This is my entry for the
Winter Holidays Story Contest 2022
.
Two quick warnings. First, some readers might find the opening scene disturbing. Secondly, this is primarily a romance with some erotic bits. If it is continuous, hard-pounding lust you are after, please go to one of the many other good stories here.
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The little girl held Sofia's hand as they walked down the flagstoned street. The village was peaceful, quiet. An air of tranquility pervaded the late afternoon.
A couple of old cars were parked on the narrow road, a path clearly more suited to donkeys than internal combustion engines. The houses were generally two or three stories tall and made of mud brick, the doors opening directly onto the street without yard or walkway. The street in front of most of them had been recently swept; an effort was clearly being made to keep the street clean. Some houses had small pots with flowers. The area smelled of bread, spices, evening meals being prepared. There was a pleasant family murmur in the background.
The little girl beside her started to skip. Dark-eyed, the child seemed painfully thin, but with the promise of growing up to be very pretty if given half a chance. She had gratefully accepted a granola bar from Sofia earlier and now seemed happy and carefree. She wore sturdy leather sandals, obviously handmade. A small bead had been sewn to the toe strap of each one. The girl's feet were dusty and there was a smudge of soot on one cheek. The hem of her colorful print dress blew in the warm breeze.
The girl said something Sofia didn't catch. She looked down to see a beaming smile with a tooth missing, its replacement just starting to grow in. The child was pointing down a side street.
"My Poppa and Momma live down there with my uncle," she said, tugging Sofia by the hand. "Come! They will want to meet my new friend!"
Looking around, Sofia saw no one. Sometimes this could be a matter of some concern, but today it seemed perfectly reasonable. She gave the girl's small hand a squeeze, brushed her dark hair with a soft hand and allowed herself to be led.
The cross-street was not as clean and felt hotter for some reason. There were no flowers to be seen. There was more dust, some litter. Still, the girl seemed happier as they entered the new neighborhood.
"Come!" she squealed. She pulled harder on Sofia's arm. Her grip grew stronger. "Come! They will want to meet you!"
The child pulled Sofia through a spiderweb of narrow streets. It had become airless, uncomfortably hot; Sofia was suddenly aware of how overdressed she was in her flight suit. The streets became lanes, scarcely wide enough to stretch out one's arms. Here there were flies.
"Come! Be welcomed!"
By now Sofia was almost having to run. Her hand, clenched in the girl's, began to hurt with the pressure of the child's grasp. She tried to slow down, pull her hand away, but it was impossible. The girl, small as she was, seemed to have enormous strength.
"Be welcomed!" The high, thin voice had an edge to it now. It grated in Sofia's ears with a painful loudness.
Sofia's foot landed in a dung patty; she slipped, fell, landed on one hand and one knee. The flash of sickening pain was blinding; when she clasped her hand to her, it left a bloody handprint on her uniform. The girl impatiently yanked her to her feet. Her face showed clear scorn at Sofia's weakness. The child's eyes were now coal-black, lidless and unblinking in the sun.
"We're almost there," she hissed, "It is time, Friend!" Her long tongue licked her chin.
She hauled on the woman's hand and Sofia limped after her, moaning at the relentless pressure.
Sofia was petrified. She somehow knew that the last thing in the world she wanted to see was whatever was waiting for her. Equally, she knew she could not stay where she was and that the plunging, muscular, scaled creature clutching at her arm would not permit her to go back.
The sky, such as could be seen of it above the narrow road, was now filled with roiling black clouds from which a hot rain had begun to fall. Grape-sized drops landed like bombs in the filth, leaving small craters in the overlying dust. It became darker; Sofia's eyes shifted to see better, then regretted it. Now she could see the rats.
And what they were feeding on.
The thing beside her was panting in its haste, its talons digging into Sofia's wrist. It used its tail to lash at her ankles to drive her forward.
Sofia could sense that their goal was right around the next corner. Ultimate terror overcame her; she fell to her knees again, unable to move or speak. She tried to close her eyes, knowing that she was about to finally meet the missing villagers.
The creature, its hooves sparking, dragged her across shattered and smoking stone overlain by generations of rot. There was a stench of corruption, of sulfur, of greasy smoke. The only ambient light now was from a pantheon of laser beams swirling and dancing through the darkness from above. Some called one such targeting beam 'the Finger of God' -- this display looked like both of His fists. The beams were angry, predatory, accusing. Fingers of justice. Fingers of vengeance.
Fingers waiting specifically for her.
Judgement Day.
Sofia began to scream as she was dragged around the corner. She curled into a ball in primal horror. She could feel her skin being shredded as she was pulled over the putrescent garbage.
There was a sudden silent flash and the little girl's body was thrown on top of her. Sofia could feel a torrent of blood running over her back, knew without looking that the girl was headless, missing most of one shoulder. Even with her eyes closed, Sofia could see the gout of blood pumped into the air by a not-yet-dead heart.
Against her will, her eyes flew open. She lay at the bottom of a smoking crater, rimmed with ragged, eyeless villagers, each pointing at her in silent accusation. She tried to cry out for mercy, felt her lips fusing together in mute guilt.
One ragged figure stepped out from the crowd, its wrists ending in bleeding stumps. Sofia knew without being told that this was the mother of the tattered remnants of the child lying across her. Blood ran from the woman's empty eye sockets, but there was no doubt that she could see Sofia. The woman's mouth opened, but instead of a shout or scream there came a buzzing shriek which grew louder and louder until it filled Sofia's bedroom.
Sobbing, the young woman flailed for the alarm clock on the bedside table. Her fingertips prodded again and again to find the sleep button before she finally succeeded. She lay panting in the sweat-soaked bed.
Again.
Again the Dream.
Her chest pounded. She lay gasping on the wet sheets.
The clock's red numbers glowed in the darkness. She had 90 minutes to get cleaned up and to make the hour-long drive to work.
Afraid of falling asleep again, she rolled, sat on the side of her bed with her head in her hands.
Shaking, Sofia showered, toweled off her hair and brushed it into shape. Avoiding makeup, she dressed quickly -- comfortable, functional underwear, a green flight suit and her flight cap with a single silver bar denoting her rank of First Lieutenant. She pulled out a bagel and a pear to eat as she drove. A drive-through would provide coffee.
Sofia stood 5' 5" and weighed 128 pounds. Like most women, she worried about being overweight. Unlike many women, she did something about it, working out religiously, going for daily runs, eating smart. Despite all that however, Sofia felt unfairly condemned to remain on the plusher side of the feminine ideal. The covert, admiring glances her figure regularly drew from the men around her generally escaped her notice. She mentally filed those instances she did notice under the heading of 'Little Fish in a Small Pond'.
Her face was pretty enough but her eyes were shadowed by too many sleepless nights. She kept her dark brown hair short, shorter than many civilian male haircuts. It avoided the complications of Air Force regulations and made her ablutions much simpler. Her only jewelry consisted of a small gold cross on a thin necklace, a university ring worn on her right hand and a complicated pilot's wristwatch which always looked too large for her slender wrist.
It was a long drive but the road was good, with few stoplights and, oddly at this time of day, little traffic. The aftershocks of the dream gradually faded as the sun came up.
She finished her coffee as she parked, then walked through the checkpoint before clearing herself into her unit. The usual briefings began -- meteorology, tactical and operational updates, mission details - the thousand-and-one bits of information needed to properly spin her up to speed for her eight-hour shift. Despite her fatigue, Sofia listened carefully, took notes. It mattered.
Sofia Garza was a drone pilot. Not that she would ever call herself that.
I'm a Remotely Piloted Aircraft pilot!
she would heatedly maintain.
Drones are pre-programmed, stupid machines - RPAs always have a human being in the control loop. Always!
The need for human control was critical. Sofia and her peers flew MQ-9 Reapers. Not much bigger than many single-engine civilian airplanes, Sofia could use it to rain down precise, targeted destruction in a dozen assorted flavors. The precision of the systems controlled by her and her sensor operator made her one small aircraft capable of doing what might once have required an entire Second World War B-17 bomber group - dozens of aircraft and hundreds of men.
Today, she noted gratefully, the mission was ISR - intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance. Most of them were. The Reapers and their assorted kin, including the earlier Predators, had amazing sensors. Under the expert control of the sensor operator sitting beside her, her Reaper carried an array of color and infrared cameras, radar, and other, less obvious systems. In terms of in-theatre intelligence gathering, Sofia and her operator were not
at
the cutting edge, they
were
the cutting edge.
The relationship between the pilot in the left-hand seat and the sensor operator in the right was complicated. Their duties overlapped to some degree, but in general, the pilot flew and her partner directed the sensors and weapons. Without a proficient Sensor Operator, Sofia might as well stay in bed. Indeed, some joked, a pilot's job consisted mainly of driving her SO to work on time. There was just enough truth in that to be almost funny.
She had a new SO today. Meeting him at the briefings for the first time, Marcus Diamond struck her as the youngest, newest Staff Sergeant in the Air Force, but she'd been assured he was good.
The reassurance had been welcome; the skyrocketing demand for RPA support around the world had created a years-long manning problem. It was more than just longer-than-usual hours and extra shifts.
All too often, training requirements had had to be truncated, with training conducted by instructors themselves not quite as qualified or experienced as they might have been.
Promised much, she reserved judgement until such time as she saw Diamond in action. In the meantime, she walked with him to the Ground Control Station. The GCS was both comfortable and claustrophobic. Two large brown swiveling armchairs provided far more comfort than any aircraft seat. The pod was carpeted and air-conditioned. Once they were ready to take control of the Reaper, the lights would be lowered. Before that, there was a lengthy checklist to run through. A dozen computer screens showed maps, video feed, constantly-changing data. Her camera screen was overlaid with a heads-up display like that in any modern fighter aircraft. Three-ringed binders full of checklists and data supplemented the screens. Despite the air conditioning system, the air always seemed stale, redolent of accumulated fatigue and unforgivable emotions from past shifts.
