“Scanners detect incoming, sir,” Al said in his ear, right on cue. “A ship and two more trucks, likely from the Red Fortress.”
He cursed himself for having even thought it. So maybe stalling wasn’t the way to go.
“The point is that it doesn’t seem like such a hot idea to hand over a weapon of mass destruction to the guys that blew the freaking world up with weapons of mass destruction.”
The three truckloads of fresh Reds were now squared up behind the King. Past the armed men hovering above, the lights of a second ship appeared in the distance.
The Red King sniffed. At first, Jarek thought it was a conversational gesture, but then the raknoth sniffed again, investigating some scent.
“Fetch Jay Pryce from that ship,” the King said. “Kill these imbeciles, and—”
“Hey!” Jarek shouted, determined to keep the Red King’s attention.
He got it.
The King went from perfect ease one second to a hurtling, raknoth-shaped missile the next. Jarek leaped backward and brought the butt of his commandeered rifle down on the King’s back as the raknoth caught him in a tackle around the waist. It didn’t stop the King from driving him to the ground several yards behind the Resistance line.
The breath left his lungs as he hit the pavement with who knew how many hundreds of pounds of angry raknoth on top of him.
The King loosed a ferocious roar in his face. Al closed Jarek’s faceplate for him as he responded with a fist in the raknoth’s darkening face.
The King shook it off, clamped a hand over Jarek’s faceplate, and muscled his head to the side, raising his other hand to strike.
An invisible truckload of force slammed into the King, knocking him off of Jarek. Jarek kipped to his feet, not sparing the second to thank Rachel for the save. He leveled his rifle at the raknoth and emptied the magazine.
The bark of the rifle was like a match to a keg of gunpowder. Both sides of the tense standoff opened fire in a rumbling cacophony that split the rainy night sky.
“Fools!” the Red King cried, catching his balance and starting forward. “Watch the nest!”
If the Red gunfire died down, it was hard to tell beneath the fury the Resistance line was laying down. A second Red ship was sweeping in now. The Red King’s ship spewed out a shower of sparks and lurched drunkenly.
Jarek caught a glimpse of Rachel lowering her staff, her face white as a sheet, and then he squared off with the approaching raknoth.
The King had eyes (or eye, rather) only for the nest, but that didn’t stop him from taking a swipe at Jarek as he charged past. Jarek caught the blow on his empty rifle and delivered a few choice elbow strikes before darting back. The King eagerly followed, and he slammed the rifle into the raknoth’s head like a baseball bat.
The blow jarred the King, but not enough to stop him. He caught Jarek around the waist and drove in, forcing Jarek to furiously backpedal toward the Resistance line just to keep his feet. In a few steps, they’d slam straight into the trucks, probably killing whoever happened to be in their way. He couldn’t get the leverage to break their momentum.
So instead, he let himself topple backward. At the last moment, he wrapped the Red King in a bear hug and jumped up and back as hard as he could.
They took off like a misshapen cannonball, arcing over the Resistance truck line toward the Red armada.
“Roll, sir, roll!” Al barked.
He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed fistfuls of the Red King’s stupid long coat and twisted his weight around their shared axis.
They spun through the air, rotating just enough that the King was leading when they slammed into the hood of one of the Reds’ big transport trucks.
The edge of the hood caught the raknoth’s back with a force and angle that would’ve severed a human spinal cord three times over. Jarek wasn’t even sure the bastard had a spinal cord to sever, but the King didn’t seem to be in too bad of shape as they tumbled to the pavement.
A ground-shaking crash jerked their attention to the left. The Red King’s ship had gone down, its engines spitting sparks and black smoke. Another point for Rachel.
Jarek rolled over his left shoulder and onto his feet. The King rose and followed, now in full scaly-green-monster mode.
They circled like boxers until the King tired of the caution. Jarek dodged one swipe, dipped another, and stepped forward to block a third while driving a punch into the King’s scaly mug.
The King caught Jarek’s wrist and dragged him along as he stumbled back. What began as a stumble turned into an attack as the raknoth yanked him by one wrist into a brutal clothesline.
The stars cleared from his vision enough just in time for him to parry a vicious stomp aside with his elbow. Panic swelled in his chest. He needed space. He needed to get his damn sword out.
He twisted around on the pavement and planted a hard kick into the King’s hip. The raknoth roared and staggered back several steps.
More importantly, the reactionary force sent Jarek sliding several yards across the rain-soaked pavement.
At the end of the slide, he kipped to his feet and drew the Big Whacker.
The sword the King had snapped in two at Pryce’s hadn’t exactly been a wispy foil, but it paled in comparison to the Big Whacker. The Whacker was like an ax blade that just kept going. The thing weighed about twenty freaking pounds. Without Fela, it was useless for anything faster-paced than chopping firewood.
But with Fela, the Whacker was really good at hacking big things to tiny pieces.
Jarek swung the behemoth blade through a couple of revolutions and held it at the ready as the Red King stalked toward him, rumbling a low growl. The raknoth’s features had grown completely reptilian. His hair had disappeared beneath scaly hide, and his mouth had elongated into something more like a snout.
Jarek realized the fighting had quieted around them. The second Red ship was hanging back after Rachel’s attack on the first, hovering over the trucks waiting in line to deliver their troops. The Resistance and Red troops were still exchanging fire here and there, but nothing like before.
Maybe they were scared of catching him and their King in the crossfire. More likely, they were waiting to see how the heavyweight rumble panned out.
“I believe the Resistance ship is nearly here, sir,” Al said quietly in his ear. “I recommend we leave with all haste.”
“No shit,” he murmured. “Just gonna whack the one-eyed monster first.”
“Charming, sir. I’ll tell Pryce to get the others moving.”
“Wonderful.”
All he had to do now was kill the Red King or hold him and his army off while the ragtag, wounded Resistance team got their shit together and ran for it. Piece of cake.
The King eyed Jarek’s blade, fangs bared in what might’ve been a predatory smile. “Did you not learn your lesson last time, Jarek Slater?”
He shrugged. “Slow learner, I guess.”
The King’s smile faltered. He jerked his head up, catching a scent or a sound.
“Here they come, sir,” Al said.
“Time to shake it, people!” Jarek yelled.
He plunged toward the Red King, sweeping his sword in a horizontal cut. The raknoth ducked the blow, and Jarek sidestepped his counter. Behind him, a few hopeful shouts went up from the Resistance line as the Resistance ship came soaring over the warehouses.
He didn’t have time to celebrate. He ducked a particularly brutal haymaker and rolled past the follow-up swipe. He felt the King lunge after him, and he planted the Whacker so he could pivot into an upward diagonal cut from the roll.
It wasn’t the strongest of strikes, but the blade met the King’s incoming swipe and tore through the clawed digits of his left hand.
The cold fear in his chest gave way to primal joy as the King staggered back with a furious roar. Was that surprise on the raknoth’s reptilian features? Horror? It sure as hell wasn’t calm confidence anymore.
Jarek bellowed a wordless ch
allenge and pressed the advantage, whirling the heavy blade in a great arc and stomping after the King to leverage his next swing down from high left.
The King sidestepped the strike and pedaled backward to avoid the horizontal follow up.
Jarek lunged after the raknoth, burning with predatory fire. He brought the Whacker down in a heavy, overhand sweep.
The King didn’t have the time or footing to evade the blow. He raised his right arm in a futile attempt to bat the heavy blade aside and screeched as the Whacker tore through his forearm just past the elbow.
Jarek lowered his shoulder and plowed into the stunned raknoth, knocking him to the ground.
“Sir!” Al was saying. “Sir!”
The urgency in Al’s voice pulled him down from his combat high. “What?”
“Multiple ships incoming from the east! Sir, I think—behind you!”
He spun to see half a dozen Reds moving in toward their fallen master.
They opened fire. He flinched at the number of bullets slamming off of Fela’s armor and swung his sword once, twice.
Two Reds fell dead to the pavement, one cleaved clean in two above the hips. The sight gave the others pause, and he was pressing the attack when an unseen force bowled them backward.
Rachel and Alaric stood side by side atop one of the wrecked trucks. Alaric was firing at the enemy line while Rachel wreaked her own havoc, shoving soldiers back here and detonating grenades there. The pair of them were steaming, their breaths condensing in the freezing aura as Rachel’s catcher kept far too many bullets at bay.
Behind the truck, a couple of Resistance troops held the line with them. The rest had loaded the numerous wounded aboard the Resistance ship. Michael was frantically hauling the nest that way with the help of two others.
“Get them out of here!” Jarek cried at Alaric.
Bullets pelted off his armor. He ignored them and raised his sword. He wasn’t sure how one went about properly killing a raknoth, but removing the King’s head seemed like a good place to—
“Incoming drone!” Al cried.
“Wha—”
“Assault drone, sir,” Al said. “We need to leave!”
“Well shit, Al!”
The Red King huffed a growl-hiss of laughter and began crawling to his feet. “Congratulations, Jarek Slater. You have incurred the wrath of the Overlord himself.”
Jarek’s insides turned to ice. The Overlord’s army dwarfed the Red King’s. If the Overlord was coming . . .
It didn’t matter. They were leaving. Preferably before the drone arrived, because—
The sound of rushing air from Fela’s auditory sensors informed him it was already too late.
“It’s coming in for a pass,” Al said.
The sleek shape banked over the right row of warehouses and dipped to fly low over the Reds.
“I recommend you take cover, sir.”
“Helpful!” Jarek cried. He sheathed his sword and yanked the King up from the ground.
The drone opened fire.
The thing’s rotary cannon sounded like an enormously loud chainsaw. It hit with devastating effect.
The King bucked against him, far from subdued and still plenty strong despite the missing arm and mangled hand. Jarek managed to pull the raknoth in front of him before the drone’s fire washed over them.
A rapid series of jerks ripped through the King as the bullets tore into him. More than one found its way through the raknoth to slam into Jarek’s armor, but the King’s body slowed the projectiles enough that Fela held.
For the first pass, at least. The thing would be back.
The King slumped in his arms. Behind the trucks, two more Resistance soldiers had fallen, and several new holes dotted both ships. Alaric clutched at a shuddering Rachel, frost and ice visible in their hair and on the truck around them.
“The nest!” Michael cried from over by the Resistance ship. “The nest is hit!”
Time slowed.
Was this it? All of that work and fighting, all to go up in flames together?
He stood tense, not breathing.
Nothing happened.
“Move your asses!” Alaric snapped.
Reality snapped back around him. The remaining troops ran over to fetch the new wounded (or dead) and help Michael finish loading the device.
“Fools,” the Red King hissed weakly against his chest. “This planet will burn, thanks to you and your friends.”
“This planet did burn thanks to you and yours,” Jarek said.
“Three more ships arriving, sir,” Al said. “The Overlord, I assume.”
It was well beyond time to get the hell out of here. Just one head to remove first.
He moved to toss the raknoth to the pavement. “See you in hell, Stumpy.”
“Wait!” Al said.
“What?”
“I suggest we take him.”
The drone streaked back the way it had come, preparing to come back for another pass. They needed to be gone. Now.
“Take a raknoth prisoner? Now? Did you short-circuit, Al?”
“Oh please, sir. You develop an aversion to outlandish ideas now, of all times? We need to know what he knows about the nest and everything else. He’s not going anywhere fast.”
Al had a point. The drone had torn the King to confetti. His struggles were woefully slow and weak. The fact he was even still alive, much less conscious, was actually pretty creepy. And Al was right: the King would have all kinds of juicy information.
There wasn’t time to think about this.
“Come on, Stumpy.” He threw the mostly limp raknoth over his shoulder. Even missing an arm, the raknoth somehow had all the weight of a medium-sized bear.
“What the hell?” Rachel cried as he approached their truck.
“Prisoner,” he said with a grunt. “Get to the ship, and don’t worry about it. We need to get the hell out of here.”
No one argued with that. Pryce and the two Resistance soldiers still holding the line helped Rachel and Alaric down from the truck. They limped toward the ship. Jarek hurdled the truck behind them and nearly lost his footing on the mess of slushy ice. Ahead, the Resistance ship was already lifting off.
With no one left to hold the line, the Reds pressed after them without fear. Jarek tried to keep himself between the Reds and the rest of his people. Bullets slammed into his back and the ship hull. One shot found its way through to a soldier just as the group reached the boarding ramp.
“Go!” Jarek shouted. He scooped the guy up by the back of his armored vest and pounded up the ramp behind the others.
“Drone incoming, sir,” Al said through the cabin’s speakers. “If Rachel could—”
“Get us in the air, Al,” Rachel said, pushing back toward the ramp. “I’ve got it.”
“You heard the lady!” He set the wounded soldier on the cot and tossed the Red King roughly to the other side of the cabin as the ship lifted off. “Tie him up,” he said to Pryce, but Alaric was already there with rope from Jarek’s locker.
“And put this on him,” Rachel added, throwing Alaric the pendant she’d been wearing around her neck.
She joined Jarek at the open hatch as the drone opened up with its buzzing rotary cannon. She slammed her staff down to the ramp, and bullets large enough to rip through a raknoth cracked and zinged off a wall of thin air a few yards in front of them.
The drone roared past.
She sank to her knees and moaned. “Not a smart plan.”
He’d never seen her so pale.
“It’s circling to our nine,” Al said.
“We need to take that thing out or we’re cooked up here.” Jarek opened his faceplate and sank down next to Rachel.
She met his eyes, every part of her looking utterly drained.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her head sagging. “I’m so tired, Jarek, and that thing’s so fast. I don’t know if I could even hit it with anything.”
“Hey.” He slipped a hand over
her cheek. “I believe in you, Goldilocks.”
She searched his face with tired eyes.
“Plus,” he said, “if you don’t do it, you guys are all gonna die horrible deaths.”
“You guys?”
“Hey, we’re flying over water.” He patted his armored chest. “I would definitely survive the fall in this baby.”
“Asshole.” A faint smile touched her lips.
The night sky lit with a crackle of lightning and boom of thunder.
He frowned into the rainy night. “Too bad the lightning doesn’t have our backs.”
Rachel’s hand came down on his forearm. She was staring at him as if he’d just said the most brilliant thing she’d ever heard.
“Here it comes,” Al said.
Rachel pulled herself to her feet by her staff. “Turn us, Al.”
Jarek closed his faceplate and stood with her, supporting her around the waist. Al banked to the right. On his in-helmet display, the drone cruised toward them in the darkness.
Rachel’s eyes drifted closed, her face a still mask of focus. The air around her tingled with electric charge.
The drone’s first shots traced toward the ship. She tensed beneath his arm, and his helmet display distorted with odd colors and bursts of static. His stomach pulled up into his chest.
She let out a wordless yell.
A brilliant flash of lightning lanced from the sky and tagged the drone. The thunderclap shook his bones as the drone transformed into a tumbling ball of flames and plummeted into the bay.
Then the night was quiet again.
He slid his faceplate open, some of the tightness easing out of his chest.
She’d just called lightning down from the freaking sky. What did you say to people who could do that?
“See? I knew you had it—oop!”
He pulled her to him as she went slack, then gathered her up in his arms. “Rachel?”
She was out like a light.
Silence held the cabin as he peered down at Rachel, either asleep or unconscious, then back at the pale faces of the others.
Finally, he smiled and made a little flourish. “Ta-da!”
28
After the madness of battle, where every second could mean the difference between life and death, a few minutes of peace went a long way.
The Complete Harvesters Series Page 23