J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection by J. M. Dillard Read Free Book Online Page B

to the base when the fever came upon him; around him, vessels fell from the sky as their pilots died at the controls. His transmitter reported the sad message that two of the three members of the Supreme Leader had perished. Shortly after, he succumbed himself to the pain and blacked out.
    A miracle he had not been killed when his vessel crashed.
    Another miracle: the sickness was gone. As confusion lifted, he remembered his duty: to find the others, especially the surviving member of the Supreme Leader, and the Advocate, and to see to it that all their efforts had not been in vain.
    No doubt the others were trapped in the same type of horrible container he had emerged from. Xashron set to work.
    Mossoud planted the last of the booby traps and covered it gently with sand. He'd gotten only a couple of hours sleep the day before—prebattle nerves—and had been working through the night. He stood up, dusting the sand from the legs of his jump suit, then stretched, and gently rotated the arm connected to the sore shoulder. Probably had himself one hell of a bruise .. . but then, it coulda been worse ... he could be lying dead in the yard instead of that lieutenant.
    Mossoud raised the sleeve of his jacket to peer at his most recent acquisition. It really was a nice watch, a Rolex, probably worth a nice fat wad of greenbacks. And then Mossoud chuckled to himself. If Chambers' little TV show was successful, he wouldn't have to worry about how much he could pawn the watch for. Hell, he wouldn't have to worry about dollars ever again. Not much longer to airtime. He started humming an old tune, "Act Naturally." Who'd recorded it? The Beatles? Musta been all of six when he'd first heard it.
    He started back toward the truck. He hadn't made
    it very far when he passed by an aisle of barrels. But something about them wasn't right. He stopped to take a closer look.
    Finney appeared, stepping gingerly so as not to set off any of the charges. "Mossoud—it's almost time."
    "Right behind you." Mossoud gestured for him to go on.
    Finney nodded; his careful steps crunched noisily against the gravel as he left.
    Mossoud drew closer to the curious scene. This was the spot where just last night Finney had killed the lieutenant. Mossoud knew that none of the barrels had been knocked over then. And no one had been there since he and Finney dragged the body away.
    Yet now six barrels from the lower tier—the older rusted ones—were overturned. Didn't make any sense at all. Mossoud bent over to examine one. "What the hell. . .?"
    The top of the barrel looked as if it had been exploded from the inside, as if whatever had been in there had forced its way out.
    And then left. The barrel was completely empty. Question was, where the hell had it gone?
    He saw with alarm that the blood-smeared barrel on the upper tier was leaking where Finney's bullet holes had punctured it. It must have dripped onto the barrel and eaten the top away. Mossoud cringed. Probably radioactive or toxic or something; and he'd been exposed to it! He turned to run, to warn the others.. ..
    Something stirred behind one of the upright barrels, scraped softly across the gravel.
    Mossoud raised his gun. "Come out! Come out with your hands up, or I'll start shooting!"
    Someone, something, rose and moved into view. Mossoud stared; for an instant his mind simply refused to accept what his eyes told him.
    It was an animal, he thought at first, some strange hideous beast, but it was like nothing Mossoud had ever seen. He'd grown up by the ocean, and to him the thing resembled a huge jellyfish—about five feet tall, not quite as wide—walking wobbily on its tentacles, only its skin looked like gray-brown leather, oiled and glistening. Its lipless, open mouth quivered and drooled. The worst was its eye—a huge dark thing that gazed intently at Mossoud with far more intelligence than any animal.
    "Holy shit," Mossoud whispered. He took a step backward; soft, three-fingered appendages