Just One Bullet

"Damn them all." Gracie dug in her pack, checking for any loose rounds. Her remaining clip was half-empty, and by the sounds of her pursuers, she needed more bullets. Escape was hopeless if she had to fight hand-to-hand. Sandmen were too tough for her to take one on one, and a pack of them would capture her for sure. After that, well, she didn't really want to think about what happened to the captives. She had seen the barely living remains in a captured hive.

The memory of their tortured cries still haunted her sleep.

She knew this area, her patrol had been through it earlier, before the ambush. "Oh God, " , she cried, trying to suppress that particular memory. Jimmy and Eric and, dear lord above, Vic. All gone. At least they were dead, and had escaped the sandmen, something she wasn't certain she would be able to do.

If one of their stingers got her before she could act, then it was all over but the screaming. She had always told herself that if she ever got into that kind of fix, she would have one bullet saved, to put an end to it, as she had done for Donny, after the stinger had gotten him. That poor paralyzed face, and the eyes pleading, begging her to pull the trigger before the sandmen came.

"Damn them all, Oh God,".

Gracie didn't make any noise as she moved down the gully. The floor was soft sand with small patches of rock. Sickly puke yellow leaves from the trees that overhung the wash provided some protection from the sun. Reddish striations, from the high ferrous rock and soil of the planet, bled across the walls. She knew that several of her pursuers were probably above, scouring the broken plain for any sign of her. At least sandmen weren't particularly silent. The constant clattering of their chitin plates and horns rubbing against each other could be heard from several meters away.

Sandmen weren't really men, they were what the science guys called an endomorphic anthropoid. They were bipedal, with a prehensile tail and hands. Some thought they looked like scorpions, she thought they looked like sand-colored, human sized ants. That fit their social organization closer, for they built and lived in hive colonies. No one really knew that much about them, they were intelligent and had some industrial development, but they refused to have any contact with humans beyond treating them as prey.

Gracie didn't feel much like talking to them any way.

Her squad had been sent out to patrol the rolling, broken country south of the colony. A hive had been eradicated in that area, and her squad was sent to check on any activity, to see if the sandmen had been pushed further south. A klick north of the hive, in one of the ravines that led to the old site, they had been ambushed, dozens of sandmen popping up out of the ground at their feet as they passed, others hidden on the rim above.

During the fighting Gracie and her team had gotten separated, they had been tail-end Charlie, and were at the edge of the kill zone. She and her colleagues took

refuge behind some rocks and tried to provide covering fire. One by one though, they were taken down, either by the pneumatic weapons the sandmen used, or the stingers, a form of spine that the sandmen used to paralyze their victims.

After Donny had taken a stinger in the neck, and she had made sure that he wouldn't be taken alive, Gracie had found a small gully which led her out of the ravine and out onto the plain above. The start of her flight was a blur of running and dodging, during which she had used all the ammo for her assault rifle. She now only had her pistol, and very few rounds for it.

Which brought her back to the point of digging through her backpack and pockets, desperately looking for any spare rounds.

The scrunch of the sand behind her caused her to leap almost out of her skin. Tension, and the adrenalin rush of flight or fight, slammed her heart against her ribs as she flung herself to one side and turned to face the threat. The two sandmen were less than 5 meters down the gully, and were just turning towards her when she fired.

Tough, natural armor which would take a pickax to get through, shattered under the impact of the 10 mm rounds. Hydrostatic shock jellied delicate internal organs as the slugs bore through and out the other side. Some of the bullets, spent from going through the front of the shell, remained lodged inside. Both of the sandmen slowly crumpled, their weapons forgotten as their life fluids leaked from their wounds.

Gracie realized that the remaining noise was coming from her, so she stopped screaming. The pistol was still held out in front of her, like a religious totem held to ward off some lurking evil. Her shaking knees could barely hold her up, and numbness made her movement slow, jerky, and uncoordinated. In a near panic, she reached to pick up her pack. They would be coming towards the sound, and she didn't know which way to head to escape. To panic now was to give up, surrender to a fate that she could avoid if she only made the right choice. She had chosen right so far, even when it came to killing her friend, but now the choices were weighted against her.

"Think damn you, stop being a fool, run smart if you have to run at all.". Isn't that what she had been taught, wasn't that what Vic, and Donny told her. Any course was

better than sitting here waiting for the sandmen to get her. She struggled up the side of the ravine, and broke into a dodging run, ducking and sliding around the small patches of the sick looking plant life that was native to this world. Most of the plants grew in scattered clumps, between 1 to 3 meters high. She kept low and small, hunched over as if someone had just handed her the ball and she was rushing toward the goal line.

When she was winded she went to ground behind a tangle of branches and brush. As soon as she was down she pulled the clip on her pistol. An empty gate was all she saw. Jacking back the chamber she saw nothing. Was this it then? Was it just run until they got her now, hoping that they would kill her during the chase rather than capturing her? It wasn't their usual way, for they preferred live prey for both consumption and reproduction. That was why they used the stingers on Donny, and some of the others.

She remembered the stories, what she had seen in the captured hive, what the science guys had told them. It scared her more than the time in training when those ass holes had cornered her in the shower, more than when she had been in her first fire fight, even death paled before it. The agony of having your body slowly eaten away while your laying paralyzed, feeling the eggs of the young hatching inside your abdomen and then feeding on your organs until they killed you.

"Like certain earth wasps,", the tech had said, 'but then you aren't a gypsy moth are you?'. She couldn't face that kind of pain, that's why she had emptied a clip into Donny. That's why they had been shooting at their own men as much as at the sandmen at the end when they knew there was no escape for them. That's why she had looked into the eyes of a man she loved, and put a bullet through his brain when the sand men had grabbed him. No other reason but that, we aren't gypsy moths are we?

She now only had her survival knife and an entrenching tool. She found a stinger embedded in her body armor, caught in the fabric as it glanced off the hard plate. She had no idea how it had gotten there, and was suddenly ill with reaction and tension.

"How do I get out of this? God, not even a clean way out.".

Gracie got up and moved, she wasn't sure what direction, her run had taken her out of familiar territory, and it had gotten dark. They had been two days south of the colony when they were attacked, and the sandmen would probably be between her and the colony by now. Sandmen didn't move particularly fast, if it came to it she could easily out run a single sandman, but she wasn't facing just one.

Sandmen were predators, and used the same tactics, they would have had a blocking force to keep any survivors from getting back. If she had any hope at all, it would be her ability to think her way out. If she kept moving, maybe she could get away. The colony would know that something had happened to them when they missed radio check, and would send a skimmer to find them. Once in range, they could use her locator to find her. This of course was all predicated on her surviving the night, and with out a weapon, that made for long odds. Her entrenching tool and knife didn't really count, for when it came down to it, the knife wouldn't penetrate their carapace, and by the time she hacked through it they would have her paralyzed. The entrenching tool might get through, but again, their stinger gave them a huge advantage.

The only thing she could think to do was try and find some weapon or ammunition, and she did know where there was both. She needed to find a way to slip through the line of hunters and get back to the ambush sight, she could only think of one way.

She felt as well as heard the sandmen as they clattered by her, the rubbing of their plates and horns, the soft susurrus of their breathing. One almost stepped onto

her chest as it jostled slowly by. She gave them several minutes leeway, partly because she was paralyzed with fear that they might have heard her breathing, or had

some other sensory method that wouldn't be fooled by a covering of sand and brush. From all she had heard, their sensory acuity was roughly the same as a humans, with better night vision due to their living underground. But knowing didn't keep her from feeling, and fearing, that she missed something.

As quietly as she could, she got up from her hiding place, feeling the coarse grit of the sand as it found it's way into some very uncomfortable places. She wished she could just strip down and at least shake out her underwear, but there was no way she was going to do that as long as she knew the sandmen were around.

Gracie set off to try to find her way back, back to where her friends had died, to where she had killed some of them. The practical voice inside kept telling her that she had done what she had to do, and she wished to God that someone was with her who could do the same thing for her. Her heart was telling her something different though, and If she listened to her heart too much , she wouldn't even care if she made it or not.

It was difficult for her to find her way in the dark. Along with watching out for the sandmen, she had to try and find a landmark to get back to a place she would rather

not go. Somehow, through either divine intervention, or blind luck, she found her way back to the ravine.

This was where the nightmare had begun, and it took her awhile to face the personal demons that haunted her from this morning. She watched the area carefully until she was certain that there were no sandmen around, then snuck down into the ravine. One thing that helped was that the bodies were gone. She was hoping that the sandmen weren't very curious about their equipment, if they couldn't eat it they hopefully wouldn't bother it .

Unfortunately that wasn't the case. The area looked clean, with just a few spent

casings and scars on the rocks. There were some darker patches in the sand, in areas where she knew some of her squad had fallen. It appeared as if the sandmen had

picked up all the equipment they could find. She hoped there was something they might have overlooked.

Gracie got lucky, she found a pistol with a full clip in a clump of bushes, and nearby, a clip of rifle ammunition. She quickly reloaded both her weapons, and as a precaution jacked one of the rounds out of the pistol. This she slipped into a small pocket, to make sure that she would always have one left, for herself. Further searching proved futile, so she climbed out of the ravine and proceeded in a direction that she hoped was north.

After a few klicks she began to slow down. She pushed herself to speed up, but just ended up on her face in the dirt for her troubles. After a day of fighting and running she had finally reached her limits. Without realizing it, she had almost drained one canteen, and apparently eaten the ration bar whose wrapper was stuffed in her pocket. It was with the last of her strength that she crawled beneath a bush, praying she was hidden.

A sleep which was too much like death engulfed her and took her to a place far below consciousness, beyond the nightmares which sought, but couldn't find her. The stillness with which she slept kept her invisible to the prowling creatures, a silent, rigid, figure as much a part of the landscape as the twisted, grotesque trees and bushes that grew in the thin, ferrous soil.

Awareness came back to Gracie, switched on like a light dispelling darkness. She became suddenly aware of herself and her surroundings. The sun appeared to be well above the horizon. Her instinct screamed at her, urging her to jump up and flee this area. Training overcame the primal response, and she slowly looked through the branches and into the clearing she had crossed to get to her hiding place.

At first glance she almost missed the near motionless shape at the edge of the clearing. The sandman blended almost perfectly into the backdrop of ocher and mottled yellow. Only it's slow, deliberate movement, allowed her to see the creature.

She almost made her first mistake of the day.

As she started to move her rifle, a voice seemed to whisper in her ear, "They never hunt alone.".

Moving only her eyes, she again scanned the clearing, and the trees around it. The other sandmen were positioned at the far end, just behind the first screen of trees and brush. One she almost missed, until she saw an incongruous bit of shadow at the edge of a clump of the scraggly weeds that passed for grass on this god forsaken world.

The one that was moving was off to her right, skirting the edge of the clearing. All of the others she saw were at the far end, arranged to cover the point 'man'. She had to admire their tactical plan, from a purist's point of view. If she fired, or broke cover from anywhere on this end, one of the others was bound to get at least a fair shot at her, and when the stalker had made it across, he had a very good chance at spotting her, for her cover was neither deep, or full. Only her complete stillness had hidden her up to this point.

Her assault rifle was cradled against her chest, and she was laying on her right side in a little hollow at the base of one of the sparse trees. It's thin, almost bare branches spread scant inches above her left shoulder. Any movement was certain to cause those branches to move, which would allow them to quickly find her position. Her shoulders were nearly touching the trunk, she could feel it rub against the back of her flak jacket. A small wind blown pile of limbs and brush provided a very slight screen to her front.

Gracie said some very sincere, heartfelt prayers at this time.

It wasn't that she consciously planned her move, genius was on the part of necessity this time. At the point where she was certain he was about to see her, and somewhat coincidentally blocking the line of sight of the covering force, she surged up out of her hiding place. The only thing she had hoped for, and got, was the hesitation from shock and surprise. Her salvo stitched a line up and across the sandman's chest, as his compatriots holed him from the back.

Even so, his stinger thwipped past her left ear, missing because she stumbled with legs numb with lost circulation. His corpse fell almost on top of her as she frantically scrambled to her right, firing at the now moving shapes in the trees at the far end of the clearing. Her stumbling, almost drunken lurching gave her better protection than the brush she clawed through. As soon as she was through the wall of brush at the side of the clearing, she turned, dropped, and fired at the nightmare shape of the sandman that was coming through behind her.

Constantly dodging and twisting, Gracie worked her way farther from the scene. There were more sandmen behind her than she had counted at the clearing. She hoped she was still moving north, but there was no way she would stop and check. Real or imagined , she felt sandmen all around her.

She broke through a screen of bushes and found her self on the edge of a small gully. Her head long rush became a leap, which left her scrambling frantically on the edge of the other side. A whistle and sharp impact on her back pushed her past the edge to level ground. The blow to her back caused her to somersault into a tree, where she lay stunned for just a second.

As the head of the first sandman came over the edge, she pulled the trigger. The first round struck a meter to the right, she walked the next rounds across it's face.

As the dead creature clattered to the bottom of the ravine, taking the one climbing behind it with it, Gracie untangled herself from the tree. Her back felt like a giant had hit her with a sledge hammer between the shoulder blades. Her left arm hung limp and numb. With an equally numb look, she saw that the bolt on the rifle was open, waiting for the new clip she didn't have. Plain cussedness made her sling it across her shoulders as she stumbled away from the gully.

Somewhere, between foresight and determination, she got the pistol out.

"Just as well," she thought out loud. "with my arm the way it is I couldn't use the rifle anyway.".

For some odd reason, the thought made her laugh.

She had no idea how far she had run. Her arm felt like a thousand fire ants were feasting on it, and her flak vest fit very awkwardly over the swelling and pain of her left shoulder blade and upper back. After falling an unknown number of times, she had slowed to an uncomfortable half trot. A few of the less fortunate sandmen littered the landscape behind her, victims of an over-developed sense of pursuit. Most of the others she had out-distanced, and they took occasional pot shots at her when she went over a ridge or came out from behind the trees.

She was beyond the range of their stingers, and most of the pneumatic weapons they carried. There were others out there in front of her though, and they would soon be in range.

She was soon at the point where she could barely keep moving, The pain and fatigue dragged at her like weighted chains. Before long she was stumbling almost blindly down a gully, a distant roaring in her ears. She blundered into the first sandman, knocking him sprawling to the dirt. The pistol came up almost by it's own volition, and emptied itself in to the thing.

As she fell back towards the wall, all she could think about was the one bullet, she had to get her last bullet. She stumbled blindly through billowing dust and noise, intent, possessed of the need to reload.

Finally, her back against the gully wall, the gun propped between her knees, she dug with her good hand into the pocket and pulled it out. Fear overwhelmed her as she desperately clawed at the gun, expecting at any second for a stinger to end her struggle to escape. With a trembling hand she fed the cartridge into the chamber, grasped the butt and released the bolt.

"God damn them, god damn them all!" .

And then, Gracie smiled.