Free Ferine Apocalypse (Novella): 4 Hours by John F. Leonard

Wayne Raylens was, and Pearcey was pretty much convinced that he was nuttier than a bar of fruit and nut, the man acted decisively.
    There was no delay.
    No hesitation.
    Before Pearcey could move, the man had jumped in front of them. Not graceful or practised, just fast.
    Scarily fast.
    There was a fearlessness, a certainty, in that speed. It unsettled Pearcey as much as the lethal weapon and the ridiculous but nevertheless intimidating mask.
    The rifle was shouldered as he moved.
    The bayonet was in his hand without Pearcey seeing how it got there. It seemed to simply appear from inside his parka.
    <><><>
    And of course, what else would it be but a bayonet?
    An antique bit of ephemera salvaged from God knew where. Blade sharpened and polished, handle stained with old sweat.
    Some relic from some conflict somewhere in space and time.
    Like the mask.
    Crazy Wayne was an eclectic collector, so surprise was the order of the day. He’d surprise you at every turn.
    He collected conspiracy theories like stamps and hoarded weapons like life insurance policies.
    He may have been scared of things, but they weren’t the things that normal people were scared of.
    He was concerned about aliens reading his thoughts and whisking him up into the sky to probe his private parts with phone home fingers. Probe his mind with organic filaments thinner than the finest strand of hair.
    He thought the streetlights moved and watched him as he walked down the road. Recording his movements and thoughts. Sent those recordings to faraway galaxies and puppet clones in positions of power. Leaders that could unpeel their faces and reveal Cthulhu reality beneath the human façade.
    He worried where the next invasion was coming from, not the next meal.
    For Pearcey, he’d become another unknown quantity in a world that was now dominated by deadly unknowns.
    Pearcey was sick beyond words of unknown quantities.
    <><><>
    Raylens dealt with the creature with ruthless efficiency. A minimum of fuss. Despatched it without pause.
    As it ran towards him with the yearning, hungry gait that Pearcey had already come to recognise, Raylens went to meet it.
    There was no fear or hesitancy.
    No lack of confidence in his movement.
    The antique bayonet flashed forward.
    Raylens seemed to almost embrace the creature as he buried the blade into its gaping mouth.
    Slid it between bared teeth and punched it out of the back of its skull.
    A splash of maroon and a strangled squeal of inhuman agony.
    Pearcey filed the technique for future reference.
    <><><>
    Wayne Raylens stood back, withdrawing the long blade in the same motion.
    Accomplished and competent.
    Let the creature fall, weakly jerking and thrashing on the ground.
    Pearcey tried to balance conflicting emotions.
    Tried to calculate their survival chances factored in with the fluctuating elements. Looked round and assessed the others.
    Angela, the girl woman in black, hiding by the door.
    Ready to bolt back inside.
    Gallagher gaping, the steel bar dangling from his hand, limp and unready.
     
    Raylens turned to them all. Walked a little closer.
    “They’re not reading our thoughts anymore or abducting us. They’ve learned all they need to know. This is the battle now. The invasion. Clever that they’re using our own bodies.”
    He fiddled with the mask and spoke again.
    Muffled speech.
    “Clever, dirty alien bastards .”
    Gallagher looked to Pearcey. Perplexed.
    Pearcey ignored him. He’d made his own assessment of Raylens and Gallagher was welcome to do the same. It didn’t change the fact that, as of that precise moment, Raylens was their best shot at getting to Gallagher’s home.
    And, more importantly, his daughter.
    Besides which, he really didn’t want to upset Raylens. The guy was clearly insane, had an automatic weapon, and seemed particularly adept at handling sharp implements.
    That added up to think twice before offending in Pearcey’s book.
    Especially when you needed the nutcase in