Out.
Darr pulled her onto the window ledge, and they sidestepped to a rickety fire escape clinging in a vertiginous spiral to the side of the building. He swung onto it first then extended his arm for Violet. His warm fingers grasped hers as the bricks above her head shattered. Shouts drew her attention below, where dark shapes milled.
Judge’s men. And Mathew. She’d recognize that sly face anywhere. More bullets ransacked the wall, showering her in dust and concrete fragments.
“Now!” Darr’s voice cut through the gunfire, and he ripped her off the ledge. He pressed her hands to the rough metal struts, securing her grip, then climbed up and beyond, his breath escaping in white clouds in the freezing air.
A cold breeze stung through the thin cotton of Violet’s long-sleeved t-shirt and chilled her neck in an icy slide as she followed.
“Hurry,” he shouted.
The ladder juddered violently, tearing a scream from Violet’s throat and wrenching her feet and one hand free. She dangled, hanging by desperate fingers, her legs frantically kicking to reach the rungs. A strong grip grabbed her free wrist and hauled her upward, slamming her back onto the ladder. Violet clung to the struts, her lungs failing to keep pace with her heart. Her breath whooped loud in her ears in a cascade of adrenalin.
Darr released her hand and cupped the back of her head. “Ok?”
Strength emanated from his touch, and she nodded and began to climb again, concentrating on getting her breathing back under control.
At last, she rolled onto the flat roof of the library, fighting for breath. Without the protection of a jacket, the icy wind chilled her muscles making her limbs sluggish and clumsy.
Relentless, Darr snatched her hand and sprinted across the gravel roof, stones spitting from his heels. Voices sounded behind them, and Violet risked a glance over her shoulder. Men burst from the service door built into the library roof.
Darr swerved to a halt at the roof edge. “We need to jump.”
“What?” Violet stumbled, not quite believing his words as her heart hammered her ribs into oblivion. Her nose was running, and when she wiped it with the back of her hand, her skin was streaked with fresh blood. Shit.
She took a hesitant step to the edge and peered over. The ground below wavered and she staggered backward. They were six floors up. The nearest building was over eight feet away.
“We can’t make that. It’s too far.” She swiped loose hair from her face. Mathew, advancing with a crew of men, was less than fifty feet away.
Darr grabbed her and tugged her close, their hips colliding as he slipped his hands into her hair and pulled her face close. His warm lips found hers, pressing for one exquisite moment, his mouth opening just enough for her to taste him. Then just as quickly, he released her.
Violet trembled, feeling the pressure of his hands still on her hips. Already her mouth felt bruised and swollen from only one kiss. His thumb brushed her bottom lip.
“Sorry.”
She was confused. “For kissing me?”
His face was suddenly serious. “No, for this.” He swept her into his arms and threw her off the roof into the cold crisp air.
22
Darr had expected Violet to resist, but instead, her curves melted against him, connecting with every nerve in his body despite the clothing separating them. She surrendered, her lips soft and pliant. Then the instant was gone.
His thumb traced her bottom lip. “Sorry.”
Shouts rang across the roof, heading in their direction. Their time was up.
Violet’s brow creased. “For kissing me?”
Never for that. “No. For this.” He swept her into his arms. Her eyes locked with his, tugging at the edges of his heart. She felt so right, but to keep her safe, he had to let her go.
Literally.
He lunged to gain momentum then gritting his teeth, he threw her off the roof.
Violet reacted instantly, twisting as she hurtled toward the next building, her hair fanning out as if underwater. She hit the gravel-topped shingles with an audible grunt and rolled.
With a final backward glance at their pursuers, Darr followed. He jumped, his body stretching for the far reaches of the adjoining roof. It seemed to take forever.
He willed himself to make it.
Not quite.
He slammed into the wall, his hands hitting the edge in a bone-numbing collision. One hand fumbled, and he scrabbled frantically to regain his grip, hanging precariously by his straining fingers for a few terrifying seconds. His legs thrashed against the hungry emptiness below, and panic spiked through his system, fueled by the screams of Mathew’s men. If he didn’t fall to his death, they’d pick him off the wall in a human version of fairground Shoot-the-Duck.
Sure fingers grasped his flailing right hand and rammed it against the wall. Relief flooded his system as he dug deep into the felt roof surface and met Violet’s green eyes. Her cheek rested on the edge, a thin smear of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.
“Bastard,” she muttered, before reaching over and grabbing the scruff of his shirt. Her assistance was enough to give him the advantage. He surged upward, and his boots connected with a crack in the brickwork. Finally, he boosted himself up and over the edge, barely dodging scorching laser blasts as he rolled.
As he scrambled to his feet, Violet was already running, ducked low as she headed for the cover of one of the air-conditioning units in the middle of the roof. She disappeared as he followed in a muscle-tearing sprint across the gritty surface. Stony asphalt exploded near his ankles, and he swerved only for a bullet to punch agonizingly into the meat of his bicep.
With a final dodge, he tumbled behind the air-conditioning unit and collided with Violet, who was pressed against the smooth silver metal. His shoulders pummeled into her as he fell, and she grunted and grabbed his waist, stopping him from overshooting into the maelstrom of gunshot and laser fire.
When she released him, he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. His palms still smarted, but that was nothing compared to the nauseating thrum of pain that pulsed through his arm. Darr dipped his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he cautiously stood on shaking legs.
Violet slapped him across the cheek, forcing his head backward in a snapping jerk. Darr recoiled, his palms rising in defense.
“What. The fuck. Was that?” she screamed, jabbing a finger close to his eyes.
More shouts echoed across the thin air.
Darr rubbed the hot imprint of her palm on his cheek. He’d deserved that. “C’mon, they’re going to be down that ladder and across to this building in no time at all.” He pointed to the corner where the fire escape was located.
A second of consideration flitted across Violet’s face, then she gave him a curt nod. With a set chin, she crouched and sprinted, Darr in her wake. He’d rehearsed this escape route so many times, he could run it blindfolded.
Climbing quickly, they descended to the street without incident. Engines revved nearby, and voices called. The men were close.
Darr took off at a limping pace to where his escape bike was stored down a side street behind a large, yellow wheelie bin. It was ready to go, fueled with basic supplies and weapons. He swiped away torn cardboard and wheeled the bike out.
He hated to admit it, but he was pleased to see the surprise on Violet’s face. He lifted the helmet from the handlebars and pressed it into her hands. “Put it on,” he growled. He lifted the warm jacket from his bag and gave her that too.
Violet tucked her hair behind her ears before pulling the helmet on. Curls escaped out the bottom as she lasered him with a glare that would bend steel.
“Wait.” She slipped her fingers into his, surprising him. “Let me see your arm.” With cautious fingers, she peeled back the scorched fabric. “It’s a deep graze. I can clean it up once we’re somewhere safe.”
Darr nodded, gritting his teeth as he yanked on a thick sweater from his saddlebags.
On
ce he was on the bike, Violet mounted behind him, her slim arms snaring his waist. It felt good to have her grabbing onto him as he steered the bike away from the library. Knowing she was safe, her thighs snug against his, his heart rate eased a little.
He accelerated up the narrow side street, bursting out onto the main road in a neat curve before accelerating at full throttle. They whipped past the library door, catching a fleeting glimpse of Mathew thundering up the access passageway at the side of the building.
Violet scooted forward, her arms hugging Darr’s body as the bike gained speed. He sped past the dissolved remnants of the dead Chittrix and the burned-out van he’d rescued Violet from only the day before.
Time seemed to have exploded and warped since she literally crashed into his life. His definition of what was important was shifting inexorably, and the rules he’d established to keep himself and others safe were being torn apart and rewritten. Fear laced his thoughts, but also excitement at what might be. At the hope he now felt for the first time in months.
As he pushed the bike to its limits across rough farm tracks, Violet wrapped around his body, the truth blasted through him like ice water.
There was no rewind button.
The connection with Violet was already there whether he liked it or not.
23
Violet clung to Darr with as he accelerated out of Chippenham into the desolate English countryside. Speaking was pointless—the biting wind whipped the words from her mouth—so she hunkered behind the security of his broad back, tucking her hands into the wool of his sweater for meager protection. Soon, they were driving into the setting winter sun, their shadows long and thin behind them.
It didn’t take long before Violet worked out he was following a familiar route. There was no hesitation as he chose fields to cross or farms to cut through. She guessed they were heading west, toward Dorset—and further from London.
Further from Judge and his men, but also further from the Command Base where her family and friends lived. Where she lived and Darr didn’t. For the first time since the invasion, her life felt complicated. The easy rhythm of defend your loved ones, hunt, and kill aliens had been ruptured by the guarded man steering her through the deserted English landscape.
She squeezed her eyes tight and curled around him, the heat from his back warming her cheek. Time suspended, and she allowed herself a brief fantasy where it was possible to meet a man and live happily ever after.
After about forty minutes, Darr gunned the bike up a long incline. A sign, pockmarked by small-bore shots and canted at a wonky angle, indicated that it had once been a driveway. Harrington Psychiatric Hospital. The bike sped past grass verges pummeled into muddy submission by snow and hail.
Evening light slanted through the bare trees, flickering across Violet’s vision in a kaleidoscope of pink light and earthy darkness. She inhaled the dank aroma of decay as above her head tenacious leaves clung to the branches, providing a skeletal archway of aged timber that sheltered them from prying Chittrix eyes.
Finally, the tunnel of trees eased, and they swept into a large, circled driveway that ran in a loop between crumbling seventies buildings. Most of the windows were broken, dark holes framed by rotting hospital curtains. Darr steered the bike through a tangle of splintered furniture and mounds of black, rotting clothes before easing it to a stop in front of the central building.
A large semi-circle of steps led up to thick, wooden double doors. They were open, but it was impossible to see what lay beyond. When Violet took her helmet off, only the low wail of the wind whispered in her ears.
She suppressed a shiver. “Why here?”
Darr dismounted and unclipped the saddlebags from the bike. “Safety. They won’t find us here.” He dropped the bags on the bottom step then wheeled the bike to the side, where he picked up a sodden sheet from the ground and draped it over the bike, camouflaging it. He hooked the bags on his uninjured arm and took the steps three at a time, only pausing at the top to check Violet was following.
She gave the abandoned driveway once last glance before she headed indoors after him.
Inside was still and dark. The corridor was ripe with damp and rot; the stench seared her nostrils. Violet raised her wrist to her nose against the assault. Thick mahogany paneling lined the lower walls, and above, pale-blue plaster stretched high to detailed Victorian cornicing and curlicues. This place had been beautiful once.
Darr was already at the end of the corridor, his back disappearing like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. Violet hurried past brass plaques commemorating the opening of the building and faded black and white photographs of stuffy-looking doctors and nurses.
Doors ahead banged and rattled. She cursed under her breath as she hotfooted after him, passing empty offices, trashed examination rooms, and computer suites, everything long-abandoned. She was still surprised at how little time it had taken for the world to disintegrate under the Chittrix onslaught. She clattered through a set of swing doors and found herself at the bottom of an ornate stone staircase.
Darr waited for her at the top.
Upstairs were the clinical wards. On one side of the stairs, rooms were jumbled with beds and ripped curtain screens. On the other, a large central office was carpeted with moldy paper. Violet peered at the typed sheets. Clinical case notes on long-dead patients.
“Government let them go,” Darr said. “Things fell apart fast. Staff weren’t going to hang around in the middle of nowhere looking after a bunch of psychiatric patients, so they opened the doors and let everyone leave. Every man for himself.”
His eyes darkened with memories.
Violet studied his face. “You’ve been here before?”
“I’ve been around. I ran a reading group here once.” He locked eyes with her momentarily then shrugged and turned from her, the topic closed.
He led her through the large office into a smaller room. It had been tidied, the floor clear. A space behind a bank of desks provided privacy from prying eyes in the corridor.
He dumped his saddlebags on one of the dusty desktops. “We’ll stay here for the night. It’s dry and safe. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
Violet sank gratefully into one of the large office chairs. Dry leather creaked under the weight of her body, and small puffs of dust tickled her nose and made her sneeze. Darr produced a key from his belt clip and unlocked a desk drawer. He withdrew supplies—a small camping stove, cereal bars, and a compact sleeping bag. He’d prepared for this.
The more time she spent with him, the more damage she saw, but also the more she was drawn to him, the dark and the light.
He laid the bars out in a neat row, then turned to a tall, metal-supplies cabinet. He kicked the bottom of the door and wrenched the handle at the same time. The metal screeched then relented, the door popping open. Darr unhooked a sleek crossbow from inside. The polished metal glinted in the last vestiges of daylight.
Violet leaned forward in her seat. “Very organized.”
A small satisfied smile touched his lips. “I try.”
“I’ve never used one.”
Darr cocked his head. “Really?”
“Really.” She held out her hands. “Don’t touch?”
A grin lit up his eyes. “You can touch this.”
Violet took the crossbow from him and lifted it against her shoulder, settling the weapon into the crook of her arm. The metal was cool and solid against her skin. She focused down the sight line. “Makes sense. Nothing to recharge.”
Darr walked behind her, stepping close until his body bumped hers. “Not quite like that. Here.”
Callouses on his palm grazed the back of her hands and fired electricity up her forearms. Her breathing kicked up several notches to keep pace with her heart. Damn.
For a second he hesitated, then he grasped her hands and adjusted the position of the crossbow against her body. Her heart pounded in her chest. Could he hear it? At least the growing darkness outside concealed the
rising flush on her throat and neck.
“Like this,” he whispered, his breath caressing her throat as he adjusted her hold on the weapon. Violet’s knees softened, and her belly turned somersaults. Darr tightened his grip, pulling her in against the sleek hardness of his stomach. His scent cocooned her, shutting out the rest of the world as he worked the firing mechanism and inserted a bolt. “There. Ready to fire. Keep your aim in line with this notch.”
“Uh huh.” Her mouth was bone dry, her tongue useless. It was all she could do to remain standing. Every tiny movement of his body stripped her back to raw sensation.
Darr stepped away. “It suits you.”
She lowered the bow and turned to face him. Long seconds ticked. She handed him the bow back, tongue-tied.
What was this? All her attempts to keep him at arm’s length were falling apart. She was still pissed at him for throwing her off the roof, even had the bruises to show for it. That at least should dissuade her
But.
He’d saved her life and she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His flaws had their own terrible beauty, and what little he’d revealed only attracted her more. Perhaps because she was far from perfect herself, there was solace in their similarity. She scrutinized his face, searching for an indication of reciprocal feelings, but dusk filled the room and shadows hid his expression.
“Violet?” His words startled her from her reverie.
“Sorry.” She shook her head, grounding herself back in reality. Her brain re-engaged, bypassing her libido. She took his hand in hers. “Let me clean up your arm.”
24
Violet stripped and washed. There was still cold water in the taps, supplied by an industrial water tank on the roof. She hacked a towel in two with her knife, then used one half to scrub the grime and dust of the Box from her skin and the other to hurriedly buff herself dry in the freezing, tiled bathroom. She tried not to look in the mirror.
Her ribs were a multicolored welt of bruises, extended from below her breasts to the curve of her hipbone. The taped gouge on her leg was holding, so she doused it with more antiseptic and changed the bandage using Darr’s first-aid kit. After dressing in the clean blue t-shirt and dark jeans Darr had procured after a quick scout through the wards, she almost felt human again.
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