by Reagan Woods
He’d had plenty of time to regret his rash behavior. If he hadn’t kept tabs on Fran to ensure she stayed far away from Dorit, she might not be here in this dangerous wasteland now.
If. If. If.
Regret - the useless emotion - circled and swirled, compounding his self-loathing. Even worse, part of him was relieved that he’d found her after her daring escape, relieved that he could keep an eye on her, relieved that he could pull her close at any moment should he choose to.
He clamped down on that line of thinking, cut it off. That was done. It had to be. She was a means to an end.
Brooding wouldn’t change a thing. He needed to keep his wits about him, because he wasn’t the only thing stalking Francesca through the perilous landscape.
Silex had seen the animal a handful of times now. It was large, possibly a mutant created by the vast amounts of radiation that steadily poisoned the failing planet’s landscape. Utilizing the shielded data repository disguised as a wrist bracer Commander Skylan had gifted him, Silex conducted a search. The closest species he could find was an extinct sabre tooth tiger.
He was reluctant to kill the cat. The ecosystem had already sustained too much damage. So, he waited. If the animal continued to keep its distance, he’d allow it to live. If it moved on Francesca, it would have to die.
She was pushing hard now. Come sunrise, they’d be within sight of Camp Two. The patrol drones would spot her by end of day. Whatever security force the local Doranos kept on hand would have her by tonight. It was time to make his move.
Chapter 2
Francesca was within striking distance of her goal.
Earth Camp Two.
Though it killed her to lose the time, she skirted around what had once been her hometown of Pasadena, California. She had to block out the memories, keep her focus. There was too much emotion attached to this area. Every shard of glass that crunched beneath her boots from the collapsed buildings brought her too close to a past she’d ruthlessly suppressed.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Francesca muttered. The eyes of her stalker weighed like a physical hand clamped over the nape of her neck. She barely resisted the urge to turn and confront him. However, resist she must. That went against her training and could undermine her goal. She needed to get a little closer before she used him to get her into the Camp.
How she’d play it depended wholly on her shadow. If he or she came in violent, she’d seek sanctuary at the camp. If he approached peacefully, she’d strike a bargain – pretend to be a prisoner, run whatever ruse she deemed necessary to gain entry. Whatever the case, Francesca had no doubt she’d be bedding down in Camp Two, clean and well fed, tonight.
Blowing her plan wasn’t an option. She was too close, had come too far. GoGo might be – no – was here. Francesca felt her sister’s nearness in her bones.
Or maybe it was being back in SoCal. Scurrying from the vast mountains, across the valley toward the city that had once housed masses. This vast urban sprawl had once been home. Now, it was just a toppled memory.
During her childhood, Los Angeles had swallowed up Pasadena just as it had gulped down Compton, Inglewood, Burbank, Glendale, Torrance and countless others. The powers that be, motivated by greed and hate, had pulled the local gangs in, armed and trained their numbers and sic’d them on their neighbors.
Looking at the scorched buildings surrounding her, the old quick marts and movie palaces that were barely more than ruined foundations, Francesca saw it as it had been. She didn’t want to go back, really didn’t want to relive it, but it was all here. Right in front of her.
In her mind, she saw the asphalt parking lot of the Regional Seventeen Cineplex. The slick black surface bubbled in the late summer heat, sticking to the cheap rubber soles of her knock-off sneakers and turning her every step into an audible squelch as she hustled Margot away from the bleeding bodies of their parents, shielding her baby sister with her own body, fully expecting a bullet in the back with every heartbeat.
“Now is not the time, Fran,” she gritted. “Hold your shit together.”
“Why not now, Fran?” A familiar voice asked.
She shrieked like a little girl in a haunted house. It was mortifying.
Her heart sank even as her pulse quickened. There was only one alien she’d hesitate to kill. And he was here. Fate was a cruel bitch.
Silex was her stalker, and he’d gotten the drop on her. Her. For fuck’s sake. This, right here, was why she couldn’t afford to get sucked into the past.
Those thoughts flew through her head in the blink of an eye. The ghost of her father whispered in her ear, “Action, Franny my girl!”
She whirled around in the dusty rubble, and exaggerating the shock on her face, slapped a hand on her thudding heart. “Shit! You scared me, Si.”
Silex, the huge Corian Warrior, closed the distance between them as if the chunks of scattered concrete and jumble of wood and metal spikes were nothing. His rough hand encased in black gloves braceleted her upper arm. Mouth set in a grim line, he ignored her startled response. The icy calm he could pull out at the most unexpected times gave him the appearance of total control of the situation. Of her.
God, she hated his arrogant (but undeniably fine) ass. His black uniform was more of a sickly gray, liberally coated in dust. He was so dirty she could barely make out the pattern on his camo-splotched skin.
Of all the CORANOS Galactic Alliance Warriors that could have followed her, he was her least favorite choice. Why couldn’t they have sent the shy Calyx or the mouthy Keble?
He’d probably volunteered for the assignment. The sick fuck. He just couldn’t leave her alone.
Lowering her brow into a scowl, she went on the offensive, “What took you so long to catch up, lover?”
His left eyebrow, a thick, black slash over his streaky, dirty skin, arched above the mirrored lenses of his sunshades as his grip tightened painfully on her arm. She heard it then, the tinny buzz of an approaching alien craft. Shit. She was really off her game today.
“Over here!” He called out in Corian Standard, raising an arm to hail the observation drone. When the insect-like drone approached, hovered just above him, he continued, “I’m Warrior Silex out of Camp Three. I’ve apprehended an escaped Earther. I’d like permission to bring her in, to rest, recuperate and resupply before I return her to Camp Three.”
When he repeated everything in Doranese, Fran relaxed. She understood Doranese almost as well as English thanks to the freaky alien reconditioners.
Silex stood preternaturally still as a wash of light tracked across his face, some sort of alien ident tech, she supposed.
Damn. Francesca kept the scowl on her face, but she was smirking on the inside. Having Silex here was turning into a fantastic boon. He was doing all the heavy lifting for her, and that made her a bit giddy. Her heart pumped with glee.
If a little voice in her head questioned the source of that glee, pointed out that it might come from his nearness, Fran ignored it. She wasn’t happy to see him. It was his fault she hadn’t located GoGo and found a cozy hideaway. His interference had forced her to take this trek through hell, she reminded herself firmly.
After a few tense moments, a staticky voice projected from the drone, “Your request has been relayed to and approved by Warden Neerum. Follow the drone. Transportation will meet you.”
Silex’s grip on her arm didn’t relax as they walked in silence, guided by the buzzing little drone. When they slid onto the sleek, unmanned hover craft, Francesca heaved a sigh of relief.
Silex was getting her everything she needed. Maybe she’d give him a gratitude fuck tonight. Hadn’t he shown he wasn’t above that kind of payment back in Texas Territory? It’d be good to scratch that itch.
Then, when the moment was right, she’d ditch him, locate GoGo and get the hell out of SoCal.
Chapter 3
Silex kept Francesca close as the hover platform raced over the decimated terrain. Everywhere he looked, he saw
evidence of chaotic, bloody war. That wasn’t what he’d expected. Some of these cities would remain toxic wastelands for a few more years, but the Doranos were supposed to be cleansing the land and incinerating the filthy debris. It was unfathomable that they hadn’t progressed beyond this, especially around a camp that held so many vulnerable life forms.
Just before he’d approached Francesca, he’d seen tattered rags flapping in the toxic wind over piles of rubble. Upon closer inspection, he realized they were clothing caught on the splinters of bleached bones. Even the planet’s dead weren’t properly disposed of. The savagery of the Earthers curdled his stomach. Normally, he’d be thinking about the total lack of reverence for life, the lack of foresight that could lead the entire population of a planet down this path.
He was propelled out of his reverie by his internal danger alarm blasting out a warning. The skin of his neck pricked, his breath came in shallow, panting bursts. He wasn’t psychic, didn’t believe in that foolishness, but his instincts hadn’t let him down yet.
In the distance, he could see the lights of Camp Two, twinkling against the dusk-shadowed hills. The hover platform streaked above the remains of a road. Just ahead, buildings on either side slumped precariously, their topmost floors crumbled to dust, but they reached high enough to block the fading light.
A feeling of dread overcame him as they continued steadily forward. Something had tripped his wire and he needed to find and eliminate the threat.
The wind whipped, kicking up enough dust to momentarily obscure their surroundings. The buzz of the drone seemed to fill his head.
Silex reached slowly over his back and unholstered his long-range blaster. Beside him, Francesca wrestle free, batting him away when he reached for her.
He saw the streak of blaster fire, barely had time to realize it’d come from Francesca – or wonder how she’d procured the weapon. The roaring buzz dropped into stark silence. She’d recognized the drone as a threat, taken it out before he could react.
In the next instant, he felt her slam into his side and then they were tumbling. A jumble of arms and legs, they hit the cracked pavement hard. His combat helmet saved his skull as he took the brunt of their fall, but his hip and shoulder screamed from the impact as he rolled, curled around her slighter form in an instinctive move to protect.
“What are you doing?” Silex gasped, as they skidded to a skin-peeling stop.
The hover platform braked, sensing its passengers were no longer aboard. It came to a stop several meters away before a streaking missile blew it into fragments. He barely had time to snap his gaping mouth shut before the rushing wave of fire and debris hit and hit hard.
Sheltering Francesca beneath his body, Silex rode out the initial blast and boom, his skin tightening, blistering in the agonizing heat. When he pushed to his knees, his battered joints protested with a lightning bolt of blinding pain. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to pass out on top of the slight female, to take stock of the situation.
His eyes went immediately to Francesca’s forehead. A livid bruise bloomed from her temple, across half her brow and into her hairline. She was unconscious, laying awkwardly bent back over her backpack.
There was an assortment of cuts and burns over her filthy skin, but he didn’t have time to nurse and cajole. Whoever sent the missile for the platform would need verification of the kill.
He had his suspicions as to why they’d been set up. Possible corruption was what he’d been sent to investigate, after all, but such an overt act of violence wasn’t what he’d expected. Apparently, Francesca had. She’d been much faster on the draw.
They needed shelter. Fast.
Fighting back the violent, head-spinning nausea, he fell back on his training.
Hands steady, he felt for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there.
That had to be enough.
He needed to get someplace defensible. This was his one chance to take her, to go under. If he blew it, they’d be hunted down like rabid animals.
In the distance, the buzz of drones moving toward their location swelled like a swarm of angry insects. Some of those drones would be equipped with heat sensing tech and weapons. If he were on his own, he’d go high. Take them out from above. But that was his Warrior’s mentality, the need to confront and defeat the enemy, to stay out of the kill box no matter the cost. Smarter now to get low, to hide and heal, and live to fight another day. And find out what Francesca knew, what she was really doing out here.
Struggling to his feet, Silex looked around for her blaster. He collected it from where it’d fallen before returning to haul her limp form up. With Francesca cradled as gently as possible against his throbbing shoulder, he began the painful search for shelter.
Ruthlessly, he pushed his protesting body as he stumbled away from the road, over jagged chunks of concrete. Here and there tall patches of weeds grew in the rubble and he slid, going down hard on one knee.
Little black dots danced before his eyes. The buzz of the drones grew louder, spurring him to his feet. He shook his head to clear it.
They needed a fissure, an abandoned foundation, something surrounded by rock or concrete and steel to distort their life signs on a scan.
He smelled salvation before he spotted it. The rotten stench of methane mixed with the nauseating aroma of bubbling tar.
This part of Earth was known to have many geologically unstable elements with bizarre by-products. One of those little quirks was about to save their lives.
Silex dug deep for the energy to get to the drunkenly slumped brick building. As he suspected, the structure had been built with a basement. Liquid tar had seeped into the subterranean space, filling the remaining structure with tar and other decomposing organic matter.
Rot layered over tar, peppered with bursts of methane would certainly confuse a drone’s scanner. All he had to do was get them close enough to the source.
Chapter 4
Fran came awake all at once. Something with little steel teeth clung uncomfortably to her face and mouth. Her eyes stared blindly into the pitch black and her brain felt two sizes too big for her skull. She moaned.
“Shhh.” Hot breath rushed over the side of her face – the side that didn’t feel like it’d been clubbed.
She was laying atop a person, that was obvious from the gentle rise and fall and the arms banded around her. That she still wore her pack was an enormous comfort even as its straps cut into her shoulders.
“I haven’t heard the drones for about an hour now,” Silex whispered. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.”
The drone.
They’d been on the transport into Camp Two The drone above them had dived down aggressively and she’d shot it with the blaster she’d smuggled away. Then, she’d heard the high-pitched whistle of a targeted missile and simply reacted.
She needed to get the hell out of here and figure out how to talk her way inside that camp.
When she tried to sit up, he hissed out a pained breath. “Keep still. We were both injured. Badly. Your quick action saved our lives, but we’re in a precarious situation.”
Whatever was clamped over her face prevented her from answering and she reached up to tear it off. Suddenly, the air she breathed wasn’t so fresh.
“Fuck. My head hurts. Let me go,” she grumbled as his arms tightened around her. “God, what is that stench? Are we sitting in a tar pit?”
“Don’t let go of that respirator,” he growled. “If you drop it, we’ll have to share mine.”
Fran’s hand clamped reflexively around the jagged circle she’d pulled from her face as she deciphered the meaning of his command. Clear thinking wasn’t easy with the symphony of pain crashing through her body and the noxious odor clogging her nose. “You didn’t seriously bring me into a tar pit,” she stated flatly.
“The air is poison, but the bacteria in the tar release methane bubbles regularly,” he explained quietly. “It confuses the scanners. Some.”
“Good to know.” She filed the information away for future use. Now, she needed to get out of here, to take stock of her injuries, and get moving. “Where’s my gun?”
“Secure,” he answered shortly. “Why don’t you tell me how you came by such a weapon?” He invited.
Given their history, he wouldn’t appreciate how she’d acquired her stash of goodies. Her head already ached, and she didn’t need his argumentative nature adding to it. “Pass.”
That he didn’t press for a better answer spoke volumes. He must’ve been more hurt than he let on. The Silex she had come to know and loathe wouldn’t allow her a modicum of privacy or evasion. Instead of the expected barrage of crudely demanding questions, he simply grunted.
“Well, this hasn’t exactly been fun,” she began, easing away from him. “And now, I’ve got things to do, places to go, people to see.”
He let her press up until she hovered over him before he jackknifed up. The motion set them swaying gently and Francesca froze, fingers digging into his uniform shirt. She clamped her thighs around his hips to brace herself as they slammed into something hard, bounced off again before settling.
His helmet light flipped on and she reflexively glanced down. “Shit.” They were in a hammock of sorts. It was anchored somewhere above, and they hung mere inches above the detritus covered tar.
“We’re in a seepage,” she stated, relaxing a little. This wasn’t the worst idea. It had kept them safely hidden and the exit was only about eight feet above. When Silex stood, he’d practically be out of the little pit.
“You’re hurt.” The dusty black fabric of his uniform was torn in several places, clotted blood and nasty cuts showed through the gaping fabric. “That shoulder doesn’t look good.”