by Wearmouth
“We’re coming with you,” Maria said. “If it’s this important, we can be of help. Be spotters or something, some extra backup.”
“No,” Charlie said. “It’s too dangerous. Anything and anyone can be out there. They’re not all gonna be like the last lot. The city dwellers are more hardcore. We need to move quickly and without fuss. It’s better if it’s just Den and me.”
“Fuck that,” Ethan said, surprising everyone. He slapped his hand on the table. “We’ve been through all kinds of crap to get here. I appreciate you looking out for us, but Ben’s been sent off to who knows what fate, and now you want us to just sit back. What if you get into trouble and we’re just sitting around waiting for you? No, we’re going.”
Mike grinned at Charlie as he patted the kid on the shoulder. “Looks like they’ve made their own minds up, Chuck. Let ‘em go with you. You can’t protect everyone. At some point, everyone has to call their own shots and stand on their own two feet.”
“Exactly,” Maria said. “It’s our choice, not yours.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Charlie turned his back and headed for the exit tunnel. “Grab your guns and follow me. On your own heads be it.”
***
The midday sun was just passing noon, creating thin, stubby shadows on the broken sidewalks and roads where the blacktop had long splintered off to expose the concrete beneath.
Few trees had managed to settle within the city, but there were still overgrown areas of bushes and shrubs, contrasting their natural hues with the monochromatic palette of human endeavor. Charlie and Denver stuck to the main streets where possible. If there were any survivors in the area, they’d likely be in the houses; many had set up homes there or in the low-rise apartment buildings, almost as if nothing had happened.
There were some who still thought it meant something to live in Manhattan. But the place was a ghost town now with little to offer anyone apart from the most basic of shelters. Unlike Mike and Mai’s basement that had power from the building’s rebuilt diesel generators, almost none of the makeshift domiciles had any power. Years before, Charlie had been part of a fuel group whose task was to extract fuel from other generators, cars, and trucks.
The yield was low, but given the sheer number of sources, they’d managed to gather enough to keep the Quaternary basement running with power for decades to come. Most of that was due to Mai’s genius in mixing the diesel generators with solar and wind power.
They’d made their way about halfway to the warehouse, weaving in and out of streets, making sure they were covered at all times by shadows or dilapidated buildings. Denver, as ever, took point, using his scope to observe their intended route.
Maria and Ethan took up the rear and watched the flanks.
Charlie kept his attention on the sky. He didn’t want to worry the others, but ever since they’d arrived, he’d seen the shadow out of the corner of his eye and the glint of something in the clouds. It was flying in stealth mode now, but after hearing the roar earlier, he knew it was here.
Which of course was one of the reasons he didn’t want the others to come with him, but like Mike said, they had to make the choice; he couldn’t protect them at all times.
They crossed a street, rounding a pair of rusted limousines. Most of the road signs had lost all their lettering to the elements. Given the destruction, he couldn’t tell exactly where they were but knew they’d walked for thirty minutes, always heading north. The Ford warehouse wouldn’t be much further.
As they turned left out of a tight avenue, they came to a wide road that led straight forward. Before Charlie could warn the others, having just seen the shadow the instant he walked out onto the road, an alien fighter craft—triangular, flat, and deadly black—landed at the end of the street no more than a hundred feet away.
“Get into cover,” Charlie shouted as he dived behind a pile of rubble on the left side of the street. Denver joined him. Maria split to the right, and Ethan remained in the middle of the street looking confused, his attention on the alien craft.
It looked nothing like the regular croatoan shuttles and was more advanced than the first fighters that had come down after the invasion. This was something new.
A door opened. Blue light surrounded an alien creature with an almost neon glow. This was no ordinary alien. It was twice as tall as any croatoan soldier and featured a form-fitting, matte-black suit. Its head was flat and pointed, resembling the triangular hull of its craft.
Before anyone had time to do anything, a blast of blue energy shot out down the road. Charlie screamed for Ethan to move, but the kid was too slow, too scared. The bolt of energy coalesced into what looked like ball lightning.
It struck Ethan with a crackling explosion.
The boy’s body seemed to be ripped apart at the cellular level as he screamed. A few seconds later, all that remained was a charred, black stain on the street’s surface. He’d been completely vaporized.
Another bolt, smaller this time, fired down the street, crashing into the debris. Charlie and Denver jumped back just in time. The shot destroyed half of the concrete before it ran out of energy. The air crackled with electricity. Maria screamed from the other side.
“Get down! Stay down,” Charlie screamed over to her. He pulled the pistol from his hip and aimed at the alien. It was on the move now, walking purposefully down the street, reaching behind its back.
“Mother fucker,” Denver said as he raised his rifle, using a part of the partially melted rubble to steady his aim. He adjusted the scope and took a deep breath.
Charlie fired off three controlled shots, aiming for the giant alien’s legs and torso. His aim was off. Something about the way the alien moved made it hard to focus. “Shoot the fucker,” Charlie said, urging his son.
Denver obliged. The crack of the rifle echoed around the buildings. The shot was true, but the alien seemed to shift physically in a blur. Charlie fired off two more shots. They went right through the weird-phasing movement of the alien, striking the craft with a spark behind him.
Maria, screaming, shot out from her position, lifting her shotgun.
“No!” Charlie screamed. “Get back. Now.”
It was too late.
Maria stood in the street directly opposite the alien. Charlie could tell now with Maria as reference that the damned thing must be at least seven and a half feet tall. Its limbs were twice as thick and muscular as any soldier croatoan.
When the phasing stopped, it came into full focus. The black, form-fitting armor seemed to harden. Maria fired off two shots. The buckshot bounced off its armor.
It lifted the rifle-like weapon, its barrel square and at least a meter and a half long, and aimed it at Maria. Its long, talon-like fingers curled around a trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Crashing through the ferns, Gregor led Marek and Ben along the riverbank. Speed was of the essence. They had to get to the bikes before any more patrols arrived. The aliens had clearly been ordered to kill them and leave them out in the forest.
Ten years of loyal service down the drain.
Gregor wanted Augustus’s mangled face under his boot.
Igor had approached the shelter from the opposite direction. His croatoan rider wouldn’t be too far away but would wait until it received further orders.
Gregor reached the bikes and rested on the closest one to the river. Marek and Ben stood in front of him, both with hands on their knees.
“You’re serious about using these?” Marek said.
“I’m not leaving Layla, Alex, and Vlad to the mercy of those bastards,” Gregor said. “Three of us, three of them. We take the bikes.”
Ben mopped sweat from his brow and looked over the controls. “They look familiar to what I used in the harvester. Have you ridden one before?”
“It
’s easy. We used to have a bike for our team,” Marek said. “Until Igor crashed it. After that, we had to request a ride. They’ve been pretty good about it up until now.”
Gregor grunted. “Sit. I’ll show you.”
Ben jumped on the bike and pointed down. “I know that button switches on the engine.”
“That’s right,” Gregor said. He patted each part, explaining, “You push the handlebars forward to rise, back to lower. Twist the right handle to speed up, let go to slow down. The left to hover. Don’t turn them at the same time. Nice and easy.”
“You do know left from right?” Marek said.
Ben frowned. “Of course I do. What about landing?”
“Twist the left and pull the handlebars back. Not too fast.”
Croatoans loved tracking everything. The blue beads in humans, harvester locations, land conversion. Gregor rubbed his chin and looked at the bikes. He leaned over Ben’s controls and ripped the tablet from its fastening and passed it to Marek.
“Good idea,” Marek said and unclipped the other two from the bikes. He spread the tablets around a bush a few yards apart.
Ben’s engine hummed into life. “Where are we going first?”
“Follow me,” Gregor said. “We’ll set down at the landing strip; it’s got partial cover. We’ll round up the others, deal with the threat, and get the hell out of here.”
“To where?” Marek said.
Gregor mounted his bike and slung the AR-15 over his shoulder. “I’ll think about it on the way. Maybe to a city. They tend to avoid those places.”
“It’s dangerous. They’ll see us turn up without the riders. For all we know, the others are already dead.”
“The next shuttle run isn’t for a few hours. Without the pulse cannon, we’re dealing with the surveyors, which a child could kill, and a few jumped-up security guards. If we faced a squad of croatoan soldiers, I’d agree with you.”
“I’ve known you for too long, Gregor. You’re going kill the aliens.”
Gregor smiled and started his engine. “Every fucking last one of them. Augustus is going to regret the day he ordered our execution.”
Ben looked back. “What if the shit hits the fan as soon as we arrive?”
“We split and come up with something else.”
Marek mounted the final bike and started the engine. He shouted above the humming engines, “If we take out the farm, they’ll come after us.”
“There’s thousands of these farms around the world. They won’t care about one.”
***
The bike maintained a steady pace, smoothly powering toward the distant farm buildings. Gregor stood at the handlebars once he was comfortable with the balance of the bike. Wind rushed through his greasy brown hair.
He guessed they were traveling at half the bike’s maximum speed. A sensible pace considering Ben nearly fell off his after a shaky take-off, and both he and Marek were out of practice, although the controls came back easily, like riding a bicycle.
Gregor didn’t feel an urge to punch someone or something. Instead, he felt butterflies of excitement in his stomach and as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Back to gangster Gregor, answering to no man, liberated.
A mile from the farm, he slowed down and descended to a few feet above the canopy. Marek and Ben joined him on either side. The bikes slapped occasional branches, but it took a lot more than that to down one.
The lack of a patrol in the air was a good sign.
Perhaps the alarm hadn’t been raised just yet.
Gregor hovered momentarily over the landing strip, ensuring the vehicle was steady before lowering down, bumping against the ground with a little less grace than a croatoan rider. Marek and Ben quickly followed.
Nothing moved in the immediate area apart from trees rustling in the breeze.
Gregor raised the AR-15 and nodded toward his office. He had a few weapons stashed in his bedroom. Nothing as good as the rifle, but ammo was limited. Anything they could get their hands on would do.
He dashed across the strip in a crouching run. Straight for the tree line. Marek and Ben had their guns drawn, covering each flank.
Pausing behind a thick old oak, Gregor dropped to one knee and observed his office through the last line of trees.
Marek ducked by his side. “What are you waiting for?”
“We don’t want to run straight into a trap. They’re not the toughest croatoans, but they’re not stupid.”
Something moved in Gregor’s peripheral vision.
He swung his rifle left.
Layla stepped out of her trailer with a small pack on her left shoulder.
Gregor whistled, trying to sound like a bird, hoping to attract her attention. She crept toward the forest in the opposite direction.
To sound more distinctive, but not to croatoans, he decided to whistle a tune. For some reason, “Happy Birthday” was the first thing that came into his head.
Layla paused. Turned. She squinted in their direction. Marek waved his arms above his head. Layla took a few steps closer.
“Layla. Layla, it’s us,” Marek said.
His words seemed to give her focus. She leapt into the trees and ran for their location, her panic-stricken face quickly appearing through the gloom.
She knelt between Marek and Gregor. “Jesus. I thought you guys were dead.”
“Why would you think that?” Gregor said.
“Augustus summoned me for a chat. He said you were being terminated.”
“He was here?”
“No. It was on-screen. He wanted to know who was in the chocolate factory this morning. Said they’re going to receive his justice. Igor saw me. He’s with Augustus. I need to—”
Gregor put his hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. You don’t need to worry about Igor. He’s the one that’s been terminated.”
“You killed him?”
“He used Ben to try and double-cross us. I did what I had to do.”
Ben began to speak. Gregor held up his hand.
“And then our riders tried to kill us,” Marek said. He pointed back through the woods. “We came back on their hover-bikes. Set them down on the shuttle landing strip.”
Layla rubbed her hand though her hair and puffed her cheeks.
Gregor saw clothing stuffed into her backpack. He nodded toward it. “You were making a run for it?”
She sighed. “What did you expect? We’re not surviving on the farm. We’re creating our own deaths. Mine was just around the corner as soon as Augustus worked out it was me who messed with their computers. I thought you were already dead.”
“So we’re all officially unemployed,” Marek said. “Did you get any info on your theory?”
“It’s not a theory. It’s happening. I just can’t work out how they’ll achieve it in the short-term.”
“So we’ve got time?” Gregor said.
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Igor mentioned something about another ship coming to complete the process,” Marek said.
Layla’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. That has to be it. Did he say anything else?”
Gregor looked away, sweeping the immediate area through the rifle sights. Still quiet. Igor’s driver hadn’t returned. They would’ve seen the bike. “Let’s get to more immediate business and talk about this later. We’re getting Vlad and Alex out and leaving. We’ll find a quiet area to regroup, somewhere inconspicuous.”
“What’s the plan?” Ben said.
He tapped the AR-15. “This is the plan.”
“Seriously?”
Gregor cleared leaves and weeds away from the ground with his boot. He picked up a small stick and drew a rough layout of the farm. “Gather round and listen up. Th
is is how we’re going to do this.”
“Seriously, Gregor. Igor’s info, it’s …” Layla said.
Gregor pointed the stick down. “Marek will go through the back window of my office, retrieve guns and ammo from my drawers. I’ll provide cover and keep watch. While you’re in there, Marek, check through the front blind to see if the coast is clear to the chocolate factory.”
Marek nodded. “No problem.”
“We’ll head to the main square. Shoot the barracks windows through; choke the bastards who haven’t got a helmet on. Any alien that comes out is a dead alien.”
“What about us?” Ben said.
“You and Layla move around the other side of the chocolate factory in a right-flanking maneuver to provide covering fire. The surveyors, mechanics, and meat-processing ones are armed. Shoot any that leave their buildings.”
“This sounds like a kamikaze mission. There must be an easier way,” Layla said.
Gregor shook his head. “I thought about it on the way over. If we give them a chance to get armed and organized, we’re done. We take them while they’re not expecting it. There’s not that many croatoans here.”
“Three from today. Igor’s rider and the ones Jackson killed yesterday must leave around six of the bigger croatoans. Unless the shuttle brought replacements this morning?” Marek said.
“Not that I saw,” Layla said.
“The little croatoans are cowards,” Gregor said. “They’ll hide until more of their big boys show up. We do it now or leave Alex and Vlad. Show of hands for who wants to leave them.”
Gregor looked around the group. Nobody moved or said a word.
Three metallic snaps pierced the air in quick succession. Dirt burst from the ground just in front of Gregor.
Gregor dived for cover. Placed his back against a tree. Glanced around it.
Six croatoans were advancing around his office. Three on each side.