Andrew sat up, ducking just before he could hit his head on the upper bunk. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. “How are we gonna do this?” he asked.
“There’s only one guard outside at the moment,” Thomas replied. “But she’s at the front entrance. Morris doesn’t know about the rear airlock.”
“Are you certain?”
Thomas hesitated. “Last I checked, a few hours ago, it was unguarded.”
Andrew considered it. “Kendra left a gun for me under the ramp.”
“This one?” Thomas asked, pulling an old revolver from the front pouch of his jumpsuit.
“Hah. Nice work, Doc.” Andrew stepped forward to grab the weapon, and slipped it into his own jumpsuit.
“Follow me,” Thomas said.
Andrew kept pace a few steps behind the doctor as they wove a path from the room where he’d been quarantined down a long corridor with exposed pipes and conduits in the ceiling, to a narrow door with warnings all over it and a big red manual release lever on one side. Thomas sent him a nervous look as they stopped in front of the airlock. “This is where we part ways. I’ll do my best to cover for you and make sure no one realizes you’re missing, but don’t take any longer than you need to. I’ll leave the airlock open so you can sneak in afterwards. There are handholds in the side of the hull to climb back up.”
Andrew nodded. “Thanks.”
“Good luck,” Thomas said as he turned the handle. The airlock swished open, and Andrew hurried into a boxy space with lockers for pressure suits on both sides. “You’ll have to release it yourself,” he said, pointing to a matching lever in front of Andrew.
The door slid shut behind him, and Andrew walked up to the control lever. He grabbed it in one hand, hesitating and peering out an actual physical window to check for signs of trouble outside. But the window was small and blurry, with a thin black film of carbon-scoring from the heat of atmospheric entry. All he could see was a vague suggestion of trees a hundred feet or so beyond the waving fields of grass below.
Andrew turned the handle, and the door slid open. He peered over the edge. It had to be twenty feet to the ground. He spotted the rungs of handholds running below and above the airlock, and squatted to swing his legs over the side. Andrew hurried down the ladder, the long grass sliding up to his waist as he reached the bottom.
A dark figure waltzed by maybe fifteen feet ahead, a lighter illuminating his hands orange as he cupped it from the wind and lit a long stick protruding from his mouth. A cigar? Andrew wondered. A second later, the glowing orange tip and curls of smoke confirmed it.
Andrew plastered himself to the side of Eden Six, his heart slamming in his chest, wondering what to do. The man wasn’t looking his way, but he was definitely armed. One of the reverend’s guards had sneaked around here for a smoke break—maybe because cigars were a rare commodity and he didn’t want to share, or maybe just because. Whatever the reason, Andrew couldn’t afford to be seen sneaking out.
Come on, he thought. Keep moving…
Maybe the guard was simply out for a walk. But then he stopped, hands on his hips, staring at the treeline beyond the clearing. It was the same forest that Andrew planned to use to cover his escape.
He realized this was his chance. He couldn’t wait for that guard to turn around and see him. He needed to act now.
Andrew crept forward, using the breeze to cover the rustling sound of his approach. He came to within a few feet of the guard before the man noticed something was wrong. The guard spun around, and a familiar man with peach-fuzz short black hair and a lumpy face appeared. Beady black eyes widened. It was John. His rifle came tracking up—
Too slow. Andrew slammed a fist into the man’s face and simultaneously pushed the rifle out of line with his chest. John’s nose crunched, giving way, and his hands flew to his face. The cigar fell from his lips, and his beady eyes bulged. Blood streamed darkly between his fingers.
“I’m going to kill you!” he said in a nasal voice.
But Andrew shoved John before he could do anything else, hooking a foot behind his leg and sending him to the ground. With a firm grip on John’s rifle, he managed to slip the shoulder strap over the larger man’s head as he fell. John made a feeble attempt to snatch the weapon back—missed—and latched onto Andrew’s ankle instead. Andrew kicked the man in his lumpy face, and John subsided with a muffled grunt of pain.
That was when Andrew noticed John reaching for an earpiece. Andrew aimed the rifle at his chest and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”
John’s hand froze halfway up to the comms device.
“Hand it over,” Andrew growled. He spared a hand from the rifle to make a gimme gesture.
John slowly handed the device to him. “You won’t get away with this,” he said.
“Yeah? Watch me.”
Andrew walked around slowly, glancing around as he did so to make sure no one else was coming. No sign of anyone, but that wouldn’t last long if he left John here to sound the alarm.
John watched him steadily, now sitting up in the grass, blood still streaming through his fingers from his broken nose.
Andrew debated knocking him out, but a blow to the head could easily be fatal, and if the others found a dead body here in the morning, they’d realize he’d broken out and he wouldn’t be able to sneak back into camp again later.
Coming to a snap decision, Andrew said, “Let’s go.”
“What?”
“On your feet. Move. Head for the trees.” Andrew jerked his head toward the shadowy wall of spike-tipped trees on the other side of Eden Six. “And make it fast, or I promise you I will pull this trigger with a smile.”
“You do that, and you’ll alert the whole camp. They’ll surround you in minutes.”
Andrew snorted. “Good. Then maybe I’ll finally have a good excuse to take them all out.”
John scowled beneath the hand staunching blood from his nose.
“Get moving,” Andrew said. “I won’t ask again.”
John climbed to his feet and turned toward the trees. Andrew swept in behind him and jabbed him in the back with the rifle. “Start running.”
“Screw you,” John said, but broke into a jog, heading for the trees. He made a hell of a racket moving through the tall grass, stepping on every stick he could find. Andrew followed more quietly, lingering behind a few paces and keeping an eye out for signs of pursuit.
He kept expecting a bullet to go zipping by his head, or to feel a hot spike of pain tearing through his skin as one found its mark. But so far, no one had realized what was happening.
Andrew kept an eye on John, too, expecting him to make a move, but so far he hadn’t tried anything.
They reached the treeline, crashing through the underbrush, and John came to a dead stop. “Now what, dumbass?” he asked, half-turning to face Andrew.
“Keep moving.” Andrew was aware of the space between them. Only a few feet, but that was intentional. Give John just enough rope to hang himself. “Did you hear me?” Andrew prompted, his whole body tensed and ready for the attack he knew was coming.
An ugly sneer crossed the man’s face and then he lunged, both hands reaching for the barrel of the rifle. Andrew let him grab it, but flipped the stock up into the side of his head. John stumbled away, blinking fast, staggered by the blow. A thin, dark trickle of blood snaked from the side of his head, and then he collapsed to his knees.
“You remember Brian?” Andrew asked quietly.
Confusion crinkled John’s face. “Bria...” He trailed off, sounding drunk. Concussed, Andrew decided.
“How about Sergeant Harper?”
John’s mouth opened, then shut, no sound emerging.
“Let me jog your memory.” Andrew grabbed the rifle like a club and swung as hard as he could. It connected with the side of John’s skull with a loud crack, and the brute went down without another word.
Andrew grimaced to see the result of the blow. The corn
ers of his mouth twitched, and a wave of nausea and guilt rolled through the pit of his stomach. He bent down to check the man’s pulse.
Nothing. John was dead.
Andrew hadn’t had a choice, and John had been a monster.
But what if Roland’s theory about the reverend drugging people was correct?
No, Andrew decided. None of the Saints were as bad as John, so even if they were all drugged, that wasn’t enough to excuse his murderous behavior.
Sending a quick glance toward Eden Six, Andrew surveyed the moonlit field for signs of pursuit. Long grass waved in the breeze. Stars shone bright overhead, and the gleaming ramp to Eden Six remained empty. Satisfied that he’d made a clean escape, Andrew slipped the rifle’s strap over his head and left it to dangle behind his back while he bent to the task of dragging John deeper into the forest. If he was lucky, one of those wolf creatures from the valley over would find the body before the Saints did. If not... he wouldn’t be sneaking into camp after this.
Andrew grimaced, wishing the reverend had left Eden Six unguarded. That would have made his escape a lot simpler.
And less messy, he thought, noticing that blood from John’s head wound had slicked his hands.
Andrew’s body began to ache from the task of dragging the big man through the forest. It was tough going, but the farther he could get from camp, the less likely the body would be discovered. Fueled by visions of Val being tortured or beaten in retaliation for this killing, Andrew kept pulling John until he found a dry riverbed, not unlike the one where they’d lost Cox on his first expedition into the forests with Eric Keller and Sergeant Harper and her men.
That felt like a lifetime ago now. What he wouldn’t give to have Keller, Carrie, and Lewis Hound in charge instead of the reverend, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Not after they’d learned the truth about Hound. He might not be as overtly evil as Shelly Morris, but he was going along with her atrocities and the rest of her craziness, and that spoke volumes.
Andrew took an angle-head flashlight and a canteen from John, and then buried his body under heaps of dried and rotting leaves, sticks, and even a few tumbleweed-like bushes that were easy to uproot. When he was done, it resembled a normal patch of undergrowth, not a burial site. Hopefully that would be enough to hide the body until the rains came and washed it away. Or better yet, until one of those predators feasted on it.
Stepping aside from his gruesome work, Andrew nodded once to himself and then spun around to gain his bearings. Spying the trail he’d just taken, he followed it to the edge of the clearing where the colony was. As he went, he did his best to erase the drag marks he’d left in the bed of dried and rotting leaves on the forest floor.
Once he reached the colony’s perimeter, he checked for the moonlit gleam of water and followed the treeline down in that direction. Val had told him that Hound’s place was on the other side of the lake, up the beach, and straight through the trees to a pond. She’d told him to search for rover tracks. Keller and Carrie had left their vehicle there the night that they’d found Hound’s place. Either the reverend’s people or Hound would have retrieved it after the coup, but it hadn’t rained since that night, so the evidence should still be there. If he could find where the tracks ended, he’d know where the rover had stopped. Then he just had to find that pond.
Andrew broke into a jog as he left the colony behind, trusting the distance to cloak the sounds of his movement through the cottony leaves and underbrush.
Within about five minutes, he’d reached the lake. From there, he had to follow the shoreline. He stayed close to the water’s edge, moving as quickly and quietly as he could. Despite his best efforts, he still wound up kicking up noisy sprays of rocks from the pebbly beach.
Each time he did so, he glanced up the gentle rise from the shore to the distant swell of spotlights from the camp. He half expected to hear rovers whirring as they descended on him, but there were no signs of pursuit. Andrew was beginning to think it was too good to be true.
And then he heard something. Not the noise of a rover, but the whispering rustle of grass flowing around moving bodies. Turning toward the sound, Andrew saw that two dark, snaking lines of flattening grass were pacing him above the beach. A glint of yellow eyes appeared, and he thought he heard a low mewl from one of the creatures. The second one hissed in reply, and a cold chill coursed along Andrew’s spine, stopping him dead in his tracks. He yanked the stolen rifle up to his shoulder, staring hard through the sights and checking for targets. But the evidence of his pursuit had vanished, along with the sounds of grass brushing past their lithe bodies.
Andrew’s finger ducked inside the rifle’s trigger guard, expecting an attack. His whole body tensed, sparking with adrenaline and anticipation. He wasn’t far enough from the camp to risk firing a gun. The sound would carry easily to the reverend’s night patrols, and they would be here within minutes.
Yellow eyes came winking out of the grass, staring at him. A flash of long, needle-thin white teeth came into view as a giant mouth grinned. It was as if these aliens understood his predicament. One of them came stalking out of cover with liquid grace, licking its lips with a fat purple tongue. The second one followed. The two predators approached him from opposing angles, ready to cut off any possible escape. Andrew backed up a few steps, his heels immersed in water. He was cornered, and these creatures knew it.
NINE
Andrew
The icy water slid up Andrew’s legs. He was retreating fast, splashing as he went. Soon he was up to his waist. The two alien wolves neared the water’s edge, their yellow eyes turning flinty, whip-like tails lashing the air as they paced restlessly on the shore.
Andrew expected them to venture out to reach him, but they never did.
They don’t like water, he realized, a sly smile touching his lips. Andrew smirked and turned to continue on his way, wading through the lake rather than running along the shore. It was much slower going, and the alien wolves followed him, mewling and growling as they went. He made sure to keep a good fifteen feet between them at all times. At least the lake bed was shallow.
After about ten minutes of plodding along the pebbly bottom of the lake, the two wolves turned and darted up the shore, vanishing into the long grass once more. Andrew suspected a trap and didn’t immediately leave the water. It wasn’t five minutes later before he saw eyes watching him from the grass to confirm his suspicions.
And then even those signs vanished, and Andrew let out a shaky sigh. He was frozen from the waist down, but he continued wading through the water for at least another twenty minutes, just to be sure those creatures had really left. The last thing he needed was to become a midnight snack for alien predators.
Val was counting on him.
By the time he finally reached the other side of the lake and spotted the rover tracks in the grassy field above the beach leading back to camp, dawn was blushing above the trees, and Andrew’s body was leaden with exhaustion. The strange blue star had turned the sky green and purple with a truly alien sunrise.
Andrew moved quickly through the trees, running stealthily to avoid any other predators that might be stalking him. He couldn’t be sure where he would find the pond that Val had mentioned. She’d told him to head straight into the forest. He just hoped her memory of that trip was accurate. If not, he’d be grid-searching the forest for hours to find it.
* * *
Roland
Tony was already late. Roland combed over the water treatment system, checking to ensure the functions were operating at peak parameters. An alarm beeped on the tablet, and he exited the program, switching to the filtration menu.
Two of the arm-length filters were running under ten percent life, meaning it was time to change them, which involved dipping into the water. Tony usually did this part. Something dug into Roland’s leg, and he’d nearly forgotten that he had a gas mask tucked into his jumpsuit. He’d been doing this all month, taking anything they might need on the road, one ra
ndom item at a time. He pulled the mask out, adding it to one of the two stashed packs hidden behind a panel on the power supply, before heading outside.
The section of the Eden station used for the treatment plant was growing moss on the exterior, and he wiped some of the green stuff off the storage handle near the lake’s edge. Using his code, he penetrated the dark room, propping the door wide so he could see.
The filters were stacked in neat rows, and he plucked two of them out, cradling them over his forearms and muttering about Tony the entire time. “What a guy… gets brainwashed so he doesn’t have to work… maybe I want a few days off. Eating pizza and singing ‘Kumbaya’ around the campfire.”
He set the filters down, heading toward the entrance, where the wetsuits were hanging in a closet.
“Hi Rollie,” Tony said, startling him.
Eve was close behind the kid, grinning ear to ear. At least she wasn’t holding her gun this morning.
“You’re late,” Roland told him, squinting as he stared at Tony’s eyes, wondering if he was on the drugs now, or how it worked.
Tony broke eye contact and nodded. “What’s on the docket today?”
“The docket?” Roland asked.
“Martin. Shut up and get to work. Tony’s one of us, so if I see you messing with him, it’s bye-bye time, capiche?” Eve asked.
God, he hated this woman. “Fully understood. I will not make Sir Anthony do anything his preciousness does not want to do.”
Roland began slipping into the wetsuit, and Tony grabbed the other, smiling at Roland. “Isn’t it a lovely day here in Eden?”
“If you’re high as a kite on a windy day,” Roland muttered.
Tony didn’t seem to hear him, and they walked together toward the shoreline. The lake was calm, the breeze seemingly non-existent. Already the heat was growing unbearable, and Roland thought it might be a good morning to be in the lake after all. He had so many questions for Tony, but assumed anything he told the kid would be relayed to the Saints. They were under strict orders not to say anything about their plan to Valeria or Tony.
Final Days: Escape Page 6