Monster

Walking into the diner we found a few blocks away murdered what was left of my energy.

The overhead bell rang as Devon and I went inside and we were greeted by a pregnant waitress. She was harried and disgruntled, struggling to put up a pleasant front. She looked between us, a menu in her hand.

Though she wore a smile on her face, it was forced and insincere. The look of a tired person ready to leave.

"Hi there, welcome," she greeted us all the same. "I'm afraid we're closing soon so a lot of the menu won't be—"

Devon cut her off with a small gesture and flashed her his disarming grin. "Hey don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'm Agent Hart and this is my partner, Agent Shain, of the FBI. You are?"

"Ah, sorry. I'm Carrie." her smile faltered as she glanced at Devon's badge. I rolled my eyes at him. The waitress continued, "Is this about Buddy and Sam?"

"Kind of," Devon said with a dismissive shrug. "We haven't had anything to eat in the past like, 80 hours so we'll just buy whatever your chef is willing to make. We're in a bit of a hurry."

Nodding, Carrie turned part toward the kitchen and said, "Sheriff did say Ray was out all night with two feds. I'll go see what we have. Feel free to sit wherever you like."

She gave us another false, and now nervous, smile before she disappeared behind the old western-style, swinging saloon doors that led to the kitchen and employee areas.

"I'm gonna go find the bathrooms," I announced, leaving Devon and heading toward the back.

He must have thought it was a good idea, too, and disappeared into the men's room.

After doing what I needed to, I stood in front of the mirror and tried not to look too hard at my reflection. It now made more sense why Carrie was so unhappy to see us: I was filthy, so I could only imagine Devon was, as well.

The bruises and swelling on my face had gone down some, at least.

I locked the bathroom door so no one else could come in—though, I didn't think I really needed to since we were the only patrons—and stripped off my shirt so I could use the sink as an impromptu bath, scrubbing the dirt off with a wet paper towel loaded with soap.

As primadonna as it was, I did not want to be gallivanting around the town smelling like a sewer and looking like a dirty opossum.

Devon was already in the closest booth to the kitchen when I emerged fully dressed and as fresh as I was gonna get, so I joined him and sank into the cushioned seats. My bag was set up next to me, pressed against the wall.

"Welcome back," Devon greeted me.

I grunted in response, looking around at the plethora of homey decorations on the wall and gave the wooden cow sitting on a shelf a critical scowl. The TV mounted on the wall in the back wasn't on anymore, only showing static, and for the most part, the lights had started to turn off.

"She's pregnant, Nichole."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," I replied sarcastically.

"We gotta send her and whoever else is back there home."

"If you want to say something so bad, why haven't you? You're a grown man who can make his own decisions," I pointed out, leaning back and closing my eyes.

Sitting—in a real chair and not on the pavement—was like my own slice of heaven.

Groaning, Devon sprawled out over the tablecloth covered in words and pictures. "Alright. But after I get some food."

"Naturally. Now hush and give me a few minutes of peace," I muttered, pillowing my head on my arms.

He sighed but fell silent with his face down on the table.

A tentative hand on my shoulder had me jerking upright seemingly seconds later. It appeared that I had dozed off before the waitress—Carrie—could bring us the food. She took a few surprised steps back and I set down the fork I had gripped in my hand.

"Sorry. Long day," I muttered, rubbing my tired eyes.

"That's . . . fine," she mumbled, her eyes wandering to the blade sitting next to me on the booth. I grimaced and shifted my bag to hide it from her. "I hope this food's okay."

Devon snorted awake and peered around through narrowed eyes. "Wuh?"

"Graceful," I huffed. A headache was starting in the back of my eyes, brought on from exhaustion. I spoke louder to the waitress. "Whatever food you have is going to be more than fine."

She nodded and set the plates down in front of us. Devon leaned back and stared at what she served as if he couldn't believe the two half-cobs of corn, macaroni and cheese, and ham sandwiches were real.

I shook my head at him and smiled at Carrie. "It's perfect. We're starving."

"Great. Let me know if I can get you anything else."

"Have any coffee left over?" Devon asked.

Carrie shrugged. "I can make a pot, it doesn't take too long. How do you like it?"

"I need it the blackest you can give me," he yawned.

Meanwhile, I scarfed down forkfuls of macaroni. At the mention of coffee, I perked up and raised my hand. It took a second for me to finish chewing and swallowing before I could speak.

"Get me a cup, too, please. A thing of sugar and like, three spoons of sugar."

"Sure thing. I'll be right back," Carrie said.

"Take your time," Devon replied, waving his hand.

/Poor Carrie. I'll make sure she gets a nice tip,/ I thought.

She turned to leave and Devon joined me in horking down our food. We said nothing, the only sound that of our silverware clinking against plates. Carrie brought us our coffee after a few minutes and I chased my food with it even though it near burned my tongue off.

"Any water or anything?" she asked.

"Yes, please," I muttered around a mouthful of corn. Devon only managed a non-committal sound, so Carrie scurried off to fetch us our drinks before returning to her cleaning or other closing duties.

I should have asked for more sugar in my coffee, but I wasn't about to make her fix it. I nursed the hot cup of bitter swill until my food was gone, and Devon followed suit, finishing his meal a little faster than I. We downed half our glasses of water in one go, too.

We stacked our dishes and Carrie came around immediately to pick them up. I had to give her credit, she was wearing the perfect customer service face despite our inconveniencing her.

"Separate checks?" she asked.

"Just one check. I'll pay in cash," I said, cutting off whatever Devon was about to say.

"You sure?" he pressed.

Nodding, I pulled my wallet from my bag and gathered all I had—about forty bucks in various bills. I slapped them down on the tabletop and gave the waitress a smile. "Keep the change."

She stared at me as if I'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "That's—this is way too much."

"I know what's there. Share it with the chef, if you please. Agent Hart, don't you have something to tell the lady?" I prompted, tapping my fingers on the table.

Devon stopped staring at the cash and turned to Carrie. "We believe there might be a dangerous criminal lurking around town. Head home as soon as you can and lock up tight, okay? Tell your chef, too."

All she could do was nod in silence until she found her words. "Yes—yes of course. And thank you, I'll make sure my chef gets his share."

I beckoned to my partner and he removed himself from his seat and followed me out of the diner. He gave Carrie his own gratitude before the door closed and he stopped me at the end of the sidewalk. The door locked with a heavy sound behind us.

"That was awful nice of you," he said.

"They deserve it for staying late and feeding us. Are you feeling better, now?" I asked him, bundling up against the cold.

He sighed and massaged his shoulder. "Kind of. I'm full, at least. Could use some sleep, but I don't feel like I'm going to drop dead anymore."

"Yeah, same. We should go find Wolf."

That short nap plus how long we'd been sitting had put some pep back in my step. My legs were still a bit sore, but they weren't aching anymore and my limp wasn't as pronounced. I wanted to keep going while I had this second wind.

Should have asked her if she had some painkillers.

"Yeah, about that," Devon sighed, looking away from me. "I've been meaning to talk to you about him."

"There's nothing to talk about. Every minute we wait is more time put between us. We're safest around him so let's hurry up," I insisted.

We were finally together again, and now we had to separate. I was beginning to get separation anxiety, knowing that he wasn't nearby and there were wild xenomorphs on the loose. We couldn't help each other out when we weren't close to each other.

Devon forced me to look at him, holding me by the shoulders. "I need to know why you want to go with him. What's possibly out there for you?"

Groaning, I tried again to head out and he stopped me. My anger flared.

"Devon, please, can we GO? The longer we sit here talking about this bullshit, trying to make you feel better about a decision I am making for MYSELF, the higher the chances are that these things get situated and start spawning a queen," I ranted, stepping away from him.

"Please, Nichole," he begging, causing me to pause. "I thought I knew you but obviously I don't, so tell me. Tell me why you would consider something like running off with a human-killing alien."

"Can we talk about this another time, Devon?"

"When? You're planning to leave for space after we're done here. There won't be another time!" he pointed out.

The streets were empty, but we still knew better than to speak any louder than we already were.

I shook my head and chewed on my lip for a moment, unable to meet his gaze. To his credit, he waited patiently for me to gather my thoughts.

After taking a deep breath, I locked eyes with him again and said, "I never would have gotten off that ship without him. But he didn't coddle me, he didn't carry me all the way home. He gave me a way to help myself. Sure, he saved my life a few times, but he also gave me room to help and defend myself, too."

Devon searched my face but remained silent when I paused.

"I died on that ship, Devon. It destroyed everything I was going to be, everything that might have been," I continued, holding back tears. I rubbed my face. "My hopes for a normal life. College, a family . . . all my friends, dead. We weren't sure if I'd ever be able to walk again, and even if I could I wasn't going to play soccer anymore."

He glanced down, pursing his lips into a thin line. For a moment I thought he was trying to find something to say, but he didn't speak.

"No one at school would talk to me. The teachers treated me like a porcelain doll, ready to break apart at the drop of a dime. My sister hated me—still hates me, probably—because she knew it wasn't terrorists, but I couldn't tell anyone the truth," I continued.

Before going on, I brushed away tears.

"I'd wake up to my mom crying next to my bed most nights, telling me I was screaming in my sleep and she didn't know how to help."

His lips moved in a wordless apology. I ignored him.

"And yet, despite all of that, despite the fact that I was broken and no one dared touch me, dared to be the thing that finally made me snap, he came back," I said, raising my head. "I was crippled, in every way imaginable, but he still came for me. He offered me—a place."

"So why didn't go with him then?" Devon asked, his voice low.

Somehow I'd managed to keep my composure, though red-faced and bleary-eyed. I wiped my tears on the back of my hand and shrugged. "I was scared, terrified. Leave home? Yeah, I was miserable but I was safe. And god, I needed to be safe for a while. Just for a while. I didn't want to leave my parents, the comfort of home, when I needed them."

"So you told him you'd think about it," he inferred.

I nodded.

He asked, "Why are we here now, then?"

"The agents assigned to my case told me they found stragglers, xenomorphs, in those woods and they captured them. Even back then I could figure out that was a stupid idea."

"You wanted to see them destroyed."

"Yeah, but it took a lot fucking longer than I thought it would to get a chance to do anything."

"But why?" he asked, hunching his shoulders.

I huffed and drew my fingers over the mark Wolf had given me. "I guess I felt like I had to. It would have eaten at me, knowing that the things responsible for the death of my friends and countless others were out there somewhere, waiting for their chance to get out, to start it all again."

Sighing, I also admitted, "And it was a convenient excuse to tell him. Something other than 'I'd love to but I'm kind of too scared to go with you right now.' So I committed to it, and now we're here."

His expression was unreadable as he studied me.

"At the same time," I added, "it would give me a chance to prepare myself. I was still in recovery, and I still had a lot to learn. I wanted to work on myself, improve myself. I know I could have done all that with his help, too, but I couldn't . . . go. I wasn't ready, and I had to be ready on my own terms."

Again we stood locked in eye contact for a moment. I thought for a while that Devon was looking at me with sympathy, but it was gone so fast I figured I imagined it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a scream split the night, coming from behind us. We both whirled, staring at the diner we'd just left. All was dark inside, but after watching the windows, I was certain I saw movement within—a flicker of a shadow.

"Do you think it was Carrie?" Devon asked.

My answer was a quick dash to the door. However, Carrie had already locked it and I couldn't force it open. I stepped back and braced myself, but Devon grabbed me and yanked me away.

"Didn't you learn not to kick doors already?" he chided me.

"I wasn't going to—!"

"Doesn't matter what you were going to do, the door opens outward, not inward. Give me your sidearm, mine's empty," he demanded.

Once my weapon was in his hands, he shot the hinges out and pushed the door open. I rushed inside with my blade in hand and ready for a fight.

"Where's Carrie?" Devon demanded.

"Check the back!" I snapped.

My partner pulled ahead of me and I followed after him. He burst through the swinging doors and I pulled them out of my way, almost crashing into him when he stopped short.

"Devon, move!"

"Nichole . . . what is . . . ?"

I froze in place, eyes wide.

The strange creature was there—the predator-xenomorph hybrid. It had a helpless Carrie pinned against the dishwasher.

What I had expected was a bloodbath.

Instead, the thing was holding her in a demonic embrace, its face latched to hers in a hellish rendering of a facehugger attack—thin, membranous mandibles flared against her cheeks. Her throat bulged as several large intrusions made their way down.

It was as if the very blood in my veins had frozen. I could do nothing but stand there, unable to look away and unable to move. Devon was as shocked into inaction as I was, neither of us certain about what we were looking at.

Uncertain that it was even real.

Everything was over in a few seconds. The Hybrid withdrew from Carrie, leaving her unconscious and covered in mucus. It turned its flat, oblong head toward us and snarled, standing at full height.

Devon recovered before I could and opened fire. A hail of bullets pummeled the creature's torso and it retreated out the back. In its wake, it left behind the echoes of gunfire fading into a stunned silence shared between me and Devon.

He exhaled sharply and I flinched at the sudden noise, my arms going limp at my sides. I held my blade loosely, the tip scraping the ground by my feet.

"It . . . it . . ." Words failed me as I tried to digest what I'd just witnessed.

Then Devon was at Carrie's side, his finger against her neck to check for a pulse. "She's alive and breathing. But what was it . . . did that thing just . . . ?"

I shuffled over to his side, standing at his shoulder. "Yeah. I, I think it might have."

Neither of us wanted to say the word.

'Impregnated'.

"There were so many," Devon marveled, covering his mouth in shock and disgust.

We were silent for a time, then I slowly lifted my sword, adjusting my grip. Devon stood and pushed my arm back down, his expression stern.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"You know what I'm doing, or else you wouldn't have stopped me."

"Nichole—" he glanced from me to Carrie, still out like a light.

Who knew how long she'd be like that.

"There's gotta be something, I mean . . . this early in, we could—"

"Could do what?" I asked, defeated.

"I don't know, but—"

There was no emotion behind my words, I couldn't summon the right ones. I tore my eyes away from Carrie and set my free hand on Devon's shoulder. "We can't take her to the hospital. They wouldn't know what to look for and even if we told them, there's nothing they could do."

"Then we can call Hassan, have him come and do something. Bring our own medical team, have her airlifted," he said, reaching for anything.

"That would take hours. Remember how long it took us to get here? She doesn't have that time."

"We can't just—Nichole you can't possibly—"

I grimaced and squeezed his shoulder. When I spoke, my voice was low. "We're not going to be able to save everyone, Devon."

He chewed on my words, then wiped his mouth and nodded, pacing in a small circle with one hand on his hip. I let him, watching him with a detached, forced apathy.

Finally, I said, "You can go outside. I'll . . . I'll deal with Carrie."

Devon stopped short and rushed me, grabbing my shoulders. "No, no, no."

"What?" There was nothing in my voice. This scene was too familiar to me, and my mind was shutting down.

My friends' voices echoed in the back of my head, faint but present. Michelle and her boyfriend, begging.

The cop deciding that it had to be done.

I could still hear the thundering gunfire that took their lives. My free hand balled into a fist. It was my turn. I knew what had to be done, even if Devon didn't want to admit it. Just like I hadn't been able to admit it.

"We do things together," he said, shaking me once. "I don't care what it is, you're not 'dealing with' any of this alone."

"Devon I can—"

"I know you can," he interjected. "But you shouldn't have to."

Turning to him, I said, "So you'll just stand there and watch me do it?"

"I've got the gun, I'll do it."

"Are you ready to shoot an innocent, pregnant woman in the head, Devon?" I asked.

Was I?

Echoing my thoughts, Devon snapped back with, "Are you ready to stab an innocent pregnant woman in the chest?"

My expression faltered and I shifted my gaze toward Carrie. "If we don't, Devon, she's going to wake up wondering what the hell had happened. She's not going to have any answers, and she probably won't even know she's carrying alien spawn."

"We can—"

I cut him off. "Then the pain's going to start, and then the coughing, and then she's going to die terrified. We have to put her down, Devon."

"Don't . . . Don't say it like that," he growled through clenched teeth.

I closed my eyes. When I did, I saw Michelle and Jake clutching at each other. It had been too late for Jess; I'd dragged her death out needlessly.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

Every moment we wasted arguing, the more likely she'd wake up. Then it would be even harder to do what was needed. I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. Wolf would have already done it. Wolf would have already moved on.

Wolf kills humans all the time, I reminded myself. It wasn't supposed to be easy. Not for me, not for Devon. How hard had it been for that police officer to shoot my friends and himself?

I opened my eyes, exhaled, and stole back my gun from Devon. He barked a protest, but I turned the barrel toward Carrie and fired once, twice. My jaw was so tight it hurt, and a shudder wracked my ribcage with each blow.

Devon stared at me, flabbergasted, and I set the gun on the counter. I struggled to free the extra clip I carried and set it down, as well.

"There. It's done," I remarked, giving him one last look before leaving out the back.

A body lay by the exit, wearing a chef's apron. Cold air blasted me in the face as I shoved open the door; a bulb from above bathed me in the faint light.

Vision blurry, I staggered out and attached my blade to its strap. My head throbbed once and I bent over, my hands on my knees. Counting to ten didn't work. Taking deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth didn't work. I couldn't focus long enough to do my sensory exercise.

My legs wouldn't support my weight anymore. I lowered myself down to the pavement and clenched my eyes shut, holding back tears and choking back the sobs that threatened to tear my chest apart.

The memory of gunfire whispered in my head, reverberating in my skull. Voices I thought I'd forgotten haunted me. The familiar taste of panic and fear soiled my tongue, bringing bile to rise in the back of my throat.

/"You didn't let me say goodbye!"/

/"I'm sorry. It'll be quick."/

/Two shots, Michelle and Jake piled together on the floor. A third and the cop fell soon after, then I was left alone in the darkness./

I pressed my hands against the side of my head and took in noisy breath after noisy breath through clenched teeth. When I opened my eyes, the monsters of my past weren't there. Somehow I managed to stand and straighten my back. I gulped down air and looked around, distracting myself with angry thoughts.

Should have checked for danger.

Should have ensured they made it home safe.

It should have been easier.

Of all the things, I thought back to the scientist, Mindy. I pictured her immolated corpse in the lab and closed my eyes again, trying to drive the images away—the long list of things I'd done so far to mark me for what I was becoming in Devon's eyes.

I was a monster.