Genellan: Planetfall (book 1) by Scott G Gier

Author:Scott G Gier
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781932657265
Publisher: Third Millennium Publishing
Published: 1995-06-26T14:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SIX

NIGHTMARE

Tatum, rifle slung over his shoulder, clasped the frozen meat in one arm and pulled on the guide rope. He leaned into the gale. Powdery snow whipped up from the ground and fell from the skies. Visibility was zero. A whiteout.

The line around Tatum's waist yanked sharply; its nether end vanished in whiteness. Tatum waited. Yelling was futile; wind blew his words into oblivion, and he did not want to risk frostbite. The belaying line tugged again, urgently. Tatum let the gusts push him back along his own wake, the plowed furrow already blown smooth. Rennault waited at the end of the safety belay. Tatum put his head next to Rennault's mouth.

"Thought… saw something!" Rennault shouted.

"What?" Tatum asked.

"Couldn't tell for sure… movement… low to the ground."

"Why the hell pull me back? Let's get inside." Tatum leaned back into the freezing wall of wind, pulling on the guide rope leading to shelter.

Rennault shouted, but Tatum kept moving, intent on returning to the warmth. A muffled scream brought him up short. The safety line jerked tight—viciously tight! Throwing the meat down, Tatum swung the assault rifle from his back and crouched low, waiting. The belaying line tugged painfully hard. Irresistibly, it pulled Tatum over onto his back, jerking him from the guide rope. Flailing, Tatum rolled helplessly in the snow, unable to gain purchase, until he found himself in the middle of snarling mayhem. A nightmare! White-pelted phantoms, growling horridly, fought over some undefinable object. Thrusting his legs deeply in the snow, Tatum gained stability and fired at the scuffling creatures, the muzzle blasts flat cracks in the gale. One of the things fell convulsively to the snow. The others disappeared into the blizzard. The line went slack.

Tatum peered into the stupefying whiteness. He saw nothing—nothing but the belaying line fading from sight. He pulled tentatively. Resistance. Something was there! He pulled harder, but it would not budge. He leaned backward, taking the strain with his legs. The weight on the line—Rennault or what was left of him—yielded. Tatum forced his legs to push to the rear, hauling the deadweight along the furrow marking his path to the shelters. Tatum yelled. The gale hammered his words into his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder, frantically peering for the guide rope, blinking wind-driven snow from his freezing eyes.

The belaying line stiffened vibrantly. In desperation the marine fired a shot down the line, his aim high, in case it still mattered. The line jerked angrily and went slack. Tatum resumed his backward march, staring wide-eyed into the vertiginous blizzard. Backward he struggled. An eternity passed before his shoulder ran up against the rope linking the shelters to the meat house. Grasping the line, Tatum slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled himself hand over hand, helping his back and legs move the invisible anchor of Rennault's body. Slinging the rifle had been a mistake.

It came from the direction of the shelters, a growling white blur of fangs. The marine twisted to bring the rifle to bear, but the burly creature was on him, leaping for his neck and face.

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