Hardy

by Theresa Beachman

  Grumpy eyed her. He cocked his head. “How do we know she’s not a scavenger who’s going to head home and return with her buddies?”

  Tears stung the back of her eyes. “I’m not a scavenger. I’m on my own.”

  “Let’s have a look then shall we?” Before she could protest, Grumpy had tipped her backpack and upended the contents of her entire life on the ground. Her face flashed hot at the invasion of her privacy.

  “Those are my things.” The constriction in her throat made her voice quaver. They’d think she was a pushover but the reality was that pack and its measly contents were all she fucking had, and he was raking through it. She blinked, focusing on her crappy boots, swiping at her nose with the heel of her hand.

  Hardy cleared his throat. “Enough, Darr.”

  Georgina risked a glance. Hardy had taken a knee and was carefully packing her backpack. Methodically, he replaced her few items of clothing. Her toothbrush, and a copy of Human Anatomy. He paused briefly, scanning the cover before stowing it with the other items.

  Finished, he placed the backpack at her feet. Up close, he dwarfed her. Georgina reached for her belongings and took a quick sidestep.

  “Sorry. It’s hard to know who to trust these days,” he said, golden eyes assessing her.

  Her mind raced. He was more than a mountain lion, he was the mountain.

  “Come here.” Large, warm hands marked with intricate swirls of ink gripped her wrist.

  A tremor spiraled up her arm. She’d been on her own so long, she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her. He was close enough that his scent washed over her. Clean soap. Involuntarily, she took a deep breath.

  A lethal-looking knife flicked open in his hand.

  She started, but he slipped it harmlessly between the backs of her wrists, and suddenly she was free. She rubbed the pink marks. “Thanks.”

  “Sorry. Too many risks nowadays.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  The grumpy one—Darr?—adjusted the crossbow on his back. “We should take her with us.”

  Georgina picked up her backpack and clutched it to her chest. She wanted to run, now, but if she did, they might chase her. Again.

  Garrick squinted at the sky. “It’ll be dark soon. You’re safer with us. We have a community. Women and children too. You’ll be protected.”

  She chewed her lip and shook her head. “I have my own plans. I’m searching for my sister, Janie.”

  Hardy stared at her and she fought the urge to fidget, to look elsewhere, anything to avoid his scrutiny.

  “Is she near here?” Sympathy warmed his voice.

  Georgina shook her head. “Scotland.”

  “Scotland?” He made no attempt to disguise his surprise.

  “Nah.” Foster kicked at dirt with the heel of his boot. “That’s just rumors.”

  Heat stung high on her cheeks. They could think what they liked. She was going to Scotland.

  Hardy studied her. “Just the night then? You look like you could do with a hot meal and a decent nights sleep.”

  Foster snorted. “Hardy, with lines like that it’s no wonder you’re still fucking single.”

  Hardy pinned Foster with a glare but Foster appeared unperturbed. He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Julia makes the best chili outta nothing.”

  Georgina’s stomach cramped. Hot food and a bed for the night were beyond tempting. If they wanted to rape or hurt her they could do it right here and now. There was no law anymore. No repercussions. She had nothing to lose by going with them.

  The possibility was so tempting. One night. To catch her breath.

  “Whatever. She doesn’t want to.” Darr turned on his heel and stalked away from the group.

  But Hardy wasn’t giving up. “Why don’t you follow us?”

  “Sorry?” She frowned.

  “Follow us at a safe distance,” Garrick repeated. “We’re heading home now anyway. You look beat. If you want to leave tomorrow, that’s up to you. All we ask in return is that people pull their weight. We have no room for freeloaders. Maybe you have skills we could use.”

  Hardy shouldered his pulse rifle. “No one’s going to hurt you.” The warm gold of his eyes soothed her. So different to the rest of him.

  Georgina glanced away from his scrutiny. She was freezing and exhausted. She was out of food. She’d spent the last few nights huddled in a ball in dark corners of abandoned houses. They were offering food and a warm bed. No strings.

  But caution had kept her alive this long.

  Garrick shrugged. “It’s your choice.” He gestured for Foster to follow him, leaving her with Hardy.

  Hardy peered at the sky. “It’s getting dark.”

  Georgina remained motionless, indecision sucking at her muscles. He walked to the end of the road, his broad back and easy stride blocking out the view of the other men.

  They really meant it. An offer for the night on her terms.

  At the corner of the road, Hardy paused, and then he was gone.

  A low chitter and click scratched at her ears from somewhere far off in the distance.

  Chittrix.

  Georgina shouldered her backpack and hurried after them.

  3

  Now

  Hardy headed into the small infirmary, Foster at his heels. As he pushed through the heavy doors, the scent of antiseptic assailed him but his mind was elsewhere and he barely noticed.

  Foster was on a roll. “I’m telling you something is up. Too many attacks near the Command Base lately. Someone or something is leading the Chittrix here and making our lives difficult.”

  “Mmm.” Hardy scanned the room, barely paying any attention. Was she here? For a moment his pulse stalled. What if she’d finished her shift? He should have come later. Preferably without Foster. Or not at all. Who was he kidding? This was plain ridiculous. It didn’t matter that his stomach looped whenever he’d spotted Georgina over the last two weeks. Nothing was ever going to happen. Romance wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

  He halted near the empty nurses office and turned to leave but Foster was blocking his way. Retreat thwarted.

  “It could be those scumbags at the Box. What do you think?” Foster squinted at him, his lips pursed tight with tension. He shifted from foot to foot, ceaseless energy seeping from his pores.

  Hardy took a small sideways step toward the narrow line of hospital beds but Foster still blocked his escape. Crap.

  He scratched absent-mindedly at the regrowth on his cheek. He needed a shave. “Darr and Violet said the Chittrix attack at the mine was insane. The likelihood of anyone surviving was remote. It was total annihilation. They were lucky to escape even with Darr psychically controlling the Chittrix attack.”

  Foster nodded. “I know what Violet said. And I respect her. But…” He held up his thumb and forefinger and stabbed a grubby finger at the tiny gap in between. “That’s all it takes for a few rat bags to get out and before you know it they’ve all banded back together and they’re making a nuisance of themselves.”

  Hardy sighed. “Foster. I have no fucking idea what a rat bag is.”

  Foster arced an eyebrow. “My point exactly. I’m working with novices.” He folded his arms and jutted out his chin. Smirked. “Bloody Irish.”

  Hardy grinned back and shook his head.

  “Gentleman.” A soft voice behind him and Hardy spun on his heel.

  Cassy. Violet had helped her from the box with a young kid called Fiona. He kept his face smooth to mask his disappointment. “Hi, Cassy.”

  Foster nudged his side and stepped forward, his lean powerful frame hiding Cassy from view.

  “We were looking for Edwards.” Foster jerked a thumb in Hardy’s direction. “He has stitches to come out.”

  Cassy peered round Foster and smiled. “Take a seat on one of the beds, I’ll let Edwards know you’re here.”

  Foster tipped an imaginary hat at her disappearing back and gestured for Hardy to follow h
im. “Watch and learn, Hardy. Watch and learn.”

  Hardy fought the urge to roll his eyes and perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were white and starched. He stood up again, worried about mucking them up with his grubby pants. He so didn’t belong here.

  He rolled up his sleeve trying not to think about getting his stitches removed.

  “Hey.” Georgina was standing at the foot of the bed, a tray of medical supplies in her hands. Sunny blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that set off her cheekbones. Her face was fuller. She’d put on weight in the two weeks since she’d arrived and it suited her.

  “Hey.” Damn that was lame.

  Foster edged past her. “Where’d Cassy go?”

  “Oh,” Georgina tucked a loose curl behind her ear and then busied herself ripping open a vial of sterile solution, avoiding eye contact. “Um…Edwards needed her. Is that okay?”

  “Sure, no problem.” Hardy hid his smile.

  She glanced up at him. “It’s healing well. I’m pleased. I felt responsible, you know, when you fell in the attic.” A pretty flush crept across her cheeks.

  He shook his head. “It was an accident.”

  She took his wrist and lifted the dish with sterile solution. Her fingers were cool on his skin as she dipped her head and cleaned the wound with cotton balls. The smooth nub of bone at the base of her neck was visible. A pleasurable shiver rolled through him at the thought of touching it. Shit, he was noticing too much about her. Rein it in, Hardy.

  Foster hooked his thumbs into his munitions belt. He tilted his head, studying Georgina. “Is he going to die?”

  Georgina dropped a cotton ball. “What? No.”

  “Shame.”

  Hardy twitched. “Foster.”

  Foster shot him a toothy grin and backed off.

  Georgina finished with the fluid and patted his arm dry. “Is he always like this?”

  “Foster? Kind of. He grows on you after a while.” He ignored Foster’s smirk. “Like fungus.”

  Georgina’s eyes widened. Maybe he’d gone too far.

  Foster fidgeted on the far side of the bed. “He loves me really.”

  “Ah.” She gave Hardy a sympathetic glance and snipped the first few stitches before tugging any remnants free with tweezers.

  He winced and she paused. “Am I hurting you?”

  Nausea threatened at the back of Hardy’s throat. “I’m good,” he muttered.

  She worked quickly and soon she was winding clean dressing around his forearm. He should say something.

  “How are you finding it here?” God, that was original. He mentally face-palmed himself.

  She searched in her little medical tray for a pin to secure the crepe bandage. “People have been really good to me. I’ve had more hot dinners in the last two weeks than I’ve had in the last year. I feel much better. More like myself.” She snagged the pin closed but didn’t release his arm. “I’m moving on though.”

  Hardy’s heart accelerated. “Why?” The words were out before he had the wherewithal to shut his big mouth.

  She dropped her scissors back on her trolley. “My sister, Janie. I said I would find her and I always keep my promises.”

  “You mentioned Scotland?” Foster sat down on the bed and the ancient springs protested. Clearly Cassy was not to be found.

  “She was taken by a group.” She hesitated. “They left me. I was too sick.”

  “Your sister left without you?” Hardy failed to keep the surprise from his voice.

  She shook her head. “No. The men took her. Against her will. They didn’t want me because I was ill.” Her voice dropped, barely audible. “They were freaks.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shot him a trembling smile “I heard them talking before they left. There are islands in the north, people living free of the Chittrix. Living, not just surviving. That’s where they were headed.”

  Foster whistled. “Rumors. And very risky.”

  She eyed him. “Isn’t everything nowadays?”

  “Perhaps.” Foster grinned.

  “Foster thrives on danger,” Hardy said by way of explanation. He stood up. His wound was dressed. He didn’t have any excuse to stay.

  She stepped back, placing scissors back in her top pocket. “Okay…well…”

  “Thanks.” He grasped her hand and shook it.

  Her brow creased in surprise but she squeezed his hand back and shot him a smile. “Anytime.”

  His heart skipped and then Foster shoved him hard in the back, directing him out of the infirmary. Chill air cooled his hot cheeks. Jesus. Did he really do that?

  Foster’s voice was a barely controlled whisper. “I cannot fucking believe you shook her hand.” He whacked him between the shoulder blades. “Fucking hell, I have a lot to teach you.”

  4

  Hardy trudged up the hill toward the Command Base, tracking Garrick. His concentration was shot. No matter how much he tried to keep his mind on track, it kept slipping back to Georgina. She was leaving and there was nothing he could do about it. In his mind he’d replayed asking her to stay, which was ridiculous because he’d barely spoken to her in the past two weeks, and when he did, he just made a fool of himself, like yesterday. Shaking her fucking hand.

  Relationships were something he’d never made time for. Growing up in a mire of domestic violence had convinced him he wouldn’t know love even if it ran him over. He didn’t fret about it; it wasn’t as if the aftermath of an alien invasion leant itself to romantic interludes. Despite what Foster professed loudly and often.

  But still. He was having trouble getting Georgina out of his head.

  Garrick raised one eyebrow. “Something bugging you?”

  Hardy grunted and shrugged. Shook his head. “Not enough caffeine.”

  Garrick nodded in agreement. Today they’d scouted as far as Salisbury and the edge of the New Forest National Park. So far, they’d drawn a blank, despite having been out since the crack of dawn. And Hardy was not a morning person. Especially without coffee.

  Further down the hill, Mabe and Foster trailed them. Foster’s voice rose through the cool air.

  “Foster’s melting Mabe’s ears again,” Garrick observed.

  “Hmm.” Hardy squinted. “Mabe is probably having second thoughts about joining us.” He lifted his laser rifle and scanned for the two men. There was no sign of Foster or the vet who had recently joined their community living in the underground bunker. Where the fuck were they?

  Hardy lifted the comms receiver clipped to his bio-armor. “Foster, are you finished messing around? It’s fucking soggy here.”

  “Copy that. Fucking soggy. Pussies,” Foster replied. “Let me remind you, I cannot be rushed.”

  Garrick grinned and rolled his eyes. “Good job his superiority complex is titanium-plated.”

  “Shit, Foster, will you just get a move on before something spots us up here and decides we’d make a good lunch?” Hardy clicked off the comms. “Is it just me or is speaking to Foster surreal? What’s he doing down there?”

  He shifted the weight of the Sweeper on his back. The weapon pulsed hypersonic sound that resonated to the specific frequency of the Chittrix, detonating the aliens at an atomic level. It gave him some measure of comfort but still…he shifted from foot to foot. Being out in the open like this gave him the willies, big fucking gun or not.

  “Got them.” Garrick dropped the binoculars from his face and pointed.

  Hardy squinted down the hill following the direction Garrick indicated with his binoculars. Foster was jumping up and down like a loon. He suppressed a sigh. “I think Foster’s found something.”

  * * *

  They jogged down the hill in tandem. Foster was visibly agitated and he rubbed his hands together as Garrick and Hardy approached.

  Mabe stood nearby, his weapon raised as he scanned for Chittrix. The insectoid aliens flew fast and lethal. He tilted his head in Foster’s direction. “How is he like this when there’s no damn coff
ee?”

  Garrick shook his head, his mouth crooking from a suppressed smile.

  Foster smirked. “Superior genetics my friend.” He beckoned to Hardy. “Come, look.”

  Hardy took a knee next to Foster. “This better be good. We’re all starving and wet.”

  Foster scrubbed at the earth with chewed fingernails. He’d unearthed a line of silver wire just under the surface of the straggly grass. He hooked more turf out the way, exposing a greater expanse of wire.

  Hardy shook his head in disbelief. “How did you find this?” He touched the wire tentatively with his fingertips. It was thin and cold. Dangerous.

  “I have a sixth sense when it comes to booms. I’ve told you that before. Clearly those cauliflower ears of yours are interfering with your hearing.” Foster swept the wire free of loose dirt and stroked the thin strand, humming under his breath. He pointed with a grubby nail. “That’s where it’s headed.”

  Hardy followed Foster’s line of sight. “The Command Base?”

  “Yup. And this is fresh.” Foster rubbed dirt between his fingertips. “Recently disturbed.”

  Hardy straightened, casting his eye over the deserted army base and its endless, abandoned houses. But underneath wasn’t deserted. Underneath was their community of men, women, and children. The Command Base. Home. Hidden from the Chittrix.

  Foster’s energy instantly dissipated into calm as he reverently touched the wire with his fingertips. He rocked back on his heels and scuffed a hand across the top of his shaved scalp. “It looks like they feed into the base’s air supply conduits.” He pointed with a steady finger to points several hundred feet apart. “We should check them out.”

  Hardy tugged the ratty baseball cap he wore lower over his eyes. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he’d grabbed some sleep. “Yeah, I thought as much.”

  Foster crawled forward on his hands and knees, his fingers pressing into the ground. His lips moved soundlessly. “There been any unusual activity in the last twenty-four hours?”