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Look to the Skies

The men that had carted the heavy artillery across the field wore drab olive green uniforms and chiseled, stony faces. They were tired; it was another cold March morning, but shock and adrenaline had forced them into a state of alarm. They were all nervous. Nothing like this had ever happened before in the history of mankind. One man wiped the sweat from his gleaming pate. He tried to appear fearless as all men in the army are, but he couldn't avoid the pounding in his chest; how often does a spaceship (if that was what it was) land in President's Park in D.C.?

The large disk-like ship was surrounded on all sides by numerous armored divisions. Perhaps three hundred men in total stared at the glimmering metal invader with varying faces of hate, fear, and wonder. They nervously drummed the butts of their service pistols and rifles, waiting for the magic word from the higher man. Some of them had fought in Germany and the South Pacific, already hardened to the horrors of war and were ready to take on anybody else that threatened their nation.

Whispers had run through the ranks since initial mobilization; it was the Russians; the commies were finally making their move. It was a bomb sent by Japan, who wanted revenge for Nagasaki and Hiroshima. It was the beginning of a vanguard by the planet Mars. The higher ups wanted to keep everything nice and quiet, but fear and confusion were like water and baking soda; the more they built up, the more shit hit the fan.

There was a much larger circle beyond the military; curious and astounded civilians milled about and whispered fervently to each other. Adults stared in horror at the massive thing that shattered their senses of security, children stood with open mouths and eyes the size of dish plates as their dreams had been proven true, reporters for the newspapers and television hung around the designated border between the people and the army, straining against the yellow tape, eager to get a better look, because whoever had the clearest image would get the biggest prize.

A tall, clean-shaven man strode through the sea of people. In his hands he carried a pocket notebook and a little pen that he anxiously tapped against his leg. He passed between two hulking factory workers and suddenly found himself blocked by the yellow tape that stood at his waist. A young soldier was standing at rapt attention on the other side, gripping the carbine tightly to his chest. The tall man, smelling an easy scoop much like a vulture smelling carrion, leaned forward.

"Hey, Mac...You got any idea what's going on here?"

The soldier shifted a little, clearly uncomfortable at being asked a question.

"No, sir. Nobody told us anything."

"You sure 'bout that?"

"Yes, sir."

The tall man was about to say something else when a communal gasp went around the people. A crack had opened up on the surface of the ship, widening into a dark, yawning opening. A slanted white slab of metal slid slowly and silently out, making a kind of ramp. Soldiers began buzzing amongst each other like a hive of well-armed wasps. It lasted for a maybe ten seconds, when the soldiers and the civilians melded into a symphony of quiet whisperings. Then everything, even the wind, was silent. The park waited for what would happen next.

A shape slowly stumbled out of the opening, its features becoming clearer as it came further into the sunlight. A gasp went around the two groups of people as they watched a fox, an actual human-sized red fox, walking on two legs, wearing human clothes, and covered in what looked like blood. Soldiers reached nervously for their guns, unsure of what to do.

The fox looked around with wide, open eyes. He was clutching his stomach tightly; the soldiers farthest away could not see the wound he was covering, but what they could see was that the fox had his arm to the side and was hiding his hand. They held their rifles closer to their chests.

The fox gave a long look at the mass of men with guns at the ready, at the tanks, and mobile cannons pointed at him. Slowly, he stepped to the side and slumped against the smooth surface of the ship, sliding roughly down to the floor. He brought up his knees and put his head into the cradle of his arms.

There was more hushed talk when another one, a wolf wearing a long black coat and ripped cargo pants, walked slowly out of the ship. He was just as surprised to see all the people as his companion, whom he gave a passing glance at before stepping off to the side. The soldiers closest to the ship could see the long gash in the wolf's side, which had been stitched up rather crudely.

Moments passed in silence. The wolf pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing a puff of white smoke up into the sky. His hand shook when he took the cig into his fingers, but he didn't pay it any mind. After all the stuff that had happened, he had to admit that shaking hands were a small concern. He was about to take a step down the ramp when the fox mumbled into his arms.

"I can't do this anymore."

The wolf looked at his companion, yellow eyes squinting. Slowly, he dropped the cigarette and crushed it on the heel of his boot. "What?" he asked quietly.

"I can't do this anymore, man. This isn't what I wanted..."

"It's not what I wanted either, Joey. I wanted a few drinks in a strip club but that didn't happen, did it? Now come on, you gotta get up."

The wolf grabbed the fox by the elbow and began hauling him up. The fox resisted, but eventually pushed himself up onto his feet. They looked at each other for a few moments, not knowing exactly what to say. Finally Joey, after glancing back at the staring sea of people, coughed low in his throat and spoke.

"I'm done, Dylan. I'm not doing this anymore. You can do whatever you want, but I'm done."

Joey started walking gingerly down the ramp, leaving the wolf to stare at his back.

"We're not done, Joey."

"Yes, we are..."

"No, we're not! Now get back here!"

Joey wheeled around and bared his teeth at Dylan, clenching his hands angrily. "There's nothing left, Dylan!" he shouted. "That...that thing took everything away from me! I have nothing left now! I...am...done! So just leave me alone..."

Joey turned to walk back down the ramp, but the wolf leapt forward and grabbed his shoulder. The fox tried to push the wolf off of him, but Dylan gave him a vicious backhand across the face. The force of the blow was enough to knock the fox off balance. He fell backward and tumbled down to the grass. Some of the soldiers nervously raised their rifles at the wolf, who was so furious at Joey he didn't notice.

"How dare you! Do you think your life is so important you have to risk everyone else? Here's a wakeup call, Joey, it's not! Now come on!"

"Bill's dead, Dylan!" Joey shouted through moist eyes.

"Bill didn't die so you could wallow in your self-pity! We still have a job to do! That thing is still alive in there, and who knows what it looks like now. We have to go back in there and kill it! Now come on! Get up!"

"NO!" Joey shouted, raising his hand into a rude gesture. For a moment, Dylan seemed to shake with subdued anger. He made a step toward the fox, who stood up at the ready, fists clenched for the inevitable fight.

Just then, a trumpet-like roar erupted from the bowels of the ship. Dylan and Joey were struck frozen as they stared at the dark opening like department store mannequins. The soldiers hummed and buzzed frightfully to each other; what they heard was something entirely alien, but there was just a trace of human in it to rattle their nerves.

Dylan turned sharply on his boot-heel. He tripped slightly, but he managed to get up and run to the ship's opening. He stopped and stared at the little override panel to the side; he only had a rudimentary knowledge of how the transport ship worked. Fortunately he remembered how to shut the door. He pressed a number of buttons, and the door started moving slowly inward.

But then it stopped. The power had been cut from the inside.

Dylan grabbed the edge of the door with his hands. His fingers couldn't get a grip on the smooth surface, but there was a deep crevice scratched into the metal on the other side. He pulled, pushing against the side of the ship with his boot.

"Joey!"

The fox was staring at the wolf, his hands shaking and his tail wavering rigidly between his knees.

"Joey!"

Joey made a cautious step forward when the creature roared again in a ululating cry of hate. In that moment, everything seemed to leave the fox's mind. He closed his eyes as the strength in his legs evaporated, and he lost consciousness.

The wolf stared in disbelief at Joey's prone body lying on the grass. He pulled roughly on the door, bringing it halfway closed. He could hear a clattering from the inside as something came closer. His muscles strained and veins appeared on his neck as he pulled as hard as he could. He quickly debated whether or not he should keep pulling on the door or if he should take out the gun he had under his coat. The sounds grew louder, more frantic, and an unpleasantly familiar smell drifted into his nose. He pulled, and the door felt like it gave way on its hinge. There was a gap of two inches between the door, the width of two fingers, and then it would be shut. Dylan pulled harder--.

A red fleshy tendril snaked out between the gap. It divided and grew into a wicked talon that writhed mere inches from Dylan's face. He gasped and slipped, but managed to right himself up again. He gripped the door tightly, suddenly feeling a strong force behind it, trying to force it open.

"Come on, you son of a bitch," Dylan muttered. He tried to reach into his coat for the gun, but the door squealed noisily as it opened an inch. The tentacle slid back behind the door, and the creature gave a trumpeting yell. Dylan kept his hands on the door, muscles straining and sweat breaking out on his forehead in small glistening beads.

The door closed, slowly and gradually, two inches...an inch...a half-inch...

Just then the creature behind the door growled menacingly, an ethereal, other-worldly sound. The door flashed open with a deafening metallic shriek, throwing Dylan off balance and ripping off one of his fingernails in the process.

He caught sight of a twisted, malformed shape that quivered and writhed with urgent need before he tumbled backwards down the ramp. The back of his head struck the metal surface, sending an explosion of pain throughout his skull and little starry pinpoints of light dancing in his eyes. The wind was driven out of his chest, and he began coughing for air.

The thing, a hulking, shambling beast about the size of a bull, shuffled out of the opening of the ship. Its weight shifted side to side with each step, hills of fat and flesh roiling, its blunt mouth hanging open. Teeth gleamed in the sunlight as yellowish green spittle dripped slowly down the surface of the ramp. Four dark eyes peered out from a whale-like head, a rat-like tail with three fleshy ends flickering through the air like a taskmaster's whip. It growled low in its throat, peeling back pale lips as it gradually came closer.

Dylan tried to get up. He managed to sit up on his knees, but the pain in his head was so excruciating it made his eyes cloud over and his teeth rattle. He reached for his gun...but it was gone. It must have slipped out of his coat when he fell. The creature was almost on him now; if it were to jump, there'd be maybe a slim moment that he could defend himself. He looked into its dark eyes, seeing the deadly intelligence behind them.

_ BANG!!_

A greenish black liquid burst out from the base of the monster's head. It gave a loud, piercing scream and twisted its thick neck to the side, displaying the massive oozing hole.

Strands of green and red muscle lashed out of the wound, twisting and congealing into a formless globule that sprouted teeth. The center became an inverted opening, straining inward until it opened and--

BANG!!...BANG-BANG-BANG!!

Dylan covered his face as the creature screamed and flung its three-pronged tail at him, ripping open his coat at the elbow. He looked up and saw Joey holding his large pistol, brow knitted in emotion. The fox had a death-grip on the gun, which shook slightly. He unloaded the full clip into the creature, pulling the trigger zealously even when the barrel locked.

The creature lay bleeding, writhing on the ground as it mewled in hate and pain. It stared at them, and Dylan watched as the wicked light that lay behind its eyes dim into darkness.

Joey helped Dylan get back up. They looked at each other for a moment, nodding their thanks as the fox handed back Dylan's gun. The wolf wanted to say something, but there was a wall between them. A wall that had come up five minutes ago and hadn't gone down yet.

"Joey?"

"Never mind it, Dylan."

"I wanted to say thanks..."

"I know. Never mind it."

The wolf nodded, putting the gun back into its holster beneath his coat. He felt like apologizing and wanted to thank the fox at the same time, but he didn't know how to go about it. Joey saved his life, you'd think that a "thank you" was at least in order.

Joey turned and walked slowly to the group of armed soldiers. They were staring at them so intensely you would have expected their eyes to shatter if they looked away. They were confused, and they were scared; their belief system had been shattered in a matter of an hour, and it didn't happen slowly. Dylan, for all his faith in his materialism, actually felt for them. The wolf shrugged a bit of dirt off his shoulders and fell in behind the fox.

"Joey?"

The fox turned around and looked harshly at Dylan. He demanded to know what the wolf wanted when everything was over and done with. Dylan looked back at him with wide eyes; he hadn't said a thing.

"Joey!?"

It was coming from the entrance of the ship, a voice so familiar it made Dylan's skin crawl with a cold chill. A shape slowly stepped out into the light, putting up a black-furred hand to shield his eyes from the light, and both Joey and Dylan gasped when they saw the young black fox step out onto the top of the ramp.

Joey took a hesitant step forward. Dylan knew that the fox wanted to embrace his brother; they had been the only ones left alive after the creature appeared. He was about to let the fox go when memories sprung up; memories of a black fox being massacred in the dark, of his screams for clemency as the creature took him over. Dylan remembered what it felt like to have blood speckle his face, and the cold feeling of being unable to do anything.

---

"You know my brother's sensitive, Dylan."

"Yeah, I know that. It doesn't mean he can't help with a few chores."

"You're talking about larceny, as well as assault and piracy."

"So? Everybody does it, Bill."

"That's bullsh...What the hell is this?"

"The power's out. Piece of crap ship does that every now and then. You can't really expect much from the Cornerians, can you? Now what were you saying about the, uh..."

Bill shushed him in the dark. Dylan clenched his hands angrily, wondering what Bill's imagination had suggested to warrant such behavior. Then he heard it, too; a sick, wet sound coming from behind them. The sound of something trying to move stealthily in the dark.

"Put the lights back on, Dylan."

"I can't. I don't know how."

"What!?"

"This ship isn't mine. Just grab a gun and a flashlight."

The wet sound stopped. Dylan stood stalk still, his back as straight as a steel rod as he strained his ears. He thought he heard the fox gasp, but it was too silent. His imagination was taking over.

"Hey, Bill. There should be a switch that boots up the back-up generator beside you. Can you get it?"

There was no response. The wolf edged over to the side, keeping his ears up as he stretched his arm. His fingers wandered over the multitude of buttons and switches, tracing a border where two metal sheets met on the console. He found a switch and flicked it, hoping it was the right one.

The electrical system took a little while, maybe five seconds, but the buttons were first to flash with reds and yellows. Then the screen, and the overhead lights. Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, forgetting how frightened he used to be when he was younger and there were no lights.

He turned, and as a retort hung on his lips a hellish face appeared inches from his own. Dylan instantly felt a scream rise up in his throat as Bill grabbed his shoulders. His mouth was hanging open in a silent scream as a red tendril hung from his lips. One eye was growing larger as though it were being pushed outward.

Whatever part of Bill that was still there and not changed was crying for help. His hands were like vices on Dylan's shoulders. The wolf didn't know what to do; all he knew was that the thing that was holding him wasn't Bill anymore, and that he had to get as far away from it as possible. Wrestling himself out of its grip, he threw the vulpine creature away. It collided with a desk that had been bolted down, where it rebounded with a weird grunt. Dylan ran for the hatch that led to the hallway, hoping to find Joey and get to the escape vessel. He heard a snarl behind him, and a claw grabbed at his shoulder. He was flung bodily onto the console, making the large screen flicker as buttons and toggles were activated.

Pain flared up in his side as the wolf pushed himself up. He looked up and saw the creature coming toward him--any trace of Bill was gone now. The face of the beast seemed to melt like candle wax, liquefying and congealing back into a different face with such grotesque precision it made Dylan's stomach turn uncomfortably. When it was done, Dylan, with cold sweat running down his forehead, knew he was looking at an imitation of himself.

Dylan knew he had to act fast. He ran to the far wall and grabbed the flamethrower that hung there. The creature gave a hissing snarl as it slowly came after him, limbs twitching. Dylan flicked open a control on the weapon, initializing the gas. He pressed the trigger that sent out the flame, spreading out and enveloping the howling monster.

The creature flailed about madly as the fire clung to it, roaring in a disconnected voice. Dylan didn't wait for the creature to die; he ran for the hatch and stepped out into the long hallway. Ovular doors branched out to the right and left. They were all shut except for a couple on the right. He ran to the end of the hall, hefting the straps of the flamethrower over his shoulder.

His hand reached out to press the button that would open the door, but then he thought of something.

How long had that thing been on the ship? How many people had it taken? Who are the real ones and who were not? How were they even going to get out of here?

There were two hundred people on this ship. Who were infected?

---

Joey ran past Dylan, deliberately ramming him in the shoulder as he went up the ramp. Dylan tried to grab him, but his hand tightened over thin air, and he felt as though time had slowed down just to allow him to suffer for this one moment.

He failed in saving Joey's brother, and he failed in saving the rest of the ship. Watching Joey run up the ramp to what looked like his brother was the horrifying reality that tied it all together.

The two foxes embraced, holding each other tightly, brothers to the very end. Dylan watched them with moist, wary eyes. He reached into his coat and pulled out his gun. He placed the barrel to his temple, froze, and pulled the trigger.

Click!

Nope, still empty. He looked up and watched the two foxes walk down the ramp, their eyes trained on him. They looked scared, frightened.

Fear was in no short supply today.