Hardy

by Theresa Beachman

  When Natalie stumbled on her twisted ankle, wrenching her injured shoulder once more. Georgina fell to her hands and knees, fighting a wave of nausea.

  “Hey.” A large warm hand covered the small of her back.

  She gathered herself. She was not going to die here. “I’m fine…but Natalie.”

  “I saw. I’ll carry her. C’mon.” He grasped her forearm and tugged her to her feet. She collided with solid muscle and for a second that amber gaze linked with hers. Then he released her, placing her on her feet with care.

  He scooped up Natalie like she weighed nothing, checking over his shoulder to make sure Georgina was following.

  She increased her pace, doing her best to keep up. Natalie’s weight didn’t slow him at all. Her lungs burned, desperate for respite.

  “Over here.” Hardy veered toward a military vehicle that was jammed up against the trunk of a tree. He dropped Natalie beside the rear wheel and reached into the cab. “Jackal’s hood is undamaged. I’ll see if I can get it started.”

  “Jackal?”

  He pointed at the sandy-colored jeep. “Tactical Support Vehicle.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Hardy shook his head and disappeared into the driver’s cab.

  Georgina squatted beside Natalie. Her face was pale, her skin clammy to the touch and deep shivers racked her body. Automatically, Georgina pressed her fingers into the crook of Natalie’s throat, checking her pulse. It raced under the pads of her fingertips. She was going into shock.

  “We need to keep you warm.” Georgina yanked open the rear door of the Jacket or whatever he’d called it. Military gear was scattered everywhere. It was a mess. “I need blankets.”

  Hardy threw an arm over the back of the driver’s seat as he cranked the engine. It misfired and complained loudly.

  “Try under the bench seats,” he called as he ducked out the vehicle and popped the hood.

  Georgina climbed up and into the rear section. She slid her fingers under the edge of the nearest seat and breathed thanks when it lifted easily. Underneath was a mess of rope and metal clips and boxes of ammunition, but there was also an army-issue gray blanket. She pulled it out, blinking against the musty cloud that irritated her eyes. Then she jumped out and hustled the blanket around Natalie.

  Cursing emanated from the front of the vehicle then there was the slam of metal and the engine coughed and whined. After more unintelligible cursing, the engine roared to life as Hardy floored the gas.

  He thumped the steering wheel. “Let’s go.”

  He left the engine running and joined her at the rear doors in seconds. He moved so fast, lifting Natalie up and into the rear effortlessly, making sure she was strapped securely before he hurried back to the front. Georgina followed, climbing into the passenger seat next to him.

  He unslung a substantial weapon from his shoulder and shoved it in her hands. “You shoot. I’ll drive.”

  Georgina stared at the gun. It was wider than an ordinary pulse rifle; her hands barely covered the sleek metal barrel. The metal was absurdly smooth but the nose was snub and ugly, like it could do some serious damage. She hefted it upwards. It hummed in her hands, a soft buzz of latent power. “I’ve never used anything like this before.”

  Hardy leaned over, his hot touch warming her skin as he rearranged her grip on the weapon and her fingers around the trigger. Heat rolled off him like an oven. His hands were huge, swamping hers. This close she could smell him. Male sweat, soap, and danger.

  “You’re set. The Sweeper’s not complicated. Point and shoot at Chittrix. Or Scutters.”

  Hardy threw the jeep into reverse and pulled away from the tree. “It’s a hypersonic rifle. Explodes shit at a molecular level. Only aliens. Not people, so you’re good.” He slammed into first and hit the gas, knocking her back into her seat with the g-force of his acceleration.

  She straightened back up and sighted along the barrel of the menacing gun. Of course it only killed aliens. That made perfect sense. Not.

  He spotted her confused expression. “I’ll explain later,” he shouted with a fleeting smile that briefly shifted his face from fierce to handsome. “Shall we get the fuck out of here?” His face was darkly serious again.

  She nodded, her fingers cramping on the barrel of the weird gun. How did it kill aliens but not people? What if it didn’t work? She’d give anything for something with proper bullets in it right now. “Where are we going?” The jeep bucked and she gritted her teeth.

  “Wales. Rendezvous point.”

  “Wales?” She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Wales was not on her itinerary. Scotland was. The freaks had taken Janie to Scotland.

  “I can’t go to Wales,” she yelled over the thrash of the engine.

  Something flickered in his eyes, to brief for her to identify it. “You want to get out?” He accelerated the jeep over lumpy grass, forcing her to grip the dash with her free hand to stop herself bouncing clean out the window.

  “No.” Her teeth sliced through the edge of her tongue, forcing her to swallow blood. This was not the plan. This was taking her further from Janie. “Where did you learn to drive?” she shrieked, as the jeep jolted, leaving her stomach mid-air. She understood now why he’d strapped Natalie in so securely.

  “Dublin,” he hollered, manhandling the wheel hard right in a white-knuckled swerve that slung her sideways, her teeth connecting with a sharp crack in her skull.

  “What the—”

  The words froze on her tongue as she glimpsed the jagged form of a Chittrix through a chink in the smoke. Then it was gone, masked by an impenetrable mist, but its call was still audible, a harsh chittering click that pierced to the marrow of her bones. Her stomach spasmed and her heart accelerated to warp speed. It was so close. Her brain screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go.

  Hardy spun the steering wheel with bloodless fingers, wrenching the Jackal away from the Chittrix shrieks. He stamped on the gas, and the jeep leaped forward in the opposite direction. “Hang on.”

  Georgina braced her legs in the foot well and gritted her teeth against the bone-jarring bumps, willing the damn grass to end and the road to appear.

  Suddenly, the jeep skidded to a halt, snapping her seatbelt rigid, her head only missing the front windscreen by inches. “What now?”

  “Foster!” Hardy jumped out and sprinted straight ahead. Georgina strained at her seatbelt, desperate to see. Foster was crouched behind an overturned car, his pulse rifle cocked, blasting the sky. Now that the engine was no longer screaming in her ears, the calls of the Chittrix filled the air. They were diving at Foster, screeching battle cries as they swooped closer to his exposed back. Hardy pelted toward him, bent low, providing covering fire with a handgun as he ran.

  The dash was still illuminated, the engine ticking over.

  I could jump in the driver’s seat and get out of here. Go to Scotland. I have a weapon. I have Natalie.

  She wiped her damp hands on her thighs.

  Outside, Hardy was running back to the jeep, firing his handgun into the sky above his head, protecting Foster who followed in a low crouch.

  Foster stumbled, and a Chittrix blew through a cloud of thick smoke behind him. Its black jaws were cracked wide, revealing needle-like teeth. Its top four limbs unfolded in jointed spokes from the black sheath of its plated belly, widening in a spider-like snatch as it sped toward him. Its chattering call ripped through Georgina’s brain.

  Foster sprinted…but not fast enough. Muddy clods and grass caught at his boots, tripping his long legs. The Chittrix skimmed the earth directly behind him, its front limbs snagged his upper body and it tugged upward, lifting him clean off the ground. Foster fired, the pulse of his laser weapon missing its mark as he struggled.

  Hardy bellowed. “Georgina. Now!”

  Her attention snapped to Hardy. Hardy was crouched, taking aim at the Chittrix, but he didn’t fire. It was impossible for him to hit the Chittrix without risking Foster’s life too. />
  He screamed at her, “Now, for fuck’s sake.”

  She scrambled out the Jackal, taking aim as she dropped to her knee. She sighted the weapon and braced herself. Her fingers locked. Foster was snug against the Chittrix, blocking a clean shot of its abdomen. A few more seconds and they’d be gone, engulfed in belching black smoke.

  “Fucking shoot!”

  Dimly, she remembered. It only killed aliens. She curled her finger around the trigger. Either way, he was dead. There was nothing to lose.

  She fired.

  The rifle reverberated in her grip, and the air surrounding her visibly shimmered. It thrummed through her, pure invisible energy that moved through her flesh.

  A piercing scream ripped the sky above and she flinched, her shoulders instinctively rising to protect her ears. What was that? The scream stopped abruptly, and a wet rattle filled the air. The sky darkened. For an instant, Foster was suspended in the middle of a dark cloud that once had been Chittrix-shaped…and then he was falling—falling from too high, tumbling out of control toward the ground.

  He hit home only a few feet from Georgina, the snap of bone cracking high and sharp into the bloody night air.

  9

  Hardy charged toward Foster, his legs pistoning. He skidded onto his knees next to Foster, raising his hands so he didn’t touch him, not wanting to exacerbate any injury.

  Foster bellowed, the tendons in his neck rigid as his head rocked upwards. “Fucking. Hell. Jesus. Fuckfuckfuck.” His face was scrunched in a ball of pain, while his hands gripped the top of his thigh. He gasped and keened, a low brittle sound that Hardy never wanted to hear again.

  “Oh my God.” Georgina fell to her knees on the other side of Foster, her eyes wide with shock. “What the fuck was that?” she gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it. One minute, the Chittrix was there and then it was dust. Jesus Christ. He fell so far. Shit, shit, shit.” Words spilled from her in a torrent of shock, but her hands were already moving over Foster in quick assured gestures.

  “He’s broken his leg. Give me your knife.” She pointed at Hardy’s hip. “Your knife. Hurry.”

  She unlaced Fosters boot and eased it off. She inserted the tip of the blade under the bottom hem of his cargo pants, and with a deft tug, sliced the fabric to above the knee. Already the skin was swollen, the flesh an angry red. Hardy swallowed. He’d seen plenty injuries fighting in the cages but those had been meaningless faces. Not Foster.

  “Hold him steady.” Georgina palpated Foster’s lower leg. “Tibia. Simple fracture. Displaced.” She glanced at the sky.

  No Chittrix had followed. Yet.

  “We need to immobilize.” Her tone shifted, losing the edge of panic that had been rising only minutes before.

  Foster twisted and gagged, then threw up in the grass.

  Georgina removed her jacket and tugged it with care under Foster’s pale, sweaty face. The hard knot in Hardy’s gut eased a little.

  “Take it easy.” She ran the backs of her fingers down Foster’s jaw in a stroke of comfort.

  Foster swatted at her, his face tinged green. “Let me up.”

  Georgina held his shoulder. “Like hell you are.” She rounded on Hardy. “Go. Go. Something to secure the leg.”

  Hardy sprang up. Chittrix screams scraped at his ears as he searched the mess of shattered concrete and splintered wood. Everything was too big, too small, or too damn heavy.

  Fuck, they didn’t have time for this.

  Pulse rifle.

  He grabbed a length of rope from the Jackal and sprinted back to Georgina. Foster’s pulse rifle was on the ground, several feet from where he’d fallen. Hardy pocketed the energy cartridge then laid the weapon next to Foster’s long legs. Nearly perfect.

  Georgina gave him a curt nod of approval. “Good. Give me your jacket.”

  Foster groaned as Hardy shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. She wrapped it snug against Foster’s leg as padding, before using the rope to splint his leg to the rifle in quick, confident movements. Hardy’s pulse eased. She was taking care of Foster. She knew what she was doing.

  She smoothed Foster’s forehead. “You’re good now, but we need to move you.”

  “Ironic,” Hardy muttered as Georgina made a final check of her makeshift splint.

  “What?” Foster’s head popped up and he grunted, sweat beading his dirty forehead.

  “For you of all people to end up with your leg strapped to a damn pulse rifle.”

  Georgina frowned.

  “I like guns,” Foster said by way of explanation then dropped his head back, his eyes creased shut against the pain.

  “Ah. Okay.”

  Hardy hooked Foster under the arms, lifting him upright. Foster was rigid and inflexible, the only sound emanating from him was his breath hissing through clenched teeth. With Georgina’s help, Hardy edged Foster onto the backseat opposite Natalie. She peeped over the edge of the gray blanket, her eyes wide.

  Hardy strapped Foster in. “And you accused me of eating too many tacos,” he muttered as he snagged the seatbelt snug across Foster’s stomach.

  Foster cracked one eye open, his face sweaty. “Fuck off, lardy.”

  Hardy fired him a shaky grin and squeezed his shoulder. “Guess you’ll live.”

  Georgina was on her knees on the floor, sifting through the mess of equipment scattered across every free inch of space. Her voice was muffled. “He needs painkillers. There must be a goddamn first aid kit.”

  “Here.” Hardy reached above her head and pulled the first aid kit down from its ledge above her head. He tossed it to her and jumped out the back of Jackal, drawn by ingrained instinct to check the sky for Chittrix. Dark shapes pitched through the clouds, diving and calling to one another, but they were high and focused on the funnel of smoke and heat emanating from the CB. It was a damn miracle another Chittrix hadn’t followed the one Georgina vaporized. He slotted the rear door back into place. “We need to get moving. Already been too long.”

  He swung into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine, steering to avoid the larger clumps of grass that made Jackal rock and roll like a beach buggy.

  Foster’s expletives razed the air.

  “Hang in there, buddy,” Hardy shouted.

  The smoke was finally starting to clear, and Hardy glimpsed the bottom of the incline where the road began. He stood on the gas, attempting to accelerate smoothly, but the Jackal had other ideas and bumped and lurched downwards like a fairground ride. Foster screamed as the wheels juddered over a particularly large boulder. Hardy’s shoulders crunched up near his ears. Fuck.

  “Take it easy!” Georgina yelled from the rear.

  “Fucking am,” Hardy retorted under his breath, his knuckles popping on the steering wheel.

  Finally, the tires bit asphalt, and Hardy allowed himself a tiny breath of relief and a quick glimpse in the rear mirror. Filthy smoke rose into the sky, a spiral of Chittrix weaving through and around it, but there were none on their tail.

  The squeal of rubber cut through the air. Ahead, another jeep careened across the road, carving through an approaching knee-high wave of Scutters. Dog-sized, scorpion-like aliens that shadowed the Chittrix. Fuck. Was there no end to this?

  There was nowhere to take the Jackal but to follow the other jeep into the Scutters. Hardy clamped his jaw and steered into the heaving mass. The steering wheel twisted in his grip, and the shattering of wet insectoid chitin echoed up through the chassis. He swallowed a wave of revulsion and wiped sweat from his forehead with his forearm. If they made it out of here, it was going to be a fucking miracle. The road was completely obscured by the ever-shifting carapaces of Scutters and his ears were numb with the crunch of insectoid bodies. Cold sweat chilled his back.

  Then, ahead, a rangy figure jumped out the jeep. Hardy squinted, unable to identify who it was.

  It was a man, his face lifted to the sky. Scutters backed away from his legs, creating a pool of bare road around him.

&nbs
p; Darr.

  The Scutters continued to retreat, the swarm now parting in the middle, separating to leave a clear road ahead. Hardy lifted up in his seat. The Scutters continued to retreat around the Jackal, backing off and dissipating into the surrounding bushes and grasses.

  Garrick had told him about Darr’s connection with the Chittrix and his ability to tap into their hive mind and control them, but Hardy had never witnessed it himself. Fucking amazing.

  “Bloody hell,” Georgina breathed, leaning on his shoulder. “How is he doing that?”

  Hardy shook his head as he inched the Jackal forward onto clear road. “No fucking idea, but he can be on my team any day.”

  He drew close to the other jeep. Violet was hanging out the rear, Cassy was beside her a pulse rifle wedged against her cheek. Hardy slowed. The driver wasn’t visible.

  He leaned out the window and rapped his door. “Violet. Follow us!”

  She shook her head and waved him on. “After.” She pointed at the sky. “Cover you.”

  She shot him a glance of acknowledgment and then the Jackal was past, Darr and the others diminishing in the rearview mirror.

  Hardy glanced at the speedometer. Sixty miles an hour and increasing. He rammed his foot to the floor, leaving the burning Command Base and all it represented behind.

  10

  Georgina crawled into the rear of the jeep. Natalie was slumped against the wooden seat back, holding the blanket tucked under her chin. Her complexion was chalky, but she was upright and breathing. Given the circumstances, this was a win as far as Georgina was concerned.

  Beside Natalie, Foster was securely restrained, but his face was blanched and clammy where she touched his skin. The muscle of his jaw pulsed as he surfed through the Jackals’ savage lurches. The nurse in her swore internally. She hated this so much: being unable to ease a patient’s discomfort.

  She took one of his hands, then wiped his brow with her cuff. “You’re doing really well.” She cupped his chin. “Look at me. You’re going to be fine.”