Mabe (Earth Resistance Book 5)

by Theresa Beachman

  Come on. This was taking too long.

  Desperation swelled in an oily slick, filling her throat. Didn’t they know how fast the others would come? How slim their window of escape was?

  Her pulse rifle flashed. Fifty percent. She should have checked the damn charge.

  Should have.

  Her whole damn life was a collection of should haves. Air shifted across the back of her neck—

  Sarah hit the ground, air driven from her lungs in a violent grunt, grit scraping her cheek and rock lacerating her chin. Her teeth snapped violently, slicing the side of her tongue, and fresh blood flooded her mouth. Primal instinct took over, and she drew her knees up to her chest to drive the alien attacker from her body. But her boots connected with muscle and bone, not chitin.

  The bear-man.

  Confusion jolted her as she rolled away from him, scrabbling for purchase, desperate to get on to her hands and knees. What the hell was he doing?

  Her soles found grip, and she rose to a crouch. Air swirled around her again and she was flying, knocked again from her feet by the burly man, the whisper of Chittrix wings passing within inches of the back of her neck, icing every nerve on her spine. This time he didn’t let go, covering her with his body, kicking with his legs, driving them under the frame of a rusting SUV. They tumbled as one, slamming to a halt as they hit the inside of a rear wheel.

  “Fucking stay still.” His breath was hot and pressured against her skin. Dust and grit scoured the air, driven under the vehicle by the beat of Chittrix flight. Sarah scrabbled backward with her heels, pressing her back and legs into the hard-bodied man. Muscled arms wrapped around her waist and strong, calloused fingers pressed to the hypersensitive skin of her mouth.

  She jammed her eyes shut, her eyes hot and stinging. This was it. This was where it ended—

  “Shhh.” His voice was a deep murmur against her ear. “It didn’t see which car we went under.”

  Sarah stilled and then an insane holler filled the evening sky, a screeching alarm that froze the air in her lungs.

  What the hell?

  But the voice was human. Male and spitting furious.

  Heavy footsteps thudded across the asphalt and the man holding her jerked with tension, his legs wrapped around her hips, locking her in place. He grunted. “Foster. You fucking loon.”

  Laser fire erupted in a volley of ear shattering pulses, lighting up the dark crevices of the car. Cobwebs laced every inch of the under carriage and alien spiders stood out in fiery relief, their crimson jointed legs flailing at the disturbance.

  Sweet God.

  She squirmed, twisting her face in the opposite direction, her breath coming in hot, constricted gasps. The arms holding her were like rock. She focused on the grimy hand around her waist, a beaten analogue watch on his wrist. The worn leather reassured her for a crazy moment. It was old school, a thing of practicality and beauty. From before, when civilization had still existed. When she’d had a life. Maybe he’d been a normal person then too?

  Hot tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back as the screeching grew louder, and then a deep boom shook the air and made her vision shimmer.

  Sarah jerked her head against the hand clamped across her mouth. He was smothering her. She couldn’t breathe. As if sensing her rising panic, he released her, and she was being dragged out from the SUV by a rock-like grip on her collar. Her heels kicked at dirt, but she might as well have been trying to resist a train. She was going nowhere but where the hands guided her.

  She landed on her feet and a firm touch pressed to the small of her back to steady her. The bear-man loomed over her. Wild hair hung low, but intelligence shone from his eyes as his gaze moved over her body, searching for injuries.

  He grabbed her chin, tilted her head one-way and then the other. “You okay?”

  Her chest tightened, as corded muscles moved along his neck and shoulders as he checked her out, but a reply evaded her as she sucked air back into her bruised lungs. What the hell was going on? What just happened? Finally, he lifted her bloody hand, a question on his face as if he could see right inside of her.

  She shook her head, dispelling her crazy chain of thoughts, finding her voice. “That’s from before. It’s okay.”

  He released her with an affirmative grunt and spun on his heel to face his companions.

  The spider-Chittrix was dead, a slumped explosion of alien gore as if it had just fallen apart. At a cellular level. She’d never seen anything like it.

  Nearby the other Chittrix she’d killed earlier lay in a mangled jointed pile.

  “Where’s the orange one?” The flames had died down and there was only a scorched patch of dirt where it had been. Dizziness washed over her. Where the hell was the marked Chittrix? The one she’d shot?

  “It took off before we toasted this one.” The man wearing the baseball cap lifted the heavy weapon from his shoulder and propped it against his leg. He pointed at the inked man. “But not before Foster gave it hell.” He grinned, his teeth white against his dirty face. He was handsome when he wasn’t scaring the shit out of her.

  The inked man, Foster, the other man had called him, prodded the Chittrix remains. One of his eyebrows was smoking and charred, but he didn’t seem to notice. “That was awesome.”

  “What just happened?” Her voice was calm, but her heart was racing, and a trickle of cold sweat snaked down her spine. She tucked her hands under her arms to stop them from shaking.

  Foster beamed. Close up, ink flowed over his body like a living thing, rising and falling with the bunching of his muscles. “Fucking epic. That’s what happened.”

  The bear-man kicked at a wet pile at his feet, and it was only then that Sarah noticed the spread of organic matter around them, sticky and wet. She lifted her boots, the soles squelched. “What did you do?” Her voice kicked back into gear, stronger now. This was her territory.

  “Another Chittrix dropped in from out of nowhere. Missed you by inches.” Bear-man’s gaze locked with hers, touching something deep within her, even though they were feet apart.

  He stuck out a hand that could pass for a paw. “Mabe.”

  His fingers engulfed hers.

  “Sarah.” When he released her hand, her fingers were tingling. “Thank you.” Her pulse leaped. What was going on with her? This was ridiculous. She breathed out a long exhale. He regarded her with a cool look then jerked a thumb at the other two. “Foster, you’ve already met. Sawyer here took out the Chittrix with the Sweeper.”

  “Sweeper?”

  “Hypersonic weapon.” Sawyer squinted at the over-sized gun and shook his head. “Charge is kaput. Needs a full reboot.”

  Mabe sighed and dragged an enormous hand over his face. “Shit.”

  Sarah chewed her lip. These men had saved her life. She owed them. She should say some—

  A storm of shadows over Sawyer’s head caught her eye.

  An approaching squad of Chittrix.

  Her stomach contracted into a hard knot. The formation was tight. Soldier Chittrix. They had minutes at most. Bones picked clean by the elements flashed white at the edges of her vision and stark facts blasted away the last of her doubts. These men had saved her life. The least she could do was return the kindness, because looking at Mabe told her that was what he was. Kindness. These men were not a threat. Somehow she’d deal with Diana.

  Safety within Carven House was a short sprint away.

  Enraged shrieks rent the air, which thickened in her lungs as the time for making decisions expired.

  “All of you.” She gestured toward the wrecked entrance. “Follow me.” She took off without checking to see if they were following, stowing her worries at the back of her mind.

  9

  Mabe tracked Sarah as she hurried down the corridor. With a darting glance over her shoulder to make sure they were following, she shoved her hip against a fire door. It burst open with a shriek of corroded metal and flaking rust.

  She gestured at him,
her posture stiffening, as approaching Chittrix calls grew louder and more agitated. “This way.” On the other side of the door was a small courtyard.

  Mabe eased into the space, Foster and Sawyer clipping his heels. There was a clogged fountain in the center, abandoned faded plastic chairs scattered against the wall. People had sat here for their lunch, eaten sandwiches. He saw it in his mind clear as day.

  Sarah jogged to the fountain and bent to the ground. She was fast. Light on her feet, no messing. But that was to be expected. No one survived without some kind of skill set anymore. She dropped to a crouch beside a drain cover and lifted her face to survey the men following her. A micro expression flickered over her face.

  Mabe knew it well. Doubt. Considering the safety of her actions. Hardly surprising, Foster’s shaved head and tattoos were intimidating, and Sawyer was still wiping eviscerated Chittrix from his legs. Mabe rubbed his chin. He hadn’t shaved in weeks. He hadn’t cared. His face was a prickly thatch, his hair loose and shaggier than it had been in years. He was more yeti than man. An unfamiliar feeling stirred within him. Maybe he should care?

  She locked her fingers into the grooves of the drain cover and tugged. Muscles tensed in her slender arms, popping with the effort. Her cheek bones were scratched, swelling and dotted with blood.

  Had he caused that? Sourness filled his mouth. “Here let me.”

  The drain had shifted, but she was clearly exhausted. Her jaw tightened as she locked eyes with him, considering her options. This was a woman who liked to do things for herself. He waited, giving her space.

  Her head dropped. “Okay. Thanks.” She rocked back, cradling her injured arm against her belly. He made a mental note to have a look at the injury once they were safe.

  He laid the cover to the side and she pointed into the darkness. “Come on.” She didn’t wait to see if they were following, she was on the ladder and disappearing down into the darkness, quick-footed like a cat.

  Mabe hesitated. Already he liked her no-nonsense attitude. Her practicality. But he couldn’t afford to like her. They knew nothing about her or where she was taking them.

  Her head emerged back out of the tunnel, stray hairs framing her face, accentuating the curve of her cheek. “You coming?”

  Damn, she was making this hard.

  He glanced at Foster and Sawyer. Sawyer lifted one shoulder. “Let’s see what’s down there.”

  Foster dropped to his ass and grabbed the ladder. He grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. “Man, I am so done with underground tunnels.”

  They’d been on their feet for hours; his leg had to be bothering him. “Foster, I have Advil—”

  “I’m fucking fine.” Foster shot back, his tone razor sharp.

  Mabe held up his hands. “Cool.” He pushed his palm on top of Foster’s head. “But hurry.”

  Sawyer craned at the sky. “No bugs.” He dropped his gaze to Mabe and flashed him white teeth. “Down the rabbit hole we go.”

  Mabe slid the lid back into place above his head and hustled down the ladder into the gloom. The rungs were cold under his palms, clean and dry from use. Who else lived down here with her?

  Sarah waited at the bottom, a flashlight in her hands pointed at the floor.

  “That won’t hold them.” Mabe pointed at the sealed cover. “They can just lift it.”

  Sarah turned from him, not paying any heed to his concerns. “There’s a security door at the end of this tunnel. We’re good for now, but hurry.”

  Chittrix called somewhere above. Thumping. Chittrix hurling their bodies into the building?

  “They sense if we’re close. If we leave, it will stop.” She angled her flashlight up the tunnel where it petered out into darkness.

  “And go where?” Foster raised a singed eyebrow as he bent over to catch his breath. He straightened and exhaled. “Fuck, I’m out of shape.”

  Her gaze danced from Foster to Mabe and then up into the darkness ahead.

  “We won’t hurt you.” Mabe raised his palms in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. He glanced to where the noise was becoming more intense. His skin itched to be away from it all. Now. “But we should go.”

  She gave a brief nod. “I can’t leave you to die. Not after—” She stopped and shivered. “You saved me. It’s the least I can do, but Diana will be angry. I’m just warning you. If it was up to me…” Her gaze shifted and she blinked. “But it’s not.”

  “We appreciate that.” Mabe did his best to sound non threatening.

  She turned and headed down the tunnel. Mabe followed, Foster behind him, Sawyer taking up the rear.

  She was quick, her steps confident on the irregular cobbled floor, even in the half-light.

  Foster swore as he stumbled and collided with Mabe’s back. Mabe pivoted. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Foster’s mouth set in a hard line. “Fine.” But his eyes were a little too bright, the skin across his cheekbones stretched thin. Mabe paid his words no heed. Foster was on his last legs.

  He tapped Sarah on the shoulder. “Is it much further?”

  She flinched, spinning around, her pulse rifle held across her body like a barrier.

  Whoa. He raised his hands in apology. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Fucking right,” Foster muttered from behind.

  She tilted her head and understanding crossed her delicate features.

  “A few more minutes.” And without waiting for an answer, she plunged back into the gloom.

  Mabe tracked the bob of her flashlight. Cold drips from the tunnel roof slid down the back of his neck, but something seismic shifted deep within him. Something he’d forgotten existed. It was too unsubstantial to give it a name, a whisper deep in his psyche of times past. All he knew was he didn’t want to let this woman out of his sight.

  10

  Sarah reached the end of the tunnel. The main access door was visible ahead. Diana was going to go ballistic. What was she thinking? She’d never brought strangers below before. None of them had. It had been the six of them since forever. The graveyard of bodies in the parking lot had dissuaded human and Chittrix alike. It was the perfect cover. And now she’d brought three armed strangers into their safe haven.

  Dark body armor covered their arms and chests, and in the confined space, masculine energy and strength bled from all three of them. Their weapons were sleek and high-powered. More advanced than anything she’d seen. And the cylindrical one Sawyer carried. What had he called it? The Sweeper? It had torn the Chittrix apart, vaporized it. She’d seen nothing like it.

  The metallic door embedded in the wall was impregnable, a throwback to the building’s former role in housing infectious diseases. Her hand hovered over the access pad.

  “What is this place?” There was an intensity to Mabe’s scrutiny that made her breath hitch. He was right on her shoulder, his nearness strangely unsettling, making her insides twist in a bewildering storm of fear and interest.

  “We’re still under Carven House.” She was acutely aware of his gaze on her as she typed in the access code. “Welsh hotspot of disease and bacteriology.”

  Mabe crooked an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Too much time alone had left her with a wonky sense of humor. “The tunnel takes a circuitous loop to the rear of the building. Old Ministry of Defense escape routes. Cold war and all that.” Did she look freaked out? She straightened her spine. “We sealed off the original entrances and all the elevators. Now the lower levels that contain the most secure labs can only be accessed from underground.”

  “Nifty.” The tattooed man, Foster, edged forward, breaking the connection between her and Mabe. She gripped the door handle. Connection? Get a grip.

  Foster showed his teeth. “If damp.”

  She pressed her lips together. God, she hoped this wasn’t a huge mistake. “Let me do the talking to Diana.” There was no waver in her voice. No betrayal of her churning insides.

  “Diana’s in charge?” Thick eyebrows knotted ab
ove Mabe’s gentle brown eyes.

  Kind of. She tipped her head, unwilling to voice her thoughts.

  Mabe raised his hands. “You saved our lives. We’re grateful.”

  “Yeah, we come in peace or some shit like that,” Foster added.

  Powerfully muscled and armed to the hilt, weird body armor and weapons she’d never seen before. Diana wouldn’t think so and at a glance, Sarah had doubts but when Mabe said it, she believed him. Or maybe she just wanted to believe him. To hope that there were still people out there who wanted to help, not steal what you had and leave you for dead. Surely a liaison with men like these could only be to their advantage?

  It was a risk.

  But everything was a risk now. Supplies were running low. Perhaps it was time for new blood, new liaisons?

  She lifted her chin, projecting confidence she didn’t feel. “I’m sure Diana will understand.” She hefted her pulse rifle across the worn fabric of her shirt. She was done with letting people die. This was the right thing to do. She grasped the handle and wrenched upwards, her shoulders lifting as the metal objected to being moved from its resting place.

  Warm, dry air rushed to engulf them. Sarah waited until all three men were through and then secured the door behind them.

  “This way.” She gestured for them to follow, hurrying down the corridor, past closed doors, directly to the main lab.

  She elbowed the door open without pause; the opportunity for hesitation was long gone. She was committed now.

  Diana was on the far side of the room, conferring with Artem and Jacob. Diana’s twelve-year-old daughter, Riley was nearby, curled in an armchair Sarah had helped her drag from one of the conference rooms. Riley looked up from her book when the door cracked against the wall, astonishment flitting across her youthful face. Zoe was perched next to her at a computer monitor, but she rose, her mouth opening in surprise as she made eye contact with Sarah. Her face said it all. What the hell?

  Sarah raised a placatory hand. Later.