Hardy

by Theresa Beachman

  Foster swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing. His eyes squeezed together. “Damn buggy critters.”

  Georgina smoothed his brow. “I’ll get you something stronger than Tylenol as soon as I can.”

  Foster grimaced, his lips disappearing in a tight press.

  “You going to be sick?”

  He gave a labored shake of his head. “Tell Hardy to stop driving like a goddamn grandma.” A thin smile appeared on his face and from under the blanket, he squeezed her hand.

  The Jackal slammed to a halt, smashing Georgina against the sharp edge of the bench seats and knocking the breath from her.

  Hardy leaned over the top of the driver’s seat into the rear of the jeep, his voice strained. “Incoming.”

  The rear doors protested then the handle dropped and the doors opened. Georgina braced herself against the bench seat her heart galloping, but there were no Chittrix on the other side of the door.

  Thick, dirty fingers curled around the edges of the doorframe and a shaggy-haired man pulled himself in. Georgina recognized him. Mabe she thought his name was. He twisted to slam the door shut and nearly toppled as Hardy crunched gears and accelerated hard.

  The newcomer swung onto the wooden bench seat opposite Georgina, next to Natalie who edged away from him. He was draped in guns and they battered noisily within the Jackal’s metal interior.

  His hair was a tousled mess, which, combined with an unruly beard, gave him a bear-like countenance. But clearly a friendly bear as he smiled, exposing white teeth. “Thanks, thought I was going to have to walk to Wales. Fucking Chittrix.”

  He leaned forward and wiped sooty grime from the rear window with the heel of his hand. He grunted and then turned his attention back to Georgina.

  “No accident,” he said, pointing out the glass at the burning remnants of the CB, just an oily smudge below a darkening sky. A shiver coursed through her. Night would come eventually, and they were the most dangerous.

  His top pocket suddenly bulged, and he grinned. He dug into his pocket and lifted out his cupped hand. Carefully, he separated his fingers. “Barney. You okay, mate?”

  A small tawny mouse sniffed the air and rested tiny pink paws on his thick fingers.

  Georgina’s mouth dropped open. “You have a mouse?”

  He raised one shaggy eyebrow. “He’s charming, yeah?”

  He extended one inked arm. “I’ve seen you around but we haven’t officially met. Eli Mabe.” He grasped her hand and shook it vigorously. “Barney and I are delighted to be here and in one fucking piece.”

  “Georgina.” She pointed at Natalie. “Natalie and--”

  “I know this fucker.” He grabbed one of the overhead bars and swung up and over Foster.

  Foster cracked open one eye and pointed a finger. “Don’t fucking touch me, Mabe, or I might have to kill you.”

  The bear man laughed. “Don’t worry, my normal patients are far nicer than you.”

  Foster winced. “Fucking veterinarians.”

  The jeep jolted, and Georgina’s elbows cracked against cold, unpadded metal. Shit.

  “Hang on,” Hardy hollered, as the jeep swerved and bumped off-road again. Crunching noises pounded up through the base of the vehicle into Georgina’s feet. She didn’t know a lot about mechanics, but this wasn’t good. Beside her, Foster moaned, his whole body tightening under the makeshift coverings.

  Georgina scooted down beside him and checked the restraints. He was still strapped in securely, but his pulse was erratic.

  She took Mabe’s hand and tugged him down beside Foster. “You’re a vet?”

  “Was.”

  Good enough. “Keep an eye on him.”

  She left Mabe, scooted up to the front of the jeep, and climbed forward to join Hardy again. “What the hell’s going on? Why’ve you left the road?”

  Hardy’s face was set as he pointed out the passenger window. Georgina recoiled as she followed his line of sight. The road they’d left dipped low on its journey back to Salisbury but the asphalt was no longer visible, replaced by a seething mass of Scutters and Chittrix.

  The sight made her heart race. “Damn.”

  Hardy raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.” He changed gear and something scraped and complained loudly from the undercarriage. He grunted. The sound was throaty and deep. Like an untamed animal. “Good job we’re heading north.”

  Wales. Thoughts of her sister whirled in her mind. All her plans were in tatters. A headache threatened at her temples. She rubbed tender skin above her eyes, pushing the memories of her sister somewhere safe in her mind where she could deal with them later. The immediate situation was survival. She was no use to Janie if she was dead.

  Crap, what a mess. She stared at the ceiling. “Will this jeep get us there?”

  Hardy patted the dash. “Rear axle might be thinking about dying. But there’s life in the old dog yet.”

  “Do you have a specific location in Wales?”

  He drove the Jackal across asphalt ruptured with saplings and weeds. “Brackla.”

  She’d never heard of it. “Foster can’t wait that long. He needs medical help now.”

  His golden eyes blazed. “What does he need?”

  “Antibiotics. Strong painkillers, and I need to set his leg. The nearest city where they’ll have what I need is Bath. ”

  Hardy dropped gears to accelerate up a scrubby incline. When they breached the summit, a rolling landscape of hills was laid out before them. Scattered Chittrix were dotted across the sky. He steered the Jackal left and the jeep raced across the grassy incline. One of the front wheels pitched into a hole and Georgina slammed forward. Her seatbelt snapped taut and Hardy threw his arm across her belly in a protective hold. His fingers were splayed wide against her stomach. For a long moment they stared at each other.

  His voice was gruff. “You okay?”

  She nodded, mute, the pressure of his fingers making her temporarily tongue-tied.

  Hardy released her, breaking the connection. “Look.” He pointed as the Jackal hurtled past a road sign. “Bath it is.”

  11

  Hardy finally brought the Jackal to a halt several miles outside the town of Norton. He slid the vehicle into park, the tick of the cooling engine muted after the strangled roar of the last twenty miles. The engine was not a happy bunny—the temperature gauge was firmly in the ‘too freaking hot and I’m going to die’ range. He’d have to check it before they went any further.

  From their vantage point high on the hill, he surveyed north to Bath, its skyline irrevocably altered to incorporate the black and honey-colored pyramidal shape of a Chittrix hive. Tiny black shards—Chittrix—swooped and circled the alien structure. Even though he was too far away to hear, the air would be resonant with screeching, chattering calls as they communicated to each other in and out of the hive.

  Late afternoon light shone straight over the horizon, forcing him to squint. The drive cross-country had, like everything nowadays, taken much longer than anticipated. They’d had to stop several times under the cover of overhanging trees to avoid being spotted by Chittrix hunting parties.

  Georgina was still beside him in the passenger seat. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail, blonde strands dark and damp across the back of her neck. He had the crazy urge to smooth them away from her skin.

  He gave himself a mental shake. Now was not the time to be noticing her hair.

  He unclipped his seatbelt and jumped out the Jackal, conscious of her watching him the entire time. “I need to check the engine.” Without waiting for her reply, he slammed the door shut behind him and turned his back on her.

  He headed to the rear of the jeep, grateful for the cooling air on his face. The town of Norton spilled beneath him like a dark stain, close enough that they could be within the town limits in a few minutes. Or any residents could be up the hill and greeting them in the same time span. The engine had been loud enough the last few miles. Damn.

  Mabe was already out, pulse rifl
e ready.

  Hardy acknowledged him with a grunt. “Trying to find the hospital in the dark is suicide. If the Chittrix don’t pick us off, any scavengers in Bath will.”

  Mabe nodded in agreement. “Somewhere more local for tonight then?”

  “Yeah, but we also have more pressing problems.” He squatted and peered at the Jackal’s undercarriage. There’d been a scraping grind that he’d ignored up until now in the blind panic of escape, but he couldn’t delay looking at it any longer. It stank of oil and mud, and he was going to have to slide under and check it. Typical.

  On his back, a pen flashlight gripped between his teeth, he said a small prayer of thanks. Despite the racket the Jackal was intact; the armored underside was dented and bent, but in one piece. He scooted lower to the exhaust, running his fingers across the metal. It was sticky and when he rubbed his fingers together and sniffed, his suspicions were confirmed. Engine coolant.

  He pulled himself out from under the vehicle, brushing the worst of the dirt off his legs and backside as he walked round and popped the hood.

  Mabe joined him. “Well?”

  Hardy bent into Jackal’s guts, aiming his flashlight at the most likely culprits.

  He straightened and wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. “Head gasket’s blown.”

  Mabe hummed as if his suspicions were confirmed. “I saw white smoke from the exhaust the last few miles.” He frowned. “Toolbox is missing. We’re on our own.”

  Hardy scrubbed his hand across the top of his head. “We won’t get much further without a repair.”

  “What’s wrong?” Georgina had come round the side of the jeep, her slender arms hugging her sides. Despite the extreme circumstance, her jaw was set. Admiration licked at Hardy. After everything she’d been through, she was still ready. Natalie trailed behind her, nervously skirting rustling bushes that crowded around them.

  “We’re losing coolant and the engine’s overheating.” Hardy motioned at the darkening town at the bottom of the hill, his mind racing. “We need a garage, find some sealant.”

  Georgina chewed at the edge of her fingernail, her expression thoughtful as she listened to the plans. “Okay, but I need help with Foster first.”

  Hardy’s stomach looped. “As in?”

  “To set his leg.”

  * * *

  Inside the Jackal, Hardy crouched at Foster’s shoulder. His body was coated in a light sheen of sweat. He clenched his jaw. He would do this for Foster. Even though Georgina touching Foster’s injured leg, exposing the abnormal jab of bone under skin, purple and turgid, made him dizzy. He sucked in a whistling breath.

  Georgina observed him from Foster’s feet, her expression serious. This was a woman who did not take shit when it came to her job. “You okay?”

  “Perfect.” Hardy blinked, ignoring his rising body temperature and constricted chest. “Let’s just do this.” He stared over her shoulder at the fresh air outside.

  Georgina bent over Foster. “We need to realign your leg. I’m not going to lie, it’s going to hurt…”

  Foster took the rag she handed him, his face pasty. “Fucking do it.” He jammed the rag between his teeth and bobbed his head.

  Hardy gripped Foster’s thigh and Georgina leaned back. She grasped his foot. “On the count of three. One, two—”

  She tugged hard, the sensation pulling at Hardy’s fingertips as he held Foster down. Shit.

  Foster bellowed, his roar barely muffled by the rag between his clenched teeth. His head bucked backwards, neck tendons snapping to rigid attention.

  Don’t forget to breathe. Fuck.

  “Relax now.” Georgina hunched over Foster’s leg then wiped her brow with her forearm. “We’re good. Don’t move till I have it secured.”

  * * *

  He followed Georgina out of the jeep as soon as Foster’s leg was properly splinted. Not caring what anyone thought, he bent at the waist and dragged in lungfuls of cold air and waited for the nausea to pass. Georgina dropped to her knees beside him, her hands resting on her hips as she regained her composure.

  When he straightened she caught his eye. “You alright?”

  “World isn’t spinning so much now.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “Not gonna lie. That’s the first time I’ve done that without the patient being drugged up to the eyeballs.”

  Hardy tugged at his ear. “Let’s make it the last.”

  Mabe came up behind him and slapped him on the back. “How’s Foster?”

  “Fine for now. But he needs meds and his leg in a cast so let’s get the jeep sorted and back on the road.” He gestured at Norton. “I’m going down to get engine sealant.” He inclined his head at Mabe. “I need you here. Protecting Foster and the Jackal.”

  Mabe bent his head in agreement. “But you’re not going on your own?”

  Hardy was ready. “I’ll be quicker—”

  “I’ll come.” Georgina’s voice was steady.

  Hardy raised a palm. “I need you to keep an eye on Foster.”

  She stuck out her chin. “Foster’s stable. I’ve given him all the painkillers from the first-aid kit.” She waved her hands in exasperation. “He’s going to need more before the night is through.” She pushed up her sleeves. “I’ve survived just as much as you. I can look after myself.”

  Headstrong. He liked that. And she had a point.

  Mabe grinned and shrugged. “Seems you’ve got company.”

  12

  Hardy was quietly impressed. Georgina didn’t complain at the pace he set, and she kept up with him, her steps light, not drawing attention as they skirted down the hill and across several fields.

  They hiked for about twenty minutes before they hit the commercial roads of the industrial estate that marked the boundary of the town. Once buildings started to rise up around them, they walked as a tight pair, Georgina’s hips occasionally bumping his as they swept their weapons in tandem. Hardy liked having her close, it calmed his pulse a little as they paced deeper into town.

  Glass crunched under his feet and progress was slow as he dodged broken slabs ruptured by tube-like alien plants, which rose skywards like dry land anemones. He gave the plants a wide berth, exploiting the opportunity to guide Georgina with a palm to the small of her back, trying to ignore the faint hit of heat that touching her induced in him.

  After ten more minutes of road littered with abandoned clothes and dead leaves, Hardy spotted a sign sporting a map. The sign was rusted and battered, but the outline of the industrial estate was still evident. The road they were walking on completed a large loop, curling back to the beginning, with smaller dead ends projecting off the main arch. They’d already completed half of the circuit.

  His jaw tightened. They’d been away from the rest of the group for over an hour and night was closing fast. Options were diminishing by the minute.

  A sharp intake of breath from Georgina halted his steps. She wobbled for a moment, her hand going to his hip to steady herself. Her palm was so small against his side and he remained motionless for a second, soaking in her touch.

  “Over there.” She pointed.

  He followed her line of sight.

  Mills Auto Supplies. The signage hung at a drunken angle, partly obscured by green-black algae.

  “Bingo.”

  Her teeth flashed bright in the gloom and despite the circumstances, he found himself smiling back.

  Happiness suffused her voice. “Maybe today’s not such a lost cause.”

  Hardy grunted. “You’re an optimist.”

  “Always.”

  He shook his head. When had he last been optimistic about anything? Honestly, he couldn’t remember. His father had beaten it out of him long ago. It was all he could do to take each day as it came.

  “Come on.” With the Sweeper locked against his shoulder, he crossed the street, scanning left and right. Everything was deathly quiet and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. There was no way it was going to
stay like that for long.

  Outside the supplies store, black tires were scattered like enormous sliced olives across the forecourt. The workshop roller door was padlocked, so he turned to the small office, located at the side. He closed his fist around the door handle. The mechanism moved with a well-oiled snick.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered, as he edged the door open with the nose of the Sweeper. He winked at her over his shoulder. “You can be my good luck totem any day.”

  As he pushed the door open, the rich odor of oil and rubber assaulted his nostrils. Darkness enveloped him as he inched inside, all his senses straining for signs of a threat. The store was cold, and frigid air, nipped at his cheeks. When he clicked on his flashlight, his breath fogged.

  He faced a small counter, behind which were countless rows of steel shelving that disappeared into the gloom, still rammed with white card boxes and sealed plastic bags of car parts. To his left, a closed door was marked with a sign: Auto workshop. Hardy approached the desk, lifted the hinged counter, and headed into the storeroom. Shelves soared above his head in claustrophobic, organized chaos.

  Shit. It could take them hours to find anything here.

  Georgina ducked behind the counter and reappeared seconds later with a green first aid kit. She quickly checked inside. “Painkillers. Just Tylenol but better than nothing.” She wasted no time stashing the kit in her backpack.

  He waited till she was ready and then pointed to a small sticker on the shelf, his breath forming opaque clouds. “Alphabetical. Let’s go.”

  Georgina gave him a brief thumbs up.

  Hardy worked quickly, aware they were on borrowed time. They checked under G for gasket, and when that drew a blank, Georgina hustled him along to sealants. There, rows of gleaming cans greeted them in the weakening light of his flashlight. He scanned the labels.

  “Here,” Georgina stretched up. “Head Gasket Fix. Pop and pour installation.”

  Hardy allowed himself a long exhalation of relief. “You were right.”