The Last Goatherd of Mars
Part 4
"Did Big Randy show you all of the features of the power suit?" Blackjack asked.
"I thought so, but how would I know if he didn't?"
"Haha, yeah good point. Well, I reckon he never showed you the battle rifle reload integration system."
Blackjack handed Randall the rifle. Technically, it was an automatic railgun that fired hypersonic flechettes, but old terms died hard in the territorial defense force. Blackjack patted the ammunition magazines and spare energy cells he had already loaded onto Randall's suit.
"I've paired the rifle to your suit. It will know when you're out of darts or volts and will override your arm to grab what you need and reload. Provided your arm isn't busy choking out a lunar separatist. It takes some getting used to. I also gave you a plasma grenade. I probably shouldn't have. Please don't use it. There's really no safe distance for those things. Any questions?"
"No. Time's wasting."
Blackjack hooked Randall up to the winch on his rover.
"One last thing. Make sure your autopilot is set for home. It may come in handy."
"Check," said Randall.
"Okay, kid. I'll see you on the other side. Happy herding."
With that, Randall eased himself over the edge of the precipice and made his descent into the unknown. Randall touched down on the bottom of the rover that was resting on its crushed roof. He raised his rifle and spun in a slow circle, inspecting the chamber with the aid of the gun's light.
The cavern was large enough that his light couldn't cut all the way through the darkness. Hexagonal stone pillars held up the uniform ceiling suspended twenty feet above the floor. Randall swept the ground with his light. Drops of blood trailed off to what Randall assumed to be the north, but he couldn't be sure. He hopped down from the rover and slowly followed the blood trail.
The path weaved between the columns. Strange tracks disturbed the dust on the ground. Every few paces, Randall froze to look around and listen for any sign of his goats or of the creatures that had taken them.
Randall proceeded through the cavern for about fifty yards, where the trail abruptly disappeared. Frantic, Randall looked left and right, but all signs were gone.
"Shit," he said. It was the first word he had uttered since dropping into the cave and it resonated off the pillars at a volume that Randall found deafening given the dangerous and unknown surroundings. He listened hard.
Rifle at the ready, Randall made a few hesitant steps forward. Then he heard something.
Goats bleating.
He ran forward. Under his light, the darkness gave way to a red wall with a three-foot break. A passageway. Randall stood at the opening. He heard his goats again. He went inside.
The tunnel appeared to have been made through natural processes and it twisted and turned enough that Randall could never see further than fifteen feet at any given place. In some spots the walls narrowed enough that he had to squeeze sideways, the titanium rods forming his suit's exoskeleton scraping against the rock. The path sloped down slightly and featured cracks in the walls that ran off into the darkness. Shining his light into one of the fissures, Randall saw something skitter out of sight. He gripped his gun tightly and looked at the blue lights on its side.
LOADED.
CHARGED.
He pressed on. The side passages grew more frequent and something was always moving in the distance at the edge of the light. Journeying further down, the ground beneath his feet became damp, a bit sticky, and water condensed on the walls of the tunnel. The air was humid and had the foul reek of death. Something was behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, as his senses perceived what only the unconscious mind can. Randall wheeled around and pointed his rifle back down the tunnel. A creature was there, just within view. It was like the one he had seen while stuck in the rover, but this one's eyes were open. They were black and glistening. Randall shined the light in its face and put his finger on the trigger. The creature recoiled from the light and disappeared around the corner before Randall could fire. He waited. Rocks clattered in a spur tunnel to his right. He turned and ran.
Randall flew down the tunnel, scraping against walls at every curve, the light from his gun creating menacing shadows as it bobbed. High-pitched chittering--almost beyond what Randall could hear--followed behind him and echoed from every side channel. The scent of decomposition, mixed with ammonia and manure, burned his nostrils. Randall moved into the darkness only to suddenly find himself surrounded by it. He skidded to a stop, his boots slipping in the muck.
Randall looked around. The room he found himself in was massive. The curving walls merged to create a vault, broken only by irregular holes from which oozed brown sludge that dripped down toward the floor. A massive monolith stood in the center of the chamber. It was a dark green hemisphere ten feet in diameter covered in irregular cracks and creases marked with brown striations. The strange object appeared to be elevated on a pedestal crafted out of sticks and round stones. But the objects of Randall's search were also present. His goats, numbering at least two hundred, were crowded around the monument, walking in a slow circle a dozen ranks deep. They moved in unison, as if in a trance, not bothering to search the ground for something to eat as they always did when they weren't sleeping. Randall looked over his shoulder. Whatever had been following him in the tunnel had not pursued him into the chamber. He made a slow lap around his goats in the opposite direction of their own travel. Apart from him and his goats, the room was deserted. But he could still feel dozens of eyes on him. Watching. Waiting. On the perimeter, Randall identified a few more tunnels, one of which betrayed a trace of daylight.
"A way out?" Randall thought.
There was no point in delaying, that tunnel was his best bet. Randall forced his way into the outer rings of goats, slapping them on the rump and driving them toward the exit. Awoken from their stupors, the goats began to vocalize, filling the cavern with their reverberating cries. Cutting through the sound of the goats, Randall heard the agitated chatter of the green creatures, hiding somewhere out of view.
Randall picked up the pace, moving further inward and swatting at his goats. The leaders were headed in the right direction and were nearly at the dimly glowing break in the wall. The chittering increased in intensity and rose to a collective scream that sliced away all other sounds. The keening made Randall's head ache, like spikes were being driven into his eardrums. The goats screamed and faltered. Randall ran ahead to correct them. Then the creatures came.
Out of every black crevice streamed the green demons, running at Randall on all fours. Randall opened fire.
Razor sharp darts poured from the muzzle of his gun like water from a hose. The tip of each flechette glowed phosphorus white showing Randall its deadly trajectory. The stream of steel swept back and forth in the direction of the closest group of creatures to the right of the flock. Randall's frantic firing meant that most of the projectiles passed by the attackers, harmlessly ricocheting off of the walls behind them. But the sheer volume of fire resulted in several devastating hits. A pair of snarling assailants, rushing at Randall shoulder to shoulder, were hit simultaneously. Hypersonic flechettes burrowed into their fleshy abdomens and exploded out their backs; blood, guts, and bone followed the exiting darts and hung in the air like gory streamers until brought down by Mars' weak gravity. Randall went for another sweep, but his sustained barrage had emptied the magazine in mere seconds. Before he had time to curse his reckless waste of ammunition, his arm was wrenched from the gun's fore grip and forced behind his back. Pain shot through his shoulder as he resisted, and Randall spun to face his attacker. There was no one. It was the autoloader, taking control of the suit to reload the battle rifle. Blackjack was right, it did take some getting used to. Randall was glad for it as he spotted another half dozen of the creatures speeding toward him from behind. More measured with his fire, Randall sent short bursts down range. He brought all of them down in sequence. Randall pushed his flock toward the tunnel and the lead goats went in.
The shrieking intensified, causing Randall's vision to blur momentarily. Creatures crawled down the walls and hit the ground running right for him. They were coming from all directions. Randall whirled to engage the closest danger, spinning back and forth, the air alive with a swarm of hundreds of buzzing flechettes. His arm snapped back time and again to grab fresh ammunition and energy packs. Focus alone was keeping him alive; his concentration so deep that he had no room for fear. The absence of fear led to a sense of exhilaration. Randall grinned maniacally. The suit's stabilizers made him superhumanly accurate, delivering death with peak efficiency.
He took small steps toward the exit, prodding the frightened goats along. Turn. Ziiip. Turn. Ziiip. One snarling creature got within a long stride of Randall. He dispatched it with a fiery burst through its black bulging eye. Its head blew apart as the projectiles sailed on, slamming into the stony orb in the center of the chamber.
It moved.
The unexpected motion broke Randall's concentration for a split second, which was enough time for a creature to close with him. It raked at him with its claws. The beast gouged Randall's chest, tearing the suit's heavy fabric and drawing streams of blood. Randall cried out in pain. He pushed the monster off of him, knocking it to the ground and dispatching it with a short blast.
Randall looked back up at the stone come alive. It shifted and split apart at the cracks all the while growing taller. With a thunderous sound it lurched up smashing apart the pedestal on which it had rested. Sticks went flying and the round stones went rolling. One came to rest right at Randall's feet. Unlike the other stones that appeared smooth and white, this one was brown and covered with dark moss or lichen. Randall's light landed on it, and he saw the stone for what it was: the head of the missing Tauris Corp man. The mass at the center of the room continued to expand until it stood at full height--twenty feet tall with giant spindly, sinewy arms reaching to the sky in rage--and stomped its four elephantine feet. The cavern shook, and dust fell from the vault. Randall leveled his rifle at the monster and unloaded.
Every round found its mark, disappearing beneath the stony skin. The deep roar morphed to a scream of pain, and the beast charged Randall.
Staggering backward, Randall anticipated a reload. It didn't come. Out of ammo. He ran for the exit tunnel. His boots slipped in the muck. Randall caught up with his goats just as the last of them made it through. He crashed into them, grunting. The trailing goats hopped up on the backs of the others to avoid the press. Randall swatted at the obstructing animals in anger. A vice clamped down on his shoulder, and his vision flashed with white-hot agony. He twisted and wrenched, but the monster had a firm grip, crushing the exoskeleton into his flesh. The behemoth started to pull Randall out of the tunnel. Pawing at his side with his free hand, Randall found his pistol. He drew and fired blindly at the creature's arm.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
At least one of the shots connected, and the monster relaxed its grip. Randall pulled free, the creature's claws tearing at muscle and tendon. Randall scrambled forward. He made it a few paces before his legs went out from under him; the monster grabbing him by the foot. Falling to the ground, he kicked at his enormous attacker. He groped at the stone walls, but he couldn't find a hold.
As despair flooded his thoughts, he had a flash of insane inspiration.
He grabbed the plasma grenade from the small of his back and thumbed the activator. He threw the grenade as hard as he could. Randall took three ragged breaths and braced.
A shimmering wave of blue light washed over him and then instantly retracted, leaving behind a concussion like no other Randall had ever felt. It felt like every bone in his body was being stretched and twisted. His skull reverberated, overpowering his vision and hearing. Slabs of stone fell from the ceiling blocking the path behind him while pinning his legs in the process. He was hurt bad. Bleeding. Broken. Passing out. He forced out two words.
"Suit. Home."
He lost consciousness.
...
Randall awoke to a bright light. The Martian sun blared in his eyes. His head throbbed. He was walking.
"What the hell?"
Randall looked down at his feet. The power suit was walking, stumbling really, on its own account. He recognized the terrain. Not far from home.
He looked forward at the horizon. A cloud of red dust rose over his goats as they marched home in a loose mass.
An alert sounded and flashed on Randall's cracked HUD. He had 103 messages. The newest message was seconds old; from Blackjack.
"Rise and shine, kid. Your vitals are showing stable, so I just let you sleep. I'm up in front of the herd. You owe me a rifle, a plasma grenade, and one hell of a story."
Out of habit, Randall scrolled through the other messages. He found one from Trish.
"Randy, this is your daily reminder that I need my money," she slurred. She paused for a few seconds and leaned into the camera, glassy eyed. "You know," she whispered, the vodka fumes almost palpable to Randall, "I've been thinking about you a lot. Missing you. Why don't you take a trip to the city and give it to me in person?"
Randall sighed.
The rest of the messages were from Creed.
"I guess the cat's out of the bag," thought Randall.
He sucked in a breath. It had been a long day.