by Wearmouth
The alien roared, grabbed its weapon, and sprinted down the street toward Denver. But then it stopped halfway as Denver’s dad stepped out from behind a building and fired two shots at the back of the alien hunter. Both missed narrowly, striking the ground at its feet. It spun round and seemed to be undecided on what to do. Apparently it decided Charlie was more of a threat, and instead of firing its rifle, raced after him.
“Dad, go!” Denver screamed.
“Get to the warehouse,” his dad shouted back. “You have to get the part, you understand? Forget about us, the part is all that’s important.”
And then he was off, darting into the shadows, his root-infused muscles not making it easy for the alien hunter. Denver was left there on his own, the alien craft destroyed, or at least temporarily broken, and the hunter on his dad’s trail. And of course there was Maria. Could he leave them? What if the hunter caught them? Despite his feelings, he knew his dad was right.
The part would mean the bomb could be completed. It meant they could take out the croatoan mother ship for good. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool concrete of the old bank.
Sacrificing yourself for the greater good was one thing, but having to sacrifice those you loved weighed much more heavily. But what could he do? Deciding that his dad had always proven himself to be right, and knowing the hunter wouldn’t have it all his own way, Denver decided to go for the warehouse. He just hoped his dad and Maria had a plan.
He aimed the alien rifle into the sky and pulled the trigger. The gun barely kicked back as it fired with a loud but short crack, making his ears whistle. The motors inside whirred again. At least he knew how it worked. He’d come back for the hunter after he got the part. He just hoped he’d be back in time.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Two more figures stepped out of the gloom: a man with a shotgun and a woman with a large, rusty knife. As Layla’s eyes became accustomed to the light, she could see they’d been using this place as a home.
A camping stove sat in the corner of the filthy, dank room. Next to it, a jumble of metal pans and plates. Supplies were moderately stacked against the wall. Some old cans, probably out of date; pitiful-looking vegetables, even more so than hers; and several large bottles of cloudy water. Clothing hung on a line near the ceiling. A drip of water fell from a frayed pair of cargo pants.
Croatoan bikes distantly hummed outside.
“They’re landing,” a voice called from above.
“Who are you? Why did you come here?” the man in the hunting jacket said.
Layla touched Gregor’s arm. She said, “We’re running from the creatures outside. These two were attacked this morning in the forest and killed three aliens.”
“Seems a bit strange,” the woman said. “They don’t usually go after survivors. You’re from that farm, aren’t you?”
“Fuck this,” Gregor said. “Do you want to stand around here chatting while they come in and blow our brains out? If your man upstairs can see them, let me join him. Give me a clear shot.”
He held his rifle forward.
“Listen to his accent. He’s from the farm,” the woman said.
The man with the crossbow edged back, lowering it. “He’s right though. We’ll deal with this first. Then we talk. Are you armed?”
Before Layla could answer, Gregor said, “Yes. They’re coming upstairs with me.”
“This is the only way in,” the man with the shotgun said. “It’s a side building. Only one entrance to protect.”
Gregor grunted. He grabbed Ben and pushed him forward.
As much as she’d thought he was a cold bastard throughout the years, Layla couldn’t help admiring Gregor’s leadership qualities when the shit hit the fan. He was decisive and made decisions based on what was best for the team rather than himself.
For the first time since she could remember, she felt part of something. Gregor risked himself to come back and save her. And now he didn’t want to leave her downstairs with strangers.
Layla felt integrated like never before, following Gregor as he thumped up the dusty, concrete staircase in his heavy boots.
Upstairs, a man crouched on the right hand side of the room, holding a pistol. He peered through a sliding hatch the size of a small pizza box created halfway up a boarded window. He squinted against the sunlight streaming through the gap, lighting up his face.
“I saw you arrive,” he said. “Where did you learn to ride those things?”
“I used to work in a harvest—” Ben said.
“Shut up, Ben,” Gregor said. He joined the man by the hatch. “Can you see the aliens?”
“They’ve landed and taken to the trees. Must be planning something.”
“Let me look,” Gregor said and stooped down.
The room above was the same size as the one below, about thirty square feet. Its three windows were covered by wooden boards, painted black. Light streamed in through cracks around the edges. Four single mattresses were spaced around, blankets scruffily drawn over each one.
The floor was spattered with various-colored dry blobs of candle wax. It reminded Layla of a Jackson Pollock painting she’d seen at the Guggenheim Museum in New York. A can of Spam held more value in today’s world.
“Use the other window,” the man said, nodding to his left.
Layla gripped the edge of the other hatch and eased it open along its squeaking rails. A ray of sunlight burst through the gap.
Across the grassy area seventy yards away, three hover-bikes sat by the edge of the forest. She briefly saw the edge of a croatoan behind a tree before it quickly vanished.
Gregor nudged her out of the way. He dropped to one knee and aimed his rifle. “Get behind me. If I’m hit, take the rifle and carry on the fight.”
Layla stood to one side. Ben peered over the man’s shoulder, revolver in his right hand.
“What are the aliens packing?” the man said.
“Similar to our conventional weapons. Guns, grenades, that sort of the stuff,” Gregor said.
“No cannons or those guns that flatten small houses?”
“Those soldiers aren’t around here,” Layla said.
“Are you sure?” the man said. “I saw one of their fighters yesterday. First time in years. If the aliens get in touch with that thing …”
“If it was coming for us, we’d know about it,” Gregor said.
Layla wasn’t so sure. If the hunter was under Augustus’s command, he could give it a new mission. There was nothing stopping the croatoans outside from identifying their location.
Gregor’s grip tensed around his rifle. Layla looked over his shoulder.
An alien scuttled from behind a tree toward the hover-bike she’d previously parked. It stopped a few yards short, took a silver ball from its belt, and threw it.
Gregor fired.
The croatoan clutched its torso and slouched to one side. Its grenade exploded with a hollow pop, creating a cloud of white smoke.
Gregor aimed at the shroud as it slowly cleared, drifting away on the gentle breeze. The blast shunted the bike onto its side. The alien lay flat on its back, helmet blown clear by the force of the explosion.
“Nice shot. One down,” Layla said.
She’d never expected to hear herself utter those words.
“Two to go. And I can’t see them,” Gregor said. “Anyone else?”
A loud thud shook the building. Layla instinctively ducked. Flecks of paint dropped from the ceiling.
“What the hell was that?” Ben said.
“Sounds like they’re next door,” the man said.
“Joe. Get down here,” a voice called up the stairs.
“Sorry guys. They want me downstairs,” the man said.
He shrugged a
nd hurried away.
“We could make a run for the bikes,” Ben said.
“It’d be a turkey shoot,” Gregor said. “We stay. Our hosts have offered to be the first line of defense.”
The building shuddered again after another internal boom. Layla pressed herself against the wall. “What if the croatoans kill them? Use grenades in here?
Gregor rubbed his chin and looked around the room. “Stack the mattresses in the corner. Do it.”
Layla grabbed the edge of the closest and dragged it to the end of the room. Its filthy gray blanket slithered off. She kicked it away.
Ben had already placed one in the corner at an angle. Layla stacked hers against it. He slid a third mattress across the floor and said, “This won’t protect us. You saw what—”
“Do you have any better suggestions?” Gregor said.
After Layla completed the barricade, she returned to the gap in the left window. Ben paced around the room, mumbling to himself.
The three hover-bikes still sat in position by the trees. Another cut through the sky, it must’ve been the fourth one, circling their position.
Something moved outside, close to the building. Flicking in and out of Layla’s line of vision.
She sprang on her toes, tried to get a better angle. The position of the hatch wouldn’t allow it. “I think they’re outside the door.”
A shotgun blast and two pistol cracks came from directly below.
Croatoan weapons started snapping.
“Fuck this,” Gregor said. He slammed his shoulder against the boarded-up window. It crunched into the plywood, splitting it horizontally across the middle. Gregor kicked the bottom section away and leaned his rifle out.
Ben jumped behind the barricade, holding his revolver over the top of the mattresses.
An alien grenade exploded. Gregor flew back, skidding on his backside, clutching one side of his face. Smoke coiled through the window.
Screams of pain came up the stairs, punctuated by the firing of croatoan weapons until both abruptly stopped.
Layla ran over to the makeshift barricade and slid behind it, next to Ben.
Gregor moved to the side of the stairway entrance and crouched with his rifle shouldered.
He put his finger to his lips. The slap of boots on concrete started to echo up the stairs. Gregor nodded with every slow, deliberate step as if mentally counting. Blood trickled down the side of his face.
Ben’s hands shook as he held the pistol forward.
A croatoan boot appeared through the entrance.
Gregor dropped to his back and fired five times. He rolled away and covered his ears. Layla ducked behind the mattress. She grabbed Ben’s shoulder and pulled him down.
The building vibrated after a thumping boom. Smoke gushed into the room, leaving a sour taste at the back of Layla’s throat.
Silence followed.
She climbed over the barricade and approached Gregor. He sat up and dusted himself down. Layla went to touch his wound. He jerked his head away.
“Are you okay?” Layla said.
“Fine. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“What happened?” Ben said. “Did you get them?”
“Shot them both. The front one had a grenade ready to go.”
Layla squinted. The smoke stung her eyes. She pulled her sweater over her nose and mouth and followed Gregor downstairs.
Near the bottom, she stepped over the twisted figures of two dead croatoans into a room bathed in light. The entrance door had been blown off its hinges. A body lay underneath.
Gregor grasped Layla by the shoulder. “Don’t look to your left. You don’t need to see this.”
She focused outside. Gregor pointed his rifle upwards and dashed out, turning amongst the weeds, looking up through his sights. Ben joined him and searched the sky.
Layla tentatively joined them. There was no sign of the previously circling croatoan. She approached the alien by the overturned bike. Its weapon lay a few feet away in the knee-length grass.
She picked it up, pointed it toward the forest, and pulled the trigger. It easily depressed like she was squeezing a tube of toothpaste. The alien rifle kicked against her chest as a projectile whistled out and thumped against a tree.
Gregor ducked. “Be careful with that.”
“I’m not going through another situation unarmed,” Layla said.
He appreciatively grunted and started heading for the forest.
“Where are we going?” Ben said.
“Away from here. Who knows what might turn up next? I’m not waiting to find out,” Gregor said.
“We could take the hover-bikes,” Ben said, gesturing to the three parked by the forest’s edge.
Gregor spun and grabbed Ben by the scruff of his neck. “Do you want to end up like Marek? Do you?”
He pushed Ben away. Ben stumbled after him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … I just …”
For the next hour, they picked their way through dense, slimy undergrowth. Gregor probably chose the route to provide cover. Layla breathed hard, swiping away branches and kicking away weeds that knotted around her feet.
They eventually hit a former road. Gregor leaned against a rusting SUV and wiped sweat from his brow. He gazed into the distant sky at the thin outline of the mother ship. This was probably the first time he had to stop and think about Marek. Layla decided to leave him to his own thoughts.
She shuddered at the thought of a new alien hulk in the sky. An instrument of death that would shortly bring about their demise. They had to do something.
Ben stretched out on a rock twenty yards away. Layla went over to him. “Are you okay?”
“A few scratches, nothing major.”
“Do you have any idea where Jackson went? Think. We need to put our differences aside. Fight this thing together.”
He shrugged. “Charlie and Gregor? You’re joking, right?”
“I’m being serious. Unless we come up with something soon, well, you know what’ll happen.” Ben flashed a glance at Gregor, who still stared into the clear blue sky. He sheepishly looked back at Layla. She lowered her voice, “If you know something, now is the time to say.”
“Charlie’s got a plan. I don’t know what exactly, but he’s been working on it for some time. I know where he’ll be,” Ben trailed off.
She resisted the strong urge to punch him in the face. “I swear, if you don’t start talking—”
Ben failed to spot Gregor moving around behind him. He wrapped his arm under Ben’s chin and squeezed tightly.
“I’m giving you a minute before I snap your neck,” Gregor said.
Ben’s face reddened. He gasped. “I’ll tell you. Please. Let go.”
Gregor loosened his grip and grabbed the back of Ben’s hair. Layla leaned toward him. “This is no time for games. Where will he be?”
“Ridgway. The clock tower. Noon tomorrow. I’m supposed to meet him. Give him information about the shuttle runs.”
“Did he say why?” Layla said.
“That’s all I know. I wasn’t going to meet him. I’m with you guys. Honestly.”
Gregor released his hold and slapped the palm of his hand against the side of Ben’s head. “You treacherous little shit.”
“What are you going to do?” Layla asked Gregor.
He threw Ben to one side. “What do you think I’m going to do? Tomorrow, I’ll be in Ridgway, waiting for Jackson to show his face.”
Chapter Thirty
Charlie wiped the debris from his face. His ears were still ringing from the grenade explosion. Using the cloud of smoke and concrete to hide their position, they’d managed to outmaneuver the hunter, using Charlie’s knowledge of the alleys and side streets to get some dist
ance and return to Quaternary HQ.
“What about Denver?” Maria asked as they cleared the sheet metal out of the way and headed into the basement.
“He’ll be okay.” Charlie locked the door behind him and took a breath. Even though the root kept him fit and strong, his age meant that he still felt the fatigue once the adrenaline and the root’s effect wore off. “Come on, we need to go up a few levels.”
Before they entered the basement area, Charlie stopped at a small room previously used by janitors. Mike had converted it to a gun rack. Charlie took a Barrett .50 caliber rifle. If anything would stop that damned croatoan bastard, it’d be that.
Taking the stairs two at a time and wincing with the effort, Charlie led Maria into the third floor, where his old office used to be. His, Mike’s, and of course Pippa’s. It was like a mausoleum.
Desks and computers were still in the same place since the day he’d left it. Papers and books littered the floor, disturbed by the vibrations of war. He made to reach up to the bead necklace and remembered he’d given it to Ben.
It didn’t matter. Pippa’s face was still clear in his mind. She smiled at him with that quirky look of hers. He pictured her bouncing into the office, dirt smudged on her face as she excitedly talked about their next project or some surprising find.
“Are you okay?” Maria said, touching his arm.
“What? Yes, sorry, I just … It doesn’t matter. Okay, stand back from the window, but from somewhere you can use this to spot for me.” He handed her the monocular sight.
“What is it you want me to do exactly?” Maria asked.
Charlie opened the boarded-up window and balanced the Barrett’s barrel across the sill. He rested the rest of the gun on the edge of a desk that he pulled closer.
“That bastard alien is going to have to approach from that street down there. Everywhere else is too dilapidated. It’ll know we had to come this way too. I want you to be a second of pair of eyes to help me focus on it.”