Lost - Part 1

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   “mmnyh”

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    “Uhh...wha?”

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    "Wher-?"
    All at once, reality seemed to explode into existence in a flash of pain and sound and smoke. Cecilia's senses burned and she found herself on the ground, clutching ribs that were alight in agony and seemed to have a bit more give than regular, non-broken bones should have.
    Around her, the world wailed.
    A klaxon screamed its warning for all who would hear, barely drowning out the sound of men and women screaming, boots stomping on hard metal, pulse rifles firing, sounding like a jackhammer on a steel drum, and the roar of something monstrous and unknown in the distance. All of it was muffled even more by the crackling booming of fire.
    She sat up quickly and screamed.
    "Ellen?! Kera?!"
    She couldn't remember what happened or how she got here, but she knew she wanted to find her sisters and quickly. Had they been with her? Were they ok?
    It didn't matter though. She had bigger issues.
    All around her, an inferno raged. The fire licked at her skin and she had no idea how to get away from it. Each time she breathed in her lungs were being seared with smoke and she felt herself coughing and hacking; an action that was getting progressively faster and therefore worse as she began to hyperventilate. The world seemed to close in around her as the panic threatened to send her over the edge.
    "ELLEN?! KERA?!"
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    Someone running towards her?
    "Ma'am!" a voice screamed barely audible over the roar of the fire. "This way! Come this way! We have to get you out of here!"
    A marine.
    "I can't!" she said quickly, the panic only taking a firmer grip. "I-I can't!"
    It was all she could muster. The world burned with fire between them.
    "You have to! Come on! Please! Just run towards me. Run as fast as you can. I'll be here to catch you!"
    Her throat tightened and, despite the blazing inferno around her, Cecilia's palms went cold and sweaty. She shut her eyes tight.
    "Alright." she said, her shaking voice betraying her. "On three."
    "On three." the marine agreed.
    "One." she began.
    "Two."
    Before she could muster a 'Three' there was an echoing crash and a screeching roar as the metal of the hall bent and screamed in defiance of a preternatural force. The marine screamed back, firing the pulse rifle at something. They were silenced a moment later and all fear of fire was wiped away as the marine was slammed into Cecilia's chest, thrown like a ragdoll, sending them both sprawling backwards. The combined force and weight sent them clean past the flames and down a chasm that was open in the floor.
    Cecilia hit the ground below with a sobbing cry as the marine, dead weight, crushed her with their bulk; broken ribs burned and stabbed in protest of the pressure.
    "Get off!" she yelled and pushed against the dead marine. "Please get off!"
    Above her, she could hear the thing. It scrabbled and moved across the metal of the hall above with the sound of someone raking a dozen pickaxes against a grated chalkboard. It seemed to blend into a terrible crescendo of oncoming death with the klaxon as she desperately clawed at the body that weighed her down.
    She kept pushing, kept trying to get the corpse off of her shattered ribs and weak body. She felt the load soften slightly as the heavy pulse rifle clattered down next to her.
   The creature was just crawling through chasm she had fallen through, growling softly under the klaxon and the claws, when she managed to free herself from under the dead marine and scuttled backwards in terror.
    Cecilia only escaped back an inch or two before she hit the wall.
    Above, the creature seemed to realize she was trapped. It made its way slowly, carefully, down to the next level; it's growl growing into twittering, high pitch that reminded her of a cat stalking a bird.
    She shut her eyes tight, sobbing.
    Her hands fell to the pulse rifle on the ground beside her.
    She had never used one before. No official training of any kind. But she knew the concept of a gun. You point it at something and pull the trigger. Hopefully you have the right end pointed towards what you want to die. 
    The creature roared. Maybe it recognized the threat of the gun. Maybe it was just done playing with her. It scrabbled forward with that same high-pitched, gut wrenching sound of claws on metal.
    Cecilia grabbed the weapon's stock, raised the gun, and squeezed the trigger; praying it was even vaguely pointed in the right direction.
    Pulse rifle's are so much louder when you're the one firing them.