Date: 1:15 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington

  The command room shook again, a bone-deep tremor that rattled the screens and sent a coffee mug crashing to the floor. Sarah gripped her recorder, the red light blinking as she whispered, “JBLM under attack. Something—big—hit the east gate. Hybrids everywhere.” Outside, gunfire erupted, a staccato rhythm drowned by screams and an unearthly chittering that clawed at her ears.

  The screens flickered—one showed the gate, now a slaughterhouse. Hybrids swarmed, their claws glinting as they tore through soldiers. Some had human faces twisted with extra eyes, others were hunched, insect-like, limbs snapping with unnatural speed. Beyond them, the bio-ship loomed, a grotesque mass of flesh and chitin, tendrils unfurling to disgorge smaller shapes—swarms, skittering toward the base.

  Sarah’s stomach churned. She’d seen riots, protests, even a gang shootout once. This was different. This was wrong. The door slammed open, and Rodriguez stormed back in, blood streaking his uniform—not his, she hoped. Two soldiers trailed him, one clutching a bandaged arm, the other wide-eyed, rifle trembling.

  “Perimeter’s gone,” Rodriguez snapped, slamming a fist on the table. “They’re inside—hundreds of ‘em. East gate’s a hole, and that thing—” He jabbed at the screen showing the bio-ship. “—just spat out a wave. We’re pulling back to the armory.”

  Sarah stood, voice shaky. “What is that? You said aliens—”

  “No time for a briefing, Thompson. It’s not from here, and it wants us dead. That’s enough.” He turned to the soldiers. “Martinez, get the civvies to the bunkers. Lee, radio Command—tell ‘em we need air support, now. If they’re still alive.”

  Martinez nodded, bolting out. Lee fumbled with the radio, static hissing. “Command, this is JBLM. East gate breached—hostiles inbound, non-human. Requesting immediate—” A screech cut him off, the line dead.

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  Rodriguez grabbed a headset, barking into it. “All units, fall back to secondary line! Heavy weapons, focus that ship!” He glanced at Sarah. “You’re with me. Stay close, or you’re meat.”

  She didn’t argue, pocketing her recorder and following as he led her through a hall. The base was a warzone—soldiers ran past, some dragging wounded, others firing at shadows that moved too fast. A hybrid lunged from a doorway—four arms, jaws splitting wide—before Rodriguez shot it point-blank, its head bursting in a spray of ichor.

  “Keep moving!” he yelled, shoving her forward.

  They reached a courtyard, rain mixing with smoke and blood. The bio-ship dominated the sky, tendrils lashing down, each strike cratering the ground. Soldiers manned turrets, tracer rounds arcing into the swarm—winged things, all teeth and claws, shredding anyone too slow. A Humvee exploded nearby, shrapnel pinging off the wall as Sarah ducked.

  Rodriguez dragged her behind a barricade, shouting into his radio. “Air support ETA?” Static. He cursed, then froze, staring up. The bio-ship pulsed, a slit opening in its belly. Something dropped—huge, armored, multi-limbed—crashing into the motor pool with a roar that shook the earth.

  “What the hell is that?” Sarah gasped.

  “Carnifex,” Rodriguez muttered, like he’d seen it before. “Big bastard. Intel’s been tracking these cults—thought it was paranoia. Guess not.”

  The beast charged, shrugging off gunfire, its claws rending a tank like paper. Soldiers scattered, some screaming, others firing uselessly. Rodriguez grabbed a fallen rifle, shoving it into Sarah’s hands. “You shoot?”

  “Once. Hunting trip.” Her hands shook as she took it.

  “Point and pull. Aim for the eyes.” He fired at the swarm, dropping two fliers. “We hold here ‘til choppers arrive—or we’re done.”

  Sarah aimed, squeezing the trigger. The recoil jolted her, the shot wild, but it clipped a hybrid scuttling closer. It shrieked, black blood spraying, and she fired again, hitting its chest. It dropped. She stared, bile rising. “I can’t—”

  “You can,” Rodriguez snapped. “Or you die.”

  The Carnifex roared, closing in. Above, the bio-ship disgorged more—smaller shapes, a tide of claws and hunger. The bells rang louder, a mocking hymn over the carnage.

  Sarah’s recorder slipped from her pocket, hitting the ground. She didn’t pick it up. There’d be no story if they didn’t survive this.