Free Monsters Win Wars: A Novella by Edward Punales

CHAPTER I
     
    Henry Patrick lay on the ground, his left
hand clutching the place on his stomach where he’d been hit. The
man who’d shot him lay mere feet away from Henry, the contents of
his head splattered all over the wall behind him. The still smoking
plasma pistol that Henry held in his hand was out of ammo. He’d
used his last shot on the attacker.
    He looked around him; he was in the parlor
room of the Martian villa that he and his insurgents had tried to
attack. They’d had intel that President Sallis was here. He wasn’t,
but his armed goons were.
    Henry looked around to see if he could spot
anyone from his squad. Isaac lay dead just a few feet behind him
near the staircase, a smoldering hole on his back where the plasma
had hit him. He could hear the gun shots and footfalls of military
boots echoing through the halls of the house. The smell of blood
and plaster was thick in the air.
    With a painful shove, Henry pushed himself
off the ground. Blood continued to drip out through the fingers of
his left hand. He finally did get on his feet, and winced as he
tried to stand up straight. He had to walk hunched over to lessen
the pain.
    The rifle of the man who’d tried to kill him
still sat on the ground. Henry walked over to the weapon, and
winced again as he bent down to pick it up. It felt very heavy
holding it with just one arm, and he found himself struggling to
aim it.
    Then he heard an explosion. The villa shook,
and he felt dust and plaster fall on his shoulders. The distant
sound of gunshots ceased. A cold silence set in. Henry froze, his
shaking right hand doing its best to not drop the rifle.
    In the distance, he could faintly hear the
sound of people talking. He strained to hear them.
    “No, these aren’t him.” A voice he did not
recognize said.
    “Okay, I’ll call King.” Then the faint static
hiss of a walkie-talkie. “King did any of your boys see anyone
leave the perimeter?” a small voice drenched in static said
something that Henry couldn’t make out. “Okay. So he’s still
somewhere in the house. We’re going to split up.”
    Henry’s breathing became heavy. Dark circles
began to form at the edges of his vision, and he had to shake them
away. He looked down at the ground, and saw the small puddle of
blood forming at his feet.
    “This way!” someone in another room shouted.
The sound of footsteps started getting louder. Henry turned, and
began to run up the stairs. Blood from his stomach dripped onto the
steps as he made his way to the second floor. He remembered
something about there being a balcony on the second floor, one that
overlooked the artificial lake. If he could get to the balcony, he
could jump into the water, and escape the house. From there he
might-
    Henry slipped halfway up the stairs, on a
small drop of his own blood. He grunted as his body slammed against
the steps. His left side felt sore, and he thought he might have
bruised a rib.
    “Did you hear that?” A voice too close for
comfort asked. It was coming through an open door way,
perpendicular to the foot of the stairs.
    “It was by the parlor room.” Another
answered. “This way.”
    The footsteps were very loud now, very close.
Henry looked up; there were too many steps left. He wouldn’t make
it even if he ran. He looked down at the foot of the stairs. The
government troops would be there soon. He wasn’t sure if their
intention was to kill or capture him, but he’d soon find out.
    He’d lost. The rebellion had failed. He
closed his eyes and envisioned the investable chain of events; a
tragedy playing in the cinema of his mind. They’d capture or kill
him. Then they’d track down his few remaining comrades, and they’d
be executed or imprisoned. The President and his cronies would
continue to oppress the solar system. His efforts for the last five
years would’ve meant nothing. He saw the dark clouds again appear
at the edges of his vision. He was ready to let them consume his
vision, allow the