He kept firing.
If the trenches fell, he knew—the aliens would swarm into the tunnels below Port Addison. Two hundred thousand humans were huddling in there. Unarmed civilians, still traumatized by the gulocks. Emet would die before he let any more harm come to them.
He fought on. He would never stop fighting. He was almost sixty, and he had been fighting since age thirteen, since aliens had murdered his parents. But he had never fought a purer war than this. This was not a war for a dream, for some distant vision. This was a true war of independence. A war on Earth's soil. The war that would see humanity rising tall and strong again—or see the species perish.
"Dad!" Bay came running up from below, rifle in hand. "By the end of today, we'll be out of missiles. We won't be able to hold off more alien dropships."
Emet cursed. "Understood. We'll just keep firing until then."
Gunfire blazed across the ruins. More of Earth's cannons were firing, shaking the tunnels and trenches, pounding the enemy in orbit.
"Dad, we can't win this," Bay said. "We need to call back the Exodus Fleet. We need to get into those ships. We need to evacuate this planet."
"No!" Emet roared. "Damn it, Bay. We will not abandon Earth! The Exodus Fleet will continue its mission—bringing humans to Earth, not taking them away from it."
"We'll be bringing them to a deathtrap!" Bay cried.
A basilisk leaped over the trench, and both men fired, taking it down. The creature thumped into the trench beside them, gave a last twitch, and fell still.
"Then we'll die on Earth!" Emet said. "The basilisks hunt us everywhere—here and in space. I'd rather see our species die here than in exile. But we can still win, Bay. We can save this world!"
But his words felt hollow.
The odds of victory seemed so low.
He needed more weapons. More technology. More fighters. He—
With a deafening roar, an alien leaped over the sandbags and into the trench. It was a furry beast the size of a horse. The creature vaguely resembled a wolf, but its fangs were far larger, and eight red eyes blazed on its thick head. It moved on six legs, the claws like swords.
During his years in space, Emet had heard of such beasts, though never seen one. They were often hired as mercenaries, deployed as shock troops, branded as the ultimate killers. The species' name was impossible for humans to pronounce, but in the darkness of space, The Heirs of Earth had called them hellwolves.
Soldiers ran toward the monster. The hellwolf grabbed burly warriors, men even larger than Emet, and tore them apart. Severed limbs flew through the trench. Emet, Bay, and the others fired their guns, but the bullets barely fazed the beast.
The creature reared, bellowing. Strands of human flesh dangled from its jaws. Its paws swiped, ripping through soldiers.
Emet ran toward the machine gun. The gunner was dead, entrails spilling across the trench. Emet's head spun. Ringing filled his ears. He was going to vomit, to pass out. But he kept moving. Decades of war had hammered this instinct into him. He shoved the dead man aside, grabbed the machine gun, and spun it toward the hellwolf.
The beast lunged toward him, jaws opening wide enough to swallow a man whole, ravenous.
Emet fed those jaws some lead.
The machine gun raced through an ammunition belt, filling the hellwolf's jaws with searing death. Blood splattered the back of the trench. The hellwolf fell, crushing bodies. Soldiers stood above the alien, filling the beast with more bullets, firing until they were sure it was dead.
"Dad." Bay stepped around the furry corpse. "We need more rockets. More bullets. More rifles. Hell, at this point, even kitchen knives would come in handy. I know some arms dealers, some mercenaries, guys who owe me some favors. I used to grog with them. I'll fly out there. To space. To buy us ammo. Or we're all dead."
Emet and his son huddled behind the sandbags. For a brief moment, no enemies were attacking their trench. But the symphony of war rose from other trenches, all across Port Addison. Emet took a moment to catch his breath, to secure the bandages on his wounds. He pulled a flask from his pocket, took a swig, and offered it to Bay. But his son, who had spent years addicted to the drink, shook his head.
"Take Luther," Emet said finally.
Bay raised an eyebrow. "Luther is old, Dad. He's almost seventy. And he's sick." His voice dropped. "He has cancer in his belly."
"So?" Emet said. "He's not dead yet. Luther has spent his life selling the Heirs of Earth weapons and starships. He knows the other arms dealers, the best guys in the business. You know lowlifes who could maybe sell you a few illegal handguns. But Luther? He knows dealers who've supplied armies. Take one of the armored transports. With our last artillery, we'll give you cover."
Bay nodded. "I can borrow a freighter or two from the Exodus Fleet, if that's all right. I'll need the cargo room." His eyes shone. "I intend to buy a whole lotta guns."
Of course, Earth was also strapped for cash. But thanks to the invention of debt—that greatest of miracles and darkest of curses—it might just be possible.
Assuming, Emet knew, they could convince anyone that Earth was good for the money. With the way the war was going, Emet doubted Earth had a great credit rating. He just hoped Luther could call in a few favors.
The artillery silos rumbled. The rockets rose, pounding the enemy above the sky. Under artillery cover, an armored dropship blasted into the sky. From the trenches, Emet watched his son fly to space.
We are tough fighters, he thought. We'll fight until our last breath. But soon we'll be fighting with sticks and stones. Bring us back more rifles, son. Bring us bullets and shells and cannons. Bring us a fighting chance.
Another alien leaped into the trench, this one a gelatinous cube with human skeletons trapped inside. The translucent creature sucked up soldiers and began digesting them. Emet grabbed a flamethrower from a dead man and burned the blob, melting its glutinous body, melting the poor souls trapped inside.
The war for Earth continued, and Emet waited for his children to come home.
CHAPTER NINE
They plunged through burning space at breakneck speed, jostled inside their hijacked Peacecar.
Tom, Ramses, and Najila clung to their seats and screamed together.
The battle blazed all around them. Thousands of enemy starships flew everywhere. Lasers flashed past them. Missiles flew their way. A tapestry of destruction spread around Earth.
Piloting the Peacecar, Ramses yanked the yoke from left to right, dodging the assault. Artillery was rising from below, slamming into Rattlers above. Down on the surface, millions of humans and aliens were battling, covering the plains and forests.
"We leave Earth for a few months and look what happens!" Tom said, clinging to his seat for dear life.
"They can't be trusted on their own, the bastards." Ramses yanked the ship sideways, dodging another missile. "Damn this alien hunk of junk! Don't Peacekeepers know how to build proper ships?"
"Shut up and focus on flying!" Najila shouted, turning green.
After parting with Leona, they had flown the hijacked Peacecar all the way here to Earth. It was a cramped ship. Barely larger than a shuttle. The journey had not been pleasant. But right now, Tom missed the serenity of open, empty space.
The Peacecar raced around Earth, flying now above North America. But Port Addison was still a thousand kilometers down. And there were plenty of Rattlers in the way. Bombs were raining onto the world. Missiles were rising. Earth had become a fireball.
"Earth!" Tom said into the microphone. "Earth, can you read me? We need artillery cover to land!"
Only static came in reply. The Rattlers were still jamming their signals.
Tom cursed and kept trying. "Earth, you there? These are officers Tom Shepherd and Ramses al Masri. We're flying a small hijacked Peacecar. We need an artillery tunnel!"
More static. And then—a voice. Just a snippet.
"Mister She—"
More static.
T
om groaned. "It's useless, Pharaoh. We'll have to find our way down ourselves."
Ramses kept flying the Peacecar, dodging missiles left and right. One blast hit their port side, cracking a shield. The ship flipped several times before Ramses managed to right her. The Pharaoh tried to descend, to reach the atmosphere, but Rattlers blocked their way. Lasers flashed everywhere.
Ramses spun every which way. Tom swayed in his seat. The Peacecar had only a basic cannon, but he fired it, for all the good it did. The damn thing took a few potshots at the enemy, then jammed.
"Ra damn it," Tom said. "I swear we had better Peacecars back when I was in the Corps."
Ramses snorted. "You just got spoiled flying on Earth ships."
"Earth ships are even worse!" Tom said.
Ramses turned toward him, gasping. "Hey, you take that back! I'm proud of our ships. Nothing beats a good old-fashioned Firebird."
"Eyes on space, dammit!" Tom said. "Look at space, not at me!"
"We have to turn back!" Najila shouted. "Damn it, boys, we're beat. Don't get us killed."
Ramses rolled his eyes. "Lady, you never even knew what a spaceship was until you met me by the Pyramids. Let the pilot do his work."
Another laser hit them. The Peacecar rattled.
"And great work you're doing!" Najila said. "Are you trying to get us killed?"
"Will someone shut her up?" Ramses said.
Tom stared longingly down at Earth. At Port Addison far below. His home.
I need to be there, he thought. All of us do. To fight on the ground. To save our people.
Suddenly Tom frowned. A human ship was rising from below. Just a shuttle. Dented and charred. Barely able to fly. The windshields were cracked. Surely nothing could be alive in there.
Tom stared at it more closely, squinting.
There were letters spray painted on the shuttle's hull.
He tapped a few buttons, zooming in.
His eyes widened.
He could read the letters now: Tom, Ramses—stay back!
"Ramses!" Tom said, pointing.
The Pharaoh looked, and his eyes widened. He yanked the yoke, and their ship jerked violently to the side, creaking and losing a few bolts.
The shuttle from Earth exploded.
Debris flew every which way, leaving trails of fire. Several chunks knocked into the Peacecar, stripping off a panel of shields.
"By Mother Gaea's tits!" Najila exclaimed—a curse so ridiculous Tom had to laugh.
Thankfully, the Peacecar had dodged the bulk of the explosion. Several Rattlers hadn't been as lucky. The blast had torn them apart, opening a path down to Earth.
"Here goes!" Ramses said. "Thank you, Earth!"
They plunged through the hole in the enemy lines—and into the atmosphere.
Moments later, they landed in Port Addison.
After two weeks in space, the three humans spilled out of the cramped Peacecar—and into a battlefield.
Alien formations advanced all around. Armored basilisks crawled over piles of bones, guns mounted on their backs. Klurian blobs dragged their gelatinous bodies over the ruins, sucking up rocks, dust, and corpses. Hellwolves growled, ripping into human soldiers with fangs and claws. Aelonian warriors—the betrayers who had once fought alongside humanity—blasted beams of light from their spears. Spiky aliens thrashed in the river, ripping into the colony's docks, leaping onto the riverbank, and snatching soldiers.
Everywhere, the humans fought back. Undeterred. Relentless. Refusing to flee. From the last few walls that still stood. From pillboxes. From trenches. The Human Defense Force had no tanks, barely any artillery, only a handful of starships. They were mostly just refugees, fresh from exile, traumatized and gaunt, with only one gun for every ten soldiers. Yet across the ruins, they were crying out for Earth and fighting for every pebble and grain of dust.
They were the finest warriors Tom had ever seen.
Standing by their starship, Tom, Ramses, and Najila loaded their rifles.
"Well, Tom old buddy," Ramses said, "it's been nice knowing ya."
"Likewise," said Tom. "Welcome home, friend. Here's hoping we last the day."
Najila hefted her rifle. "My Gaea, life was simpler before you space humans came home—and dragged half a galaxy worth of aliens after you!" She sighed. "I miss the Nile."
The three humans let out battle cries and charged, firing their guns.
Hurry, Leona, Tom thought as he fought, as he killed, as claws tore at him, as his bullets ripped aliens apart. We need geode-ships. And I need you with me. Come back soon.
CHAPTER TEN
Mairead followed the tracking beacon for three days before she saw the ruins of New York City.
She stood in the wilderness of what had once been New Jersey. The wind ruffled her red hair and the grass around her boots. After her long journey here, her clothes were tattered, her limbs bandaged, and grime hid her freckled skin. Her two pistols were tucked into her belt, her flare stuck out from her pocket, and her pack of explosives hung across her back. She had followed the snakes across rough terrain, moving fast. day and night. Finally she had come to this place. Ahead, only a few kilometers away, rose Manhattan's jagged skyline.
She recognized the city at once. Back aboard the HDFS Jerusalem, a poster of ancient New York had hung in the officer's lounge. Mairead had played many poker games beneath that poster. Somebody must have found a photograph in the Earthstone, had printed it out, hung it on the wall. To Mairead, New York had always been what Earth looked like. It was one of the few photographs of the planet she had seen. Whenever the Inheritors had spoken of Earth, Mairead had imagined the New York skyline.
And there it was before her.
And it looked nothing like the poster.
New York City lay in ruins, so decayed it was barely standing.
The city had a long history. Mairead knew some of it. Once, it had been a jewel of humanity, home to tens of millions. The scum, the centipedes from outer space, had destroyed much of the city in 2093, a year every human remembered. The great heroes of old had reclaimed New York, had rebuilt it taller and stronger. The heroes of that age still inspired humanity. Admiral Bryan, the first human to strike an alien world. Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness. Marco Emery, the Poet of Earth. Addy Linden, the heroine who had raised humanity in rebellion against the aliens. They had reclaimed New York, and they had saved the world.
But their great generation passed. Earth grew complacent. Lesser leaders took the reins. Only two centuries after the centipedes were repelled, the Hydrian squids attacked. They destroyed this city again—along with the rest of the planet. That year, in 2270, Earth fell. The heroes of that age had failed. The exile of humanity had begun.
It was now 4154. And New York City stood again. But it was no longer a human city.
The Big Apple had become a hive of snakes.
Some of the old buildings were still here. Mairead recognized the Freedom Tower, once the tallest in the city. It must have fallen during those old wars but had been rebuilt. It was now shaped like a great serpent with flaming red eyes, soaring a kilometer into the sky. The Empire State Building was still here, but it was now coated with bronze scales. The Statue of Liberty rose from her island, but her face was now serpentine, and a forked tongue thrust out between her fangs.
The basilisks found the ruins of our great city, Mairead thought. And they remade them in their image.
The snakes were everywhere. Mairead could see them even from here. They were crawling up and down skyscrapers. They slithered across defensive walls that surrounded the city. Their ships hovered over the towers, long and scaly. There must be millions of basilisks here.
"The snakes stole my city," Mairead said. "Bastards."
Memories of that poster returned to her. Beautiful New York. She could smell the pilots' lounge aboard the Jerusalem. Her cigar smoke. Her homemade grog. Those damn aromatic oils Ramses put in his hair and beard. And Mairead was suddenly there again. Back in that
lounge, playing poker with her friends. Feeling safe. Feeling happy. Feeling loved.
She wiped her eyes. Those days were long gone. The Jerusalem was destroyed. Most of those pilots were dead. Maybe Ramses was dead too. For all Mairead knew, she could be the last human alive on this planet.
She clenched her fists and punched herself, letting the pain shock away her self-pity.
"Enough navel-gazing, Firebug!" she scolded herself. "Enough mucking whining. What are you, goddamn Ramses? You're tough. You're strong. You're going to kill every last damn snake in New York City."
She checked her minicom. The beacon was still moving, heading across a bridge toward the city. Naja was still carrying the dead hellwolf's collar.
"Yes, bring the collar to your mistress," Mairead muttered.
The tracker was now moving through Manhattan.
"Is that where you live, Xerka?" Mairead whispered.
She knew what she had to do. She had to travel north from here. To make her way across the Canadian border to Port Addison. She would report this information to Emet, and the HDF could swoop down here with all their might. They could nuke the whole damn city. If Mairead walked quickly, she could be at Port Addison within a fortnight.
She took a few steps north, then stopped.
She looked back at the city.
"If I leave, Xerka might move," she said to herself. "To another city. Or into a bunker. Or up to her dreadnought in space. But if the bitch is here right now, if Naja is returning her pet's collar …"
Mairead snarled. She still had a few bullets. Her wound was healing.
It was probably a suicide mission. But Mairead never backed off from a fight.
She began trudging toward the city.
"I'm going to kill you myself, Xerka. Tonight. You're dead meat."
As she walked, a plan began forming in her mind. If Xerka truly lurked inside one of these skyscrapers, Mairead could not simply saunter in. Xerka's lair would be swarming with basilisks, thousands of them.
But if I can discover which tower she's in, I'll blow it up.
She hefted her backpack. She had explosives inside. But she chewed her bottom lip, running quick calculations. Her explosives were good at blowing through the hulls of starships. She could probably take out a wall or two. But would it be enough to bring an entire skyscraper down? Probably not. She would need more power than she carried in her pack.
The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5) Page 9