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To Fight for Life and Freedom
Posted By: Gasmask
Date: 11 December 2002, 3:28 pm
Read/Post Comments
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Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
-Greco-Roman proverb Date: March 3, 2553
Location: Ball, Louisiana
Time: 9:03 PM
Ellen Mendoza looked out her window into the blackness of space. Somewhere out there, her husband fought to keep her and her children safe. She had never seen an alien, and she never wanted to. She never wanted to have anything to do with them. The holo-news had told her all she needed to know about the colonies being destroyed. She shuddered, and took a long draw on her coffee. She hoped Harry was alright.
Boo Willison drove his warthog down the rainy lane. He hated this job. Telling women their husbands were dead, and putting up with the emotions afterwards. It was awful. It had to be one of the most depressing things to do for a living. He stopped in front of a Victorian style house. It was beautiful, with white pillars reaching up to the second floor ceiling, which was attached to a lovely brick structure. It looked like it had been untouched when Gen. Sherman came through the South bringing death and destruction along with him. Boo just looked at it for a while. He saw a lady up in the right, second story window. His heart sank. Yet another delivery of misery. He got out, and walked the long concrete sidewalk up to the door. His finger hovered over the doorbell. He couldn't do it. He didn't want to ruin this picture of Southern serenity. He saw a crack under the door. He took advantage of it, and slid the telegram under the door. She could work out what happened for herself. He didn't want to put up with it, he wanted to get home to his wife and son. He looked up at the widow again as he left, and shook his head. Too bad. She looked young. But that happened when you were the wife of a soldier. You had to expect him to not come home, or come home in a black bag. He climbed in the warthog, and drove off.
Ellen watched the messenger drive off. She knew what he bore, and she choked. He was dead. Her husband was dead. No. How could it be? How could it? Tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes, then ran to the bed and buried herself among the pillows to cry. After several minutes, she clutched the picture of her hero. He had died to defend her. That was so wonderful. Getting up, Ellen flung on her robe, and went downstairs to get the message. It was small, almost unnoticeable if you were not looking for it. She tore it up, threw it in the garbage, and went back upstairs. She peeked in on John and Martha. They were sleeping soundly. It would be a pity to wake them up to tell them their father was dead. She softly closed the door, and went to bed.
Ellen awoke with a start. Something was wrong. She heard crying in the corner. She clicked on the light, and saw her children huddling in the corner, holding each other, quivering with fear.
"Kids, what's wrong?" she asked.
"There's a strange noise out there," John replied.
"A strange noise spooked you that much?"
Martha spoke up, "Not just noise! Not just noise!"
"Really?" their mother asked, "What was making it?"
"We don't know," the children answered simultaneously.
"Well, let's take a look, shall we?" She rose from the bed, and went into the children's room. She peeked out the window, and saw figures in the shadows. She also saw a strange ship fly off into the distance. She wracked her brains to find out where she had seen that image before...The holonews. That was one of the alien drop ships. It had dropped aliens down into her back yard.
"Kids, stay in my bedroom. Don't ask questions, just do it!" The children obeyed. Ellen ran to the gun-cabinet, and grabbed Harry's shotgun. He had nick-named it "Duck blaster," because he had been a duck hunter. Before he left, Larry taught Ellen to use the weapon, just in case. She loaded the twelve-gauge with shells, and pumped a shell into the chamber. Clutching the weapon and ammunition, she ran back into her bedroom, the tails of her robe blowing behind her. She got in, and locked the door. She aimed the weapon at the door, ready to fire when necessary. She kicked the safety off, and put her finger above the trigger guard. This was it. She was ready.
Vlored hunched as he kicked in the door. "Move in," he ordered. The elite ran in first, scanning for targets. Running swiftly, he checked every room. Nothing. Maybe they were out at a relatives. Suddenly, some scuffling from upstairs alerted him.
"What's going on up there," he thought. He ran to the staircase, and leapt up the steps. His grunts were following him, ready to back him up. They checked all the open doors. All empty. But, one door was locked.
"Guys, this is your area of expertise. Open the door."
"Yes, sir!" on of the grunts squealed. He grabbed a piece of metal, and clicked the lock pins a few times. Success! He opened the door, and ate a face-full of steel shot. He screeched, and fell backwards, off the banister. He hit the tile floor with a sickening thud. Another grunt stuck his head off, and had his head blown off. There was a click of a pump shotgun, and the >tick tick tick< of three more shells being loaded.
"I'll go in!" Vlored said. He spun through the door, and felt the steel fragments penetrate his shield. A woman? Their target was a woman? This should be easy. He hit the female, and sent her reeling backwards. There was a screech from the corner. Vlored looked in that direction, and saw the children. He slowly walked towards them. He laughed slowly. His grunts moved in to support him. They aimed their weapons, and prepared to fire.
Ellen picked herself up, and fired at the grunts. Two fell dead from one direct blast. The last one caught another shot, and fell, bleeding on the wooden floor. The elite turned, and caught a face-full. His shield was down, and his blood splattered the children. Then, he leapt, and pinned her to the ground. He snarled, and aimed his weapon. The shotgun lay three feet away. What could she do? Then, it hit her. She grabbed her scissors from the top of the end-table, and thrust it through the alien's throat. He choked, and got off her. He slowly and agonizingly died, groaning and grunting as he did so. John and Martha ran over to their mother. She grabbed them with opened arms. They all cried.
"It's alright, kids. It's alright." Those were all the words said for the next half-hour. They had survived. They had succeeded. And most importantly, Ellen had avenged Harry's death. It was a victory. Albeit a small one, but still a victory.
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