Alien: Out the Shadows

As they closed on the massive column and the statues arrayed around its base, some of the detail became clearer. There were a dozen figures standing on high stone plinths. Several of them had lost limbs, one of them a head, but others remained virtually whole. They were all dog-aliens, with their stocky legs, strange torsos, bulky heads, and yet each was distinct. Some carvings wore different clothing that almost covered their bodies. Others stood on their hind legs and reached for the sky, or pointed, or held their limbs up as if gesticulating. Even their facial features were diverse. Hoop could see carved areas around the plinth’s bases, and he assumed it was their written language. Maybe these were famous persons—rulers, teachers, or explorers.

“No time,” he whispered, because he knew everyone would feel as fascinated as him. “Not now. Maybe we’ll come back. Maybe we’ll send someone back.”

“They’d just die,” Ripley said. She seemed stronger now, as if becoming used to the pain, but he could still see the dark dampness of blood across her suit, and a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“We need to get you patched up,” Hoop said.

“No, we—”

“Now.” He refused to argue. Two minutes to bind and treat her wounds might save them half an hour if it meant she could walk under her own steam. “Guys, eyes and ears open. Ripley… strip. Kasyanov?”

Kasyanov gently laid down her plasma torch, wincing from the pain in her own terribly wounded hand, and unclipped her waist pack.

Ripley started peeling off her slashed and bloodied suit. Hoop flinched back when he saw the open wound across her neck, shoulder, and upper chest, but he didn’t look away. The edges of the wound pouted open, skin tattered, flesh and fatty layers exposed. Revealing them to the air made Ripley woozy again, and she leaned against him as the doctor set to work.

“This will hurt,” Kasyanov said. Ripley didn’t make a sound as Kasyanov sterilised the wound as best she could, washing out dark specks of dust and grit. She injected painkiller into six locations, then sprayed a local anaesthetic along the entire extent of the gaping cut.

While the anaesthetic went to work she tugged down Ripley’s suit to below her waist and examined the stomach wound. As Hoop glanced down he caught Kasyanov frowning up at him.

“Just do your best,” Ripley hissed.

Hoop hugged Ripley to him, kissed the top of her head.

“Hey,” she said. “Fast mover.”

Kasyanov treated the stomach wound, then stood again and started stapling the gash across her shoulder. The staple gun made a whispering click each time it fired. Ripley tensed but still didn’t make a sound. After fixing the wound closed, Kasyanov taped a bandage across it and sprayed it with a sterile solution.

Then she turned her attention back to the stomach wound, stapling it, as well.

“I’ll fix you up properly when we get back to the Marion,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ripley replied. “Right.”

“You’ll be able to move easier now. Nothing’s going to pop or spill out.”

“Great.”

Kasyanov taped her stomach, then stood again. She took a small syringe from her pack.

“This will keep you going. It’s not exactly… medicine. But it’ll work.”

“I’ll take anything,” Ripley said. Kasyanov pressed the needle into her arm, then stood back and zipped up her pack.

“You good?” Hoop asked.

Ripley stood on her own, tucking her arms into her suit and shrugging it on. “Yeah,” she replied. “Good.”

She wasn’t. He could see that, and hear it in her voice. She was in pain and woozy, and distracted, too. Ever since she’d wiped out those queen eggs she’d been somewhere else. But there was no time to discuss it now.

Hoop thought again about those aliens viewing their burning infant queens, sniffing Ripley’s blood, and howling.

“There,” he said, pointing along the base of the vast wall. “Openings. Whichever one leads up, we take it. Lachance, you take point. I’ve got Sneddon.” He knelt and took Sneddon’s weight onto his shoulder. As they moved out, he held back until Ripley was walking ahead of him. She moved in a very controlled way, every movement purposeful and spare.

When they reached the first of the openings, Lachance shone his light inside. Moments later he waved them on and entered, and they started up another curving ramp.

From behind, somewhere in the vast shadowy depths, something screeched.

* * *

The rough leaves tickle her stomach. They’re running across a field in France, weaving through the corn crop, arms up to push the stringy leaves aside and stop them scratching their eyes. She and Amanda are wearing their bathing costumes, and already she’s anticipating the breathtaking plunge into the lake.