fredbassett | Fic, Hell and Back, Becker, Connor, 15

Art Prompt Connor-Becker - smaller image - 600 x 375 with title

Title : Hell and Back
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Becker, Connor, OC
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : When Connor ends up on the wrong side of an anomaly, Becker knows perfectly well that rules are meant to be broken,
A/N: 1) Written for the

primeval_denial art challenge for artwork by

luvconnor. A smaller copy of the art has been used as the header for this fic but the full size versions is HERE. Please take time to look at the full version and comment there on the art. 2) Thanks to

lsellersfic for all her hard work running this challenge,

fififolle for the beta and last but certainly not least, 3)

luvconnor for such a fabulous piece of art to work from and for making this icon to go with this fic!

Becker racked the slide on his Mossberg and chambered another round.

He’d fired four shots so far and had succeeded in taking down one of their attackers. Not exactly the best rate of return, but he had his eye in now, both for their speed and their manoeuvrability. They were as fast as cockroaches and as deadly as scorpions. He’d gone up against them twice before and lived, and he was hoping that this was going to be a case of third time lucky, but he’d had a bad feeling about today’s op from the very beginning, opposing – as he always did – any plan to go through the anomalies….

* * * * *

With Matt, Emily and Abby already on a call to deal with a herd of iguanodons grazing their way happily through Kew Gardens, it fell to Becker and Connor to investigate a second anomaly in the middle of Hainault Forest. They arrived to find a distraught woman being consoled by two nervous-looking police officers. All police forces now received training on first responder duties when dealing with anomalies, but Becker knew from his own experience, and that of the men and women under his command, that any training went straight out of the window when you were faced with your first sharply-glittering rip in time.

With two of his men unloading the locking device and Connor doing the best he could to get a date fixed for what time period they were dealing with, Becker tried to find out exactly why the woman was in such a state. After a couple of minutes of questioning, all he managed to ascertain was that one minute her husband had been standing beside her, staring at the ball of light just off their normal walking path, then the next minute, as she’d been rummaging in her bag for her mobile phone to take a photograph, something had pushed past her, knocking her to the ground, and when she’d got back to her feet, her husband had disappeared.

“Get her in one of the trucks,” Becker said quietly to one of the officers. “I don’t want anyone wandering around here until I know what we’re dealing with.”

The ground was heavy with mud from the previous few days of rain and the track through the forest had been trampled by numerous walkers and their dogs, making identifying any other prints difficult. He could see some long, deep marks indicating that whatever had knocked the woman over had probably dragged her husband through the anomaly. In the confused mess on the path, picking out much in the way of distinct tracks was a problem, but after a couple of minutes he’d seen enough to convince him that he had a hard decision to make.

“Any joy with the number crunching?” he asked Connor.

A worried look in reply told Becker that he almost certainly wasn’t going to like the answer.

Before Connor had a chance to deliver the verdict, a yell from one of his men accompanied by a shotgun blast made Becker whirl around, swinging his own weapon up to his shoulder.

A flash of leathery grey skin, long spidery arms and legs and a skull-like face straight out of his worst nightmares registered in his brain a second before the creature smashed into Connor, sending him flying through the anomaly. It bounced after him like a hyperactive frog, long legs extended in a powerful leap. Becker squeezed the trigger on his Mossberg but the shot went wide as the beast followed Connor through the anomaly.

Becker ejected the used round, pumped another one in readiness for action and hurled himself after Connor. He paused for a moment only on the edge of the anomaly, feeling the prickle of cold fire on his skin and the magnetic force trying to rip the weapon from his hands.

“Future predators!” he yelled to his men. “You know the protocol!”

Without waiting for an answer, Becker jumped through the anomaly.

* * * * *

The scrape of claws on concrete was all the warning Becker got of the next attack. He swept the barrel of his shotgun around trying to acquire a target. The beam of the side-mounted MilSpec torch attachment illuminated bloodied jaws a moment before the blast took the predator in the head, blowing it off the creature’s shoulders and leaving the body to slump lifelessly at Becker’s feet.

“Fuck you,” Becker muttered as he stepped over the body, sweeping his torch beam from side to side, trying to get some sense of where the hell he was.

The light pushed darkness back to reveal what looked to be the inside of something that looked like an old air-raid shelter with thick reinforced concrete walls and heavy metal doors. Some old, rusted tables and chairs were scattered around and on one side of the room, a heap of mouldering rags that had once been clothes covered the bare bones of a skeleton, the flesh long gone. Sightless eye-sockets stared back at him. A skeletal hand still gripped a large fighting knife, but the blade clearly hadn’t done its owner much good.

Becker grabbed the knife and stuck it through a webbing strap on his belt. You could never have too many weapons if you had the misfortune to be up against predators. He gave a cursory nod of thanks to what had once been a fellow human being and made his way to the doorway. The corridor outside was clear, but a scrape of blood on the floor provided an easy trail for him to follow, but whether it would lead to Connor or Mrs Chipchase’s husband remained to be seen.

Two more misshapen piles of rags in the corridor both concealed skeletons and yielded another knife and a wide-barrelled pistol that looked like a flare gun. Becker stuffed it and ten shell canisters that he found amidst the remains into a pocket. As far as he could tell, the occupants of the bunker had been overrun but had gone down fighting. What remained of their clothing had been badly torn and even a quick glance at what was left of the bones was enough to tell Becker that the bodies had been ripped apart.

He advanced carefully, the stock of his shotgun pressed to his shoulder. The sound of a rasping breath was loud in the silence of the bunker. Becker reacted on instinct, swinging around the barrel of the Mossberg as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Verify your target! The words of his instructors at Sandhurst and then Hereford ran through his mind in the usual mantra. Verify your target! Long hours in the Killing House practising hostage rescue techniques stood him in good stead for this kind of close quarter combat.

The predator bounced out of the doorway, used the opposite wall as a springboard and flew at Becker, long talons outstretched. He flung himself to one side, keeping the shotgun trained on his attacker as he squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening in the confines of the bunker. The predator kept coming and Becker was forced to give ground, racking the slide on his shotgun calmly, ejecting the spent cartridge and pumping in another round. He’d injured the creature but still it kept coming. Another appeared behind it, scuttling up the wall and across the ceiling like an overgrown cockroach. Becker had five shots left before he would need to reload, but he’d need to buy himself some breathing space for that to be possible.

The Mossberg was famous for its stopping power, something Becker was thankful for as first one then the other predator dropped to the floor, fatally injured. Becker grabbed the long knife he’d taken from the dead body, knowing he couldn’t afford to use any more ammunition than was strictly necessary, so other means would have to suffice. He had absolutely no idea how many of the bloody things he might have to face, or even how many had gone through the anomaly in the first place. But what he did know was that he had to stay alive for a minimum of an hour.

Protocol – the protocol he’d helped to devise – dictated that in any case involving the future predators, the anomaly was to be locked and kept that way until back-up in the form of a full Sabre team of Special Forces soldiers had arrived to secure the area, ensure that no predators remained at large and then set up a perimeter. Provided they hadn’t been called away elsewhere in the country, they could be on site anywhere in southern England within an hour, as the team concerned were based in the capital and remained in constant readiness for any matter of national security. And the predators from a ruined future most definitely came into that category. A helicopter was hopefully already en route to the forest now. So all he had to do was find Connor and the missing man and keep them all alive until the anomaly reopened….

* * * * *

Easier said than done.

Becker found the missing man within ten minutes. Or at least he found what was left of him, which wasn’t much, but the blood and torn flesh were fresh, and he recognised the remnants of the tweed jacket that the woman had described. On further investigation, he found an expensive watch still strapped to the wrist of a dismembered arm. Becker slipped the bloodstained watch into his pocket and carried on searching the rest of the concrete warren of tunnels and rooms.

The predators were wary of him now, no longer as keen on making full frontal attacks only to be blasted back by the stopping power of the shotgun. Instead, they were concentrating on trying to get behind him, hiding in corners of rooms until he’d passed by and then attempting to scuttle past him once he’d moved further down the corridor. Becker had to admire the malevolent intelligence they displayed even as he did his best to fend them off with lethal force. These were one species that even the sainted Nick Cutter had never advocated keeping alive.

After the first outflanking manoeuvre very nearly succeeded, leaving him with a deep gash on his left thigh, Becker was wise to that trick. His progress slowed, but he’d be no use to Connor if he let the ugly fuckers rush him into a mistake. A kick from his boot sent the remains of a door flying back into another small room. A predator hurled itself at him. The shotgun bucked in his hands and Becker followed the blast to its chest with a kick to the creature’s head that snapped its neck with an audible crack.

As he pressed on down the corridor, Becker heard a sound very like a groan from somewhere ahead of him.

“Connor? Connor, can you hear me?” His words echoed back at him from the thick walls.

Becker was beyond any attempt at stealthy progress, not with the constant noise of his own weapon ringing in his ears. He cocked his head to one side, doing his best to listen for any reply, but his hearing had been affected by the constant noise and it was hard to make anything out.

He tried again. “Connor!”

This time the noise he heard in reply was very definitely a groan.

Becker pressed his back to the wall for a moment, pushed three more shells into the Mossberg, and then burst through the next partially open door in a move that would have earned him grudging praise from his old instructors. But as fast as he was, the predator that came against him was faster.

They crashed into each other. Becker flung himself sideways, dropping to the floor and rolling away, aware of the pain from his injured thigh, but able to ignore it as he rode a wave of adrenaline. He came up in a crouch and fired from the hip. The predator bounced like a ball in a squash court and chunks of plaster and cement were blown apart. Becker tracked the creature with the beam of the Mossberg’s torch, firing twice more to bring it down. A third shot knocked backwards a predator that had appeared in the doorway and a fourth made sure it wouldn’t get up again.

Becker shoved the carcass out into the corridor, slammed the door shut and threw his weight against it.

Connor was sprawled out on the far side of the room, propped up on one elbow, staring up at Becker, his face bruised and his clothes filthy from being dragged down the dusty corridors. The look on his face told Becker that Connor was as surprised to be alive as Becker was to see him in one piece.

Becker grinned at him. “Nice to know I’m not the only one who can’t stand your aftershave. You’re never going to live this one down, Temple.”

“Thanks, mate, I love you too.”

Connor struggled to his feet and leaned against the wall. Becker could see that he was favouring one leg and that his clothes had been ripped in several places by the predators’ claws. Blood welling from the corresponding gashes made it clear that he hadn’t escaped their attentions lightly.

“How long have we got before they open the anomaly?” Connor asked.

Becker looked at his watch. Connor knew the protocols as well as he did so there was no point in giving the answer a coating of marzipan. “Too long.”

Connor grimaced. “How long is too long?”

“Thirty-five minutes provided the idle bastards get their arses in gear.”

“They’ll get their arses in gear. Jess’ll make sure of that.” His dark eyes clocked the mini-arsenal Becker was carrying. “Spare a gun, mister?”

Becker unstrapped his SIG-Sauer P229 and slid it across the floor to Connor, following it with two full clips of 9x19mm Parabellum rounds. Becker also slid across to Connor the spare knife he’d picked up. He had a combat knife of his own plus a second pistol in a chest holster and the flare gun he’d picked up. All members of the field teams were now fully weapons trained and Connor had come on a long way from the gawky lad who had endangered Abby’s life with an accidental discharge from a tranquilliser gun.

Connor stowed the two magazines in an unripped pocket and thrust the knife through his belt. “So what happens now?”

“We do our best to stay alive. You know how much Lester hates the paperwork if someone doesn’t make it back, and you’ve done that once already, so I wouldn’t push your luck.”

“Do we stay here or try to get closer to the anomaly?”

Becker considered the question. He could hear activity outside in the corridor: chittering noises, the scrape of claws on the concrete floor and walls and the sound of snuffling. He didn’t like the idea of holing up so far from the anomaly, as that would put any entry team at even further risk, but that had to be weighed against their chances of making it back through the massed ranks of the predators. He’d been making heavy use of ammunition, but he was by no means running low. And he did have a few surprises left in store for the buggers….

* * * * *

The noise of the G60 stun grenade made the noise from his Mossberg 590 pale into insignificance. As soon as the blast had gone off, Becker heaved open the door and started firing at anything in sight. The predators had all dropped to the ground and were writhing like spiders whose webs had been abruptly cut, their balance functions severely impaired by the percussive blast. As far as he understood it, the creatures hunted by sonar and smell rather than sight, so the magnesium flare in the flash bang probably hadn’t had much effect, but the 160 decibels of sound had more than made up for that. Even from behind the thick door, the noise had been enough to disorientate anyone in range of the blast. But Becker, like all Special Forces soldiers had trained extensively with flash bangs and had become gradually conditioned to their effects.

Becker proceeded to dispatch every predator in the corridor with a pistol shot at point blank range. Blood and brains were liberally splattered over his black uniform by the time he was finished and the smell was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. Connor was crouched in a corner with his mouth open and his arms wrapped around his head, the way Becker had instructed, but it was time for them to make a break for it before some more of the sods arrived to join the party. He grabbed Connor by the arm and hauled him upright.

Together they stumbled out over the mess of bodies, their own ears still ringing from the noise, despite the shelter the room had provided. Becker looped one arm around Connor’s waist, as a badly twisted ankle was hampering his progress. Becker wished he’d tried to strap it up before they made their bid for freedom, but they didn’t have the luxury of time to tend to any injuries. He could feel blood slicking his own skin in places, but despite numerous abrasions and cuts, neither of them seemed to have sustained any life-threatening damage. He hoped it would stay that way and now he’d found Connor, the other three flash bangs in his pocket could be brought into play when the time was right.

The chaos caused by the stun grenade enabled them to reach a room within sight of the coruscating ball of time. A thick wooden door still had its hinges intact, but there was no means of locking it behind them, but equally there was no means of locking them in, so Becker wasn’t too worried by that. The corridor was relatively narrow so even if two predators at once hurled themselves at it together, the chances were that Becker’s weight combined with Connor’s would be enough to keep them out. Their chances of surviving the next half hour were starting to look somewhat better.

Just for variety, Becker fired a round from the flare gun. Provided they kept their eyes closed against the flash, it proved effective against their attackers, and allowed him to conserve the shells for his shotgun.

What he really wanted to do was check his watch, but there was no time for that.

* * * * *

Becker’s head was pounding from the effects of three flash bangs in the space of 20 minutes. He had emptied two clips of ammo from his P226 and was down to his last 15 rounds for the Mossberg. They’d taken to severing the necks of the creatures while they twitched on the floor to save ammunition.

“Why the buggering fuck won’t they just take the fucking hint?” Becker growled as he straightened up, blood dripping from the blade of his knife and covering his hand.

“It seems to be their nature just to keep on coming if they think something is a threat or a source of food,” Connor said. He looked pale but determined, and hadn’t shirked the unpleasantness of ensuring that none of the incapacitated creatures were able to attack again. “That’s probably why they’re the only things around here.”

Before Becker could answer, he felt a sudden tug against the metal of his shotgun, nearly dragging it out from under his arm. He turned to see the anomaly springing into full life, expanding to fill the whole corridor with its glittering shards.

A moment later, a black uniformed man came through; a shotgun like Becker’s held to his shoulder as he scanned the area for threats.

Becker looked at his watch. Roger Hennessey’s Sabre team were five minutes earlier than Becker had expected. He schooled his blood-splattered face into and expression of strict neutrality and said, “What kept you, Dodger?”

“We stopped off at a garage to get some flowers in case you didn’t make it back,” his fellow captain said, staring around at the heap of bodies in the corridor. “Bloody hell, Becker, you really don’t like sharing your toys, do you? Couldn’t you have left some for us?”

“Plenty more where they came from,” Becker said.

Connor pushed himself wearily off the all he’d been leaning against. “What about the ones that went through to our side?”

“Two, both dead,” Hennessey told them. “Come on, much as I’d like to stay and play, we’d better get back. Your field coordinator wanted us in and out of here as fast as possible and I’d hate to disappoint her.”

“Can we stop on the way back to pick up booze and some chocolate?” Becker said, as he and Connor turned and limped towards the anomaly.

He’d gone up against the future predators three times now and lived. That had to be worthy of a celebration.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

fififolle

Huzzah!! Well. That was a real blood bath and no mistake! Freaking fantastic. Poor old Mr Chipchase, though. I'm glad Becker took his watch for her. Connor was seriously lucky, and yay for flash bangs. Dodger Roger was lots of fun, too!
Great fic, rrrrr.

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Fic, Hell and Back, Becker, Connor, 15

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