Hostile Genus: An Epic Military Sci-Fi Series (Invasive Species Book 2)

Carbine’s pistol, followed by a series of clicks.
“Reloading!” Carbine shouted.
Jon acknowledged his buddy’s alert only mentally; he was too preoccupied with the charging savage. He timed his dodge perfectly, waiting until the last second before rolling to the right, pivoting on his heel and swinging the spiked back of his hammer’s head, trailing just behind the passing attacker. The spike sank into the flesh of the thing’s back and hooked the shoulder blade. Jon leaned back into his pivot and pulled the savage, swinging it around like a stone on the end of a rope. He was gaining momentum and speed, and not two full revolutions later, a nasty, meaty rip resounded as the blow sundered the savage’s torso. Half a rack of ribs and one arm hung from the spiked head of the hammer, while the rest of the man-beast went spiraling out into the dark, crashing to the ground. At this point, Jon was no longer surprised by the lack of blood. He knew they were dealing with lifeless meat puppets, but their exact nature still eluded him. He started to use the bottom of his boot to pry the half-rotten flesh from his hammer’s nail, but only got as far as lowering the head before he became aware of yet another rabid man-beast using the cover of the lean-to to covertly gain on Jon.
“Shit!” He flinched, anticipating the pounce he could tell was coming from the creature’s stance.
Brrrraapptt came the cavalry call that was the familiar report of Lucy’s automatic pistol, the Big Fucking Gun.
Before the savage could pounce on Jon, its left leg disappeared at the hip in a spray of gray, clay-like flesh matter. The savage listed like a sinking ship and went partly to the ground, providing the perfect springboard for Lucy, who was in full cyborg sprint behind it.
“Behind you!” Lucy shouted, leaping onto the back of the fallen savage and jumping from it, flipping into a tight roll in the space above Jon’s head. Jon turned in amazement, watching as she unfolded in the air and came down on another savage that had been stalking Jon from behind. She sliced downward diagonally across the creature’s chest as she landed. She half-squatted as she landed, bounced right back up, and rolled her hips like a belly dancer as she cross-slashed across the savage twice more, spilling its rotten entrails down its lap and legs. The creature staggered, pausing in its approach. Lucy gritted her teeth and spun in place, whipping her Macuahuitl around and taking the dumbfounded savage’s head clean off.
“We may not be able to provide a true death for them, but we can at least slow them the fuck down!” Lucy called out.
Lucy’s sudden appearance slowed the advance of the savages; they behaved like hyenas, unsure of how to proceed after watching a lioness—or in this case, a jaguar—slaughter two of their own. It revealed a sort of intelligence, no matter how primitive and animalistic. They made to regroup, back off some, but Lucy gave no quarter, pointing her BFG at one nearby and dumping a volley of explosive rounds into it. The eruptions in its torso served as tracers, allowing her to steer the burst from navel to forehead, causing the undead creature to come apart like a humanoid string of firecrackers.
Inspired by Lucy’s triumphant return, Jon kicked the ribcage off his hammer and charged the nearest savage, a female, who was presently giving ground. When she realized that Jon was chasing her, she stopped her retreat and made to scrap. Like the others, this one’s clothes had long ago disintegrated, revealing flat, saggy breasts smeared with filth. Jon nearly hesitated to strike a woman, even one as wretched as this one, but her claw-like fingers and glowing red eyes reminded him that if he did not, she would happily murder him and possibly eat him.
She shrieked like some demonic bird of prey and showed her claws in a threatening display, but made no real move to attack. The hesitation would cost her. Jon let fly one blow, then another and another, rolling his elbow and shoulder, dipping to return the hammer quickly over and over again. He could not slice and dismember the way Lucy did, but he could deal enough damage to the she-thing that it would slow her down for at least a few minutes. He stepped away from the crumpled pile of woman and ran over to Maya and Ratt, now unguarded, as Carbine and Lucy gave chase to the routing savages.
“We can’t keep this up forever.” Maya looked up into Jon’s eyes as he approached. She was kneeling on the ground next to Ratt, one hand on his chest.
“I think they’re running,” Jon said and looked out into the darkness. From where he stood, the starlight from his hammer barely illuminated the silhouettes and shapes of Lucy, Carbine, and the retreating savages.
Lucy seemed happy to chase and cut down every one to the last, but Carbine called her back. “Lucy! They’re coming back again!” Lucy paused, her head scanning side to side, searching the periphery of their makeshift camp.
“No, not like that!” Carbine shouted. “These ones are regenerating!”
Jon, hearing his friend’s words, turned away from Maya to see that, indeed, several of the fallen ones between him and Lucy were again upright.
The few whose heads Lucy had managed to separate from their bodies only wiggled around on the ground, damaged to the point of preventing regeneration, but still a long way from death. Jon wondered for a moment whether he and Lucy could possibly behead them all, but before he could decide one way or the other, a barbaric rally cry from out in the desert decided for him. He turned and scanned the desert, the dark of the night somehow easier to penetrate than it had been earlier. More were coming. At least two dozen.
“Fall back!” Jon shouted to Lucy, glancing left and right to make sure he had successfully kept track of Maya’s