, but was surprised to find Pam had returned to her own hammock. How did she do that without waking him? He looked down at the . . . really weird creature yanking violently on the rope. He blinked. “Honest ta’ God, Arnie,” he said just as everyone began to stir and shout questions, “I ain’t got a clue!”
The thing was shorter than a man, and looked a little like a Menjangen lizard, like bit Leo Davis so long ago, but it had a little head—with a big conch shell–like thing on its forehead—on the end of a long, skinny neck. Large, luminous eyes glared yellow. Feathery membranes stretched from elbows to hips, and an extra-long tail flared into a flat, brightly colored leaf shape, like the Grikbirds in the East. The short legs were what gave the initial impression of a Menjangen lizard, Dennis decided. “I never seen one before,” he shouted at Horn as the creature yanked on the rope. Horn had his BAR now and was trying to draw a bead on the thing below, but his hammock was bouncing too wildly to allow a shot. “I thought we were tryin’ to keep things quiet around here,” Silva mocked.
Suddenly, the creature’s eyes went wider, if that was possible, and it lunged to the left with a violence that nearly dumped Horn. “Somebody shoot it, goddamn it, before it yanks me out of the tree!”
“I can’t, Gunny!” Abel shouted, his pistol weaving. Moe was aiming his musket, and Lawrence was trying to bring his rifle to bear. Pam yanked back the bolt on her Blitzer Bug. Silva suspected she’d hit the thing, but it might take the whole twenty-round stick in the simple, almost uncontrollable weapon. Everyone was so focused on the strange creature and scary-humorous tug-of-war, so distracted by the bouncing limbs as they shifted in their own hammocks to see or draw a bead, they didn’t feel or even see the approach of what had suddenly frightened the little monster. Their first warning was a chorus of shrieks of abject terror from the Grik hammock, suspended nearest the ground. Silva turned in time to see the biggest super lizard in the world crash directly through one of the guard fires, scattering clouds of sparks and burning wood as it accelerated to a speed few would’ve imagined such a large creature capable of. Even fewer had ever seen it—and lived to tell.
“Ever’body
shut up
!” Silva roared.
If the shout distracted the giant beast (an overgrown allosaur, Dennis remembered Courtney calling the things), it didn’t show it. It was wholly focused on the smaller animal that started hooting desperately—even as it tugged maniacally at the morsel Silva had baited it with. It apparently never even considered just letting go and running away. With a satisfied gurgle, the super lizard snatched up the smaller creature in its terrible jaws and silenced a last, desolate howl with a mighty crunch. One of Horn’s hammock lines parted and he fell, still clutching the BAR. He actually glanced off the monster’s right flank before landing on the soft, mushy ground. Apparently unhurt, he bolted around to the other side of the thick trunk.
Several limbs were shaken loose and fell when Horn did, and the super lizard appeared not to notice as it chewed a few more times, then raised its head to let the morsel slide down its throat. All still might have been well if that motion hadn’t brought the great predator’s head frighteningly close to the Grik hammock.
It’s like the worms in a apple screamin’ bloody murder when the bird flies by,
Dennis thought with a sinking feeling. Unlike the other hammocks, the super lizard could reach that one with only the slightest hop—which it suddenly showed it was capable of. The jaws closed on the canvas package of flesh, and Dennis heard the same shrieks he’d listened to with perverse pleasure on many battlefields. Only this time, they came from “friendly Grik” who’d trusted him to keep them safe—and this whole mess was maybe just a little bit his fault.
The hammock brought larger limbs down with it this time, and the whole cluster of trees shook violently. Pam was bounced from her bed and fell with a startled cry. Half of Stuart Brassey’s support lines parted and he slid out as well. Moe, Lawrence, both his Sa’aarans, and the two ’Cat Marines were already out of their beds and scrambling down the tree trunks.
“Shit,” muttered Silva. He slid his giant rifle to the ground by the same line he’d hoisted it with, slung his web belt and bandoliers around his neck, clutched his hammock to him with one powerful arm, and slashed the line at his feet with his cutlass. The line parted with a snap, and he swayed out over the super lizard just as it stooped to examine the unexpected prize it plucked. To his amazement, Dennis saw one Grik bolt from the hammock and vanish in the dark. Horrible cries still came from within the Grik hammock, keeping the super lizard distracted while Dennis swayed. He wanted to throw himself clear, or at least bounce off the beast as Horn had done, but there was no way. “Shit,” he repeated. Sliding down as far as he could, he dropped on the monster’s back. For just an instant he stood there, teetering—and saw Pam’s terrified face reflected in the firelight. He flashed her a gap-toothed grin and was suddenly inspired to stab down as hard as he could with his trusty cutlass.
That was stupid,
he realized when the super lizard reacted as quick as a rattlesnake and spun around with an ear-splitting, indignant screech.
Guess I missed anything important,
he thought analytically when he was tossed away like a biting fly. He had just enough time to curl into a ball before he hit the ground rolling. A stick—something—poked him in the ribs, but he jumped to his feet just as Horn’s BAR shattered the night with its staccato roar.
Dumb-ass! I told him these big’uns’ll soak up ’06 like a sponge—an’ this is the biggest bastard I ever saw!
”
The noisy, painful impacts did distract the monster, however, particularly when everyone else opened up as well.
Maybe it’ll run away
, Silva hoped.
Didn’t think so,
he thought when it immediately turned to face this latest nuisance. Moe had gathered the shooters behind the farthest of their trio of trees, and they were shooting through the branches. Clearly thinking the tree was its enemy, the monster proceeded to destroy it. Trying very hard not to draw its attention—which he probably couldn’t do with a bugle now that it was so focused on the enemy tree—Silva scrambled for his rifle.
There! Still in one piece!
All it would’ve taken was a stray step by the five-ton lizard to ruin it.
The tree was almost done, and very quickly the super lizard would figure out that its real enemy was beyond it. The damn thing actually was pretty smart; smart enough to realize their little guard fires were no threat. Maybe it couldn’t see that well at night and the gun flashes likely had it confused, but in just a few seconds it would be
chasing
his friends in the dark, away from the light Dennis needed to kill it. He pulled a couple of the massive shells from the bandolier and raised the big rifle. Thumbing back the hammer, he aimed for what he hoped was the hip. Having studied the anatomy of super lizards with some interest, he wasn’t sure he could break its neck with one of the hard lead bullets he carried the most of—and he couldn’t tell in the dark if he’d chosen one of his “specials” with the bronze core penetrator.
“Hey, you stupid, walkin’ backhoe!” he bellowed. “Get a load o’
this
!” He fired. The recoil of the quarter-pound bullet atop nearly three hundred grains of first-class mil-spec black powder almost slammed him off his feet and actually left him a little dizzy for a moment. The super lizard staggered, its left leg trying to drop out from under it. With a mighty squeal of rage and agony that saturated the jungle around them and finally seemed to shake the rain from the heavy clouds above, the monster managed to straighten. Then it turned toward Dennis Silva.
“Jeez. I think this sucker kicks even worse than the old Doom Whomper,” Dennis muttered, thumbing back the hammer and slapping the trapdoor breechblock up and forward. The big, empty shell casing clanged away amid a wisp of smoke as the extractor slammed it against the raised ejector knob toward the rear of the receiver. Dennis shoved another cartridge in the chamber and clapped the breech closed. All this was done with muscle memory, before he was completely recovered from the first shot. He could hear yelling and shooting but it barely registered, didn’t signify. He looked up.
“Goddam!” he squeaked. The super lizard was almost on him, its mouth wide to gulp him down, strands of bloody saliva glistening in the firelight. Dennis snatched the big rifle back to his shoulder and fired in the general direction of the upper back of the great mouth that had grown to encompass all things.
He was still standing there a few moments later, staring dumbly at the enormous dead head in front of him, when Pam Cross flung her arms around him, plastering herself to his side. “You’re somethin’ else,” she cried tearfully.
“He’s a whopper, ain’t he?” Dennis finally managed. Then his voice grew hard. “Yeah, I
am
somethin’ else: a jerk.” He caught Abel’s eye as their teenage leader approached. “This was my fault,” he admitted.
“How on earth?”
“I tied a piece of fish to that line hangin’ from Gunny Horn’s hammock. I . . . sorta left the bait that lured this big bugger up. I only meant it as a gag.”
“Why, you . . .” Horn began, but Moe stopped the Marine before he could take a swing.
“Some gag,” Silva continued bitterly. “Almost got us all killed.”
“
Good
gag,” Moe countered unexpectedly. He poked at the super lizard with Silva’s cutlass. He must’ve pulled it out. “Dat booger runnin’ roun’, he catch our smell, come for us. Him see dat little lizard hoppin roun’
save
us. Udderwise, first t’ing we know ’bout him when he eatin’ dem damn Griks or somebody else.”
Silva wasn’t convinced. He didn’t get introspective very often, but he still figured he’d screwed up. “How many o’ those Grik fellas did we lose? Is everybody else okay?”
“Two of the Grik died of their wounds,” Abel said stiffly. “Pokey escaped. Barely. No one else was seriously injured. A few bumps and bruises.”
“I guess that’s somethin.” Silva looked at Cook. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you choose to fling at me . . . sir.”
“But it
good
gag!” Moe persisted. “Dem Griks gonna die, sleepin’ dat low, no matter what.” He shrugged. “You all miss bigger t’ing! Dat damn super lizard smell smoke way before he smell us.” He gestured around. “Out here, back home . . . anywhere . . . smoke mean fire. Fire mean burn, choke, die. Even dat little rope tugger come troo smoke. How come
both
them boogers come rompin’ up like expectin’ somethin’ ta eat?”
Stuart Brassey looked at Abel. “Because, around here at least, they’re used to fires—cookfires, perhaps. Fires that often mean food, or at least scraps.”