Aliens vs. Predators - AVP: ULTIMATE PREY E-Book

Louis Ozawa Changchien

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 569

Beschreibung

The first anthology of original short stories featuring the confluence of two iconic properties, as the Predators seek the ultimate prey, the Xenomorphs from Alien.Fifteen new and original stories for a first-of-its-kind anthology, set in the expanded Aliens vs. Predators Universe.Here the ultimate hunters, the Predators, pitted against their ultimate prey, the Xenomorphs from Alien, with humans caught in the middle! Taking place on Earth and in distant space, these tales have been crafted by a who's who of today's most talented authors of the fantastic:David Barnett - Roshni "Rush" Bhatia - Curtist C. Chen - Delilah S. Dawson - Mira Grant - Susanne L. Lambdin - Jess Landry - Yvonne Navarro - E.C. Myers - Scott Sigler - Maurice Broaddus - Chris Ryall - Bryan Thomas Schmidt - Steven L. Sears - Jonathan Maberry and Louis Ozawa.Inspired by the events of the original Aliens vs. Predators movies, graphic novels, and novels, these are the ultimate life-and-death struggles. Including a new story written by Jonathan Maberry and Louis Ozawa ("Hanzo" from the movie Predators) as Hanzo's brother faces the eternal threats of both the Yautja and the Xenomorphs.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

LEAVE US A REVIEW

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

EDITOR’S FOREWORD: THE SEQUEL by Jonathan Maberry

BELOW TOP SECRET by Chris Ryall

ISLA MATANZAS by Steven L. Sears

HOMESTEAD by Delilah S. Dawson

THE HOTEL MARIPOSA by David Barnett

PLANTING AND HARVEST by Mira Grant

BLOOD AND HONOR by Susanne L. Lambdin

CARBON RITES by Jess Landry

FIRST HUNT by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

ABUSE, INTERRUPTED by Yvonne Navarro

BETTER LUCK TO BORROW by Curtis C. Chen

FILM SCHOOL by Roshni “Rush” Bhatia

NIGHT DOCTORS by Maurice Broaddus

SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS by E.C. Myers

ANOTHER MOTHER by Scott Sigler

KYŌDAI by Jonathan Maberry and Louis Ozawa

EDITOR BIOGRAPHIES

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHIES

THE COMPLETE ALIEN™ LIBRARY FROM TITAN BOOKS

THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATIONS BY ALAN DEAN FOSTER:

ALIEN

ALIENS™

ALIEN 3

ALIEN: COVENANT

ALIEN: COVENANT ORIGINS

ALIEN: RESURRECTION BY A.C. CRISPIN

ALIEN: OUT OF THE SHADOWS BY TIM LEBBON

ALIEN: SEA OF SORROWS BY JAMES A. MOORE

ALIEN: RIVER OF PAIN BY CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN

ALIEN: THE COLD FORGE BY ALEX WHITE

ALIEN: ISOLATION BY KEITH R.A. DECANDIDO

ALIEN: PROTOTYPE BY TIM WAGGONER

ALIEN: INTO CHARYBDIS BY ALEX WHITE

ALIEN 3: THE UNPRODUCED SCREENPLAY BY WILLIAM GIBSON AND PAT CADIGAN

THE RAGE WAR BY TIM LEBBON:

PREDATOR™: INCURSION

ALIEN: INVASION

ALIEN VS. PREDATOR™: ARMAGEDDON

ALIENS: BUG HUNT EDITED BY JONATHAN MABERRY

ALIENS: PHALANX BY SCOTT SIGLER

ALIENS: INFILTRATOR BY WESTON OCHSE

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 1 BY STEVE AND STEPHANI PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 2 BY DAVID BISCHOFF AND ROBERT SHECKLEY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 3 BY SANDY SCHOFIELD AND S.D. PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 4 BY YVONNE NAVARRO AND S.D. PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 5 BY MICHAEL JAN FRIEDMAN AND DIANE CAREY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 6 BY DIANE CAREY AND JOHN SHIRLEY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 7 BY B.K. EVENSON AND S.D. PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS VS. PREDATOR OMNIBUS, VOLUME 1

BY STEVE PERRY AND S.D. PERRY

ALIEN: 40 YEARS 40 ARTISTS

ALIEN: THE ARCHIVE

ALIEN: THE BLUEPRINTS BY GRAHAM LANGRIDGE

ALIEN: THE ILLUSTRATED STORY BY ARCHIE GOODWIN AND WALTER SIMONSON

ALIENS: THE SET PHOTOGRAPHY BY SIMON WARD

THE ART OF ALIEN: ISOLATION BY ANDY MCVITTIE

THE ART AND MAKING OF ALIEN: COVENANT BY SIMON WARD

ALIEN COVENANT: THE OFFICIAL COLLECTOR’S EDITION

ALIEN COVENANT: DAVID’S DRAWINGS BY DANE HALLETT AND MATT HATTON

THE MAKING OF ALIEN BY J.W. RINZLER

ALIENS—ARTBOOK BY PRINTED IN BLOOD

ALIENS VS. PREDATOR REQUIEM: INSIDE THE MONSTER SHOP

BY ALEC GILLIS AND TOM WOODRUFF, JR.

AVP: ALIEN VS. PREDATOR BY ALEC GILLIS AND TOM WOODRUFF, JR.

THE PREDATOR: THE ART AND MAKING OF THE FILM BY JAMES NOLAN

ALIEN NEXT DOOR BY JOEY SPIOTTO

JONESY: NINE LIVES ON THE NOSTROMO BY RORY LUCEY

ALIEN: THE COLORING BOOK

ALIEN: THE OFFICIAL COOKBOOK BY CHRIS-RACHAEL OSELAND

PREDATOR: IF IT BLEEDS EDITED BY BRYAN THOMAS SCHMIDT

THE PREDATOR: HUNTERS AND HUNTED BY JAMES A. MOORE

THE PREDATOR BY JAMES A. MOORE & MARK MORRIS

PREDATOR: STALKING SHADOWS BY JAMES A. MOORE & MARK MORRIS

THE COMPLETE PREDATOR OMNIBUS BY NATHAN ARCHER, SANDY SCHOFIELD

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AVP: ALIENS VS. PREDATORS – ULTIMATE PREY

Print edition ISBN: 9781789097948

E-book edition ISBN: 9781789097955

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd 144

Southwark St, London SE1 0UP

First edition: March 2022

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

© 2022 Twentieth Century Studios.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

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TITANBOOKS.COM

Dedication

From Bryan:To Aaron Percival and Adam Zeller,number one fans of the Expanded Universe, andnumber one experts who always go above the call of duty

From Jonathan:This one is for some dear creative friends…Lisa Kastner, J. Dianne Dotson, Dennis Crosby,Gaby Triana, Curtis Sponsler, Jennifer Rose,Lynne Hansen, Jeff Strand, Veronica Calisto,Sheldon Higdon, Giacomo Calabria,and Simin Koernig.And, as always, for Sara Jo…

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Gratitude goes out to Aaron Percival and Adam Zeller, webmasters of AVPGalaxy.net, which is the definitive source of research online for this book and for many authors, for going above and beyond the call of duty in helping us navigate the complicated worldbuilding of the Expanded Universe. Their advice and insights were invaluable in keeping us on track.

Thanks to super-agent Sara Crowe of Pippin Properties, 20th Century Studios Franchise Management, and Titan Books—especially our editor Steve Saffel—for letting us play in this fun universe we’re fans of, and to all our authors for their hard work and dedication to getting it right.

Many thanks to the legion of fans of both Predator and Alien—for enthusiastic support and nit-picky technical info.

INTRODUCTION

BY BRYAN THOMAS SCHMIDT

From the moment audiences at the fourth Seattle International Film Festival sat down on Friday May 25, 1979, for the 70mm premiere of Ridley Scott’s new science fiction horror film, Alien, Xenomorphs and Ridley have been part of our pop culture zeitgeist. The film rolled at midnight and had audiences screaming in their seats. Ever since then, the image of someone holding their stomach and coughing has evoked new images in the public’s minds. We’d never seen anything quite like aliens who used humans as incubators, and they captured our imagination in a unique way.

Predator premiered on Friday June 12, 1987, as Arnold Schwarzenegger was just becoming a household name. Armed commandos moving through a jungle was not new to us, but their opponent was. A towering alien with a horrifying face and chittering speech that had the ability to disappear and slit throats before anyone knew he was there was a sobering thought, and audiences watched with a similar mix of horror and excitement as the monster slowly picked off Schwarzenegger’s team one by one.

Both films started as one-offs, but once The Empire Strikes Back, the hugely anticipated sequel to Star Wars, released in 1980, the idea of big science fiction franchises became every studio’s goal, so it was no surprise when both films wound up with sequels soon thereafter. Comic books, novels, and action figures followed, and each fanbase began to grow. But it wasn’t until an unknown screenwriter named Peter Briggs paired the two creatures in a spec screenplay called The Hunt: Alien vs. Predator that Fox started imagining combining them into a new franchise of their own. Although Briggs’s script never saw the light of day, the first Alien vs. Predator film was released in 2004 and a sequel followed in 2007. By this time, there had been two Predator films and four Alien films, and many fans embraced the idea with great enthusiasm.

For us, combining the two seems like a no-brainer and a hell of a lot of fun. When Titan asked us to undertake the task of creating this anthology, we jumped in with both feet and took off running. The result, we hope, is a book of fun and imaginative stories by talented authors of diverse backgrounds that adds nuance to the existing milieu of Aliens vs. Predators, as well as introducing new settings and events that excite and thrill and scare the audience.

It is always a privilege to play in someone else’s sandbox, but all the more so when you are fans, as we are of this franchise. So consider Ultimate Prey a love letter to our fellow fans, if you will, and we hope you find reading it as fun and fulfilling as we did in making it.

Bryan Thomas Schmidt, May 26 2021, Ottawa, Kansas

EDITOR’S FOREWORD: THE SEQUEL

BY JONATHAN MABERRY

In the editor’s foreword to my 2017 anthology, Aliens: Bug Hunt, I wrote about how a movie projectionist buddy of mine drove with me from Philly to New York to see the world premiere of Alien. That was June 22, 1979—at the time of writing, forty-two years ago. Before the internet, laptops, and social media. It might as well have happened on a different planet for all that our current world resembles that one.

Eight years later, on June 12, 1987, I saw Predator at a movie house in Philly. One of the big old cavernous 1920s-era movie palaces. A grand old lady now down on her luck. It still drew crowds but she was past her prime.

Even so, I was in the front row of the balcony for that premiere. I was with my then-girlfriend and best friend. Oddly… both of them have since passed, which leaves me as the sole keeper of that memory. We were up there with hot buttered popcorn, big cups of sugar-laden cola, and no expectations of what we were about to experience. We’d all seen the trailers, but more than once those coming attractions were better than the film they touted.

Not this time.

Predator was absurdly entertaining. A group of very large men with biceps and automatic weapons, chewing tobacco, and truly filthy jokes, diving deep into the jungle on a rescue mission. Even without alien hunters it would have been entertainment, though perhaps in that case the film might have remained in the zone of middle-brow testosterone movie candy.

But the story wasn’t just guns and grunts. Instead, it spun that concept around, and that band of impossibly brawny heroes came up against something bigger, badder, and infinitely stranger than them. That elevated it on so many levels. Great script, tight and quotable dialogue, superb action, and a brand-new kind of movie monster. A thinking and calculating alien hunter.

The Predator—what we now know as a member of the Yautja—was not only tougher than the band of soldiers, he was more sophisticated, better equipped, and was hunting them for fun. What the actual hell?

There was real suspense, real nail-biting tension, and—given the body count that included notable actors from other franchises—no assurance that any of those guys, even Arnold Schwarzenegger, was getting out of there alive. I was literally on the edge of my seat during the last third of that flick.

I walked out wanting more.

When the film came out on VHS tape (ah, the ’80s!) I very often watched it in a double feature with Alien and frequently in a triple-feature with Aliens. The movies, though never intended to be companion pieces, always felt right together. For me, in particular, the best match was Aliens and Predator. A true perfect combination.

Over the years more films came out in each franchise, and I started seeing Aliens vs. Predator mashups discussed on the new internet. Then in comics. And novels.

And then films.

My two favorite action-horror-science-fiction film series had become one expanded universe. And I tip my hat to Fox for making this happen. Those cats over there really get why fans love their movies, and they play to our hunger for more.

While I did my Aliens: Bug Hunt anthology, my good buddy Bryan Thomas Schmidt was doing his own book, Predator: If It Bleeds. They became natural companion pieces. Bryan is—if this is possible—even more of a nerd than I am. Our love of these characters is second to none.

It’s fair to say that the stars aligned to bring us together to help bring the Xenomorphs and Yautja into fresh, literary conflict. We reached out to a number of our colleagues—those we knew who (a) knew and loved the genres, and (b) could write the living hell out of a story. Those tales are included herein.

I had one additional fun moment, too. Among my favorite films of this series is Predators (2010). Great cast, great action, lots of twists, and it also featured an actor who would later become a dear friend—Louis Ozawa, who played the laconic Yakuza, Hanzo. I pitched the idea of writing a sequel to that movie, and his character, and we collaborated to write it together. That is also included.

So, my friends, whether you are—like me—a veteran of this ongoing conflict between monsters from other worlds; a fan of only one franchise and following that here; or totally new to either film series… you’re in for a treat. A very weird treat, frequently violent, endlessly inventive, and thoroughly faithful-to-the-canon of both Alien and Predator worlds.

Buckle up, turn the page, and enjoy!

Jonathan Maberry, May 26 2021, San Diego, California

BELOW TOP SECRET

BY CHRIS RYALL

The day was going fine until April’s phone died. She hoped it wasn’t a sign. One of those cosmic “don’t count your chickens” things, or that other axiom about assumptions.

“I charged my cell this morning,” she whispered. “What the hell?”

She glanced at Brockton’s face, and thought that his look of dismay was because his cell was dead, too. Which it was. But he was put off for another reason entirely.

“April, come on, we need to hurry,” he said. “We have to move. It’s that way.”

He pulled her away from the rest of the team and pointed toward the long, low building over the bluff a few hundred yards away.

“Be subtle about it,” he cautioned. “We don’t want anyone following us.”

The excursion onto the grounds here at Area 51 had gone without incident—well, beyond the suddenly non-functioning mobile devices—but the farther they drifted from the others, the more uncertain it all felt.

Brockton, though. Up until now, his certainty about things he couldn’t possibly know for sure had a kind of charm to them, but now April wasn’t as sold on his bravado. As they approached the building in question, he started to reveal new information that she found quite disconcerting. She looked back at the rest of the large group. Not one of them was following yet. They all continued down the road toward the military installation itself. Which Brockton said made sense as a destination for anyone who didn’t know what he knew.

It also meant they were fully exposed, walking on the road toward a base no doubt packed with military forces and other security. But the broader plan for the day was to get arrested and force the base to acknowledge there were strange goings-on here.

Brockton had suggested to her that they should try to enter a building that was much closer to the gate they’d just breached, and that sounded smart. It would allow them to feasibly check things out and then leave before they found themselves zip-tied and under arrest. With black bags over their heads and a one-way ticket to a black site.

But once Brockton started talking about the limited time left for them to get into this building before it was too late, April began reassessing her willingness to just accept whatever he said.

Still, he was right about one thing, she mused. He could indeed get them into the building.

The front of the building had no windows, just a set of double doors that looked impregnable. The lock contained a digital keypad, but Brockton simply pulled up his right sleeve and copied a number he’d written on his forearm, typing it into the keypad.

The door opened.

Brockton looked at April and grinned. “See? My source knew what they were talking about.” But April thought he looked a little too relieved when he said it, as if he was surprised it actually worked.

“Funny how you never mentioned a source before,” April said. “By which I mean, this isn’t funny at all. We just went from breaking and entering a base to try to force freedom of information to, well, a full-on B&E of a military outpost.”

He took a few steps deeper into the building. She followed, and they stood in what looked like the waiting area of a typical—though unoccupied—office building. “It won’t matter,” he said, “not if we hurry. If the rest of what my guy told me is also true, we’re on the cusp of breaking this thing wide open. I didn’t want to freak you out before but… I’ve been talking to someone who works here. At the base. The first guy since maybe Bob Lazar to really admit that, and he told me.”

“Really?” asked April. “Why would he just confide in you?”

“Well,” Brockton said, sheepishly, “we may have had a transaction. A number of them, really.”

“Shit,” muttered April. “You bought information from a stranger?”

“No, it’s cool. Look, April, this is a guy I came across online a few years ago, and I’ve been building up trust and gaining his confidence and… well, sure, sending him money. Maybe a lot of it. In regular installments. But not all or even most of it. He knows we have to get in, get the goods, get out safely, and then he gets the bulk of it. Give me some credit here.”

April snorted. “Okay… greed and a penalty if he fucks us. That makes a bit more sense.”

Brockton took a few steps deeper into the office space. Against her better judgment once again, so did April. “Once this excursion got set, he said it was finally time for the world to know what goes on here, and he gave me that code.”

“You mean, you bought that code.”

“Whatever. It was money my parents gave me for college, so it was mine to spend how I wanted. And what better education than this?”

April groaned.

Brockton leaned close and lowered his voice even more. “He told me another thing, April.”

“Oh, I can’t wait for this,” she said.

“This building… it’s sitting over the real base.”

“Oh, come on…”

“And,” he said, “he told me how we can get down there.”

“I—” she began, but then froze. There was a noise outside. She peered through the glass door and saw a vehicle coming their way, pulling a dust plume behind it.

“Brockton,” she said quickly, “I don’t quite know what to say to any of this, but if you have a plan, we better go now.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you…”

He took her hand and they hurried deeper into the deserted office. April thought she heard the outside door open behind them.

“If my guy wasn’t lying,” Brockton said as they rounded a corner, “then it should be right… whoa. Here it is.”

They approached an elevator bank. April felt a chill—why did a one-story building built on top of sand and dirt have an elevator?

The doors to the elevator stood open, but inside it was dark. Still, Brockton directed her forward and they stepped into it.

“Brockton…”

Inside, a control panel contained only a grid of sixty-four buttons without numbers on them. The buttons alternated between black and white. It looked more like some kind of game than it did an elevator control panel.

Brockton pushed eight of them in sequence. Nothing happened. April heard heavy footsteps and voices from down the hall.

This was all too much. She wanted out. “Brockton, stop. I don’t want to do this.”

“Come on,” Brockton growled as he kept stabbing the buttons in a sequence once again.

“This isn’t fun anymore,” said April.

“Well, we’re here now,” he growled. “Let me work, will you? Just standing here and waiting to get caught—or shot—isn’t fun, either. We’ve come this far and—bingo.” The elevator lights abruptly came on, and they could hear the motor powering up. “Now, we’ve got nowhere to go but down.”

He was so right about that.

*   *   *

As the elevator descended, April found herself taking a long, cold look at how the hell she got here.

She’d started out wanting to improve her social life—or at least her social-media life—and had ended up on this possibly ruinous path. Only a month ago, she’d let herself get led down a new online rabbit hole. She saw some friends share a group that consisted of people planning to make an excursion onto the grounds at the legendarily secretive military base located at Area 51 in Nevada. April was intrigued, mostly because she saw that hundreds of people had already clicked, “Will attend.” And she happened to know one of them, a friend of a friend named Brockton. Brockton, who owned a car with air conditioning and offered to drive her through the desert to attend this event. She accepted.

April didn’t particularly believe in the existence of UFOs. Really, she didn’t think about them either way. Following conspiracy theories seemed to be the province of, mostly, underemployed men. But the event promised a massive turnout, so why not? Surely she could get a few interesting pictures and a fun story to tell. Enough to ensure another weekend of social media “likes,” anyway.

On the drive out, Brockton proved his conspiracy-nut bona fides by showing her all the proof of aliens he had on his phone. Lo-res photos and grainy videos, mostly.

He also convinced her there wouldn’t be any real price to pay for the planned excursion. “That’s why we made it public, to warn them in advance,” he said. “Besides, I have it on good authority that we’ll be able to get full access to the base that day. I have it all covered.”

The morning felt full of promise. They joined others at the agreed-upon meeting place, in front of Rachel, Nevada’s famous Ale-E-Inn. The buzz was electric, and infectious even to a non-believer (“non-carer” was more accurate, she had told Brockton before) like her.

One hour later, outside the base’s outer gate, April felt her first real twinge of doubt about what the hell she’d agreed to.

There was no security in sight—the guard station next to the high fence had been deserted. The wooden bars blocking the path didn’t look like they would keep out anything except a myopic raccoon. Nothing looked particularly impressive or intimidating. And it certainly hadn’t scared off the three hundred people who’d come along on this crazy raid. Hardly the stuff of a high-security military installation.

April hoped all of this was a good sign that maybe this would be easier than it appeared.

Yeah, she thought, because nothing ever goes wrong when you break into a military facility that is the literal definition of ‘looks too easy.’ It was a walk in the park, right?

Then she saw the other sign. A big wooden one posted near the gate.

UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL NOT ADMITTEDPhotography is prohibited$1,000 fine, six months imprisonment, or both

“Well… shit,” April said.

Brockton laughed it off, though. “If they really cared about us being here,” he said, “they’d have more than just scary signs. Ooooo. I mean, we made sure everyone knew when we were coming.” He paused. “You know, though, that sign is just a cool spot for people to take pictures.”

People started to walk onto the grounds. Tentatively at first, and then with more enthusiasm. A cheer went up. It was time. Fame awaited!

That was when Brockton asked April what time it was. When she pulled out her phone, it went dead in her hand.

*   *   *

When the elevator came to a stop, April and Brockton were both thoroughly freaked out. It had moved far deeper into the earth than they’d ever expected, and the time it took to finally reach its destination gave them plenty of opportunity to envision a worse-case scenario. They didn’t say anything, but the nervous look in Brockton’s eyes matched what she felt.

They clung to the sides of the cage as the doors opened, trying to be invisible, but outside was a short, empty hallway. They stepped out cautiously and saw there was a door a few yards from the elevator and another at the far end. Both had keycard scanners mounted on the walls. They crept toward it and looked through a small window into a room filled with row after row of metal exam tables.

Brockton tried the door.

“Locked,” he said, stepping back.

“Now what?” asked April, but before he could reply, the door suddenly opened and a man in a lab coat plowed right into Brockton.

The man rebounded, actually shrieked and swung a heavy flashlight at Brockton’s head, missing by a hair. He overbalanced and dropped the light, which rolled against the wall.

“Whoa, whoa,” said April, pulling Brockton back.

The man stood for a moment just gaping at them. He wore an ID badge clipped to his lapel. It read: Doctor Stephen Renfro. The scientist’s eyes were wild, and he lunged forward, pushed past them, and ran for the elevator. He began pushing buttons. The elevator doors remained stubbornly shut.

“No no no no,” cried Renfro. “It can’t be, not already. I’m too late. Too late…”

Brockton grabbed his sleeve. “Too late for what?”

Doctor Renfro looked at them as if only now realizing they were strangers. “You can’t be here now,” he barked. “We’re too late. It’s all falling apart. We—we need to find another way out of here.”

April looked at Brockton. “And I thought you sounded crazy before.”

Doctor Renfro kicked the closed elevator door. He was panting and his face flushed red.

“Come on. Come on, you fools,” he snapped.

Brockton pulled back and said, “Hey, man, calm down! You’re freaking us out. Are you the one who—”

His sentence died in his throat when the large, insectoid creature dropped onto Doctor Renfro’s shoulders from somewhere above them. Despite its massive size, the creature never made a sound until it landed on the doctor with a heavy thud.

April and Brockton both screamed as they scrambled backward, horrified beyond rational thought.

The creature was monstrous—it must have been seven feet tall, and while its frame was thin, like an insectoid exoskeleton without skin, it had long, jointed arms ending in six clawed fingers on each of its two hands; a longer segmented tail that ended with a wicked, pointed tip; and four thick protrusions extending out of its back. Most horrific of all was a long, domed head, and a mouth filled with sharp teeth and dripping with mucus.

Renfro’s scream was awful. High and shrill—filled with absolute horror and bottomless pain.

The monster attacked the hapless doctor, its tail whipping back and forth, coming within inches of April and Brockton.

April’s brain was nearly stalled by shock, but there was that one part of her—the clinical, rational mind—that kept working. Analyzing. It did that even when she was stoned, or having sex. Always trying to make sense of the world.

And now it was shrieking at her that, after everything, Brockton was right. Aliens were real. This thing, this monster, was nothing she had ever seen or heard about. It was not of this earth, that much was certain.

It wrapped its arms around Renfro in a horrific parody of an embrace, then raked long, sharp fingers in a jagged X across his chest. The claws tore through clothing, flesh, and muscle with little resistance and blood exploded outward.

Brockton seemed too stunned to move, but April grabbed him and dragged him backward toward the laboratory door. For the moment, the creature seemed to ignore them and continued savaging the scientist. It lowered its head, dripping slime onto Renfro’s neck, and plunged its tongue, a rigid thing with teeth of its own, into the back of Renfro’s neck, the toothed tongue rending flesh and muscle alike. The third time it did so, it got stuck on Renfro’s spinal column with a thunk.

The door had not swung all the way shut and April saw that the flashlight the doctor dropped was blocking it. It was a splinter of luck. Was it enough? She snatched it up and shoved Brockton into the room.

“Hey,” someone yelled—it was a female voice from the far end of the lab. “Come on, this way… this way.”

April risked a look over her shoulder. The monster had heard the voice, too. It raised its head from the limp body of Renfro, then dropped the corpse. The man’s head had been so thoroughly savaged that it tore free and rolled crookedly away. Then it began stalking toward them. Its clawed fingers caught the edge of the door, its tail whipping back and forth.

The woman at the far end of the room yelled for them. “Here, over here… hurry, for fuck’s sake.”

They ran. The alien chased them, but another splinter of luck saved them because its chitinous feet skidded in the blood spilling from the stump of Doctor Renfro’s neck. It gave them a half second’s grace, and they reached the woman, who held open a thick metal door with a square glass observation window in it.

The woman grabbed them, shoved them roughly inside, then slammed the door. April and Brockton collapsed against a wall and stared at her. April hugged the flashlight to her chest as if it was a sacred talisman.

The woman wore an identical lab coat to Renfro, and her name tag read: Doctor Amy Kupihea.

“You people are trespassing,” she snarled. “And you’re a pair of goddamn idiots.”

*   *   *

As she fought to catch her breath, April looked around. The room they were in seemed to be one of those shelter-in-place spots. Doctor Kupihea seemed to read her thoughts and nodded.

“It’s a safe room,” she said. “We have them peppered throughout. We’ll be okay here for now. There’s water, MREs—military ready-to-eat meals—cots and blankets, and they tell me the walls are impregnable.”

Brockton kept blinking, clearly trying to reboot his brain.

Kupihea kept talking as if she was giving a freaking tour. “We have a solid security door, an intranet computer, and a dedicated power source.”

“But why?” demanded April, finally finding her own voice. “What’s happening here? What is that thing? What… what… I mean…?”

Brockton mumbled, “This is where they brought the UFOs they found. That’s what that thing is, isn’t it? An alien from one of those ships, and it got out.”

Doctor Kupihea did not answer, and instead demanded to know who they were and how they got there. April did her best to explain, and the doctor listened with increasing dread as April relayed the last hour of their day—their ease of entrance—obviously enabled by someone from within the base; the elevator code, and then the death of Doctor Renfro.

“This is another of those Occupy Area 51 things?” Kupihea said, appalled. “Jesus Christ. And you’re sure Renfro’s dead?”

“Very,” said Brockton.

“God damn,” said Kupihea. Then her face hardened. “Serves him right. He set this in motion. He should have enacted a hard lockdown. He should have called in a strike team, that’s why they’re on standby. But no… he kept saying it was all under control, that everything was fine. Shit. And now that thing has the run of the lab, and we’re in here.”

Despite her anger there were tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Did all of you morons come down here? All—what was it? Three hundred?”

“No,” said April. “Just us. The rest are upstairs.”

“And if that thing gets up there they’ll all die,” said Kupihea. “You don’t even want to know how.”

“We saw how,” said Brockon. “It tore that guy’s head off. Can’t get a lot worse than that.”

Kupihea’s expression was bleak. “Yes,” she said, “it really can.”

*   *   *

Brockton looked around. “What kind of weapons do we have?”

“Nothing. I’m a scientist, not a soldier.”

“Wait,” said April, “there’s nothing in this room that we can use as a weapon to kill that thing?”

“Of course not.”

“Lady,” said Brockton, “that giant cockroach murderized your friend in like two seconds.” He nodded at the computer. “Can you call in, like, tactical nukes or something on that thing?”

Kupihea’s eyes were cold. “Not even a remotely workable option. We can’t even call in the strike team without the QR code on Renfro’s ID.” Then she took a deep breath, exhaled it, and added, “But I have the makings of an idea. I wouldn’t call it a ‘plan,’ but maybe it can offer us a possible way past this mess.”

April stood with her back to the two of them, her hands clutched nervously tight around the heavy barrel of the flashlight. She peered through the window in the door. She didn’t ever want to see that creature again, but even worse to her was not seeing it. “I haven’t seen it since we got in here. But it’s there, isn’t it? It’s somewhere out there, waiting.”

“The creature can pretty much disappear into the shadows,” said Kupihea. “It has demonstrated superior skills at stalking and concealing itself. Not human intelligence but very high animal cunning. We’ve documented how it can somehow fold its seven feet into tight, dark spaces and lie in wait. It’s maybe its most lethal trick.”

“Jesus. I was wrong before,” Brockton said. “It’s not a giant roach, it’s a trap-door spider.”

Something heavy slammed against the door. April screamed.

“Hush!” the doctor hissed. “It can’t get in here, so even if it’s got a sense that we’re here now, it’ll likely seek out a proper dark space to wait us out. That means the rafters. Which are high enough that we might be able to make it out of here.”

“And go where?” Brockton said.

“I’d love to tell you there was a back door we could use or other such escape hatch, but when you mentioned before that the elevator doors wouldn’t open, I knew then that no help was forthcoming. Not from the rest of the staff, anyway. For now, we’re sealed in here with that thing.”

Kupihea explained that base protocol dictated the automatic sealing off of any level subject to astrobiological contamination.

“We can never risk anything that gets loose in here getting free out there,” she said, pointing up at the surface. “The way you made your way down here? A one-way trip until things are contained, if they are. Per protocol, there’s no help coming unless we get Renfro’s ID. And even then it’s not instantaneous. If we can make that call, then we’ll be instructed to hole up in one of these shelter rooms and wait…”

“God, there’s help right upstairs, too,” said April. “Those military guys almost caught us before. We fled down here, thinking that was the better option.”

“They didn’t catch us,” said Brockton lamely.

April wheeled on him. “I cannot believe I went along with your stupidity.”

“Look, aliens weren’t actually supposed to be real!” Brockton whined. “I mean, you’d have to be insane to believe the stuff—”

“—that you believe?” April fired back. “God, I should open this door and feed you to that thing.”

“It was a game,” he protested. “It was all just supposed to be a game. Or, at best, I expected aliens to be those little gray-headed dudes who are all cute, like Archibald in that comic, or that movie Paul.”

“Let’s worry less about your faulty information and more about finding a practical solution to our problem, shall we?” said Kupihea with asperity. She stepped to a workstation and pulled up an inventory list filled with objects with long names and numbers. “Ahhh, there you are.” She tapped a button on the screen and a metal compartment against the far wall opened up and a drawer slid out.

Brockton looked at the open drawer. “Weapon?” he said hopefully. “’Cause right now all we have is that flashlight April grabbed.”

“Weapon?” mused the doctor. “Not so much as we understand it, anyway. But he might.”

“He?” asked Brockton. “Who he?”

She lifted an object out of the drawer. It was a rough-hued metallic ball the size of a coconut.

“Please tell me that’s a hand grenade,” Brockton said.

“Hardly,” said Kupihea. “Frankly, I can’t tell you in the strictest terms what it is. It just might help, but it’s a back-up plan to my non-plan.” She glanced over and asked, “April, do you still see it?”

April peered into the laboratory. It was hard to see anything clearly because the glass was smeared with blood and muck, but there was no obvious movement in the other room. “No.”

“Then let’s hope for the best. If it’s far enough away, we might have a chance to get where we need to go next.” Kupihea turned the object over and over in her hands, lips pursed in thought.

“Which is where?” asked April. “I’ll accept any answer as long as it’s ‘out of this base forever.’”

“You mentioned rafters,” said Brockton. “That thing dropped from the ceiling before, and Doctor Renfro was dead before we could scream. Where can we possibly go from here where that thing won’t just drop on us next?”

“Yes,” said April. “And more to the point, Doctor, you obviously caught it once, right? So how did you bag it before? Is there a way to do that again?”

“I have the same answer to both of your questions,” Doctor Kupihea said. “We were able to subdue that specimen before because we had help.”

“Help…?” said April and Brockton at the same time.

“Yes,” said Kupihea slowly. “Which tells me what we need to do next.”

And then she told them.

*   *   *

“Remember,” Kupihea said, “when this door opens, run for the hallway door. Last one through pulls it shut and makes sure the lock clicks. The specimen is clever, but it can’t bypass locks. We get Renfro’s ID badge, and we run like hell down the hall to the other door. We slide either his badge or mine through the card reader, and it’ll open the door. Once we’re through, then it’s down the corridor to the—”

“Fourth door on the right,” Brockton said. “Enter this code”—he displayed the number he’d written in large print on his forearm—“and then stand back from whatever is gonna come out of that room.”

“Make absolutely no threatening gestures,” insisted Kupihea. “That’s critical. I’d even kneel and lower your eyes.”

“But—” began Brockton, but Kupihea cut him off.

“Just do what I say.”

“What’ll you be doing while we’re doing these things?” asked April.

“I’ll be right there with you,” Kupihea said. “But taking great care not to drop this.” She presented the strange ball she’d been holding.

“Your amazing, interstellar non-weapon that may or may not be useful,” Brockton said. “Perfect. Feeling great about this plan.”

“The thing in the room where we’re headed,” April said. “What is it? Another one of these bugs? Only this one found Jesus or something?”

“You’re in enough trouble already,” said Kupihea. “Anything else I could tell you is only going to get you in deeper legal shit. Me too, for that matter. Right now our focus is on survival.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” said Brockton. “Whatever it is, it’s something else we shouldn’t be seeing. I get it.” He shook his head and turned to April. “I know I wanted this today, but I mean, you have to know we’ve already seen too much for them to let us live.”

Doctor Kupihea looked at April. “‘Let you live’? Jesus wept, is he always this much of a paranoid conspiracy nut?”

April almost smiled. “One of the milder cases I met today. You should see some of the others. No joke, there was one guy with an actual tinfoil hat, and I don’t think it was an attempt at irony.” To Brockton, she said, “Besides, if we already have seen too much to live, I mean, what’s a little more at this point?”

“In for a penny, in for a stupid lethal killer-bug pound,” Brockton muttered. “God. This damned thing better be some kind of magic space-assassin.”

Kupihea appeared to actually consider the comment. “It’s not an assassin per se,” she said slowly. “More of a special kind of hunter. Absolutely fascinating. Now, let’s get ready to move.”

They clustered by the door. April could see fear sweat running down the faces of Brockton and the doctor. Her own body was slick with it, and her heart was beating with dangerous intensity.

“On three,” said Kupihea. She counted down and then engaged the door’s release and opened it very slowly and carefully.

They stepped out into the room and looked around. All seemed quiet, but April didn’t take that as a good sign, because she felt as if she was being watched. It was impossible to tell if that was the truth or rampant paranoia. Or both.

Then Brockton slipped in a puddle of some viscous slime and fell hard on his ass. The realization tore a cry from him and the echo banged off every goddamn wall in the lab.

“Shit,” cried April. She and Kupihea yanked Brockton to his feet and they all ran like hell.

Something thudded down behind them, and there was the clickity-slither of monstrous feet on the linoleum. It was coming fast.

“Run!” screamed Kupihea, but they were already running.

They reached the door. No keycard was needed to exit the lab, so Brockton jerked the door open and pushed Kupihea and April through, then he followed.

The alien, at full, inhuman sprint, leaped toward them. It hit the wall over the doorway and came down just before Kupihea could go through. She fell back, screaming. The creature rose to its full height—nearly seven feet—and moved its head in close to hers. Mucus dripped from its open mouth. Within, its long tongue emerged and the bulbous end opened to reveal that second set of awful teeth.

But then April slammed the butt of the heavy flashlight against the underside of the alien’s jawbone. She put all of her strength and terror into it, and the force slammed the alien’s jaw closed, the outer teeth crunching around the slime-covered tongue. It emitted a high-pitched squeal of shock and outrage. Blood flew from the wound and splashed on the door, missing April by inches. It hissed and sizzled, and April saw some of the metal door and frame begin to dissolve, to run like tallow.

“Molecular acid,” barked Kupihea. “Don’t touch it. Run!”

As the alien continued to thrash in fury, more of the acid sprayed out. A few drops hit the flashlight, and April flung it away from her, hitting the thing in the mouth.

Kupihea grabbed her hand and pulled her past the alien and into the long corridor. Both women turned and pulled the door shut, but the melting metal kept it from closing all the way.

They fled.

The hall was lined with heavy semi-translucent glass panels, each with a security keypad affixed to the wall next to it.

Kupihea yelled, “Brockton! six-one-two-one-nine-eight-seven!”

The alien pushed through the door, but it was moving slowly, shaking its head from side to side. April couldn’t tell if it was in pain or merely disoriented from the injury. Either way, it kept coming toward them.

Brockton entered the code and then ran toward April and Kupihea. “April… hit the floor!”

The alien suddenly lunged forward and leapt at April, but she saw it and dropped down, pulling the doctor down with her. The alien’s leap cleared them, but it came down right into Brockton’s path, the impact knocking Brockton onto the floor, too. It stepped forward, putting one of its large, spiny feet on Brockton’s chest. Its claws poked into his skin.

All at once, the whole shape of the world seemed to change. The door to that room swung open and something came out.

Even the alien turned, forgetting Brockton in that moment.

Something massive stepped into the hall, and with surprising speed and power, it grabbed the monster, lifted it, and hurled it down the hall. The alien hit hard and slid all the way to the doorway. It lay there, momentarily stunned.

April looked up at the new creature—it stood nearly as tall as the alien, but was much more powerfully built. And it was more obviously humanoid in appearance, though in no way human. It was barefoot and bare-chested, with massive muscles rippling beneath mottled yellowish-brown skin. Most terrifying of all was its face. It was something out of nightmare. Pale inhuman eyes and a mouth made up of twitching mandibles.

The creature looked down at Brockton, and then turned away with a kind of implied arrogance. As if Brockton was nothing.

Then it took off down the hall toward the alien.

“My god,” Brockton gasped, “they’ve got an actual Reptilian down here. Wait… you mean I was right?”

April helped Kupihea to her feet and they moved to Brockton. “That thing is on our side? Fuck. Maybe we do have a chance.”

“We call him Dean,” Kupihea said. “A silly nickname for such an impressive specimen, to be sure, and from what we saw of his companions, likely still growing. He’s aggressive and predatory. So far, he doesn’t seem particularly inclined to attack humans.”

The alien had whipped its bony tail at Dean, encircling him and pulling him close. Then it rammed its claws into Dean’s left side, piercing the skin and sinking deep into his flesh.

The new alien bellowed in pain.

“Doctor, we need to get out of here. Leave them in here and let them kill each other, who cares!”

“Or maybe open the rest of these cages and let all the different aliens go at it while we escape?” Brockton added. “Do you have any grays?”

“You are not helping,” the doctor said. “There are no other reinforcements. And April, I’m sorry, we’re not going anywhere. We still don’t have Renfro’s ID card. This base is sealed off. We have to hope Dean can come out on top. Then maybe we can get the ID and call in a strike team. Otherwise…” She rolled the lead globe around in her hands and let the sentence hang unfinished.

Down the hall, Dean was having a hard time in the relatively close quarters. The alien held him tight with its tail, its ridges cutting into Dean’s legs. The alien slashed away with its free hand, and dug the claws deeper into the big hunter’s side. The insectoid creature’s head was inches away from Dean’s, slime dripping from it as it extended its toothed tongue yet again.

Without any real maneuverability, Dean was forced to bring the fight in even closer. He slammed his forehead against the alien’s domed head, knocking the creature off-balance enough for him to free himself from its grasp. April could see a big crack in the sleek carapace.

But Dean was clearly hurt worse. Iridescent green blood streamed from his wounds.

Kupihea took a step forward. “We… we have to help him…”

“Um, Doc, you’re out of your fucking mind,” Brockton said.

She stopped moving forward, seemed to reconsider, then returned and handed the globe to Brockton. “How’s your aim?”

“Oh god, I knew it was a hand grenade,” he said warily. “You want me to just… throw it at them?”

“Worse than that—I need it returned to Dean. It was among the array of weaponry we found aboard his craft. We usually catalog and store these things elsewhere, but this one needed more study. In fact, it could well have dire consequences we’re not even aware of, but, you know, desperate times.”

“You’re telling me,” Dean said, dismayed. He held the thing out in front of him like it might explode any second.

Down the corridor, the alien skittered up the wall near Dean and came at him again, slashing with its own claws. The alien flung itself at the big hunter, and then both creatures came sliding down the corridor, Dean still bearing the brunt of the fight.

The alien slashed its claws at Dean’s face, but the hunter caught the hand before it could impact him. He then dragged the creature forward and, seeing the open space of his containment cell, swung the creature hard into the cell. It slammed against the far wall. Then Dean slammed the door. Locks clicked audibly, trapping the other alien inside. The alien slammed against the inside of the door, but it held.

“Good lord,” gasped Kupihea, staggering back. April caught her.

They watched Dean closely. No one had any sense what might happen next. The injured hunter was panting. That luminous yellow-green blood dripped onto the floor. Then he started pounding on the barrier. Pounding and making noises that sounded like guttural laughter.

Is he taunting the creature within, April wondered. Or hoping to free it to continue the battle?

The alien responded by slamming against the barrier over and over. But, try as it might, even its deadly claws could not find a berth against its smooth surface. That seemed to infuriate the thing. It bashed its face against the glass-like door again and again, its frenzy mounting. Some of its teeth broke loose and fell to the floor. One particularly vicious blow split its jaw open. Blood dripped to the floor, where its acidic nature caused it to hiss and sizzle into the floor.

Then the monster extended its damaged toothed tongue to gouge and tear at its own right arm.

“What the hell’s it doing?” Brockton demanded, but Kupihea just shook her head.

Each time it struck the arm, it tore away more of the chitinous shell, spilling more blood onto the floor and eating away at it. Finally, its forearm and hand tore completely loose and fell to the floor. The creature howled an inhuman wail of pain. A roiling cloud of steam rose from the melting floor.

Dean had stopped his pounding and was watching, his strange eyes narrowed.

Inside, the creature smashed at the glass barrier with its severed arm. Each time it did, its acid blood etched deepening damage lines into the surface.

“Christ,” Brockton said, “it’s melting the glass.”

“We need to get out of here,” April said.

The maimed creature continued its assault on the barrier. Finally, Dean had had enough standing around, and he started pounding the glass again.

“Doctor…” April said, worried.

“Don’t worry, that’s a graphene and crystal-matrix polymer blend. It should hold. It—”

And the smoky glass exploded outward in a spray of melting pieces. With a shriek, the alien flung itself at Dean. The hunter rushed to meet it, but the alien thrust the stump of its arm at Dean’s chest. The hunter screeched as the acid burned a huge, jagged circle into his chest.

“God,” Kupihea yelped, backpedaling. “Brockton, throw the globe.”

But Brockton was rooted to the spot, eyes and mouth wide, expression blank, the globe hanging limply in one hand.

Dean, though badly wounded now, was still fighting. He slapped the stump away, grabbed the alien, and slammed it against the wall. Again and again. Each blow shook the hall, and cracks whipsawed through the insectoid armor. Drops of the alien’s blood flew from its stump, spattering Dean and pocking his flesh.

It’s going to kill him, April thought, assessing rationally while her body was nearly as frozen from shock as Brockton’s. It’s going to kill him and then kill us all.

She heard herself mumbling words she hadn’t said since Sunday school when she was little.

“Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death…”

She felt a hand take hers and looked down in surprise to see that it was Brockton’s.

He squeezed tight. “I’m sorry.”

She whispered back, “Fuck you.”

But she smiled when she said it. He smiled back.

Then he released her hand and gave her a small push.

“Go,” he said.

April gaped at him. “Wh-what…?”

“Run!”

She backed away only a few feet.

“Hey, Dean,” Brockton yelled as he crouched and rolled the globe toward the wrestling monsters. “Catch.”

The hunter turned at the sound, but that only allowed the alien to slice his flesh again, spilling more green blood onto the ground. Dean howled and staggered. He’d lost a lot of blood.

Then he saw the object rolling on the ground, and it seemed to galvanize him. He twisted and lashed out with a vicious back-kick, knocking the insect alien back. The thing hit the wall and rebounded, but it was enough time. Dean ducked and snatched up the ball, pivoted and smashed it against the wall.

“Well, shit… I could’ve done that,” Brockton said.

The ball shattered, splattering against the wall with a blueish goo. Dean used his hand to scoop as much of it as he could. And, as the alien leapt at him with its jaws open and toothed tongue again emerging, Dean drove his left hand into the creature’s mouth. Its outer jaw clamped down, and the inner teeth likewise tore at the flesh on Dean’s fist.

But the true damage was done.

The alien recoiled sharply, pawing at its mouth with its one remaining hand. It stumbled sideways, obviously in terrible pain. Dean snarled and kicked the creature away, sending it sprawling on the floor. In shock, April saw that the remaining blue goo was dissolving the flesh on Dean’s hand. But the alien had ingested the majority of it, and it was doing far worse to that creature.

Doctor Kupihea and the other two stared in horror as the blue dissolving liquid wreaked havoc on both creatures. The skin on Dean’s hand peeled down to the bones. He wobbled but stayed on his feet.

Meanwhile, the alien was being eaten from within. It managed to push itself back onto its knees before collapsing onto its side. Even as its severed stump burned into the concrete floor, the blue goo melted the creature alive from within. Its chitinous chest collapsed inward as tissue and muscle dissolved. Blue liquid emerged from its joints and its mouth as the creature melted away.

Dean looked down at the creature’s rapidly dissolving shell. His broad chest heaved from exertion and pain, but he raised his foot and stomped on the gooey remains. Then he raised his good arm in the air and emitted an ear-piercing howl of savage victory.

The cry seemed to fill the whole world, but then it abruptly stopped, dissolving into a wet gurgle. Dean sagged down to his knees. He looked at April and the others, and then his eyes rolled up in his head as his big body toppled sideways.

Dead.

April dropped to her knees, too. Looking into the hunter’s eyes, watching the focus fade into a terminal emptiness.

After a moment she said, “Did you know what was going to happen?”

Kupihea shook her head slowly. “No… I… I thought it was a grenade.”

She walked over and placed a hand on Dean’s chest, then looked up at the other two. The sadness in her eyes was both genuine and profound.

“We don’t know what drew them here in the first place,” she said hollowly. “We rarely do. When Dean arrived with the others like him, the best we could figure was that he was brought here to hunt this creature. Hunters bringing their own prey. Like fishermen stocking a lake with trout. That was our theory, anyway. Whatever the case, Dean proved today that he was a true hunter.”

“Jesus Christ…” April whispered.

“And this might not be a very scientific way of viewing things,” she added, “but I hope his ancestors welcomed him to whatever sort of Valhalla their hunters end up in.”

*   *   *

Things happened fast after the base was accessible again. After a month-long quarantine and a debriefing period that determined that Brockton and April had nothing to do with the freeing of the alien, the conversation turned to what to do about these two trespassing kids long-term. Brockton was vague about what he knew about accessing the base and how he knew it, but it didn’t take the authorities long to determine that Doctor Renfro was the person who leaked the information.

How the alien escaped was something April never learned. The authorities refused to answer her questions. Instead, she and Brockton were arrested and charged with a raft of violations.

But Doctor Kupihea interceded on their behalf. April never learned all the details, but apparently the scientist either had friends or influence. So, instead of vanishing to Gitmo or some other hellhole, they were offered a deal. Sign a very large and very scary stack of papers, or spend fifteen-to-twenty in a supermax. When April’s lawyer read the conditions, he went pale and got sweaty, but he advised her to sign. One condition was that if she spoke publicly about the facility and, more importantly, the “specimens,” her constitutional rights would be forfeit and that—as the saying goes—would be that.

And so she signed.

It still meant a sentence of six months in a federal prison, no visitors, calls, or internet access permitted. There were counseling sessions and some terrifying lectures by unsmiling men in black suits. They let her out after three months, though she had to wear an ankle bracelet for the balance of her time.

She never found out what happened to the other three hundred people.

And she never saw Brockton again.

She never heard from Doctor Kupihea, either.

April drifted for a while, feeling disconnected from any version of the life she’d had or the person she’d been.

She was alive, though.

Alive.

At nights she dreamed of the alien and the hunter. Sometimes she woke screaming. Sometimes she lay there, with the window open, and looked up at the infinite stars.

The infinite universe.

Infinite, but in no way empty.

ISLA MATANZAS

BY STEVEN L. SEARS

It was my second year of my being stranded on the island. My ability to read the stars told me it was late March of the year 1770. I had become resigned to my fate but, I confess to you now, after a lifetime of prayer and unwavering devotion, my faith in the power of our Heavenly Father was fading.

The Nephilim were losing, I knew it, and I’m certain they knew it. I had watched the battles unfold from my perch high upon the cliffs over the interior of the island where I made my home in a small cave behind a waterfall. The evil ones, the serpent-like Malvados, were too many in number and had command of the treetops, like the monkeys their spawn had used as hosts for their birthing. Their eggs appeared strangely one night, littering the jungle floor. One of the vile creatures within leapt to attach itself to my face. Only my good eyesight and quickness with my father’s machete saved me.