The Evergreen Files: Banshee; Book One
Chapter Seventeen

Finally, the ground had stopped shaking. The trees swayed naturally from the breath of the breeze. The creatures of the planet still remained silent, much like the remaining crew of The Evergreen. Solomon leaned against a large tall rock, his eyes cast into the woodland, unmoving. The day he most feared had fallen upon him, he had lost Kyril and Eve.

“Commander.” came a voice, almost distant and seemingly distorted, as if coming from beneath the ground itself. “Commander.” it came again, a little more defined. A soft delicate voice. He recognised it, but couldn’t place it.“Jesus, Sol, you need to give us orders!” came the voice, louder and more clear, but this time, a pain shot through his right cheek as something hard made contact. Blankly turning his head to the source, he managed to focus on Lyra. Had she been there long? Why did she look so panicked? And then, as cleansing as a fresh spring rain, absolute recognition of his surroundings forced him on to his muddied boots. As if waking from a warm soft dream, he seemed to feel the coldness of the air, the smell of burning and blood. Trees surrounded the landing party. The escape pod had carved a dark crater through the ground, throwing mud and trees to the sides, finally coming to a halt, the crew exited and tended to the wounded, only minor damage was committed to the crew, that was the one good grace that befell them.

The trees spoke, yawned and gasped. The surviving crew turned to listen to their words. “can’t be...” began Solomon as he shook his head. “Tree’s can’t talk...” Sandra looked over slowly and shared a concerned glance with Lyra at Solomon’s whispered madness. To them, the trees weren’t talking, but emitting the music of battle. Cracks and bangs echoed, almost drowning out the shouts and screams of the victims, possibly the Gryph, as the words carried the similar autotuned voice and language of the aliens. The screams became louder, coming closer. The gunfire had lessened, but then came the grinding sound of heavy machines moving, followed by a crisp thud and then an explosion, Lyra felt the pressure of the air push against her from the explosive force. Soon, all was quiet. The silence seemed to last a lifetime, it was only mere minutes before the void of noise was broken by the sound of leaves getting crushed underfoot, followed shortly after by an unimaginable roar. It sounded more like multiple creatures crammed into one vocal chord, all fighting for dominance, rising and falling during the roar.

Many footsteps came closer and closer, the sun was against the survivors faces, so they didn’t see the bloodied Gryph soldiers until they were already fleeing past them. Screaming frantically, their native tongues flapping in pure fear, eyes bulging and their limbs flailing as they ran. The roar came again, the Gryph did not show any signs of noticing the surviving humans, Lyra noticed that they were armoured soldiers, but bore no weapons.

The unnatural roar came again, more deafening. Then a flash of red through the trees. And another. Lyra pulled her pistol from her holster, followed by many others. “Gentlemen. Prepare to defend yourselves.” called Lyra, cocking her weapon. Another flash of red. The group pulled themselves together into a tight knit circle, covering all angles of advance. A flash of teeth charged from the tree line. The creature was met with a volley of fire. The circle broke, the soldiers broke away from the crew, the two types fell apart, soldiers moving up as one unit, firing with total accuracy. Crew firing little by little, missing most shots, some stood their ground, some curled up making themselves as small as humanly possible, but most fled towards the long armoured escape pod. The gouged metal skin had mud smeared over the hull, and the opened rear offered them sanctuary from the advancing creatures, “what the hell! Did you see them?” cried out a crew woman as she crashed into the deepest wall of the pod. “Yeah, what’s wrong with them? They don’t look like the briefing showed them! They look dead!” screamed a crewman, curling his sweat beaded head around the pod entrance, catching a glance of the creatures. Their skin had paled, their eyes glazed over, white and dead. Their front claws had extended, creating scythes that they vaulted themselves over the landscape. He didn’t get chance to relay this information back to the cowering other nine crew. His limp body fell forward into the grassy land at the base of the ramp, his head rolled to a crew woman’s feet and she let out a blood curdling scream that attracted the creature. A scythe blindly jabbed inside, reaching for prey, gouging out large crevices through the metal deck plating.

The dank and blistered leathery flesh of the muzzle slowly came closer through the entrance of the escape pod, breathing heavily through sharp bloodied teeth, casting rotten breath over the shivering, cowering crew, moving ever closer.

Solomon slammed another clip home into his rifle, and started discharging the bullets into the advancing creatures. Long grass hid the fallen. Only the tell tales of blood spatter on the leaves showed where the dead lay, their bodies torn and changing, hidden from sight.

The mutated abominations clambered over their dead to spread their infectious life to their awaiting victims. Roaring their contorted and stretched thin vocal chords almost to a point they broke and shattered. Sandra saw the horde advance, in a sea of pale red and white needle teeth, their scythes propelling them forward with great ease, she turned to flee to the escape pod, thinking the armoured hull would protect her, as she spun on her heels, her weapon empty, she heard the ear splitting scream, and saw a Mare with its large and tightly contoured head inside the escape pod. Pulling out a frantically flailing crew member who scream and swore in a panic.

The Mare seemed to take great care with not chewing off the man’s leg. Sandra knew from her research that Mares hunted for the kill. This Mare placed the terrified crewman down almost with a gentle care of a parent to a child. No wound was upon him from where the Mare had held him within its jaw. It seemed to contemplate him for a moment, before turning its attention back to the entrance to the escape pod, the crewman, thinking he was forgotten about, made to flee from the towering creature, only to be put down by a thud of its right scythe through his abdomen. The abomination took no notice of the kill it just made, and continued to busy itself with obtaining the crew trapped inside the pod.

Sandra ran to Decius who was handing out extra ammunition to other soldiers who fired their weapons into the advancing sea of red. He curtly tossed her a heavy bag of supplies, and ordered her to pass it out to the soldiers towards Solomon. Mares mixed in with the blue armour, the scene was chaotic. The Mares didn’t seem to be overly fond of killing with their jaws as they normally did. Their previously short arms never acted during the killing or feeding aspect of the creatures life, so they were extremely awkward with the new length of their arm-scythes delivering killing blows. They simply grabbed softly at the humans with their ever effective jaws, placed them in the tall grass and then tried to infect then through the scythe-claw hands. Most could get away with their lives if they were quick enough, some, were not so lucky, if another Mare was close by, it also tried to infect. And now, pale blue Banshee’s were coming from the trees with unnatural speed.

Solomon stared and swallowed in acceptance. This was his death. He hoped only to kill a few more, and his passing be swift. He had already felled some of the foul beasts, but not enough to please his pride. He would go on, and kill more. “Fix Bayonets!” he roared, attaching his combat bayonet to the end of his rifle. He charged forwards firing his remaining bullets, projecting his very own roar that could place fear even into the Grim Reaper itself. Ramming his blade into a beast again and again until the nerves from its brain stopped sending signals to twitch, then he moved on, blood thirsty and angry. He would avenge Kyril and Eve. Make his enemies pay for every bit of blood they could collect.

On his third bayonet kill, Solomon ceased his frenzy. Something brought him back from his bloodlust. He found himself surrounded by the dead Mare mutants and advancing Banshee killing machines, but below all the cries and roars of battle, Solomon heard something that gave him hope. Hope of victory. A hope of living through the fight.

A ridge to the south seemed to emanate a strange noise, a different type of roar, it seemed to create hope with the destructive power it brought with it. However the ground did not quake, but Solomon jumped with new found glorious strength as he witnessed a the armoured bodies charging forth from the ridge, as a midnight blue tide bringing death and saviour with it. Lucius gave the loudest and most intimidating roar as what was left of his escape pod crew charged down the banking and smashed into the mixed horde of humans, Banshee and mutated Mares. Some of Solomon’s survivors had fled, most had died and began to turn into the putrid disgusting Banshee. “Form up!” Solomon cried to whomever still was alive. Decius and Sandra quickly joined shoulders with him and a couple of other crewmen who had shown signs of battle but still bore weapons with ammunition. Solomon’s heart sank as Lyra was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the tall grass hid her form. Then a sudden realisation sliced its way unwelcoming into his thoughts. She wouldn’t respond to orders and would be hidden by the tall grass If she was dead. He began calling out her name, wildly darting from one blood speckled spot in the grass to another, checking the bodies. All showed signs of Banshee conversion, but none bearing resemblance to Lyra.

At this moment, two Gryph Hovercopters came to assist the humans, the fleeing Gryph soldiers had retreated back to their transport only because the humans held up the monsters that pursued. They came back to return a favour once they dropped off their cargo and wounded elsewhere. One stooped low to offer close support and to pick up any near humans, wounded or unhurt. The other hovered a little higher, firing large arcs of blue fire from its hull side mounted weapons. This gained the attention of the Mares.

Lucius snapped a scythe-claw from a screeching Mare before ramming the dismembered blade into the creatures cranium. Weighing the blade in one hand as if contemplating its use as a viable weapon, he made his decision. Solomon looked upon the beat of a man in newly found admiration, he had recovered remarkably from the battle abroad the Infinity, but then a dark thought entered his mind. Lucius had been wounded by the claws of a Banshee, and bore no signs of infection. Another hulking mass charged the beast of a man, who spun as a gymnast would, pivoting on a single heel as if dancing an sliced the creature neatly down its flank, spilling its insides over the tall grass, weighing down the leaves. Another charged and met a similar fate. This weapon was more effective that his knife against these abominations. But then as he retrieved the scythe-claw from his latest kill, he felt a sharp pain slide across his lower back, blurting forward with a roar, he spun, slightly losing his balance to one knee, he locked eyes with one of the beasts, leering at the captain of the second. Lucius spat some blood to the grass, and the creature rushed him before he could check the wound upon his back. Trying elegance once more, he tried to pivot and splice into the creature, but his wound forced him to overcompensate and he fell, out of the creatures reach, it overshot him and span, kicking up dirt and mud, it’s red blood stained fangs dripping. Charging again, it gnarled its teeth at Lucius who tried to fling his massive body out of the way, only to be yanked back and suddenly dropped to the ground, new pain searing through his arm, or lack of. Looking down to check the wound, his anger boiled above and beyond his threshold. The thing had taken his left arm from the elbow. He still had his right. His strong arm. His sword arm. Clutching the scythe-claw and with pure brutality intended, he swung and sliced the air, closer and closer he gained ground, spinning with ferocity and malice, he killed the creature that took his arm, and killed two more that tried to take him. Only when the loss off blood forced him to kneel did his river of luck run dry.

Breathing heavily and his vision going dark, a blur covering every movement, he still made out the advancing Banshee to his left. He raised to meet the pale creature head on, taking its head clean from its shoulders, but his victory was taken away from him as the constant blur had hidden the charging Mare from his right. It smashed into the captains side and closed its jaws around his chest with a sickening wet dull crack as his ribs collapsed.

Solomon saw his friend die, and he swore he saw a smile linger on Lucius’ bloodied face, a smile of satisfaction, dying with a primed grenade in his remaining hand, he killed his murderer in a fiery explosion.

The Mares seemed to change tactic instantly and stopped gingerly picking up people and then scything them, to simply killing them by any means necessary, they then took an excitable interest in the supporting hovercopter, leaping to the slender emerald vessel, ramming the duo of scythe-claws into the hull and bringing its jaw into the side hull door that lay open to allow the mounted weapon to fire out of the side. It ripped at the metal and snarled as it missed the aliens. The weight of the unwelcome passenger cause the engines to quickly overheat as the pilot fought to keep the hovercopter in the air.

Solomon called to the human survivors to fall back to the landed hovercopter that fired energy weapons at anything that was unnatural. As Solomon released an empty clip to slap another that he had found on a fallen comrade into the body of his rifle, he saw Decius and Sandra run forward to help up an injured crewman who screamed in pain, his hand stretched out, pleading for aid, and then they were lost. The other hovercopter crashed into the ground between them and Solomon, covering the area in flying earth and fire. The explosion forced many on their backs, Solomon hit his head on something hard and could feel wet behind his ears, his vision coming and going as if a flash light flickered on and off behind his eyes. He could only feel the warm wetness behind his ears and nothing else. When his vision returned for its short stay, the trees above him, although out of focus, he could see they were moving in a jagged motion. No, the tree’s weren’t moving, he was. But he couldn’t move. Before long, the pale sky and gnarled trees disappeared from his temporary vision and was replaced by an emerald sky, a sky that held nuts and bolts with plate armour instead of stars and clouds.

The Hovercopter lifted off with sixteen human’s aboard.

Solomon opened his eyes once more to see a familiar face smiling at him. One he thought he would have seen a lot more often than he had. The face smiled warmly as he regained conscientiousness. “My friend! You well? Head hurt, you fluid stopped.” came the friendly boisterous voice. “Sykra?” whispered Solomon in reply. “Well, friend. You thinking not bad!” he let out a laugh, his thin features came into focus more and Solomon could see his eyes, still as dark and deep as the void of space. His hair, no longer tied tightly in a top knot, but in a complex braid that circled the right side of his scalp, making his hair seem shorter than usual. Sykra had removed his helmet once he realised who was aboard the hovercopter. His pale blue skin let a smile hang upon his lips before his eyes looked to the horizon and saw the forests burn. Countless plumes of smoke scattered the skyline, Solomon turned his head and could see where Forgod Fortress was, and could see the tail hull of The Evergreen protruding from the cloud of smoke spilling forth from the previously fortified building.

“Kyril...” he whispered, suppressing a tear.

“He’s gone, honey.” came a sweet voice, soft as silk over to Solomon’s right. Lyra sat there, pale, dried dust and mud dirtied her face, small pale lined streaks made out where her tears had fallen and half cleaned their path. The hovercopter shuddered slightly with a sudden gust of wind, but the pilot soon steadied the vessel. Sykra squeezed Solomon’s shoulder and gave him a grave look. The Gryph’s usual happy jokey spirit had vanished and in its place sat a beaten and withered personality that accepted the dire probability of sudden death at any point.

Soon Solomon could sit up, the heavy ringing in his ears gave way to the whistle of the wind and buzz of the engines, he took Lyra in his arms to offer her relief, but it was he who needed the comfort. Eve, Kyril, Decius, Sandra and Lucius are gone. Taken in battle.

He soothed Lyra as she wept into his armoured shoulder, the tears landing on his armour and tore straight from the metal plate, sucked out of the open flanking doors by the vortex created by the streamline of the hovercraft. Sykra kept his eyes on the tree line below, watching the creatures below flee from the noise of the machine flying overhead, noticing that the Banshee infection had not effected them yet, the habitat showed no signs of the war and corruption that had spread over the planet.

Sykra looked ahead to the cockpit as a voice came through his headset from the pilot. He spoke in his native tongue, his tone rushed as he clambered to the front, leaving the humans in the rear, trying to catch a glance at what the two Gryph had turned their attention to.

Solomon took a moment to feel the wind blow through his hair, the cool breeze soothed his troubled mind, almost making him forget his losses of the day momentarily before the hovercopter shuddered as a violent force shoved the vessel up and down, hands gripped onto the overhead ropes that had lazily swung like nooses from the ceiling before they became filled with grasping hands and taught under the weight of the attaching bodies.

The hovercopter shuddered again, this time falling further before rising again, the groans from the cockpit showed unmistakable signs of the pilot struggling to maintain his altitude and control, and Solomon simply sat there, with his back to the rear armour plate of the hovercopter. He knew the fate of everybody inside was in one of the hands at work. The Pilot, or Fate. Either they would plummet or survive. He knew he had no control, so why worry? Why spend his possible last moments panicking when he can do nothing to alter the course? Lyra had grasped one of the hanging grips and shot Solomon a harsh look as he sat there, seemingly indifferent to the situation, she had become accustomed to the feeling of Solomon always in control, always taking action, always thinking of an escape route, always protecting. But now, now he just sat there, and shrugged when she shot him a quizzical look.

The copter fell lower, the pressure change in Solomon’s ears made him wince as the pain surged itself into his skull. Tree’s became closer, he could now distinguish where one branch ended and another began. ‘Still too high to jump’ he thought to himself as he glanced over the side, through the flank door. The hovercopter now was only a couple of meters above the green sea of leaf, occasionally a thud and scratch echoed through the armoured framework as it fought gravity.

Soon, Solomon saw the ever growing, familiar dirt of Merriden IV. Soon would be time to jump, with the distance closing, his brain leapt into action and he got to his feet. The sun was setting over the horizon and whilst gaining his location fully, he guessed where the protruding tail of The Evergreen should be through the smog that had engulfed the slowly failing hovercopter. Roughly five miles at his guess.

Solomon looked at Lyra, into her beautiful eyes that seemed to possess the ability to change with her mood, now, they seemed darker. Dark with despair, she silently pleaded for Solomon to fix the world and make everything alright again.

But he couldn’t.

Merriden IV had succumbed to the infection.

Gryph forces had retreated or become destroyed.

Smoke filled the air, making it a thick choking fog.

How can he stand against such disease and disaster?

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