INCURSION - an ALIEN OMNIBUS by Chris Lowry

Author:Chris Lowry
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2017-07-12T06:00:00+00:00

4

Darwin woke to the acrid stench of smoke and soot, the cold oily taste of a blaster barrel in his mouth.

“Speak, demon.”

The Templar’s voice was rough, torn from screaming a battle cry at the approaching mob. Blood dripped from welts, nicks, and bare misses, dropping onto the wrinkled white lab coat.

“Now,” the voice commanded.

Darwin tried to clear his throat, speak around the barrel. Stall for time, gather his thoughts He needn’t have bothered.

Bruce screamed, fear and mania adding new dimensions to the shrieks he was able to produce. He bolted for the door.

The Templar moved like coiled lightning. He lifted the gun barrel, tracked and shot. But the charge was empty, the shell no more than a small disappointing projectile that barely made it across the room.

Bruce reached the lab door, fumbled the catch, forgetting the Mob, the curfew that trapped them inside. The only thought in his stricken mind was primeval, pure instinct. Fight or flight and fighting was not an option. The Templar threw the gun at his head and chance made Bruce move in time. The muzzle sank into the plas steel door. Bruce screamed again and jerked it open.

“Bruce! No!” Darwin called after him, but all he could hear was faintly retreating footsteps.

He shoved at the Templar’s massive thigh holding him to the ground. It didn’t budge.

“We have to stop him,” he tried to explain

“Where have you brought me demon?” The Templar seemed of a mind to strangle the Doctor, one way or another.

Fingers tightened around his throat.

Bruce’s scream was different this time. He ran back into the room and tried to shut the door.

“They’re after me!”

The Mob hit the door before he could close it. Their weight was too much, their momentum too strong. Bruce sailed across the room, landing on the far wall with a dull thunk.

The Templar leaped off Darwin, facing the door and the new menace that growled and grumbled in front of him.

“Stop them!” Darwin mustered all the authority he could think of.

The command triggered something deep in the Templar, training ingrained in the psyche. He had no flight response in his reasoning. He only knew fight. Ripping a small test tube bar from the table with one hand, and waving his mighty sword, he leaped into the crowd.

The Mob’s collective conscience didn’t know what to make of him. Their existence was dependent on numbing fear, actions played out while prey lay paralyzed in inaction.

The crowd was never the same on any given night. Members came and left as hunger or death drove them or dragged them down. The Mob moved about with nothing better to do, no greater purpose than to feed off the leftovers. No one had bothered to challenge them in years, because challenging required too much energy, too many resources. The Mob claimed the night. No one could steal that from them.

The Templar did not know about the Mob or what drove them or what anyone else’s perception of them was. All he knew was the boiling

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