Author’s note:
It may be late, but it’s still Friday. Now there’s been five weeks in a row with a chapter.
In St. Laurent-related news, I’ve commissioned a painting for a new Oasis cover. I just get the artist’s composition sketch back, and I am freaking excited. I think it’s going to really help match the style/genre better. Sometimes when I see the current cover of Oasis, I have to wonder if it’s a heartbreaking drama about drug addiction. Maybe I’ll post the sketch on Monday so all of you can get excited, too.
For those of you who have never partaken of the Journey Of St. Laurent before: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1: Down By The Bay. In fact, if you are new to the site, you may want to start with the first novel, Oasis. If you want to know just as soon as I’ve posted something new, you can watch the RSS feed or follow me on Twitter.
I’m always grateful when you tell other people about my little fictions. Thanks to Devin Obenshain, hotshot, Bored Robot, and the incredibly helpful darcknyt for taking the time to comment last chapter.
Chapter 49 – Sitting Ducks
The warm liquid from the power-producing tanks flooded the floor. Everything from my knees down sopped up the mystery fluid. I really hoped it was just water.
London placed the alien cutter into my left hand.
My side throbbed and ached with a vengeance now.
The three of us exchanged nervous glances and did our best to wait without complaining.
The worst part is always the last few moments before something big goes down. You know, those last few moments when you’re on your last nerve and you’re at the end of your rope because you’ve been burning the midnight oil along with the candle at both ends, and you just know deep down to your core that the sky is about to fall, the other shoe is about to drop, and all hell is about to break loose and you can’t do anything productive, no, all you can do is clench your jaw while a stream of clichés races through your mind – yeah, those moments are the worst.
London crouched and clutched her shotgun.
Rhett knelt and held the Jack Daniels like he couldn’t decide whether to drink it or throw it.
I pulled out the pistol and clicked off the safety.
The air itself smelled musky and felt pregnant with impending violence.
Forces were marshaling out in the hall. We had no way of knowing exactly what or how many of them were waiting for us out there. All we knew was that a growing number of aliens yelled fevered instructions and curses at each other.
Finally, they must have came to an agreement, because the yelling stopped and a bunch of scraping and clanking noises started.
The warmish liquid from the tanks continued to pour onto the floor.
The three of us held our breath and watched as the level in the first tank finally reached the top of the suspended green ball. The exact moment the air touched that top is the exact moment the reactor-tank-thing went dark.
Just like that. No brilliant flash, no smoke, no explosion. It just went dark.
A smile crossed Rhett’s face.
London rested her forehead against the dark tank and let out a generous sigh.
Out in the hall the aliens understood what had happened. We knew this because the noises in the corridor intensified to a frenzy and the shouting started up again.
London shook her head. “What could they possibly be doing out there?”
I stared at the creeping water line in the second tank. “Don’t know.”
Rhett shifted the bottle to his other hand and wiped his forehead. “I don’t think they’re good at this.”
“Good at what?”
“Resistance.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know how many worlds they’ve colonized or conquered or whatever, but I’m guessing they’ve never once had the inhabitants fight back. And judging from the response our intrusion is getting, they’ve never had to do any close quarters combat, either.”
London raised an eyebrow. “How can you tell that?”
“Well, for one thing, we’re still alive in here. We’re in here, sitting ducks, and they’re out there yelling at each other.”
Hurry up and drain.
I knew the fluid level in that second tank had to be going down, but it sure was taking its sweet time.
Maybe five minutes.
The little automated hover craft ceased fire and backed away from the door.
“Finally.” Rhett puffed on his cigar. “Let’s see if we can keep them out until the second generator goes. I’ll throw the backpack first, then, Corbin, you empty a clip, and then London, you empty a couple of rounds. But let’s not do it all that fast. Let’s, you know, spread out the shooting as much as possible.”
I knew the pistol I carried couldn’t penetrate the alien’s tough bodysuit. I’d need a headshot if I wanted any actual damage. Unfortunately, I’d need a bit of time to aim if that was going to happen. It comforted me a bit to know that when my turn came, all I really needed to do was scare them out of the room.
Rhett raised the backpack up to his lips and took a long drag on the cigar. The material caught fire.
An alien took a wide step around the corner. It was carrying some type of bizarre gun.
Rhett stood up holding the backpack by the straps. About half of the pack was already covered in flames.
A second and third alien stepped around the corner. The alien shouted something that sounded like a screechy “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Rhett flung the backpack at the first alien.
The green monster raised its arms to cover its face.
The burning pack struck its intended target square in the chest.
The alien stumbled back, fired an errant plasma-lazer-deathray-whatever blast into the wall, and instinctively swatted at the flaming mess.
I wondered for the first time if the fluid from the tanks or the strange concoction from the pods outside was flammable.
Too late to-
The backpack twisted in the air and landed flame side down onto the watery floor. The fire hissed and extinguished.
My heart sank. -worry about that now.
The aliens disappeared from our view.
Rhett pulled out the cigar for a moment and spat. “Damn it.”
The fluid inside the second reactor tank made tiny waves less than an inch above the glowing core.
I stayed on my knees but reached up and held the gun sideways on top of the tanks. No sense in exposing myself to more danger than necessary.
With the backpack extinguished, I assumed the aliens would pounce back through the doorway and rush us. I was wrong. Apparently they needed to yell at each other a bit before they could do anything.
More waiting.
A minute or two later another alien with a weird silvery gun stepped partially into view and bent over the pack. It poked at the soaked failure with its gun.
London leaned over toward me. “Did he forget we’re here?”
Another alien rounded the corner and took a large step into our room.
That meant it was my turn. I pulled the trigger. The pistol barked and tried to leap from my weak grasp.
I had no idea if I had hit the intruder, but one way or the other, the shot had the desired effect. The alien spun on its heels and flew back out the door.
And then everything went dark.
And I mean everything. The reactor tank went black. The lights in the hall went out. No light spilled in the doorway. There was no light whatsoever.
Except, of course, for a tiny red spot that I caught out of the corner of my eye.
Rhett sucked in a breath and the red cigar end glowed even brighter. The bottle’s wick flared. The new flickering light barely lit the room enough to see two green-skinned figures filling our only exit.
Grunting, the mighty Rhett heaved the Molotov cocktail through the air.
The bottle smashed and shattered against the lead alien’s ugly face. A spray of fire exploded all around its head and descended like lava from an erupting volcano.
The green monster let out a blood curdling scream and sprawled backwards. It grasped wildly for anything to catch for balance. It missed the doorway, but it caught its companion. The two of them collapsed onto their backs.
The alien’s black jumpsuit ignited and belched a thick black smoke into the hallway.
Fiery bits of alcohol floated on the strange mixture of fluids that seemed to puddle everywhere.
The burning alien writhed on the ground for less than five seconds before the burning bodysuit did what the flaming backpack couldn’t. Maybe there was some kind of flammable oil in the mixture, and maybe it needed that couple of seconds to get up to temperature. I may never know. What I do know is that the puddle outside the power room caught fire.
Blue flame sprinted across the hallway floor.
Rhett jumped to his feet. “Run!”
Keep reading! Chapter 50 is here.
