He closed his eyes and took another puff. No excitement wanted here, no thank you. If the Reconquest carried on like this, Gates could learn to like it just fine.
Tap Tap Tap.
Tap Tap Tap.
Tap.
“Cut it out will you?” slobbered Gates, giving him an angry look.
“What?”
“Stop it with the tapping. If you’re that bored, go check the perimeter”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“Sure, and I’m not smoking. Just go do it and stop bugging me”
Unslinging his rifle, Kaleki started off down the corridor.
“Wasn’t doing anything. And you should be covering the rear!”
“You be thorough now. Don’t want any of the nasty Scourge sneaking up on us do we?”
“Bite me Gates”
On his own at last. He closed his eyes again, inhaled his smoke and listened to the rain rattle against the exit door. So much for an alien infested planet, he thought. The rain’s still wet, patrols still suck and the infantry still get lumped with the footslogging. But if you knew how to play things, you always ended up sitting down with a smoke. Oo-rah.
Tap Tap
Tap.
“Kaleki, I swear…”
Gates heard a distant crump and the lights went out. His eyes snapped open. This was past a joke. Outside the wind howled as the storm increased in intensity. Standing, he reached for his UM-3 but felt nothing but air. Panic started to set in.
“Kaleki, what’s going on? What’s your position?” he rasped, tapping the radio. There was no reply.
“Sergeant? Hodgson! Anyone, respond!”
There was a sudden gristly crack, then nothing but static. Falling to his hands and knees Gates floundered in the dark, pawing the damp floor desperately for his gun. The only light was a sickly yellow from the cigarette still clamped between his lips. Each new puddle gave no hope.
Tap Tap Tap.
Gates stared. It was louder this time, and more metallic. No, not totally metal. More like the click of a finger nail, or knuckles on a door. Whatever it was, it was inside. Here. With him.
He crawled on all fours towards the exit. ‘Gotta get out of here’, he thought wildly. ‘Think up an excuse later Gates, just get the hell out’. His hand slipped on something wet and metallic, dumping him sideways into the wall and knocking the air out his lungs.
Frantic grabbing gave him a ray of hope. It was the butt of his rifle. Pulling it up to firing position, he checked the magazine for the first time since basic training.
And couldn’t find it. Gates held it up close to his face, the pale yellow of the cigarette confirming his worst fear.
The front of the gun was missing. Barrel was sheared through, the gnarled half that was left was covered in sticky mucus.
Tap.
Tap.
He froze. It was right above him. The ruin of his weapon fell from his shaking hands. No running now.
Tap.
Tap.
Brave for the first time in his life, Private S. Gates looked upward at the Razorworm hanging above him. Gawping open mouthed, the cigarette fell from his lips. In the closing darkness his world became jagged teeth, searing pain and silence.
Tap.
