The frontlines

18 May, 2184

  Tick tock…

  It had been three hundred minutes since his team had been dropped off in the abandoned city with orders to search for any survivors and plant the bombs that were hoped to kill and drive out the Malri from the area.

  Tick tock…

  It had been two hundred and seventy minutes since they stumbled upon a passing Malri patrol. The scuffle that ensued has lasted barely a minute, bullets flying and lights flashing, before his team had to retreat with half the men they had started with.

  Tick tock…

  It had been two hundred minutes since his team saw a horrific sight that had even the most hardened of them turning away to retch in disgust. A group of teenagers lined up against the wall with their bodies clumsily pockmarked with bullet holes.

  Their remains were badly decomposed, unidentifiable matter oozing out as small animals nosed around. The air was thick with the stench of rust, and the wall and floor were splattered with blood. Nearby, several guns lay haphazardly, almost as if thrown in frustration.

  Yet another scene of the Malri’s crude experiments with human technology.

  Tick tock…

  It had been a hundred minutes since the Malri found them. It was obvious they were a hunting group with a quest to kill or capture the defiant humans that had crossed into their territory.

  They came silently as the men rested in an abandoned church, recovering and tending to their wounded. The only warning was the gurgle of their lookout, and by the time the others had rushed out to find him crumpled on the ground with blood pouring from his throat, it was already too late.

  Tick tock…

  It had been ninety-five minutes since he had stolen out with his injured brother on his back.

  It hurt to leave the rest behind, to listen to their desperate cries as they struggled to fend off the Malri. It hurt to know that the people he had once called ‘his team’ were falling one by one, but he kept going, spurred on by his need to keep both himself and his brother alive.

  Tick tock…

  It had been fifteen minutes since he stumbled into a cozy looking house. It was the kind of house associated with warmth and laughter, but now it stood silent and cold.

  They had managed to avoid the Malri by slipping and dodging into alleys and buildings, but it was growing darker by the second, and he knew that against the Malri who had perfect night vision, the two of them would be blind and vulnerable.  

  They needed to find somewhere safe to hide, and fast.

  Tick tock…

  It had been three minutes since the door of the house swung open, three slim figures silhouetted against the night sky. They wafted in, scanning the inky blackness for their prey.

  Just meters away, he paused his bandaging of his brother’s leg. A hole the size of a large coin had cut right through, muscle, flesh and bone, and the swelling around it was getting worse.

  Sensing rather than hearing or seeing them, he was up in a flash, hoisting his brother and bursting into the backyard.

  Safety. Comfort. Home. These words echoed in his mind as he staggered towards the next house. His determination gave him strength, but it was no match for the fatigue and exhaustion of the day.

  His vision blurring, he felt his grip on his brother slipping, felt his brother sliding to the ground with a groan of pain. He stopped and turned, wanting to pick the other up, but the Malri were fast approaching.

  In a battle between saving one life or losing two, three was no question about it. Tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks, he knelt, clasping his brother’s hand, and choked out an apology. And then he was off again, fumbling his way into the next garden, trying to ignore the howl of agony that sounded behind him.

  Tick tock… Tick tock… Tick tock…

  The ticking of the alarm clock was deafening. His heart pounded in his ears as he huddled under the bed, trying to calm his breathing. He could not die now, not now.

  His panic was interrupted by the jiggle of a locked door. A click, and he heard the lilting voices of the Malri in their strange language. It sounded so peaceful, so unfitting of a race like theirs.

  From his position under the bed, he could see them walking towards him slowly, their light footsteps seeming to echo in the room. He had but a few seconds.

  Stretching his arm behind, he reached to his belt, where his last grenade hung. If he was going to die, he might as well take them down with him. Fingers shaking, he lifted the grenade to his lips and yanked the pin out with his teeth before lobbing it out from under the bed.

  Tick tock… Tick tock… Tick tock…

  Watching the grenade roll to a stop at the feet of one of the Malri, he closed his eyes, silently counting down the seconds.

  There was a clap of thunder that resonated in the room as flames started to climb and smoke bellowed out. He felt the heat melting his skin and he cracked open an eye to see three large, innocent and doe-like pairs staring right back at him from a hair’s breadth away.

  And as he felt the first shards of pain stab through his body, he duly noted that the Malri did not seem to be in the least bit affected or damaged by the explosion.

  In those final milliseconds before he faded away, he knew.

  The Malri could not be killed.

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