from the hatch.
Morgan pauses at the base. “Lights off. Time to set up the perimeter.”
By the creaking sounds, I guess Rance is climbing the ladder. I’m right behind him. Once he reaches the top, he triggers the floodlight before stepping out. The bright white beam slices the darkness. He sets the tripod down.
My turn. I scramble into Pit 4. The heavy air presses against my skin as I slide onto the floor, keeping below the brightness. Lying on my stomach and elbows, I hold the emitter so it’s pointed straight out. Shadow-blobs fly toward us.
“Incoming!” I sizzle-zap the closest ones.
Elese is next. She hands Rance another floodlight on a tripod and dives for the ground. “They’re ugly little blobs,” she says and then sizzle-zaps a bunch.
The rest of the team bubbles from the hatch, bringing more lights and more emitters. They waste no time taking up similar positions. A few curses and a gasp echo around me as they get their first look at the enemy. We’re in a circle around the hatch fanned like flower petals around the middle. A strategy that will hopefully keep us safe.
Morgan settles next to me. “You weren’t kidding about the tentacles.”
Shadow-blobs rush us with their weapons already formed. We aim and fire repeatedly. Sizzle-zaps crackle in the air. So many it sounds like an electrical fire.
After a few minutes, Zaim asks, “How much juice do we have in these things?”
“Like I said at the briefing,” Morgan says, zapping a couple HoLFs. “We have a few hours before the emitters need to be recharged.”
“There’s a million of them,” Rance says.
I check over my shoulder. Does he need help? He’s adjusting the beams to protect us from an attack from above. His other job is to keep the HoLFs from breaking the bulbs. He appears to be okay.
Focusing forward, I concentrate on the shadow-blobs. A million is an exaggeration. It’s more like hundreds. But we’re holding our own. Mostly. A few sharp tentacle tips stab forward faster than I’m able to aim and fire. The damage is minimal. Being on our stomachs, we present a smaller target. Plus they’re having a harder time puncturing the jumpsuit’s material. The chemists brewed up a chemical agent—don’t ask me what it is; all I know is it strengthened the fibers to counter against a stabbing motion. It’s not impenetrable, but it’s much better than before.
After an hour…or two, my arms ache with fatigue and my fingers are stiff. A loud pop then the crackle of a bulb shattering sounds amid the sizzle-zaps. I glance back. Rance is wielding his flashlight like a sword as shadow-blobs try to stab him. Another couple of bulbs blow.
“Lawrence, help Rance,” Morgan orders.
I scramble to my feet and sizzle-zap the HoLFs harrying Rance. Sharp appendages snake between the gaps in the lights, stabbing us. His uniform is damp with blood, but he keeps moving as he rearranges the remaining lights, but then more pop behind us. I spin in a slow circle, shooting as I turn.
The HoLFs are smart enough to wait for my back to be turned. I stumble forward as the force of their blows increases. Great, they figured out our uniforms are more resistant. We lose a few more lights.
“On your feet,” Morgan orders the others.
Smart. Now the rest can duck and dodge.
“Status?” she barks.
“Keir, check.”
“Dorey, check.”
“Zaim, check.”
“Ho, check.”
“Lawrence, check.” I jump back from a vicious looking saw-toothed blade just in time to be stabbed in the arm. Ow.
“Rance?” Morgan asks.
Nothing. I turn and Rance is lying on the ground. Blood is pouring from a cut on the side of his face.
“Man down,” I say and rush over to him. Crouching next to his prone form, I feel for a pulse. It’s there. I’ve no time for relief as two more shadow-blobs advance on us. Sizzle-zap. Sizzle-zap.
“Status on Rance?”
“Alive. Don’t know for how long.”
Morgan curses. “Are you sure the HoLFs are being killed and not just re-forming in the darkness?” she asks me, shouting over the sizzle-zaps.
“Yes.”
Zaim cries out in pain and crumples to the ground.
“Retreat,” Morgan orders.
More bulbs pop, spraying glass over us.
“We can’t,” Keir says. “As soon as we turn our backs they’ll be on us.”
“At this rate of attack only a few of us will be able to get down the ladder,” Beau says. “Those left behind will be quickly overwhelmed.”
“Stay the course,” Morgan orders.
We do. It’s brutal and the metallic stink of blood mixes with the almost continuous sizzle-zaps. I catch sight of Ho. He’s firing