Survival of the Fittest

This chapter contains rape, you have been warned.

Chapter 1

Sparks burned into my skin, the sting rousing me from unconsciousness. At first, I didn’t quite understand what I was looking at. I was on my back, and a heavy support beam had literally snapped in half, pinning my abdomen to the ground. The air was hot and didn’t fill my lungs - - each breath was half blocked by the steel support; the ship slanted heavily to the right. Above, parts of the Betsy Daisy’s hull had been ripped off, exposing the sparking electrical system and the deep purple sky. The hour was between day and night, the sounds of strange snarling animals echoed in the woods.

Then it came back. We’d made entry and crashed. I was still alive.

There was no rush of relief or other emotion, just the thick throb of slowly awakening cuts and wounds. My feet and side hurt, as did my left shoulder, but the Betsy Daisy encouraged me to move by shooting more sparks. I struggled to pull my hips from under the beam; I wasn’t a thin girl, but that wasn’t to say I was horribly overweight either. I was your everyday space woman: too curvy to be a fashion model, too roughneck to be a girl.

With a grunt of pain, I was free. I sat painfully over my wounds. My feet were treads made of glass and my side had a nice parting gift from the table: two inches of skin shorn away. All had crusted with blood. My shoulder was swollen (I vaguely remembered being thrown against a wall upon collision) and there were other multitudes of scrapes over my pale skin.

So I had been right: ‘this is either going to hurt a lot, or not at all.’ And it was going to hurt, a lot.

Perhaps by some miracle, luck, karma, or God, our stash of booze had spilled across the floor, mostly undamaged from entry. I stretched for the alcohol, vodka by label, and eased it to me. The cap slipped in my hands, unwilling to grant me the liquid courage to do something undoubtedly painful. Seal cracked, I downed the fiery drink with watering eyes. I didn’t hesitate to soak it on my feet.

“Sweet mother of God!” my yowl echoed back at me. Nerve endings on fire, I convulsed on the floor, wishing the agony would go away, wishing my spine would snap or stop signaling my brain. It was easier to pick out the glass after that. I meticulously worked through the gashes on my feet, piling shards of the brown glass to the side. My feet bleed freely, and although painful, my knowledge in medicine (what Doc had revealed on long trips) said it was a good sign. The wounds were working to clot. Strips of my shirt served as bandages, tied tight.

With some effort I stood on the outside of my feet and pulled through cords and piping that draped from the ceiling. I swallowed dryly, wincing with each tentative step. The air was dense and humid, thick on the lungs. The cockpit was the same, but the smell was rotten. I soon found out why.

The square viewing shield had burst inwards on impact, small granules of safety glass layering the floor. The motherboard still cycled through binary code, the emergency generator beneath the console chugging along. Most of the lights on the control board had gone out, leaving only the orange, yellow, and white colored plastics against now blackened steels. A hand dangled from the pilots chair, dried with blood.

I swallowed thickly to see Herrick, dead, mouth slack as if screaming, dry brown eyes staring off into the monolithic jungle. The color had drained from his skin, leaving it a sickly yellow from rot; blood trailed down his neck and stained his faded green shirt brown.

I stared at the man I had called my friend, unable to tear my eyes away from the grotesque sight. Then my insides came up to say hello. I turned in time to spill the contents of my stomach on the floor, alcohol and bile clogging my nose with a burn far worse than sparks.

I’d never seen a dead body - - never seen a dead colleague.

Gagging, I caught my breath in time to spill my guts again, before wiping my mouth to will the awful taste away, gagging and shuddering. I couldn’t look at him, if I looked at him he’d be dead; if I didn‘t look, he would still be alive. It was an insane thought.

“Duke?” I choked out, “Captain Mason?” I couldn’t be the only survivor. It was improbable. Duke wasn’t in his chair - - Taylor wasn’t in his chair. Doc and Mason, they weren’t even upfront for the crash. “Captain Mason!?”

My call echoed drearily down the main deck, followed only by the clanks of thick black tubing banging against the side. I swallowed back acidic fire in my throat and stumbled towards the airlock, a white pressurized door that lead to another that recently lead to space. Jammed open with metal rubble and electronics, it was easy to access the clothing lockers within, but dark from lack of lighting.

I struggled into a grey-blue one piece uniform with a washed out insignia on the upper left pocket, and pulled on a pair of thick leather steel-toe boots - standard issue for the junk business (incase something fell and smashed your feet - - it was much cheaper than reconstructive surgery or prosthetics). I found a bag, and hobbled to search the other holds.

They were empty.

My mouth went immediately dry. They should have been filled with crew uniforms.

“You assholes didn’t leave me here,” I said meekly. I banged open Duke’s locker, the grated door hitting another with a thump. Empty. “Don’t leave me here,” Doc’s locker - - empty, “don’t leave me here! God damn it!” I threw my bag against the wall and sank back. “Ohhh, gods, don’t leave me here!”

My throat and eyes burned, and no matter the pressure of my palms on my eyes, my face became wet. I was a big girl, I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t going to cry.

My teeth grit and choked back a sob, holding it in. No man was worth crying over, no man, not even Herrick. I’d get through this. I could get through this.

It took a while to calm down, to put on my poker face, stained with soot and water.

But, with effort, I stumbled up, feeling weak despite my pep talk. I picked up the bag and rummaged for useful items. First was the booze, it was probably the most valuable item that’d been left by the ditching crew. They’d taken their stashed arms of course, all the hoardings of firepower available - - even the gun off Herrick‘s belt. Our lodgings were mostly intact, as was the med-bay. I found bandages and redid my feet and side. I also smashed open the med-bay’s door to get to the emergency first-aid kit.

Too much had been left behind. I also noticed strange mars of the inner hull, like it had been cut through by blades instead of ripped naturally by the crash.

The pantry was still filled with space mush and canned/packaged foods; I had to return with another bag to fully stock up. As I reached down for a can of beans on the floor, I noticed bullet shells, brass colored and cylindrical. Not far away were the actual bullets, looking as if they’d hit target but bounced off. There was also a splatter of a strange green substance on the wall.

And a blood pool, around the corner, splattered and dragged-

I swallowed thickly. Every nerve screamed it was a bad idea, every muscle fiber and ligament in my body. But I had to follow the trail - - someone could still be alive, could be here, could collect my meandering sanity back together.

The blood trail lead to a large hole in the hull, perhaps ten feet above the jungle ground and surrounded by gargantuan trees more than a hundred feet tall, tall enough to tower over the ship. The edges were seared, wide enough for a man to walk through standing straight, other parts torn back by force. Below, on the dark jungle debris, a lone cowboy hat lay, splattered with red.

The horror of the situation hit me, realizing that here was another of my crew that was likely dead, ambushed by the wilds - - my friend and teacher. People have always had an unnatural fear of the woods, and as I stared out into this alien world I felt it full force. Beasts in the woods seemed to call out, screaming their high pitched cries for my flesh… although they had already taken Taylor’s.

A few hours passed by the time I was ready to leave the Betsy-Daisy, the bags were heavy on my hips, and agitated my shoulder, but necessary. However, night had settled in and facing whatever was outside without weapons was a no. I’d spend this night here, in my room; but it burned me, the thought of not knowing what had happened to my precious skiff.

Herrick seemed to be the only constant, still sitting in his chair. I took the copilot’s seat to collect myself, breaking his dead gaze. Bits of windshield (space-shield in this case,) crunched under my boots; outside a strange animal howled, bugs chattered.

“You weren’t supposed to die in this dump, Herrick,” only a few more trips and he’d have had enough shares to get out of the junk business, he’d been saving for it. Funny enough, Death took him away at the least opportune time - - figures that he‘d die when we finally needed a guard; who the hell robs junk skiffs? My laugh cracked, my throat hurt, “you’re a bitch, Herrick.”

Wiping my eyes, I took a swig of the vodka, fire for my belly. I set it next to him, clenching my jaw until my eyes watered - I imagined him and his stupid grin, taking the bottle for a vertical ride with gullet working hard to swallow - and I told myself my eyes watered only because I was biting my cheek, not because I felt absolutely alone.

“Remember that time I walked in on you having a good time with your left hand?” I said to him, staring out into the deep woods. Most embarrassing moment of my life. The humidity was 100% visible in the air, or maybe that was just smoke from the crash, either way, I couldn’t keep my lips from flapping. “The crew had a good laugh over it when they found out. ‘Said you was robbin’ the cradle by showing me that, swore I was sixteen until you went red in the face - - I was twenty at the time. I kind’a wish you had robbed it. God damn, you‘re such a bitch, Herrick!”

I took the bottle back and swallowed another portion, ignoring my running nose. I sniffled and set the vodka aside. Leaning down, I fixated my eyes on the monitor, reaching underneath it to a panel that slid back. Inside was the black box, technological resource to find out what went wrong: the data log of every significant event on the ship. I’d be damned if I didn’t find out what happened to my skiff.

I took my time, sniffing and rearranging wires until I found a bundle plugged into the monitor. The lull of work calmed me somewhat, some normal in this awful situation. That’s right, take deep breaths, in and out, red wire goes there, the black wire is useless.

“I don’t know what happened to Taylor either,” I continued softly, “I think an animal got aboard Betsy-Daisy and took him when the crew was- when they were packing up. The mess-hall’s a mess, guess that’s why they call it that, huh? I saw the cowboy‘s hat on the ground outside covered with blood… I hope it was quick, real quick.”

My throat was tight again, but the talking helped, even if it was to someone who couldn’t answer.

I swore and nearly fumbled with the wires in my hands as they sparked, easing the module into place and adjusting the makeshift data-reader. Finally, after a few minutes and a little coercion on my part (threatening the contraption with spillage of alcohol and a good kick), ship statistics upon point-of-failure overrode the binary code on the monitor. I used the small flight-cue keyboard to navigate the long list.

But even after five looks, six looks, I couldn’t find what had went wrong. Everything was normal, everything but coolant levels in the main reactor. But coolant couldn’t have blown us, its chemical makeup wasn’t flammable - - lack of coolant, maybe, had the reactor been running at the time; but it hadn’t been because we were orbiting idle around this same god-damned planet. This beautiful, terrifying, planet.

I wanted to curl up, go right back under that metal pole and play dead. Maybe the black box was faulty, it was new, freshly installed by the Company incase something happened to us while finding the Titan. But the Company was top notch technology wise, and black boxes were notorious for being tough son of a bitches, able to withstand g-forces of 3400 and temperatures of a 1000 degrees Celsius. Often in ship crashes they were the only discernable object left.

Hunched over, I unplugged the contraption and rubbed weary eyes. The aches in my body had eased to a slow throb thanks to the booze, numbed to the day I would soon face. I raised my sore head and dared a glance at Herrick. How the heat decomposed him so.

“I’m going to bed,” I said, staring out into this primal night life. “I’ll see you topside, okay?” But I knew I wouldn’t.

Morning came all too early. I had spent the night laying in my bed, insomnia taking sleep least what took Taylor took me. Nightmares of the crash plagued me in drowsing moments, I heard the drone of alarms and felt the shudder of the plummeting ship under my feet; this only jolted me awake to the humid interior of my broken skiff, writhing and rolling within my sweat soaked suit until my eyelids finally sank shut once again.

Now I had to move. All the pain in my body came back twice fold, burned and cut, and then stung so deep I wondered if I’d been wounded anew. I donned the bags, found a broken pole of metal for a makeshift weapon, held back the groan, said goodbye to Herrick, and crawled through the pilot window to the forest below.

I rubbed my eyes and made my way to Taylor’s hat; the blood was dry and came off with a touch, leaving dark irrefutable stains to their nature. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, clutching the possession close. “She had a good flight, Taylor. One hell-of-a flight.” I looked up at the Betsy-Daisy, where she rested after plowing through so many trees, her frame covered with debris, dented without care or form. I thought of a tin can, used and thrown away.

Where my crew had gone - Duke, Doc, and Mason - I didn’t know. Spooked by whatever took Taylor, they’d probably gone in the opposite direction of the blood trail. But some vain hope made me follow the blood, if only to know what happened to my mentor.

This planet was alien to me. I’d never felt earth under my feet before, only glanced it from a distance on colonies. The soil was dark, too wet to be lit aflame by our crash. Giant, monolithic trees covered with thick green vines, massive leaves, and with tough twisted bark wide enough to encircle six men standing side by side, reached high as I could see. The undergrowth was little from lack of light, tree canopies keeping away the worst of the sun’s glare. I trekked long and hard, stopping multiple times to catch my breath over faint blotches of blood.

I was struggling over a large uplifted root when a sharp sound rang out, a low bass growl interrupted by breathy huffs of air. The hair on my neck stood on end, the intense feeling of being watched raced up and down my spine. I slipped to the ground on the other side of the limb, throwing a wary glance around me. The woods were eerily silent now, neither bird nor bug calling from the brush. My back pressed to the tree - - then I saw movement.

Heavily built and reptilian, it could have passed for a wolf in the dark, only that hard bone protrusions from its body and head made it look like a small carnivorous ox. It crouched twenty feet away, snarling low with scaly hackles raised along its back, baring sharp yellow incisors that spelled: “I’m going to rip you to shreds.” A part of me thought that if I stayed still, it wouldn’t hurt me - - the other knew I had to run.

Its brawny legs tensed and I shrieked, jumping out of the way as it pounced. The heavy jaws snapped at my stinging heels, horns catching at my suit. To my horror, another charged from the left with a vicious bark, herding me towards the right.

Then with a gasp, my foot caught in a nook and tripped me prone, headfirst into a hard rock with splitting pain. The contents of my bags spilled outwards and my pole like weapon was pinned underneath; the massive beast was upon me with its tusks and heavy weight. Paws collided into my back and ivory tore into my already injured shoulder like a hot poker; I screamed loudly and thrashed weakly to throw the beast off. Hot wet blood ran down my arm as a hefty gash ripped through my skin.

I was going to die - - its yellow teeth were around my head-

There was a high resonation whistle in the air, like a master would call his dogs, keening at a strange frequency that make my eardrums shudder. I didn’t realize how close it was until the beast let up and I was grabbed at the neck by a massive hand - - hoisted into the air.

I was too dazed to splutter, my eyes verging on rolling into the darkness of my skull at the manhandling. Vaguely I could feel blood sticking my suit to my skin and arm, and the too-large hand wrapped around my neck, turning my head in every direction as if I were a mannequin under inspection. A decidedly fearsome snarl ripped from the creatures throat when my confusion waned.

The alien’s grip tightened before I could scream at its horribly callous metal mask, gagging me midair. It was a complete and utter monster, reptilian but humanoid, massively bulked with armor and gory skulls that stood out against its tan and dark green flesh. The armor was gaudy with gold and sliver metals, the faceplate etched into until portions of the mouth area curled sadistically. It must have been seven feet or more in height, the tubular hair like extensions from its head moving as it clicked irately. I didn’t want to imagine what its mouth was equipped with.

There was pain as a large thick fist flew into my gut. I was on the ground a moment later, trying viciously not to loose my meager breakfast before a heavy foot kicked me against a tree. I cried out in agony, curling into the fetal position before the pain descended again into my shoulder with a horrible crack. That time I did vomit, choking up bile and what had once been food as my shoulder was forced fully out of socket.

“Stop, for God’s sake, stop!” I screamed, only to be grabbed by the collar and flung mercilessly against another tree some feet away. Scrambling to get off the ground as a low gruff sound akin to a chuckle escaped the creature, I found its dogs circling before me, cutting off the path of escape, promising their sharp yellow teeth and horns again.

The foot collided into my back once more, forcing me into the damp earth, heel twisting against my spine. I screamed in rage as asking for mercy made it cruel. “Fuck you, motherfucker!”

The instant the last syllable escaped I was on my back with 300 some lbs of pure scaly muscle straddling my waist, the ornate mask leering down in cold anger. I couldn’t breathe, let alone scream when it tore at my dislocated shoulder with talon. One long evil looking blade extended from its gauntlet a moment later, pressing against my tender throat, cutting the skin enough for a trickle of blood.

The beast’s body heaved with each breath, seeming even larger from my frozen position underneath. The metal dug into my skin, something sharp digging into my thigh as trinket bones dangled from its spiny dreads, chest, and waist.

“Fuck you, motherfucker!” my own recorded voice screamed back at me from the mask, followed by contemptible clicks. A low hiss followed another, “Fuck you, motherfucker!”

I felt ill, but there was nothing left to vomit up.

The alien reached a decision of what to do. It grabbed my face, slamming my head into the ground with a sickening thud. Then it was dark.

* * *

The creature’s camp was horridly macabre; husks of rotting creatures were strung high from overhead branches, skins and curing pelts stretched between makeshift poles driven into the ground. When I awoke I screamed at the sight of what could have only been Taylor’s skinned corpse - - hanging just feet above me. One punch from the massive alien had me unconscious again.

My back was arched painfully against a pole still sticky with sap, my arms tied as high as possible without removing my ass from the ground, and my ankles were bound. Day had turned to night, lit only by the many fires along the ground. Time didn’t exist anymore, the hours rolled into days, and each day was the same.

The alien sat on a makeshift bench made from a fallen tree, sharpening a long, serrated, and evil looking blade, day in and out. The same blade, I came to realize, that had nearly slit my throat. Next to its feet the reptilian dogs laid, their dark brown eyes at half mast and their ugly nostrils wide for air; my bags were there as well, rummaged and discarded in disinterest.

The first day had pasted quietly after I’d roused from unconsciousness, ignored by the alien. The heat was still thickening and hard to breathe, and developing clouds promised rain. In continuing days, I was beaten until my weeping stopped altogether. Other days the creature beat me for no reason, days that it hadn’t found suitable game to tie up along with Taylor and I. My bones were sore and swollen, my skin felt thin. My only consolation was that Doc, Duke, and Capitan Mason were not along the predator’s gory trophies.

Now, this night, the creature continued sharpening its weapon, not interested nor caring I was awake. I gagged on the foul smelling air, desperately not looking at Taylor whose rot had attracted all manner of bugs. I breathed through my mouth, as if that would help, but I could taste the rotten meat. After trying my wire bonds for weakness, and muffling sounds of pain, I settled in defeat. Miserable sweat dripped down my brow and stung my eyes, but I could not wipe it away. My short dark hair felt matted with dirt. I was filthy.

The alien’s avocado-colored hide glistened in the little light, lightening to a dark sandy underside. Although armored, most of its body was exposed and covered with a fishnet-like material. Short dark spines stuck out from its shoulders and from under the gold mask. I flinched as the whetstone scraped down the blade, then slotted into the creature’s gauntlet.

It stood, dreadlocks clacking with the motion, bones like wind-chimes. The dogs perked at the activity, stretching out their muscular bodies and yawning widely. The nearer snapped viciously at me; I flinched back - - not keen on joining Taylor. Then the creature stood over me with snarl of its own and an evasive gaze. As I expected the next beating, I saw a familiar object attached to its loin cloth. The size of my fist, the five portions that should have flashed red remained still. The thing that was attached to the Betsy-Daisy’s hull.

“It was you,” I croaked in sudden anger. “You’re the one who sabotage- - ghak!”

Its hand squeezed my vocals shut like a vice. I struggled vainly, kicking out with my heavy boots as it loomed too close. Squatted near my level, the alien delivered a back handed slap that left me disoriented and faint. My eyes rolled back, seeing beautiful black before opening to the creatures snarls.

I screamed in pain as the alien twisted me so I faced my bonds, my dislocated shoulder unable to take the strain without screaming itself. Large hands ripped my clothes, shredded the dark uniform with claws. I felt the talons rip too deep, snagging on my discolored skin. Another bang to the head - this time into the pole - cut the shrill sound from my lips. Then the hands were groping at my bottom, tearing away my boy-shorts, the creature huffing and growling.

I wanted to ask what the hell it was doing, what the hell it was looking for. But part of me already knew by the time it was gruffly shoving its own genital coverings out of the way.

A piercing cry escaped me when he pressed his penis against my dry nethers, the weight of his body pinning me to the pole crushing all the air from my lungs; the wood groaned underneath me when I could not, threatening to crack ribs. Then there was a great and indescribable pain that threw everything else from my mind.

My flesh was being ripped, torn in two, my guts were going into my chest cavity. I couldn’t breathe. I tasted iron. Then he was hilted and the only thing I could hear was my hyperventilated breaths and the woods, the creature’s snorting grunts of pleasure at my humiliation.

When he moved, I could feel the blood going down my thigh, and my insides screamed where I could not. There was only the constant throb of pain, and his beastly hand covering my mouth to stifle my whimpers. Tears went down my cheeks, I felt cold, but his hide was burning hot and slick with foul smelling sweat that made my head swim.

I was dying.

He continued to thrust his massive organ into my torn belly, as I hung lifelessly in my wrist bonds. The decorative armor covering his chest cut into my back where his claws had not. Then it was over. A tidal wave of scalding liquid burst into my womb and the Predator released a deafening roar that momentarily quieted the woods. He rocked against me again, once, twice, and I felt something further within me ripping. Our combined liquids slid down my thighs.

I sobbed, crushing my face into the pole and shuddering at the feel of his still hard organ inside me.

“S’yuit-de lou-dte kalei,” his horrible guttural voice snarled before he tore away, leaving my body wrecked. My insides throbbed with heat. “S’yuit-de.”

It was to be my name.

***

Translations:
S’yuit-de: demeaning description, coward
Lou-dte kalei: woman, child bearer

Was the appearance of the bad-blood all you hoped it to be? Tell me what you think of Gwyn, and if her reactions are realistic enough. I’m sorry that the style of writing is jumping around, I’ve been trying to type a little each day and sometimes without interest.

In further news, thanks to all who rated and commented! They’re always appreciated.

Death God Dist: I’m happy you enjoy the realism I put into the story! :D I’m trying to mix it up XD

Panpriestess: Thanks! :D Sorry that I didn’t post this next part right away though. At least I got another chapter up at all!

boodravyn: I’m happy you do, and hopefully this chapter didn’t disappoint!