Star Child

Thirty-Six - Dhare's Mate

Corporal Owens stood waiting at the main gateway that connected the hangar to the compound's central hub. He and his fellow Marines could hear the screams echoing from the hangar. A cold sweat had worked its way over Owens's forehead, beads falling down his temples to his scarlet-hued cheeks. Fear tapped along his spine, the sensation sending a shiver through his body.

The once white walls were now colored red from the strobing alarm lights. It ominously filled the corners, casting sudden frightening shadows, his mind conjuring beings of terror hiding in the darkness. This was the stuff of horror movies, not normally real life—but here it was.

Every thought of continuing beyond this point in time was pointless. He knew that he wouldn't live, but he would fight as long as he could. Owens wouldn't go without a fight to the death.

Only cowards ran from danger, and the Colonial Marines never ran.

A Colonial Marine was supposed to embody determination, bravery, and resilience. They were trained to handle extreme climates and to stand brave against opposition, the typical things that came with the job. They had to—it was their job. Colonial Marines were the people who came in and cleaned up, being the absolute badasses the recruitment ads promised they were.

However, bravery was presently out of reach.

Stark, cold terror permeated the wide corridor where Corporal Owens and his comrades held the last major defensive position inside the main lab. Grown men who had lived through the toughest of jobs were now reduced to little wailing boys within hours, their skills pushed to the limit in the face of the enraged Predator.

None of them had personally encountered a Predator, but the stories spread over the ranks. The number of terrified retellings from survivors could be counted on one hand. Predators were known to be brutal, efficient killers who left nothing but death in their wake. These fierce, feared aliens were worse.

And one of them was here.

Corporal Owens and his men knew their fate. Their lives would end at the tip of the Predator's blade.

So far, the Predator had bulldozed its way into the facility with inhuman skill and strength described in the circulating stories. Its sole purpose was spreading pain, stoking screams, and cutting bone.

A killer of men.

And it was here alone. This devastation was from a single Predator. There had been nothing but casualties; those on the other end of the radio were slain before they could report back. The body count had to be in the hundreds at this point. The screams of dying soldiers and guards dwindled in strength as the minutes passed.

It was coming closer!

No one had the nerve to speak. Their fear had them frozen, their vocal chords unwilling to work. Instinct dictated that they run and save themselves.

But Colonial Marines never ran when the job got tough.

They most certainly couldn't run from the Predator, which now came closer with every pitched howl of pain that echoed into the room.

Abruptly and without warning, the screams ceased, which was worse than hearing them. Silence fell over the corridor.

It was too soon! The Predator couldn't possibly have taken their squad down so fast!

The only sound Corporal Owens heard was the now-familiar klaxon and his racing heart. Blood rushed through his veins to keep up with the adrenaline that gripped him, holding the man hostage. Taking a moment to wipe the stinging sweat from his eyes, instinct pinged his senses and his hand tightened on the side of his weapon.