by Wearmouth
Charlie capitalized on the move by grabbing his toga and yanking him toward him while simultaneously striking out with his legs, catching Augustus in the calves. The emperor toppled forward as Charlie slid to the side.
Augustus hit the wall with a heavy thud. His mask fell off and clattered to the floor. Charlie held his breath as he pulled the sword free, dropping it to the floor. On hands and knees, he crawled frantically like a cockroach to the backpack.
He reached out and grabbed one of the cut handles, pulling it close to him. Undoing the flap, he reached inside and pulled out the bomb. He spun it over, exposing the touchscreen. He brought his hand down and pressed his finger to the glass screen.
It beeped once for confirmation.
Charlie rolled onto his back as Augustus rose to his feet.
“What have you done?” Augustus said, looking down at Charlie, not understanding what he was smiling about. The emperor’s face was gnarled and twisted, and Charlie realized the truth to him being burned.
A part of Charlie took great pleasure in knowing that he’d destroyed an emperor.
“They all crumble,” Charlie wheezed, coughing out blood between each word.
“Crumble? What?”
“Empires. They all eventually run out of time.”
Charlie coughed once and passed out. The last image he had was of Augustus reaching for his neck with his hands. But like before, he was too late.
The time was now.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sitting on the steps to Gregor’s office, Denver held Maria’s hand. Together, they watched the skies. A tense quiet had descended since the last of the croatoans were put down. The only noise came from the groaning and shuffling of the now-free humans, led by the now-conscious Alex, into one of their shelters. She’d only taken a glancing blow from a croatoan rifle. Vlad wasn’t so lucky.
Denver blinked, waited, and watched the mother ship’s pink circles, like alien eyes staring down at the Earth. They remained bright, still working. He pictured Charlie stuffed inside the container, the bomb tightly held as he waited for his time.
“What if he was caught before he had the chance?” he said.
Maria squeezed his hand and leaned in. “He’ll make it, I’m sure. I might have been only outside of the harvester for a few days, but one thing I’ve learned is that if your dad wants to do something, there’s no one who could stop him.”
Denver glanced in Gregor’s direction.
The old gangster, Charlie’s nemesis, stood with Layla by the alien hover-bikes. They seemed eager to leave, but Denver didn’t know where they expected to go. Nothing was settled yet. The people on the farm still needed to be cared for.
“Thinking of skipping out on us?” Denver said, raising his voice so they could hear him. He kept the alien rifle close by his side, one hand on the stock, ready to lift it into place within a fraction of a second.
Gregor tutted and looked away, not even trying to hide the disdain on his face.
Layla, however, stepped away and approached him. Her eyes were glossy and red. Dirt stained her otherwise unblemished face. Wiping a rogue hair from her forehead, she stood over him, casting a shadow.
Unlike Gregor, she wore no expression of disdain but rather sympathy, pity even. “I’m sorry for everything,” she said, regarding them both. “I’m sorry about your dad, Charlie. And you, Maria, I’m sorry that you’re the only one left from the harvester crew. I don’t know how much they taught you about grief and death during your education, but I just wanted you to know that I understand what it feels like. I lost everything and everyone I knew during the invasion.”
Maria brought her hands to her face as she sobbed, the pent-up emotion over the last few days finally coming out. “I can’t believe they’re gone,” she said between ragged breaths. “We’ve only just got free, and now Ethan and Ben are gone, leaving me behind. Why me?”
“It has to be someone,” Denver said. “We need the strong to survive, and as far as I could tell in all this, you were the strongest of that group. I’m sorry your friends and colleagues didn’t make it, but we’ve all had to make sacrifices. It’s how the world is now.”
“Holy shi—” Gregor turned to face the ship in the distant sky. Denver and the two women looked up.
The mother ship’s underlights faltered, flickered, and became dull. A fraction of a second later, they heard the boom rip through the sky. The sound pressure hit Denver in his chest, rattling his organs inside.
Debris and hull wreckage blew out of the right-hand side of the round ship near the top where it had docked with the gargantuan new addition. The explosion continued to roar as the cloud of metal and smoke and flame continued to billow out.
All the lights on the various buildings of the farm went out. Maria squeezed Denver’s hand as they both stood to watch the devastation above them.
“Motherfucker’s done it … Goddamn,” Gregor shouted over the noise. Almost half of the ship had blown away, leaving a ragged wound stretching front to the back, bisecting the craft and exposing its innards through the flames.
The whole thing tilted now that its anti-grav projectors were useless. The weight of the terraform ship docked to its top pitched almost ninety degrees up.
“It’s coming down. Oh my God, it’s really coming down,” Layla said.
Throughout all this, Denver had remained quiet, his breath caught in his throat. A single tear fell down his cheek in both joy and an unending sadness at the loss of his courageous father. The one person whom he truly loved had done it: traded his life for a chance of freedom for all.
“He’s done it,” Maria said, hugging Denver around his neck. “He’s really done it.”
The sky turned black with the smoke. Thick, rolling clouds of alien technology melted by the nuke. Tinges of orange compound tainted the atmosphere as it burned up in the fire that had taken hold of both ships. The blast had torn away a huge section across the underside of the terraform ship.
It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually, a second explosion roared out as both ships crashed into the earth. Although they fell beyond the horizon, they could still see the cloud rise into the sky from the impact. Denver felt it too in the ground, the ripples feeling much like an earthquake. It reminded him of the stories Charlie had told him about what it felt like when one of their infernal machines created a sinkhole.
“Payback, you bastards,” Denver whispered as he picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He walked off, leaving the other three behind.
“Hey, wait,” Maria said. “Where you going?”
Without turning back, Denver said, “To the next farm. Freedom starts here.”
***
The smell of fire was thick in the air even hours after the initial impact. Denver approached his truck and slid into the driver’s seat. Pip appeared out of nowhere, having scarpered to safety hours earlier. She curled up in the middle space between the front seats and placed her head on his leg. She whined mournfully.
“I know, girl. I know.”
Denver patted her on the head, smoothing her fur, all the while trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. He couldn’t break down now. His dad would want him to go on, finish what he started, and that was just what he was going to do. Even if he had to do it on his own.
The engine fired, and he reversed the truck out from its hidden position within a tight group of bushes, backing it onto a dirt track that would lead out of the forest. He slammed on the brakes as he saw a silhouette appear in his rearview mirror.
Reaching for the pistol he kept in the door tray, Denver wound down the window and looked out. The shape moved toward him in the evening gloom. He opened the door with his free hand while keeping the pistol low, ready to fire.
The person crunched twigs and le
aves as they approached the driver’s side. Denver raised the gun and was about to shoot when a voice called out to him.
“Denver, it’s me, Maria. Don’t shoot!”
He lowered the gun immediately as she stepped close enough for him to see that it was her. “You followed me? I thought you’d stay with the others at the farm.”
“There was a change of plan,” Maria said, smiling.
More movement came from behind him as two more people stepped out of the shadows. “Layla, Gregor?”
Gregor grinned when he stepped forward, placing his arm over Maria’s shoulders. “Your lady here seems to think we ought to stick together. Now don’t get me wrong. I still don’t like you, but you don’t seem too much like your old man, and I like the way you shoot. What say we pool our resources?”
“What about all the people on the farm? The pregnant women?”
“Taken care of,” Layla said. “Alex was okay, just got knocked out. She’s staying behind to look after them. No point moving them if they’re comfortable there. The plan is to join up with Eastern Farm Twenty a hundred kilometers from here. They’ve got reinforcements. We just need to get word and start the fight back.”
Denver saw an excited look in Layla’s eyes, not at the death of yet more aliens, but at the thought of freeing more people. Gregor’s expression just seemed bloodthirsty, as usual, but every resistance needed its psychopaths to do the jobs ordinary people with morals wouldn’t be comfortable doing.
He thought about it for a moment. The three of them stared at him expectantly, waiting for his decision.
That’s when it dawned on him.
It was his resistance now. He was the one to lead this.
Instead of that prospect frightening him, it gave him a new shot of energy. After all, it was what his dad, Charlie Jackson, the Last True American, had spent all his time teaching Denver: how to be him. How to be the survivor. How to never give up and never stop until humankind was once again free from tyranny.
“Get in,” Denver said. “We leave now.”
Maria walked around and got into the front passenger seat. Gregor and Layla jumped into the rear after stashing a bunch of weapons in the truck bed.
Denver looked at Maria and smiled. “I’m glad you followed me,” he said.
“Me too.”
He held her gaze for a few seconds before turning to the others in the back. Talking to everyone now, he said with a grim tone, “Did everyone see what I saw before the initial explosion?”
They stared back at him in silence. Eventually, Maria asked, “What? What did you see?”
“At first I thought they were bits of debris, perhaps from the initial explosion, but their trajectory was all wrong. I only realized after, once the shock wore off. There were six of them. Pods, crafts, whatever you want to call them. Either way, some of the bastards up there escaped and came to Earth. Probably digging into the ground as we speak to recuperate. Well, we’re not going to let them this time.”
Denver turned back to face the front and engaged first gear. “This time, we’re going to hunt them down and murder the bastards in the dirt before they think about rising again.”
With that, he floored the accelerator and headed out into the night, promising to himself he’d do his dad proud. One way or another, the aliens would regret ever coming to Earth.
Click here to get Book 2: Critical Path.
Acknowledgments
We would like to thank our cover designer, Jason Gurley, and our editors, Aaron Sikes, Monique Happy and Amanda Shore. Also, big thank you to everyone who agreed to read an early copy and give us your thoughts. Collectively, you’ve all helped make this a better book.
Thank you!
About The Authors
Two heads are often better than one. Darren Wearmouth and Colin F. Barnes joined forces in 2013 to write thrilling tales of science and adventure with characters we can all relate to. Exploring the ‘what if’ scenarios of the post-apocalypse and where advanced technology will takes us, Wearmouth & Barnes seek to bring unique experiences to readers.
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