by Reagan Woods
The Hunted
Families don’t survive wars, famine and alien invasion intact. Francesca knows this. She’s a full-grown woman, not some idealistic little girl. That doesn’t mean that Margot, her sister, isn’t being held in another work camp. But will their alien captors, the authoritarian and fascist CORANOS, communicate and try to reunite families? Hell, no. They’re more interested in getting it on with their captives than with making life on Earth better.
So, when someone provides a distraction, Fran bolts into the desert. She won’t starve or die of heat exhaustion. She’s prepared, knows what it takes to survive the brutal West Texas heat; the frigid nights. Her background as a purveyor of information and sometimes-spy gives her better than average odds of surviving. But she didn’t plan on the General sending his best tracker after her – the one who makes her want to rip his clothes off and show him a night or seven he won’t ever forget. He’s freaking relentless. Can’t a girl catch a break?
Silex didn’t join the Warriors for fortune, fame or females. He joined because he likes to hunt and to fight – and doesn’t want any females haranguing him or telling him what to do. He takes his job seriously. When a contingent of Doranos civilians abscond with a handful of females and enough small ships to pose a threat, things get dangerous for everyone and the sassy, sexy Francesca – the Earther he’s most drawn to - uses the distraction as a cover for her daring escape.
Silex has one job: to infiltrate the other Earth camps and make sure that all is well. He sees it as a fortuitous coincidence when his path puts him in direct pursuit of the feisty Francesca. He’s got a lot of questions for her, and he intends to pry the answers out of the reticent Earther – just as soon as he’s got her back in custody.
Things at Camp Two aren’t as reported, and soon the two are running for their lives. The hunter has now become the hunted, and Silex needs Francesca’s help to get to the bottom of this mess.
The Hunted
Earth Neverafter Book 6
Reagan Woods
The Hunted Copyright © 2019 by Reagan Woods. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Reagan Woods
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Reagan Woods
Visit my website at www.ReaganWoods.com
Contents
The Hunted
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
From Reagan
Prologue
What Came Before
CGA Work Camp, Texas
Eight Days Post Ventix Attack on CGA
“Hi, Franny!” The chipper voice greeted when she pushed through the swinging doors that led into the industrial kitchen.
“Hi, Tara. How’s it going this evening?” Fran replied, stowing her pack of carefully hoarded essentials on a shelf. The backpack was the key to her plan. Margot, her little sister, was out there somewhere. Fran just knew it. Whenever she got the chance, she would make a run for it. She was going to find Go-Go. Or die trying.
She threw a wave across the large space to the quiet Marta who diligently chopped a heap of vegetables at a tall, steel counter.
“Any word on Nora?” Franny asked, brushing aside the bitter-sweet thought. It looked like she’d be cooking rice and beans this evening. There was nothing like a little extra steam in the already soggy air to give the old lungs a good workout.
Marta shook her head wordlessly, ducking her pretty head. Nora and Marta had been roommates for months. At opposite ends of the personality spectrum, the shy Marta and outgoing Nora had balanced one another.
“Shirok, what are you doing in my kitchen? Didn’t I tell you to stay out?”
Fran glanced over her shoulder to see Tara hurtle a wooden spoon at the Doranos who’d popped through the swinging doors at a full charge. The huge, albino-like alien wasn’t able to dodge in time, the wood striking his forehead made an audible crack. He slowed his advance, but didn’t veer from his obvious intent to intercept Tara.
“Help! Somebody help me!” Tara screamed, spinning on her feet and darting away from Shirok.
Mouth agape, Fran watched the scene unfold. As Tara zigged and zagged a random pattern across the room, whipping pots and pans off of racks and winging them at her pursuer, Fran was paralyzed by indecision. She could help – she could probably take down the lousy Doranos by herself, but that would ruin everything. It looked like Tara had it under control, anyway. That curvy little woman was quick. And her aim was amazing.
Finally reacting, Fran snapped her mouth shut and ran to the panic button on the wall, giving it a hard slap.
Another Doranos bolted into the room, completely ignoring the ruckus. He made a beeline for Marta, quickly stripping the knife from her hand, and threw her over his shoulder. Apparently, he wasn’t the cavalry.
Strangely, Marta didn’t look panicked, but, instead, appeared resigned? as she dangled, bouncing like a rag doll, down his retreating back.
Shirok put on a burst of speed, rounding an island counter right on Tara’s heels, but his slippered feet shot out from underneath him on the glossy floor. His head hit the deck with a sickening thwack, and Tara smacked him with a cast iron skillet on the rebound. Ouch.
“You got this?” Fran looked Tara’s panting form over, she appeared winded but otherwise unharmed.
“Yeah. I’ll wait here for Tall, Dark and Too Handsome to be Anything but Stupid,” Tara said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder in reference to the Corian guard, Calyx, stationed outside the mess hall.
Grabbing her pack-o’-goodies, Fran dashed after Marta and her abductor. She’d miss Tara and the others immensely, but this was her chance to find out what happened to Go-Go. If she could free Marta, she damn sure would. After that, though, she was blowing this popsicle stand.
Fran could hear shouts and screams coming from all directions as she streaked out of the kitchen and down the hall. Was she being opportunistic? Certainly. This chaos was the perfect cover for her absence. Francesca shivered in the darkness and pulled the thin foil blanket closer around her body. Her hide
y hole was a ravine cut into the earth by long-ago rain.
She didn’t dare sleep until she was certain she’d avoided recapture. Freedom was so close she could taste it. Her best bet for finding her sister lay to the west, though her flight would take her east for a couple of days, just for safety.
Nearby, she heard the scuffle of boots on hard earth. Ears cocked, she held her breath and willed her heart to stay calm. Maybe she’d imagined it? No one had trailed her from the camp – she was more than adept at spotting a tail and there hadn’t been one.
Long moments ticked by in relative silence. It had been too long since she’d tested her survival skills. The time in alien custody had made her rusty.
The wind shifted, and she dragged her shirt up over her nose to block out the poison fumes from the burning space craft. She’d put several miles between her and the camp, but it wouldn’t be enough.
Happily, the aliens were distracted by their internal feud. Whoever had decided to take the Doranos/Corian dick-swinging contest to an out-and-out fight was her hero. Unless it was the Doranos who attempted to abduct her. That guy could rot in hell. Hopefully, he was roasting in the eternal flames already.
At thirty-five, Francesca looked many, many years younger and that was handy. She had a knack for finding things, people and secrets and turning them into opportunity.
Espionage had seemed the perfect fit for a woman of her talents. During the war, she honed her gift into an impressive career as a double agent, and along the way, she’d developed the skillset required to stay alive.
As good as she was – and she was the best – she hadn’t seen the alien invasion coming. If she had, she would have grabbed her GoGo and arranged for them to be in the same alien camp together. She had no doubt that with a little planning she could have made it happen.
Instead, she’d been caught trying to find GoGo after the Collection Teams had swooped through Old Fort Angeles where she’d had her sister stashed. Being remanded to a work camp shouldn’t have stalled her reunion with her sister the way it had. Franny knew the aliens kept a data base of the humans in their possession. The aliens were so hard-up for women, it should have been a simple matter of blowing a Doranos or two in exchange for information on which camp her sister was in. But no.
Just when she was making progress with Dorit, the Doranos in charge of her camp, the Corian Warrior Silex appeared and put the kibosh to her machinations. Every mark took time and attention, but Silex had undone months of prep in days with his crazy jealousy. A big dick didn’t make up for ruining a girl’s plans.
GoGo was as delicate as Franny was tough. Fran knew there wasn’t time to groom another target. So, she bided her time and broke out of the camp. The window for finesse was past. She’d break into - and out of - as many alien camps as it took to find her sister.
The fine hair on the back of Fran’s neck stood on end. To her right, something moved. She stared hard into the darkness, a death grip on the knife she’d used to kill the Doranos.
From the pitch black of the shadows, something denser, darker stalked forward. In utter silence, the thing leapt. The faint glow of the rising moon revealed a flash of fang and golden fur.
Instinct had Franny driving her knife at the cougar’s neck. She slashed up hard enough to draw blood. With a yowl and a hiss of pain, the sleek cat propelled itself up and out of the ravine.
Once the cat decided it was going to live, it would be back. She wouldn’t bet on her luck against a desperate natural predator holding. Moon or no, it was time to move.
Franny just might be the oldest living Earther, and she didn’t get to this point by being stupid. Getting to her feet, she angrily stuffed the blanket back into her pack. Now, she had to come up with a way to kill the cougar before it made a meal out of her. Fantastic.
Shit. It was probably sitting up there, waiting to pounce. Well, she wasn’t getting any younger. Bloody knife clenched between her teeth, Franny leapt for the top of the ravine. Her fingers scraped into the hard earth, her back and shoulders burning as she hauled herself up. The slight weight of her pack shielded her back. Hopping to her feet, she quickly assumed a grappling stance, the knife in her left hand, her right ready to deflect the cat.
And tripped over a warm body.
“What the!” She hurriedly pushed to her knees and pulled her flashlight out of the cinch strap on her pack.
The man illuminated by her beam, bleeding and unconscious on the ground, was not in any of her contingency plans.
“Dude, where’d you leave your clothes?” She grumbled at his unconscious form. He could have had bad intentions – that might be why he was naked. OR he might have seen the same opportunity she did and escaped the alien camp without a stitch of clothing. Just because he didn’t look familiar didn’t mean he hadn’t been a prisoner just like her. Dammit.
She should just leave him. There were deep, bloody claw marks all over his chest. Why hadn’t he screamed? The cat must have surprised him when it leapt from the ravine, but the silence went unbroken. That was odd.
If she left him, it was a good bet the cat would nosh on him and decide against stalking - and eating - her.
She was a cold bitch. Blowing out a sigh, she hung her head. “Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.” But she wasn’t that cold.
Nude dude easily had a foot on her and outweighed her by…a lot. At five-foot-six-inches and a hundred pounds, she didn’t have a lot of options for moving him.
Shaking her head, she pulled out her only damned blanket. “Lucky for you, I’m prepared,” she told him with a frustrated grunt as she rolled him this way and that. “Didn’t miss any meals, did you, buddy? Well, if the cat comes back, you’re SOL. Just a heads-up.”
Not five minutes in, and playing the hero already sucked.
Chapter 1
Silex clenched his fists around the stock of his long-range weapon, simmering anger burning a slow hole through his gut. He forced an exhale, another cleansing breath. There was no place for a hammering heart or gnashing teeth in this mission. It was imperative he keep his head straight, keep the anger that wriggled in his belly like a living flame in check.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
That had been his mantra for weeks now. Obsessing over it didn’t change the facts.
Francesca Phong, escaped Earther from Work Camp Three, was here. In the flesh.
His assignment to infiltrate Work Camp Two did not include tracking her. He’d been advised to write her off as lost, gone for good, but he couldn’t.
Not when she’d fallen into his path.
It had annoyed him to realize how easily she’d evaded him after the raid on the Camp Three. Now, she’d set herself up like a sacrificial lamb, all but daring him to use her to gain entry to Camp Two. The Doranos in charge of the camp, Neerum, was known for his appreciation of the female form, and Francesca was particularly lovely.
The hot claws of anger left livid gashes inside him. Over that, boiling and festering in the already painful wounds, was a sticky coating of self-loathing.
Yes. He was a bastard. No question. Most of that tar-black rage was directed at himself. The remainder was for her. She’d earned it.
Silex considered himself the consummate Warrior – loyal, dedicated and efficient, so he would use her despite his misgivings. But he wouldn’t enjoy it.
Though Earth’s harsh sun made his abnormally light-colored eyes ache, Silex kept his shades turned off. Even inactive, they still provided some reprieve from the glare.
Through the low-tech field-glass he’d picked up to stay off energy scans, he watched Francesca break camp. As she was headed in the right direction, he’d been following her for weeks.
He told himself firmly the minor fascination she’d held for him, the thrall he’d fallen under back in Camp Three, was over.
Careful observation of his former obsession told him she’d taken no communications, slept very little and left n
o trace of herself in the vast desert.
She camped during the harshest daylight hours, conserving energy, keeping out of sight. At night, her nimble body covered inconceivable distances. Silex hadn’t realized her delicate femininity disguised an indomitable will.
Francesca’s long black hair was so greasy and dirty, her clothes so caked in dust, that she blended into the wasteland. He now knew her Western Central Government file to be an outright lie – a planted cover. For whom, he couldn’t say, but there was no way a harmless teacher could have accomplished what this crafty, resourceful, stupid-brave female had.
The Earthers had called the location of CORANOS Galactic Alliance Earth Camp Three “West Texas Territory”. Francesca had broken out of that maximum security CGA work camp and steadily made her way to CGA Earth Camp Two, located at the edge of the ruined city of Los Angeles, with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a small pack. If he hadn’t witnessed it, Silex would call the feat impossible.
Grubby and certainly tired, she wasn’t wasting away, she wasn’t struggling to survive. No. Francesca was obviously trained in the finer points of survival.
Who was she, really? The question swirled around in his brain, demanding an answer. Not knowing was a slow, inexorable descent into madness.
If she was aware that he tailed her, she didn’t show it. Yet, her skills were too sharp to have missed him. Every day when they stopped, he expected her to turn and confront him. It hadn’t happened yet.
More than a year ago, he’d had his first glimpse of her golden skin and exotic dark eyes. She’d approached the Texas camp, turned herself in voluntarily, and left him intrigued. She’d been thin, like the other Earthers, her clothes threadbare and worn, but her skin had been clean, hair shiny and neatly plaited. Dorit, the Doranos Administrator of Camp Three, had practically allowed her the run of the place from the start.
Now, Silex knew it was because she’d had a relationship with the power-hungry Doranos, performed sexual acts with him, regularly. Their arrangement could have continued indefinitely if Silex hadn’t caught them. His jealousy had known no reason and he’d made it his mission to keep Fran from the Doranos. In part, his obsession had driven him, but he had to admit a certain satisfaction in fucking up the privileged male’s lascivious plans.