by Mark Morris
Dylan held up his hands, showing them his empty palms. "That's it," he said, "all out."
Adam circled the area, checking out the terrain. "I'll take us in as close as I can. But you're going to have to move fast, gang. Guns at the ready"
He brought the helicopter down right on the edge of the charred circle. Even before the runners had fully settled, Dylan was leaping to the ground, running in a crouch towards his father.
Steve was hunkered over Max's body like a mother bird protecting its injured chick. He had a hand on Max's chest and was talking to him. From the way that Max's head was thrashing from side to side, Abby-who had jumped to the ground behind her brother-guessed that Dad was trying to soothe or reassure him. Dylan was half a dozen feet from Steve, scanning left and right through the thick smoke from the smattering of petrol fires, when Max raised his head from the ground and looked directly at him.
For an instant Abby thought that Max was not only conscious but fully aware, and then his eyes started to roll and his lips began to move in a feverish jabber, and she realized he was away in his own little world. Even so, that didn't stop him from reaching out and, with unnerving accuracy, suddenly grabbing the rifle lying on the grass beside him. Next moment he had swung the rifle round and was pointing it at Dylan's chest.
`I see one!" he screamed. "I see one, Steve! Coming right at us!"
"No, Max," Steve said, raising a hand, "that's-"
Max pulled the trigger.
Abby saw Dylan close his eyes and throw himself to one side. Even so, she was still expecting the bullet to hit him even a second or two after the gun had been fired. The relief she felt when she realized he hadn't been hit was just beginning to kick in when Portia started screaming. She half turned and was just in time to see Libby, blood gushing from her mouth, drop her gun, stagger a few steps forward, and crumple to the ground.
For a second or two Abby literally didn't know what to do. She stood motionless, rain drumming on her shoulders and back, staring down at Libby's bleeding body.
It was Adam, appearing at the door of the helicopter, who got her moving again. "Get her inside quickly," he yelled, whereupon she ran across to Libby, shoving her gun into her pocket as she did so.
Adam was there at the same moment. He dropped to his knees beside Libby, and together he and Abby gently turned her over.
At first Abby thought that Libby's entire bottom jaw had been shot off. But almost immediately she realized that although there was a lot of blood, her wounds were mostly superficial. It appeared that the bullet had skimmed her cheekbone and nicked her earlobe before zinging harmlessly away into the night. Libby was not badly hurt (even now her eyelids were fluttering), but the passing kiss of the bullet must still have felt like being socked in the jaw with a burning fist.
"She's going to be fine," Adam shouted. "Let's get her into the helicopter."
Together the two of them carried Libby over to the helicopter and, with Portia's help, lifted her inside and placed her on the floor of the cabin.
"Where are you going?" Adam said when Abby immnmediately stood up and headed back across to the door.
"I'm going to tell Dad that Libby's okay, and help him and Dyl with Max."
Before Adam could comment or argue she jumped down to the ground. Certain that she must now be functioning on her last reserves of adrenaline, she ran across the saturated grass. Dad and Dyl were already lifting Max, who now appeared to be unconscious. As she approached them, Dad-for the first time that she could recall seeming older than his forty years-looked at her in anguish.
"She's fine, Dad," she said quickly, and touched her cheekbone with the tip of her finger. "She's got a little nick here, that's all. She'll have a cute little scar and maybe a bruise for a day or two."
Abby looked down at Max's leg, registering the extent of the injury for the first time, and for a few seconds the world grayed out.
"I know," Steve shouted above the noise of the helicopter, "it's a mess, isn't it?"
Determined to neither pass out nor throw up, Abby took several deep breaths. She saw that Max's ankles were bound tightly together with her dad's jacket and asked, "Will he ever walk again?"
Steve glanced at Dylan, then, evidently deciding that the time for sweetening the pill had long gone, said bluntly, "He'll have to survive first. He's lost an awful lot of blood."
Together the three of them, running, carried Max across to the helicopter. Abby glanced up and saw Portia, wearing a glassy, shell-shocked expression, peering at them from the open door as they approached. Then she saw Portia's expression change, her head turn to the right.
"Look out!" she screamed.
All three looked to their left. A flickering, fizzing wave of creatures, newly emboldened, was surging towards them. Steve had Max's rifle over his shoulder and his own handgun in his pocket, but, supporting the weight of Max's upper body, couldn't get to either. Abby was only taking a nominal amount of Max's weight, acting more as a support for his midsection, and her weapon was therefore more accessible. She started to fire at the approaching aliens even as she, Dad and Dylan were slithering and scrambling across the rain-slick ground.
"Come on! Come on!" Portia screamed.
They reached the helicopter and all but rammed Max in head-first. Abby fired off a couple more shots as Adam grabbed the shoulders of Max's muddy, soaking jacket and hauled him inside. Abby jumped in, then Steve and Dylan scrambled aboard just as the aliens surrounded the aircraft in a crackling wave.
"So long, suckers!" Dylan yelled, pulling the helicopter door shut as the machine, bearing more weight than it was designed for, lifted sluggishly into the air. Soon they were climbing into the night sky and away, the burning castle and the shimmering carpet of aliens growing distant behind them. "Where now?" Abby said.
Steve had moved across to a groaning Libby, who had a wadded-up T-shirt from Abby's rucksack pressed against her bleeding jaw. "We need to find medical supplies for Maxsplints, painkillers. Lots of painkillers." He shook his head.
"Is it really that bad?" Abby asked, once again eyeing the jacket bound tightly around his legs like a restraint.
Steve nodded wearily. "'Fraid so. When he comes round he's going to be in agony, and it's going to stay that way for a long time. Even if he survives he'll probably be a cripple. And then of course there's the danger of gangrene. The wound's already filthy as it is...." He tailed off and his face twisted with anguish. "This fucking world..."
Abby crawled over and put her amps around him, put her anus around both him and Libby. "We'll just have to do what we've always done," she said. "Keep going. Stick together. Help each other as best we can."
Adam, sitting at the controls, turned to glance at them. "Don't know how you chaps feel," he shouted, "but I was wondering, once we get Max sorted out, whether you all fancied a little trip to France?"
Steve glanced up, shrugged. "You really think it'll be any better there?"
"Who knows?Couldn't be any worse, though, could it?And someone somewhere's got radio communication, so they may be in slightly better shape than us. And the weather's better."
Dylan smiled slightly at that. "Hey, maybe we can go sunbathing in Saint-Tropez."
"Well... it's a plan," Steve conceded.
They flew on.
Into the rain.
Into the darkness.
Into an uncertain future.
Emma had just started her new job as personal assistant to Alex Keltner, the charismatic and powerful head of Keltner Industries. So when he asked her to attend a party he was throwing that weekend at his secluded estate, she knew better than to refuse. It would be her first party amid the extremely wealthy and powerful elite....
It will be a party she'll never forget... if she survives. At first it will be simply odd. Mysterious warnings. Strange, seductive guests. An atmosphere of lust and sexuality. Video cameras in the rooms. But as the weekend progresses, Emma will slowly learn the true nature of the guests and her mysterious host-and
the real, grotesque purpose of the party.
ISBN 13: 978-0-8439-5972-7
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