Mabe (Earth Resistance Book 5)

by Theresa Beachman

  He followed the others up to the main entrance, his head buzzing with questions that had no answers as they piled the fire extinguishers out of sight inside the foyer.

  Foster crawled forward, spying on the currently empty lot. “You sure this is going to work?”

  Sarah’s brow creased. “No.” She tucked the loose ends of her shirt into her pants. “But we have to know if the virus works. One way or another.”

  Foster grinned, his teeth white in the fading light. “Fighting talk. I like that. Let’s go freeze some leggy fuckers.”

  He ducked low and ran out into the lot, diving behind the nearest car where he stopped and unstrapped the three fire extinguishers from his back. Sawyer followed, finding cover beneath a wrecked SUV.

  The parking lot was silent, shrouded in an absence of sound. Anxiety gnawed at Mabe, but there was no other choice.

  Artem sidestepped to join him. “Where are they?”

  “Waiting. They’re in no hurry, they think they have the upper hand.”

  “Let’s prove them wrong.” Artem looked over his shoulder and motioned for Jacob and Zoe to join him. A minute later, they too had disappeared into the lot, concealed in the rusting wreckage of cars.

  That only left Sarah.

  “You ready?”

  “No.” She shook her head and shot him a shy smile before bouncing on her tiptoes and kissing him full on the lips. The kiss only lasted a second, but the taste of her shot through him and for a few brief seconds the whole fucked up world vanished, and it was just the two of them. Slender fingers curled around the back of his neck, pressing against muscle, unraveling his thoughts. Her mouth, soft and full, promised so much more if only they had the time.

  A small husky sound escaped her as she broke the kiss and stepped away, touching her lower lip. Mabe’s heart thudded against his ribs as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Sorry. I just…” Her face said it all. There might not be an after. She glanced out the mangled entrance doorway where the last vestiges of the day faded. “I better go.”

  “Wait.” He lifted his armor clear of his body and slotted it over her head, bending close to fix the closures at the side. His thudding heart eased a little as he fastened the protection. This was crazy. Why was he letting her do this? He removed the dense black band he wore on his wrist and secured it around hers. “Tracker device.”

  Her eyes darkened for an instant at what he implied. If a Chittrix took her.

  He cleared his throat. “All eventualities, but I’m a safety man. We won’t need it.”

  She caught his hand as he straightened. “It’s fine, really. I want to do this,” she said, her gaze fierce.

  “I know.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her wrist gently, savoring the heat of her body against his skin. “There will be a later. I promise.”

  Hope flared in her eyes above a tremulous smile. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Then she took a deep breath and headed out into the bone yard.

  20

  Sarah took the steps one at a time. Chill air scented with green from the nearby woods filled her nostrils, a scent from the past when it had been safe to take time to smell the lush growth of summer. A fly buzzed past her, unaware of her racing pulse or the liquid fear saturating her pores.

  Ahead, Foster and Sawyer waited, hidden in the midst of the derelict cars. The top of Artem’s tattooed head bobbed as he led Jacob and Zoe through the jungle of motionless vehicles. In the center of the lot, she slowed, every nerve straining for Chittrix, the hairs on the back of her neck painful as they stood to attention.

  She looked back over her shoulder to the main entrance and Mabe. Kissing him had been a slip of emotion—a brief, exhilarating, out-of-character moment. But she might die here today. So why the hell not? She’d risk everything to have the chance to feel his mouth on hers again. To feel alive again and let the shutters of the past eighteen months fall away from her heart.

  Now or never.

  Loose gravel ground beneath her boots as she turned a small circle, reminding her of the bones that surrounded her in all directions. A crow called somewhere in the distance, a lonely survivor, searching for a mate brave enough to risk the skies.

  The lot stretched out in front of her, the rain-washed bones mocking her. This is what will happen to you if you fail.

  Her grip on the air horn hardened, her knuckles and tendons unyielding under her skin. Thinking about the possibility of failure would only get her killed. Carven House looked so far away. Calculations flitted through her mind. Could she run the distance fast enough?

  Time to find out.

  She raised the air horn and sounded it, its bellow strangely low and mournful in the air

  I’m still here. Come and get me.

  She lifted her chin and screamed. God, it felt good to make a noise after living a life of seclusion for too long. When she released the button on the air horn, silence reverberated around her, pressing against her ribcage, making her breath stick in her lungs. Her throat was raw from the scream. Another. She sucked air—

  Shadows stirred on the far side of the parking lot, to her right, lazy and sedate, confident in their superiority. There was no need to rush, humans were weak. Her jaw ached as the fury of the past eighteen months escalated from a simmer to a raging boil. Their confidence—their conqueror’s assumption—their only weakness.

  She counted three Chittrix. Night made real, stretching dry wings in preparation for flight. They surrounded her and her blood slowed, crystalizing in her veins as the furthest away Chittrix raised itself to its full height, parading the orange streak on its thorax, the ugly mark she’d made still evident.

  Flanking it, two spider-Chittrix stalked her in a swaying gait, one marginally larger than the other.

  She pivoted to face them, indicating to Mabe with a shout where the team should direct their attention. “The smallest one on the left.” She abandoned the air horn, swapping it for the pulse rifle on her shoulder as she broke into a jog, aiming for the pair, looking for a way to separate them. Instinctively, her feet skirted bleached bones, dodged tufted grass gasping up through the derelict asphalt. Both spider-Chittrix swung, tracking her, their jaws flexing, a deep throated clicking ricocheting between them as they calculated their assault. Their heads looped and swayed in a dance of communication.

  Sarah gritted her teeth. The ground welcomed her strides, each step as if in slow motion. She was thinner than she’d ever been in her life, but nimbler and faster too. Survival had honed her body over the previous months, and the stretching flex of her muscles was easy.

  She tucked her arms close to her side as she ducked low and sprinted toward Carven’s main entrance, but the spider-Chittrix veered after her, wide mouths sawing a battle cry. One rose into the sky while the smaller one darted forward, forelimbs raised in vicious threat. Mabe bolted into her sight line, firing at it, unleashing a barrage of searing blue-white power.

  The larger Chittrix swooped above her head, scudding low, hurtling toward her like an organic missile. She stumbled on her feet and braced herself, shuttering her muscles for impact. It was too fast, there was no way she could outrun it.

  Foster crashed past her out of nowhere, punching into the Chittrix so it missed her by inches, its barbed tail pounding the ground, obliterating her footprints. He rolled, but the Chittrix bucked, pummeling him in the back with clawed hind legs and his face twisted in agony.

  No.

  Sarah threw herself between Foster and the rearing alien. It screamed, its black tongue lashing. Primal instincts took over, and she fired directly between unblinking eyes. Instantly, the tang of charred protein fouled the air, and she fought the urge to retch. There simply wasn’t time.

  She scrabbled upward as the Chittrix slumped to the ground on its haunches, its forelimbs clawing the air. A whip-like tongue snagged her boot and tore her feet out from underneath her. Her pulse rifle was ripped from her grip as it yanked her upside
down, lassoed by her ankle. She skidded against grit and bones, dust rising up around her in a clogging cloud as pain engulfed her in an unrelenting wave.

  “Sarah!” Mabe’s voice penetrated the foggy agony, but her reply was lost, her lungs seized.

  The Chittrix released her at the sound of his voice, and she landed in a jarring crunch, choking, scrabbling at her neck.

  Air.

  “Sarah.” Mabe thumped her back, and she gasped, her lungs remembering how to work. She spluttered in wheezing gasps as he dragged to her feet. His arm locked around her. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” she croaked, swallowing hard, her leg a blaze of bruised agony. “Twisted my knee.”

  His gaze swept down her body. “Lean on me.” He snuck an arm under hers, pulling her close to the solidity of his frame. “This way. The bigger one is down.”

  A breeze cleared the rising dust, revealing the felled Chittrix. As Mabe guided her around it, it tracked her, but its legs were useless and mangled under the weight of its body, reducing it to screeching in frustration, clawing the ground as its smaller companion retreated.

  Foster hurried toward them, grasping two fire extinguishers.

  “Where’s the striped one?” Sarah’s heart stuttered in her chest. It was nowhere to be seen. The orange one was missing.

  Foster grunted. “Dodged and ran before I could fire. It was gone in an instant.”

  “It’ll be back.” Frustration burned the blood in her veins. It had evaded death.

  “We’ll worry about that later.” Foster lobbed a fire extinguisher at Mabe in a deft throw.

  “I need back up.” Sawyer’s howl cut through Chittrix screams.

  Sarah jerked at the sudden sound of his voice. She took the extinguisher from Mabe.

  “You sure?” Worry marked his dirt-smeared face.

  “Absolutely.” She hobbled after Foster. “Let’s do this.”

  They rounded the broken bus to find Sawyer and Artem blasting the remaining spider-Chittrix with fire extinguishers. White carbon dioxide coated everything, bones and the nearby cars included.

  “We’re nearly out, guys,” Sawyer bellowed as he danced around the eight-foot monster with effortless grace. Its movements were clumsy, and it kept shaking its head as if that would dislodge the icy shroud crusting its exoskeleton.

  Foster joined in, unleashing a torrent of carbon dioxide in devastating spurts. He grinned, showing excellent teeth. He was enjoying this.

  The Chittrix staggered, missing its footing as Mabe joined Foster and Sawyer. Artem whooped in delight, taunting the Chittrix in a stream of Russian invectives.

  Sarah had come out here on a hope and a prayer with no idea if her idea would work, but it was. It really was working.

  Sarah toggled the nozzle at the now powder-dusted creature. It screeched, baring razor-sharp teeth in a feral snapping snarl, but it was fighting a losing battle, its limbs no longer cooperating, and its movements sluggish.

  Finally, it stumbled and fell, triggering a cheer from Foster. He tossed an empty extinguisher to the side and, unhooking another from his back, doused the Chittrix in a fresh blizzard of clogging white powder.

  Sarah’s injured arm throbbed, pain shooting up her wrist as she worked with him. The nozzle vibration was excruciating, turning her fingers bluish as she willed the thrashing creature to just stop and give it up. It hammered its head on the ground, emitting a strange keening wail as Mabe blasted carbon dioxide on the arch of its abdomen. Weirdly jointed legs cut the air like a dying spider, thrashing at the pale sky above their heads. And then it was still.

  Thank God.

  Sarah dropped her extinguisher and fell to her knees. Her arms were boneless, her strength shredded.

  “Come on.” Mabe slipped an arm under her elbow and levered her back to her feet against the protection of his large body.

  She allowed herself to absorb the heat, letting it permeate into her bones and skin, but only for a moment before she pushed away from him and everything he offered. “We need to hurry. The striped one will be back with reinforcements.”

  21

  Mabe scanned the horizon, the busted fence, and the absence of life.

  The striped Chittrix had vanished. He turned to survey the scene. One dead and the other subdued. For now. “Let’s get this thing tied and secured.”

  He cupped Sarah’s chin, checking her neck, jaw, and throat with quick touches. Her skin was dirty but undamaged, and something in him eased a little to see she was unhurt. “Your knee?”

  She shook her head. “Fine. I wrenched it, that’s all.” Her lips flattened with urgency. “We don’t know how long the chilling will last.”

  He released his grip on her slender shoulders. “Okay, time to hustle.”

  He picked up the rope they’d found in the janitor’s office and joined Sawyer at the feet. Foster was already dragging the limbs into place so they were bunched underneath the angular body, like strings from a serial killer’s hot air balloon.

  When he first arrived at the Command Base, Mabe had been the outsider. The one being given instructions. He’d watched Garrick and his men, Sawyer, Hardy, Foster and even Darr, work as a cohesive unit, barely needing conversation as they worked seamlessly together.

  But now he was part of the team, throwing rope, pulling it tight, shouting commands with the others and a happy tiredness settled within him. He made quick work of the knots, throwing the ends to Foster who wrapped them around the upper thorax.

  Foster kicked the strapped alien. “Shouldn’t we just inject this thing now?”

  “It might take a while.” Sarah glanced at the sky. “And it’s risky when we don’t know how it will react to the injection. Let’s get it inside first.”

  Mabe slung rope over his shoulder, and they twisted it around so its feet were pointing in Carven’s direction. “Ready?”

  Foster shouldered a length with Artem and Sawyer.

  Ahead, inside the foyer, Zoe and Jacob were crowbarring the lift doors open in preparation. Mabe checked his watch. It had been twenty minutes already.

  Tick tock.

  He forced a steady measure into his voice. “On the count of three.”

  As one, the team took up the slack. Sarah grunted as the rope bit deep into her muscles. But she didn’t complain, only gritting her teeth and staring straight ahead. Admiration lanced through him; her strength and determination were incredible.

  Slowly, too slowly for his liking, they hauled the Chittrix toward the steps of the front foyer. It was heavy, its weight far surpassing its size. When its feet hit the bottom step, Foster helped him loop the rope around the large pillars at the top for leverage.

  “Ready?” Mabe called.

  Foster’s face was grim, but determination lit his eyes. The barest nod.

  Mabe grunted, his muscles burning with the effort as they bumped it up the steps. His feet slid as he scrabbled for grip on the debris-strewn floor, while Zoe and Sarah took the sides, guiding the frozen body.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  He checked his watch, scanned the sky. Thirty-five minutes. The grind of the plated head on the foyer’s tiled floor skated electricity through the nerves in his teeth.

  “Holy shit.” Foster jumped abruptly and shoved Zoe behind him, backward, out of reach.

  She stumbled into the wall. “What the hell?”

  A bulky handgun appeared in Foster’s hand, the click of the safety cracking loud in the still air. His weapon was rock steady, the tendons of his bare arms delineated in the waning light. “Blinked. It fucking blinked.”

  Mabe eased closer to the head, the rope still secure in his grip. Barely breathing, he folded his legs in a deep bend as he took a closer look. He couldn’t fucking tell. The eye was a complicated mish mash of faceted angles. He needed help. “Sarah?”

  She let the rope slide through her palms as she leaned forward to check. The raised ovals of its compound eyes were still sheathed. The icy crust looked undisturbed. It
took all his resolve not to rip her away from the damned thing.

  “I see nothing.” She squinted at Foster. “Are you sure?”

  Mabe tapped the alien head with his handgun. Frozen carbon dioxide crunched under the metal. Its mouth was clamped shut, the points of razor-sharp teeth sunk in pits along the lower line of the jaw. The usually glossy snout was filthy, foggy with dust and white powder.

  Dread trickled down his spine, spreading to the muscles of his legs. Stunned into icy oblivion, the Chittrix was more terrifying up close that it was at a distance. Even restrained, it exuded latent violence, its proximity tainting his blood. If anything had ever confirmed to him that the world was a dangerous place, this was it. His heart thumped in his ears, muffling Foster’s admonitions to be careful. His lungs had constricted to nothing. There was no air anymore.

  “Mabe.” Sarah was suddenly at his side, her hand on his arm. The world blinked back into focus as oxygen and sounds rushed back into his dizzy brain.

  Mabe sucked in a breath, waiting for the gray blurs on the edges of his vision to ease up. “It’s frozen. It’s iced hard enough to stall a dinosaur, for goodness sake, it—”

  One eyelid retracted horizontally, exposing a gleaming black eye. His heart cramped to an abrupt halt as he stared into the obsidian depths. Nothing, there was nothing there. No iris, no pupil, just all absorbing blackness that would drag you in kicking and screaming and pull you apart.

  He staggered back, air clawing at his lungs. “Move! Sarah, ice.” He thrust her to safety, powering forward with the rope, fear the gasoline to his muscles. “Now, Foster.”

  “Why aren’t we sedating this thing?” Screams and shouts buzzed around him as Foster leaped back into position.

  Mabe focused on the dark maw of the shaft ahead. Ten feet. “No time. Get it in. Now.”

  Sarah caught him with the edge of her extinguisher blast. Numbing air sang across his back, making his breath catch while the rope blazed against his gloved palms. The Chittrix stirred against its restraints. Five feet.