章 46: Chapter 46
Mike crawled, his body heavy and broken, the cold ground scraping against his palms. He couldn't remember how long it had been, but his squad—every last one of them—was gone. The sound of gunfire had faded, replaced by an eerie silence. His ears rang, the world around him distant, muffled.
His chest burned with every ragged breath, his uniform sticking to his skin, slick with sweat and blood. His fingers trembled as they gripped the dirt, dragging him forward inch by inch. It wasn't far. Maybe a hundred meters. Maybe two. He didn't know anymore.
He had heard them—the aliens—moving in the distance, the soft scrape of metal on metal, like the scurrying of insects. Their craft had fallen from the sky like a plague, like death itself descending. The first strike had come fast, an explosion that sent the ground quaking beneath them, throwing Mike and the others to the dirt. He had watched them—the aliens—cut through his squad like knives through wet paper. One by one. Fast, brutal, without hesitation. They had no mercy.
He was the last one. It was always the way. The others had screamed, their voices choked with pain, cut short in an instant. Mike remembered their faces as they went down, those last desperate looks, those final words that never made it out of their throats. It was something they'd never let go. The screams echoed in his mind, louder than the ringing in his ears.
He had to keep crawling. No other choice.
His legs felt numb. His hands were raw, the skin shredded from the rough terrain. His helmet was gone, lost in the chaos. His rifle, too. All he had left was his body and the will to move. Or maybe it wasn't will anymore. Maybe it was just instinct. There wasn't much else left to keep him going.
A screech split the air, high-pitched and unsettling, like metal scraping against stone. He froze, his body instinctively pulling back. His hands shook, blood pooling in his palms, but he didn't move. He knew they were out there, watching.
The sound came closer, moving on the wind, circling, waiting. He could almost feel it—a presence that wasn't human, something foreign, something monstrous. It wasn't the first time he'd felt it. They hunted him now, like a wounded animal, and he had no way to fight back. There was no weapon left to him. No squad to help.
A flash of movement caught his eye. There, just beyond the trees, something tall and dark. He couldn't see it clearly, but he didn't need to. He could feel it. It was there. It had always been there, just out of reach, in the corner of his mind.
Mike dragged himself forward, each movement slower than the last. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring with sweat and blood. He was so close, so close to whatever little safety was left.
Then a sound. Not the insect-like screech. Something softer. He looked up, the trees dancing in his blurred sight. Through the branches, a figure stood. The alien was close now, close enough that Mike could make out its silhouette. It had stopped. It was waiting.
He couldn't run. He couldn't even scream.
The creature stepped forward, its footfall heavy, its form a dark figure against the dying light. Its gaze fixed on him, and he felt it—something like an electric shock, a pulse of raw, unnatural power.
He gasped, but no air came. His chest clenched as the creature's shape grew sharper in his mind. There was no mercy for him. No escape.
The alien raised its arm, its hand a claw, poised to strike.
Mike closed his eyes.
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