Run For Cover

You duck and sprint across the aisle, heading toward a gap between two water reclamation units on the shelving. If you can dive between them, you can get into the other aisle, make a break for it. . . .

Another bang rings out, and an iron fist strikes you in the side, knocking you to the ground. You curl up in pain, your vision flickering black and red. It feels like you’re choking. Diaphragm won’t contract, and the pain . . . the pain is overwhelming.

You try to push past the agony with sheer force of will, but your body refuses to obey. It’s given up, and nothing you say, think, or do is going to change that. Shit, you think, hating the feeling of helplessness as awareness fades. This isn’t how you wanted to go, lying on the floor, unable to fight.

Stupid. Should have brought backup. Should have . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

The world regains solidity. Light presses in against your eyes, and sound against your ears. You’re conscious of being conscious, but you can’t move except to blink. The floor is cold against the side of your cheekbone.

Down the dark aisle, several figures pull the logo-stamped box off the shelving unit. Humans, dressed in black. Faces covered. Two of the people wheel the box away (it’s taller than either of them) while the third figure slowly walks toward you. He’s carrying a blaster in one hand. . . .

You struggle to move, struggle to breathe. No luck. Fuck. Is this really how you die? Your old sergeant, Hudec, had been right. The cruelest thing in life was—

A metal rod comes whirling out of the darkness farther up the aisle. It strikes the man on his arm, breaking it with an audible crack! He staggers and nearly drops the gun as the rod clatters to the floor. Then he turns and runs after his companions, disappearing from your view.

For a long moment, all is silent. Darkness starts to encroach on your vision again. No!

A soft clacking approaches from down the aisle. Footsteps, but not like any you’re familiar with. Weighted boots? You strain your eyes toward the top of your skull, and as consciousness slips away again, a tall, dark figure enters your field of view. It’s humanoid, but strangely so. There’s something wrong about the shape, something . . .

You pass out. Again.