Filight

Casbin ran out of breath. His running became slow and he staggered until his burning legs refused to cooperate. Despite the strengthening process, each step on level ground felt like hiking on a sheer incline. His failing muscles lost out to the double weight of gravity and his legs buckled. He fell to the rocky ground, scraping his palm while trying to brace the fall. 

He tried to steady his breathing. The foreign air was dense. Heavy with moisture. How far had he run? A mile? Maybe more? He could still see the ship in the distance. A mound of white with a large hole. Streaked with lines of red. Thinking of the sight up close almost made him puke, and he quickly pushed the thoughts from his mind

He gripped the communicator at his wrist. His only lifeline from this forsaken rock. Blood smeared the device, but he ignored it. He quickly tapped across the touchscreen to transmit a message. The blinking insignia of the red planet popped up accompanied by No Signal. Casbin gritted his teeth. The window must not have opened yet. How much longer would it be?

Could he wait here? Would those things find him if he sat still? Movement stirred at his abandoned ship, and he watched the red smear grow larger. Casbin shuddered. He felt the growing need to put as much distance between himself and the landing site as possible. If he sat still and they found him, he wouldn't forgive himself. He’d be dead.

The nearly uniform landscape stretched as far as he could see. A green treeline dominated the east. Near that treeline, Casbin spotted an unusual mound of earth. Could it be a building? A structure overtaken by the onset of time? Might it have a basement? Somewhere to hide? It quickly became a waypoint for his frenzied mind. An aspect of the faintly familiar in his drastic situation.

He pulled himself to his feet, staggering towards the mound at a sustainable pace between a walk and a light jog. His legs still burned, but rest outlawed itself from his mind. He glanced over his shoulder confirming movement at the ship. From this distance, the creatures appeared to be little larger than ants. He continued cutting glances every few moments as if his eyes could keep them at their carnage.

Comfort began to worm its way into his mind as the distance passed and the mound grew. He began to see the details of the former structure. Made of two parts. An immense sloped slab in front of a rounded, decrepit box with an open front and hollow center. Both parts must have been made of metal, crusted over with thick flaking layers of rust.

Drops of blood continued to seep from his wound. Pins and needles prickled his fingers. The cut must have been deeper than he thought. With one more look at the far off ship, Casbin allowed his mind to settle. He tried to tear a strip of cloth from his sleeve, but the stitching was too tight. Instead he grasped the bottom section of cloth in a bloody balled fist and clasped it in his armpit. 

He entered the structure, looking for somewhere to hide. Old isles of rusted shelves made up the bulk of the former store. The floor was made of tile, cracked in many places and covered with dust and grime until it was almost unrecognizable. A narrow hall extended out from the back of the main room. He noticed a track of smears where the grime must have been displaced. His own footsteps made a similar effect. An animal? Could something be hiding here already?

With this small detail at the forefront of his attention, he quickly scanned the structure for other signs of life. His stance became tense, gearing him to run again. The tracks were marginally larger than his own. Too small for the creatures. Had something scraped agai- Clang. something metallic sounded from the hall. Casbin nearly jumped. His heart lurched. 

He ran from the structure, not waiting this time to see what kind of flesh eating creature resided within. He swore to himself that if he could escape this deathtrap he’d take back everything he’d ever said about this Majestic planet. It’s not beautiful. It's not our history - screw history - It’s no more fit for human life than the vacuum of space. At least space kills you predictably. It doesn't rip you apart for an art project. 

He’d made it outside the structure, and past the weird slope when he noticed movement. In the direction of the ship. One of the creatures - little more than half a mile away - was down on it’s six spindly limbs, galloping in his direction. Casbin groaned. Was the fruit of his arduous escape a mere few minutes? His head ached with stress. He struggled to find some way out.

The creatures could track him somehow. Running wouldn't do him a darn thing. Hiding would be out of the question too. The communicator at his wrist still blinked No signal. He didn’t need to escape. He needed time. An idea flickered past his mind's eye and he caught hold of it.

His hand had nearly stopped bleeding, but he forcibly reopened the wound. He squeezed out a small pool of blood as far into the inhabited structure as he dared to go, then he took off his uniform with it’s bloody pit, and tossed it further inside. His undershirt was matted with sweat, and the cool wind made him shiver. The creature was now a quarter mile away. Casbin balled his numbed fist to stem the bleeding, then made a run toward the treeline. 

The creature would arrive long before he made it to the trees. With any luck his tormentor and the thing in the structure would fight to kill each other and forget about him. If the thing won, then he might be scot free. He’d stumbled into its den and left without repercussion. If the six limbed monster won, then it might take some time to paint the walls. Either way he’d buy himself a longer life. As long as it takes the bait. . .

Casbin glanced over his shoulder at the scene. The monster had almost arrived, but. . . standing in front of the structure was a man. A stocky adult with a patchwork vest. He had a jagged metal pipe in one hand, the bloody coat in the other, and a perplexed look on his bearded face. Casbin nearly tripped over himself. A person? A human man? I just committed murder! manslaughter!

Casbin stopped in his tracks, calling out for the victim to “Run!” pointing with his bloodstained hand to the rapidly approaching doom. The man watched him with a look of sheer confusion before following the straight line of warning and turning towards the beast. He tensed, dropping the coat, and gripping the pipe in both hands. He spread his stance, ready to fight.

“No! Are you mad! Get out of there!” Casbin called. The man remained in place, and the two combatants collided. The monster rushed forward like a piston with a jaw, trying to crush the man with one straightforward pounce. The man dove to the left, then rolled to the back of the creature before it had time to recover. He dug the sharp tip of the broken pipe straight through one of the back legs and into the ground. Then, using the leverage alongside his absurd strength, he ripped the lower half of the limb and tossed it aside.

Casbin stared dumbfounded at the scene. Could the stocky man even be considered human? The monster reeled, twisting itself back on the man. It’s remaining limbs began to flail wildly to bat and or skewer its opponent. The man staggered back; narrowly avoiding the initial strikes. He began to awkwardly parry attacks he couldn't dodge with exceptional reflexes.

The monster edged him to a wall, cutting off all avenues of escape. The man stabbed one of the flailing limbs with the pipe. It penetrated, but the jerking movement pulled the weapon from his grasp. The monster pressed forward, and having removed the pipe, one of its limbs managed to bat the man overhead. He fell against the rusted wall, dazed. 

Casbin winced. It would almost certainly be the end of the engagement. Unless. he grabbed a rock in his good hand. The monster screeched what he could only imagine to be a victory cry. He used these precious moments to move into range, then chucked the sizable rock as hard as he could. It struck the creature in the head with a Thunk.

It turned to Casbin with no sign of injury, but a definite intent to kill. Any thought of escape promptly evaporated, and a quote about stupidity flickered in his mind. In that moment, the inhuman man - recovered from his daze - vaulted unto the creatures back, grasped the head in an arm lock, and twisted it one hundred and twenty degrees. An audible Crack rang through the air, and both combatants fell to the ground as the creature's body became limp. 

An air of silence drifted over the scene. The man got up and dislodged his pipe from the corpse of the creature. Casbin stood somewhat relieved, but mostly dumbfounded. He snapped its neck. . . with his bare hands. It made him want to cheer, but the cautious part of his mind held celebration in reserve. Too many questions flooded his mind, and some were too important to ignore.

The man could kill a monster twice his size. Casbin probably looked like a twig to him. What was he? Could he be some kind of savage barbarian? A murderous cannibal or something? While he pondered, the man wiped the bloody pipe and on the creature's shelled hide. He'd almost figured what to say, when the man made eye contact and waved him over. Casbin steadied himself. The man wasn’t hostile. At least, he didn’t look to be.

“Where do you come from?” The man's voice was deep, with a rough accent Casbin couldn't place. The fact that he’d had to ask answered the same question for Casbin in reverse. He’s a native. . . Casbin pointed to the sky “I’m from the colony. We-” Images of the crew flashed through his mind, but he quickly brushed them aside. “I came down with a ship to determine the habitability of th- you. . . you probably don’t understand what I'm saying.” The man held his stern expression as if waiting for Casbin to elaborate. Instead he asked, “Are there more of you? More peo-” 

“No. I am the last.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry. . .”

“Take me to your ship. We will sail to where you come from.”

“These things attacked it” Casbin gestured to the corpse. “But there’s another that ought to be-” he trailed off. The man had gone into his barbarian warrior battle stance.

“What?” 

“Things. There are more. How many?” 

“Four including this one. . .” 

The barbarian wrung his pipe, a grim expression on his face. “we will kill them all”

“hold up. Let's not go looking for trouble. I’ll be able to conta-”

 “we will not look. They will find us.”

The certainty with which he said it made Casbin shiver. The communicator at his wrist beeped and both men jumped. The man raised his pipe as if to attack the noise, but Casbin stopped him, waving his fully numb hand in the air. A grainy voice filtered through the communicator. “Casbin. You there?” Relief, along with a suppressed cocktail of various emotions threatened to well up inside him, but Casbin shoved them down. I'm not out of this yet. 

“I’m here.”

“what’s goin’ on? You’re the only one we’ve been able to reach.”

“They. . . we were attacked. I’m the only one left.” 

Mark's voice shifted with concern. “what do you mean?”

The words pried at Casbin’s seal of emotion, and it soaked into his voice. “They’re dead Mark. . . they’re all dead.” Shock echoed from the other side, and then silence drifted over the link. Mark's voice returned firm. “Stay put if you can. We’re coming to get you.” The link severed with a click, and Casbin rubbed the tears from his eyes.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dave looked at the sad tall man with a measure of confusion. He’d been wondering how such a weak looking person managed to exist. He was an anomaly, with seamless clothes and a box that could speak. How strange. He returned his attention to the surrounding area. Three more Ginats were out there somewhere. An older pack judging by the size of the dead one. 

Dave came to terms with the fact that both he and the tall man would likely be killed. One didn’t run from a Ginat, and they never gave up a hunt. He’d fight them, and kill one, and then he would die. They would paint the scene with his blood then eat his remains. He took comfort knowing there were more people someplace in the world. A colony the tall man had called it. 

Such a place excited Dave. It had been six winters since he’d been with another person. His son Dave had died in his arms, and without Jin - who had also died - no more Daves would be made. Dave had long thought that he would be the last, but somewhere in the world there were more of him. Scrawny elongated versions of him, but nevertheless He would live on.

A booming sound echoed through the sky, and a giant box of white metal descended from above. It burned blue fire and scorched the ground with a slowed descent. The tall man watched it mostly unphased. Part of Dave stood frozen in wonder, but the smarter part killed wonder-Dave and scanned the area. The Ginats might have been postponing their hunt, but the sound would draw them immediately. 

The wall of the metal box opened creating a ramp. More tall people stood inside the box. Dave spotted the Ginats. Small specks running in front of a red mound in the distance. The people inside exited their box and exchanged words with the first tall man. They acted like they knew each other. The Ginats were steadily getting closer, but none of them took notice. Dave felt the attention settle on him.

“Who’s that?”

“it- he’s a native”

“did he attack you?”

“no, he killed on-”

“More are coming.” Dave's voice silenced the clan of tall people. The ones from the box moved to look, while the first tall man hurriedly pushed them back inside. “We’ve gotta go. We need to go NOW.” They funneled up the ramp, and the tall man waved for Dave to enter. The box had come from the sky, and Dave didn’t have the faintest clue as to how. He could only guess by listening to bits of the hurried dialogue, that they intended to return to the sky by equally mysterious means. Where on earth would the box take him? Trying to imagine the answer excited Dave, and so he climbed aboard.