Lucky. Not how she would have described it. “We’re here aren’t we?”
“Not for much longer if we keep pulling stunts like that.” Zoe climbed out the car and slammed the door.
Sarah winced and waited until Zoe was visible in the rearview mirror. She was angry. Perhaps understandably. Sarah had tried to explain her research, and although Zoe made the right supportive noises, Sarah knew her friend would only truly understand when they had something real. Promises were a hard bargain to risk your life over. She exited the car with considerable effort, every muscle complaining after her uphill sprint.
Zoe had already opened the trunk and was dragging her backpack out. Cans clunked inside—they’d returned with a small supplement to the food supplies, but not by much.
Sarah grabbed her backpack and hefted it onto her shoulders, ignoring the jab of pain against the small of her back where the padding had worn away completely. “God, I need a bath.” She shut the trunk. She was sticky with sweat, itchy with dirt, and her thoughts were a jumbled mess.
Zoe was striding toward their base, Carven House. Sarah hurried to catch up. She was too exhausted for a fight.
“We lived to tell the tale. And this was worth it.” Sarah patted her bag of vines, attempting to keep her voice calm. “We have what we need.”
Zoe kept walking, her gait stiff. “I guess so.”
Sarah pressed her lips together, her teeth digging into her upper lip. The pain was welcome, a reminder to keep this real. Zoe had every reason to be angry.
“Are you even sure it’s worth the risk anymore?” Zoe cut a sharp glance in her direction.
Sarah let the scathing look slide. “It will be when we work out how to kill the Chittrix.” She slowed as the stone buildings of Carven House, their home for the past eighteen months, came into view through the battered chain-link fence, the welcome sign riddled with bullet holes.
WELCOME
Carven House, Cardiff
World Health Organization
Public Health and Disease Control.
“You keep saying that like it’s a mantra, but that won’t make it happen.” There was a metallic edge to Zoe’s voice that was there increasingly often, and even though it pained her, Sarah didn’t know how to fix it.
What if Zoe was right? The question crept through her nightmares more often than she cared to admit, but there wasn’t any other way. “I’m not about to give up and die.”
“God.” Zoe tilted her head upward, but her eyes were scrunched tight. When she opened them again, she looked straight at Sarah. Tendons stood out against the pale skin of her throat. “They get stronger every day and we—” She blinked furiously, gesturing at her torn clothes, the pulse rifle in her hand. “There’s just less and less of us and one day they’re going to scrub us out of existence.”
“Hey.” Sarah enveloped her in an awkward bear hug of poky weapons and backpacks.
When she broke the hug, Zoe sniffed. She wiped at her eyes with angry gestures. “Shit. Crying helps no one.” She looked up. “Can you tell?”
Her eyes were red rimmed.
Sarah smiled. “Not at all, you look great.”
Zoe gave her a watery smile. “I don’t want Diana to know. Everything is a sign of weakness to her. Another way to lord it over us all.”
Chink.
Sarah jerked around and scanned Carven’s sagging chain-linked boundary.
“It’s the breeze. Just tree branches hitting the fence.” Zoe touched her back. The anger in her voice had dissipated. “You’re jumpy after the hive. Come on.”
Sarah gave the fence a final glance before she lowered the nose of her weapon. Zoe was right. And she was edgy from lack of sleep and not enough food. She exhaled and squared her shoulders as she walked through the wrecked entrance gate into what had once been a parking lot. Into the bone yard.
Every muscle in her body contracted, tension thrumming through her in a resonant wave.
Every time.
A sea of bodies. They were spread out before her, the stripped bones of her long dead colleagues, a skeletal tapestry stitched into her memory of the wrong choices she’d made in the early days of the invasion. Their screams haunted her dreams every night, and although Sarah would never admit it to anyone, sometimes when crossing the bone yard she was sure she could hear their whispered accusations.
“Sarah?”
“Huh?”
“This wasn’t your fault.” Compassion etched Zoe's face, but Sarah refused to let anyone feel sorry for her.
She forced steel back into her voice. “I know. Come on, Diana will wonder what’s happened to us.” She hurried between the stripped skeletons, the scattered bones and teeth, focusing her attention on Carven straight ahead.
Dread settled in the base of her stomach at the thought of heading back underground. She was finding it increasingly difficult to go back into the building after forays above ground. More and more she resented having to scuttle below the surface to survive, living like a rat, hidden from the Chittrix.
Dealing with Diana only added to her stress levels. As a geneticist, Diana’s help with her research had been invaluable. Together, they’d combined alien and native DNA to create new viral strains. But while Diana’s iron will had held them all together in the beginning, now it was claustrophobic.
Sarah’s fists tightened, her nails digging into her palm.
She hesitated at the foot of the entrance steps. A subtle change in air pressure popped goose bumps on her forearms.
Thud. The ground shook and vibration drummed through the soles of her boots. Hairs on the back of her neck screamed to attention, scraping her battered shirt collar. She gripped her pulse rifle tighter, her knuckles painful. Please, no.
Ribbons of fetid air wrapped around her.
Chittrix.
She pivoted on the balls of her feet as a muffled sob escaped Zoe.
Three of them. Human femurs and tibia splintering under their ungodly weight. The center one was the largest, fierce orange stripes running from its tail across its chunky abdomen. The one from the hill. Two smaller Chittrix flanked it. Their narrower bodies and spear-like limbs jointed at knees almost level with their bullet-shaped heads, giving their shimmering midnight-blue bodies an arachnid presence.
“They followed us.” Zoe’s voice was a whisper.
Sarah’s mind raced. Entering Carven House directly would lead the Chittrix to Diana and the others, as well as her research.
Not taking her eyes off them, Sarah fumbled in her pocket, her fingers closing around the last bottle of Pyrethrin. She sidestepped and lobbed it at the larger orange-streaked Chittrix, taking advantage of the extra seconds it gave her as it shattered against the alien’s thorax. Screaming, it staggered back a pace.
She followed it with three rapid shots from her handgun. They cracked like thunder, advertising their presence to everything.
“Run!” Zoe screamed, grasping her roughly.
The Chittrix folded, its head hanging low over the abdomen. Yellow fluid pumped from a fresh wound high on its chest wall. A direct hit.
Sarah stumbled back a pace on leaden legs, transfixed, unable to tear her eyes from the horrific scene as the Chittrix bared savage teeth and howled in agony. As if on command, one of the spider-Chittrix bolted forward, its black barbed tongue lashing against Sarah’s arm, tearing skin, and spattering her face in a spray of red mist.
Hell.
Searing agony released her, and she bolted after Zoe in a bounding, leaping run through treacherous skulls and ribs intent on tripping her up with every step. Her breath came in lung gouging pants as her feet scattered bones and dust, her heels grinding memories underfoot. Her backpack slid, twisting against the crook of her elbows, hampering her stride. Lose it. She shrugged it free, her pace increasing without the extra burden.
Ahead, Zoe hunkered low, tracking along the side of Carven House toward the rear, seeking a scrap of protection from the ornate overhang that fringed the building
. Sarah tracked her, stretching to the limit of her stride. Such big steps; she wobbled with each footfall, almost tumbling.
Sarah risked a glance. The darker spider-Chittrix had risen back into the sky, their wings blotting out the last tatters of the evening sun as they circled, preparing to dive. Her steps were jerky, uncoordinated with terror. Where was the big one?
Ahead, Zoe grabbed a splinted doorjamb and whipped out of sight, disappearing into the gloom of a side entrance. Sarah followed, her mouth sour, her lungs wheezing to the point of collapse. She had nothing left after the run earlier. No reserves in her muscles.
Chittrix screams echoed behind her from the bone yard, echoed by the clicking calls of the two airborne Chittrix. Were they getting closer? She glanced up, gasping. The sky was momentarily empty, and she was unobserved.
Carven’s side entrance loomed, glass doors shattered into webbed opacity hanging from bent and rusted hinges. Sarah skidded through, lungs heaving, screaming for air, her pulse a jackhammer in her throat. A meshed door separated her from the foyer, snicking shut. Zoe’s already through.
Sarah barreled against the door in pursuit, her right shoulder taking the brunt of the charge as she dropped to her knees on the far side, lifting her pulse rifle with bloody fingers at the same time.
She skidded to a breathless stop, her clothes sticky against her body, the pulse rifle hot and heavy in her hands.
Quick, quick, quick.
She scooted forward on her knees until she was against the warped entrance door, lifting her pulse rifle to the cracked glass. The crosshairs wavered under her trembling grip.
Shit.
She hoisted it closer to her cheek, snugging it under her chin, hissing through her teeth. Concentrate, dammit.
The bone yard was empty.
Where are you?
Screeches cut through the air as barbed talons plunged out of nowhere, snagging the outer door and ripping it free. Glass exploded in an arc, scattering in high-pitched detonation.
Sarah recoiled, glass shards slicing her skin.
The Chittrix released the door in the bone yard and circled back for her, crystal clear against the cross hairs, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the fading light.
Sarah fired. Incandescent energy exploded from her pulse rifle, the force sending her skidding backward into a rotten stairwell. Pain engulfed her spine and wood dust clogged the back of her throat. She lay stunned for a moment, waiting for the agony to ease.
A voice whispered. “Sarah?”
Sarah hauled herself back up to her feet, swiping at her eyes. Wet orange dust streaked her skin, but she was alive and could see. She flexed her bloodied hands. They were painful but still working. Her pulse rifle was black with soot, the muzzle warped.
“Sarah.” Zoe crouched on the far side of the stair, squashed between the bannister and ancient wooden paneling. Slowly, she crawled out, her features taut. “Sarah, you all right? What the hell happened with your pulse rifle?” She touched Sarah’s arm. “God, you’re bleeding.”
Sarah staggered and spat more orange dust. Her arm was red with blood, but the lacerations weren’t as bad as she’d feared. Could have been a lot worse. “I’m okay.” She glanced outside. The jagged corpse of one of the spider-Chittrix lay outside the door, jellied gunk pumping from its body, soaking the dirt. “No idea about the pulse rifle, but it still worked.”
Battle cries of the remaining Chittrix rent the air. “That’s way too close for comfort. Get up.” Sarah manhandled Zoe on to her feet, leaving bloody prints on her arm.
Zoe stepped and winced. “My ankle. I think I sprained it.”
The two remaining Chittrix swooped and landed, their heads cocked as they examined their obliterated comrade. The smaller, spider-Chittrix screamed a defiant guttural call that set electricity through Sarah’s teeth. She dug her fingers harder into Zoe’s flesh and hustled her across the leaf-silted floor, kicking detritus without ever taking her eyes off the things. They were larger than the doorway, but she wasn’t hanging around to see them force their way through. She pushed Zoe, at a limping pace, through inner doors to the internal hallway, dark with paintings of dead people.
“Come on.”
The racket of wood splintering chased them from behind. Zoe stumbled. “They’re coming after us.”
“Come on.”
Sarah was almost lifting Zoe off the ground in her effort to hustle her faster down the long corridor to safety. Rear doors opened into a small courtyard. In the past, Sarah had eaten her lunch here, chatting and eating a ham sandwich. The mere idea was now as alien to her as the creatures hunting them down.
In the center of the square was a dried-up fountain, its basin choked with rotting leaves, but the drain cover was clean. Sarah yanked it up. Dim light leached from beneath.
“You first.” Sarah wedged the lid between her knees. It would be even harder to pick up off the ground.
“Okay.” Zoe shuffled into the opening, climbing hand over hand down the metallic ladder.
More shrieks.
She cricked her neck, but the small square of sky above was an empty blue.
“Sarah. Hurry up.” Zoe’s voice was muffled from the darkness.
Sarah shouldered her gun and hustled down the hole in pursuit, dragging the heavy lid closed with a grating thunk. Darkness consumed her, and she dropped her head to the cool metal rung, her arm throbbing in time with her pulse, bracing herself for the shit storm to come.
Chittrix knocking on their doorstep.
Diana was going to be pissed.
5
Clouds scudded across the sky, hurrying to be somewhere else, and for a long second Mabe longed to join them. Their shadows flickered across the road, giving it a surreal impression that left him with a knot in his gut. Brackla and its minor comforts, the people and the kindness, seemed a lifetime ago.
Sawyer slowed the Coyote to a heavy rumble, leaning forward to peer through the dirty windscreen. “Foster, what’s that up ahead?”
Foster swiped through his digital map, increasing the zoom with two chewed fingertips. “World Health Organization. Carven House.”
Mabe squeezed himself between the two men. “I’ve been here before.”
“Really?” Foster looked up from his tablet.
Mabe pulled back and scooted to the rear of the Coyote, pushing the rear doors open, scanning the overgrown road before jumping out. Behind him, Sawyer brought the TSV to a halt and killed the engine.
Gaping windows watched over Mabe, setting his nerves on edge as he made his way to the front of the TSV, the hairs on the back of his neck crackling as he dodged ruptured concrete and stunted weeds.
So many places to hide.
He stopped at the hood, remembering the last time he’d been here. The road choked with cars, stopping to grab a sandwich before his meeting. The smile of the girl in the coffee shop…
Foster clambered out the Coyote, his boots puffing dust as he hit the road. He paced around the vehicle rolling his sleeves up.
“So, give.” Sawyer was at his side, Mabe hadn’t even heard him exit the Coyote.
“I had a sick dog brought to the practice. Something I’d never seen before. I brought samples here for identification.” Being a vet, normal life. Had that really been him?
“Ah.” Sawyer lifted his binoculars. “Building looks wrecked. The usual.”
Foster squinted at the crumbling structure ahead. “Is it worth a look?”
Mabe rubbed his chin. “Not sure. The lab specialized in infectious and genetic diseases.”
Foster sucked air in through his teeth. “We’ve had decent results in the past when we’ve checked out labs. No end to the secret shit they might have. Am I right, Sawyer?”
Sawyer shook his head, a crooked grin touching the edges of his mouth. “Yeah. We did not bad at Magdon Down. Found Anna and Julia.”
“Saved their asses we did.” Foster swung back up into the Coyote. “We’ve got meager supplies so far.” He patted h
is body armor. “Although we did not bad earlier.”
“I’m not sure the bar of Dairy Milk you found counts as supplies,” Sawyer said.
An eye roll from Foster. “What say we top things up?”
“Worth a look?” Sawyer yanked his baseball cap at Mabe. “Your call.”
The labs were substantial. Maybe there was something there. Something they hadn’t considered. A muscle blipped in Mabe’s jaw. “Yeah, worth a look.”
Foster banged the metal shell of the Coyote. “Secret shit awaits.”
Sawyer brought them to a halt under the protection of an aging oak a short hike from the boundary of the WHO building. Mabe climbed out and took point, with Sawyer at the rear and Foster between them as they walked the remaining distance. To the south, black dots marred the sky—Chittrix protecting the Cardiff hive.
“Buggy critters are excited today,” Foster remarked.
Sawyer grunted. “Probably heard you were coming.”
“My reputation precedes me.”
Mabe stopped at the boundary fence, Sawyer and Foster falling quiet as they flanked him.
Eight-foot security fencing ringed the building. Twisted in several places, the links were stretched from the impact of past battles. Once this science lab had been a shimmering glass-fronted monstrosity. Now it was an empty shell, every window gone, its facade a dark maw with teeth of jagged glass.
His skin constricted across his shoulders and prickles cascaded down his spine as he eyed the bullet peppered welcome sign.
WELCOME
Carven House, Cardiff
World Health Organization
Public Health and Disease Control.
The security gates were ripped open, creaking in the breeze, but that wasn’t what tripped every nerve in his body.
Carven was surrounded by a parking lot for several hundred vehicles. Nothing unusual there. Just as he remembered. It was around a third full. Random cars parked across the asphalt; their tires deflated in abject abandonment. Black and green mold sprouted around the edges of windscreens, duplicitous alien fronds waved in the air, their tips barbed with poison.
Mabe (Earth Resistance Book 5) Page 3