“Yup.” Hardy grabbed her hand and guided her across the slip road and back onto the overgrown verge. The motorway was a mocking black line on the far side of a grassy sea.
After five minutes of walking through waist-high grass, she slowed. Green blades rasped at her legs and it was getting denser, requiring more effort to walk through. “Maybe we should have stuck to the road. Walked to the motorway that way.”
Hardy shook his head, resolute. “It was miles extra. This is straight as the crow flies.” He slashed at the dense undergrowth with his knife, cursing under his breath. “Is it me or are the plants getting thicker?” He paused. “And higher?”
Georgina stretched on her tiptoes. The view from the bridge had been deceiving. It all appeared the same height. But as they walked, the ground dipped and the plants were taller.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Was it her imagination or was the temperature rising? “It’s warmer here too.” Plants besieged her on all sides, shimmying closer in an endless rustle.
“Yeah.” Hardy moved in front of her, breathing hard. Wordlessly he raised his hand for her to stop.
Georgina took point at his side, resting her knuckles on her waist as she held her breath, the whispering grass filling her ears above the rush of blood in her veins. She balanced on her tiptoes, but now the vegetation towered above her head. Only Hardy could see where they were heading. Butterflies launched into flight in her belly, and she had the irrational urge to turn and run back, but over her shoulder—
“Hardy, I can’t even see where we came from.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care.
The constantly shifting plants had already closed over their path, sealing them off from the world. Pollen puffed from grass heads, dry and powdery, and it caught in her throat, making it difficult to swallow.
“I know.” Methodically, he sheathed his knife and withdrew his SIG from the holster on his thigh. He gripped it in two hands, holding it close to his chest.
Sweat stinging her upper lip, Georgina unhooked the pulse rifle from her shoulder. She rested the barrel on her shoulder and found the trigger with slippery fingers, painfully aware that the weapon was unwieldy and useless at such close quarters. It was suited to distance shooting, not claustrophobic defense like this. Thick grass stems creaked, papery blooms at their apex a constantly changing kaleidoscope that made focusing on any one point impossible. She blinked, and focused on the nose of the weapon. Imperfect, but it would have to do.
Hardy took a cautious pace forward. “Watch your step. The ground is really uneven here,” he muttered in a low voice, not taking his eyes from the claustrophobic vegetation.
Georgina shuffled forward two steps then the toe of her boot hit something. She stalled and reluctantly glanced down. The ground in front of her was heaving upward in a pregnant bulge that quivered in the center. Small rivulets of stones and dirt cascaded down from its peak.
She reached and grabbed Hardy’s sleeve. “Wait…”
Around them, the grass stilled, as if by command.
Something was happening. She tightened her grip. Her breathing was too loud, interfering with her ability to track the sounds around her.
Hardy peered over his shoulder, his dark eyes questioning. Georgina flicked her gaze downward, unable to speak. Rising mounds surrounded her now, left and right, and when she craned to check, they were behind her too, shaking free of the oily ground. She looked back at Hardy and their gazes collided. The earth was swelling, birthing something alien, and they were in the fucking middle of it.
For a long beat her world was filled with only the faint noise of rivulets of earth tumbling. Then roots tore free of the mud and sound returned to the world in a rush, her own pulse crashing in her ears.
Dirt spattered her boots. Two orange feelers burst free of the soil, then a sturdy body as large as a cat followed in a rush of slick, plated armor.
She grabbed Hardy’s arm and squeezed hard. “My boots.”
A low hiss escaped him. “Fuck. Millipedes.” His mouth twisted in distaste as he swept a low semi-circle with his SIG. “Hold your fire. These are babies.” He glanced round, searching the press of alien growth. “Where the fuck is Mama?”
Babies? At her feet another cat-sized baby tore free of the muddy soil, its armored spine glistening with birth fluids. Clumps of earth stuck to the moist scales. It skittered down the loose mud, landing with a soft thump on her boot. A multiplicity of legs tapped in smooth precision against the leather. Georgina screamed, jerking her foot free. She took a rapid step back and dropkicked its shiny body deep into the undergrowth.
The ground was shaking, and suddenly waving feelers and tiny, snapping jaws were everywhere. The air around her contracted as if clenched by an invisible fist. Scarlet mouths lined with silvery teeth, and wet with mucus, vibrated with a high-pitched call. For their mother? Or—
Hardy pulled her out of her reverie, snaring her hand in a vise-like grip. “Come on.”
She didn’t need telling twice.
Georgina ran, tripping and jumping over the shaking mounds, sometimes stamping on the disoriented newly hatched insects with the heel of her boots.
Holyfucksticks. They’re everywhere. Fucking everywhere.
She battered at the grass and rubbery alien plants that blocked her, their stems resistant, blinding her to everything but a few inches beyond her nose.
A rattle rose from the ground in a rising crescendo, swamping the noise of her panicked escape, louder and louder till it eclipsed the whoop of her breathing. Her legs were soaked from the hatching bodies trodden underfoot, the yellowish fluid anesthetizing her skin with a numbing throb.
Hardy towed her onward, his forearm raised, the thick body of the Sweeper providing a battering ram to plough through the nightmare growth.
Georgina risked a glance over her shoulder. The dirt wasn’t even visible anymore—just seething plated insect bodies already devouring any dead siblings with the desperate hunger of newborns.
God.
She stumbled and whipped her attention forward again. There didn’t seem to be any end in sight and an icy grip enclosed her heart. What if there was no way out of this? “Hardy!”
“I know,” he shouted. He hooked a left.
Georgina stumbled blindly behind him, willing the endless alien plants and millipedes to end. Further on, the hatchlings reared on undulating limbs, the pointed tips of their legs gouging the soft soil. Too many to count, spitting gobs of stinging ochre fluid that scalded her skin.
She stumbled, and finally burst free of the field onto the road. Wild open space surrounded her on all sides and her boots were on solid concrete. Thank God. Georgina spun, and fell to her knees. Hardy dropped into a crouch next to her, their joint breathing a panicked wheeze that filled the air.
Her heart was in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Fluid from the trampled insects soaked her legs and arms, and it stung, like a swarm of bees scouring her skin. She gagged, dry retching as she desperately scrubbed at her face and cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve.
Hardy hoisted her back onto her feet, hauling her toward the river. “This shit will burn our skin off. Come on.”
35
Hardy jogged the last few hundred feet almost bent double, a stitch lancing through his side with every breath.
Darr and Violet had described alien millipedes to him, but this was the first time he’d seen the fucking things. The yellow fluid from their bodies scalded his skin. He spat raw bile as the ground sloped toward the riverbank. He’d already had enough new experiences for one day.
He skidded down the bank, pulling Georgina with him. Loose rock and stones ripped free under his heels, speeding their descent toward the sluggish gray water. The same water he’d spotted writhing with serpentine shapes from the bridge earlier.
He could really do with a break now.
He didn’t pause when he hit the water’s edge, simply plowed straight in, dragging Georgina with him, submerg
ing his entire body to wash the hellish fluid from his skin.
When he surfaced, filthy river water sluicing from his torso, she was at his side, coughing and spluttering. She released his hand, wiping her eyes, pushing the hair out of her face, her clothes hugging every inch of her body.
Despite everything—the millipedes and the nearness of death—his cock hardened. He sucked in a deep breath and grabbed her, pressing his mouth to hers in a fierce kiss. Icy river water licked around his legs, but her mouth was hot, her response equally fiery. Her arms curled around him in reply as he pushed his hands into the wet tangle of her hair, cupping her face with his hands. Finally, she broke the kiss, breathless. Hardy rested his forehead against hers and took a few shuddering breaths. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She inhaled a shaky breath.
Thank fuck.
Still holding her, he lifted his head and scanned the landscape. They were alone. No cat-sized millipedes tumbling down the hill after them. Above, clouds scudded past, oblivious to the never-ending fight for survival.
Georgina shivered. They were soaking and freezing. Time to get a move on.
Slowly, fighting the mud sucking at his steps he waded out the river, guiding her. On the bank, his boots sank into congealed silt. It squished under his soles while water streamed down his legs and welled at the top of his laces. Crap.
He trudged back up the bank, practically pulling Georgina as she stumbled behind, her head hanging in mud-soaked exhaustion.
They bridged the riverbank summit. The river was a dirty gray line behind them, the field of millipedes to the right. Hardy shaded his eyes and stared left. West. “We need to keep heading west for Brackla.”
She took in the ruined landscape. “How do we know it’s there?”
“Blind faith.” He squeezed Georgina’s hand. “I will get you to safety.” It was all he had left. But he meant it with every fiber of his being.
“And after?”
“Then we find your sister. Like we discussed.”
He squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture but her fingers were stiff in his grip. Hell, no. It was too late for her to push him away now.
“Georgina—”
“Hardy.” She lifted a trembling finger straight ahead.
Hardy blinked. He must be hallucinating.
“What the hell—”
A powder-blue ice-cream van was driving toward them, a blue siren light soundlessly flashing on its roof. It halted twenty feet away, the driver’s face obscured by filthy glass.
The engine cut and for several long seconds, he stood staring at the vehicle with Georgina.
What the fuck? He raised his SIG in a two-handed grip and took a pace forward as he aimed. He strained to catch any sound of scavengers who might be corralling them into a trap but the only sound was the low moan of the wind off the water. Every nerve in his body thrummed. Something was wrong.
“Hardy?” Her hips bumped his.
“Shh.”
Boots hit the road on the far side of the van, crunching on loose stones, their owner still hidden by the pale blue facade. The boots turned and walked toward the hood, and a tall thin man strode into sight, his hands raised in surrender. A long beard covered his chin but his skull was smooth shaven. Hardy tightened his finger on the trigger. His gut screamed not to trust the man, despite the raised hands and smiling face.
“People, you look like you could do with a ride.” The man gestured toward the millipede nursery, where the grass still churned. “The relatives will arrive for the baby shower soon, and I sure as fish sticks don’t want to be here when Mama returns to check on her babies.” He grinned and clapped his hands.
Hardy’s hackles rose. The man reminded him of a children’s TV performer. Hey, kids, put your hands together for Mr. Hey-diddly-doody! Children’s TV performers gave him the fucking creeps. He clocked the stranger’s quick perusal of Georgina’s dripping form and took a sideways step, blocking the view of her pretty curves through her soaked clothes.
The stranger halted and bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile. Perhaps the passage of time and lack of use had made the man rusty, but it was the most insincere thing Hardy had ever seen.
With great deliberation, the man bent and took a handgun from his belt and laid it on the ground at his feet. “I understand you don’t trust me. Most people are a lot less trusting than they used to be.” He showed them his grubby palms again. His head jerked in the direction of the now-shaking grasses. “But I think we should be leaving.”
Georgina squeezed Hardy’s upper arm and stepped out from behind him, her arms folded across the rise of her breasts. “Hi.”
The man inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. What do you say we skedaddle right out of here?” His lips stretched thin across bad teeth.
Georgina appeared oblivious. Long seconds were counted out by the thump of Hardy’s heart as he weighed his options—the need to get out of here fast versus the risk of trusting a complete stranger who happened to turn up when they most needed help. Coincidence?
Georgina turned to Hardy and pressed the nose of his SIG to the ground. “He put his gun down.”
Well, that damn well means fuck all. Hardy gave a noncommittal grunt.
The man kicked dirt in their direction then picked up his weapon. He tucked it back in his waistband, his eyes never leaving Hardy. “Not everyone wants help.” He turned and headed back to the van. “I understand completely. No hard feelings.”
Georgina nudged him. “Hardy, we have no—”
The crack of mandibles sounded from the grasses to their left. The noise was deeper, more resonant than that of the newly hatched insects they’d already encountered. Hardy retreated a pace and Georgina followed.
“Mama sounds pissed,” the man stated matter-of-factly from the step of the blue van.
The engine of the van coughed and then spluttered to life.
Shit.
Hardy glanced at the grasses. Their movement was becoming increasingly violent. Whatever was in there would be here in seconds.
Fuck it.
He grabbed Georgina’s hand and sprinted for the van, practically throwing her into the vehicle as the grasses parted and a millipede the size of a bull came crashing out of the thicket.
Hardy jumped in behind Georgina and thumped the metal side. “Go. Go. Go.”
The mama millipede undulated across the rocky ground toward them, jaws sawing in continuous motion. Legs the blue-black color of steel were a slashing blur.
The engine revved and the ice-cream van lurched away from the approaching alien as fast as its awkward boxy shape would allow.
Hardy turned his attention toward the front of the cab. The man shot him another fraudulent grin as he steered away from the charging insect.
“Welcome. I’m Mathew.”
36
Georgina hung on as Mathew floored the van and accelerated away from the rail depot. He shot her a wink she didn’t know what to do with. She made do with a watery smile. It seemed a decent compromise while Hardy glowered in the far corner, his eyebrows knotted above distrustful eyes.
“Names?” His face was ridiculously perky.
She touched her breastbone. “Georgina. And Hardy.”
She rubbed her upper arms. The river water had chilled her right through, and it couldn’t be more than a few degrees above freezing outside.
“We’re soaking. You got anything dry?”
Mathew jerked his head to one of the chiller cabinets. “In there, missy.”
Georgina slid the glass open. The cabinet contained several blankets. She tugged one gratefully around her shoulders and tossed the other to Hardy, but he appeared uninterested, studying the speeding landscape slipping past.
“I don’t bump into many folks nowadays. Most people have gone to ground or they’re just not…trustworthy, are they?” He slapped the steering wheel. “I’m happy as a cow in clover to have some company.”
>
Georgina arrowed a stare at Hardy. His eyebrows were almost on the top of his head.
She clenched the ripped plastic seat. “Thanks for helping us out.” She elbowed Hardy, and he grunted. She grinned at Mathew’s face in the rearview mirror. “We’re both really grateful.” She shot him a thumbs-up.
“Fuck’s sake, Georgina,” Hardy murmured.
She ignored him and plastered a shopping channel smile on her face that she didn’t feel, determined to make the best of a crappy situation. They were already in the van. Chance taken. “Where you headed?”
Mathew bobbed his head from side to side in indecision. “Where the wind takes me. You?”
Hardy suddenly straightened in his seat and pointed out the windscreen as the Prince of Wales Bridge loomed into view. The structure was still completely uncrossable, a blockade of dead Chittrix in the center of the road.
There was no sign of the Jackal, Natalie, Mabe, or Foster. Her shoulders caved. Figures. “They’re gone,” she muttered under her breath.
Hardy tensed beside her. Something had piqued his interest.
“What is it?” She was failing miserably to keep the frustration out her voice.
Hardy stabbed a finger in the direction of a crumbling brick wall that marked the end of the industrial estate closest to the bridge.
Spray paint trailed a line of bright red across the brick.
F. M. N.
The letters were daubed above a rough approximation of a scorpion figure. A Scutter.
Georgina slapped a hand across her mouth, her vision blurring briefly before she blinked and wiped the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. Damn, damn, damn. They were alive.
“Does that mean something?” Mathew asked. He’d slowed the van, his face alert and interested.
“Our friends. They made it across this bridge. We were separated when we were attacked by Chittrix.” She fumbled in her pocket for Hardy’s excuse for a tissue and blew her nose loudly. Natalie, Mabe, Foster. All alive.
Hardy Page 15