Hardy

by Theresa Beachman

  Every second he waited meant Georgina was being taken further away from him. He gritted his teeth and barreled out of the bush and across the road as fast and as noiselessly as his battered body allowed. He ran to the passenger’s side and kicked the front door wide. He dipped and swung into position, his knife aimed at the driver.

  A woman.

  Instantly, his grip on the knife relaxed.

  Fuck. She was slumped in the driver’s seat, her eyes open and unseeing. One half of her face drooped, devoid of expression. Stroke? Perhaps. She was young. No more than thirty-five. Hardy pocketed his knife and took a step back, his breathing ragged and irregular. He wiped a palm across his eyes.

  Fuck.

  He reached in and touched her wrist. Still warm. She hadn’t been dead long.

  Was she on her own? Gloom pressed all around the car. If anyone else was out there, they were concealed by shadows and shifting branches. His eyes cut to the back of the car. A stuffed elephant. A pair of toy cars. A kid?

  Shit. That was the last thing he needed right now.

  He withdrew and paced round the car, but the road was empty. Nothing moved. He could be searching for hours but he didn’t have hours. Time was running out. Mathew wasn’t going to keep Georgina around once he had whatever it was he wanted.

  Shit. How much fuel was in the car? He eyeballed the fuel gauge. Over half a tank. More than enough.

  For a moment, he was paralyzed by indecision, and then the living took precedence. He opened the driver’s door, reached in, and unclipped the woman’s seatbelt. It retracted, slipping free of her body with a hiss of synthetic nylon.

  Hardy braced himself. He’d need to lift her out.

  “Get away from her.” Cold steel pressed to his temple.

  Hardy raised his hands. “I’m not armed.” The voice was young. Stressed. He straightened slowly and turned to face his adversary.

  As he suspected. Only a child. A young boy stood in front of him, an ancient handgun clasped in his thin hands. The gun wavered as the kid licked his lips. “Move away from her.”

  He was thin, his cheekbones too visible, his eyes too large for his head. His torso was thicker, but it was an illusion; the kid was wearing several layers of clothes. Thin fingers grasped the gun, shaking with the effort.

  Hardy spoke softly. He only had one chance not to fuck this up. “I’m not going to hurt her or you.”

  The boy shook his head, his eyes welling with tears, and he gestured with the gun. “I said, get away from her.”

  Hardy took a step forward. “Give me the gun.”

  “Get away!” The boy cocked the gun and fired, the bullet clipping Hardy’s ear and thudding into a tree on the far side of the road.

  Shit. Hardy hit the ground, heart pounding, shock delaying the pain from his ear. He really fucking didn’t have time for this. “Are you shooting at me? Seriously?” He raised his hand to his ear. It was fucking bleeding. Thanks to some seven-year-old.

  The boy was chanting now, his voice high-pitched and reedy. “She was fine. She was fine.”

  Hardy cradled his head, pressing the heel of his hand to his mangled ear. Failure was not an option. Not finding Georgina was not a fucking option. Losing any more of his bloody ear was not an option. “She’s not fine now. Put the gun down,” he shouted. Damn, it was shitty yelling at a child who’d just lost someone.

  He stole a glance from his defensive position. Right now, the kid was staring at the woman in the car, his gun pointing away from Hardy.

  Hardy snatched his advantage, launched himself up, and tackled the youngster to the ground. He wrenched the gun from spindly fingers and flattened the boy with his torso. It was like rolling on a kitten. A muffled squawk emanated from underneath.

  Shit, he was probably squashing him to death.

  He shifted immediately and hauled his small attacker up to his feet by the scruff of his neck. The small person thrashed in his grip, arms and legs spiraling out of control, glaring at him with wide, scared eyes though his chin was set. Spunky.

  Bony hands grappled for the gun. “Gimme my gun back.”

  “No. You’re too young to be using a gun.” Hardy tucked the gun in the back of his waistband, still holding him by his scrawny neck. “Look, I’m sorry about—”

  A shoe scraped down Hardy’s shin in a vicious strike. Hardy gasped as fireworks exploded in his leg to join the pain party in his ear.

  “What the—”

  The boy bucked and broke free of his grip, running to the far side of the road where he plunged into the bushes and out of sight.

  Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Hardy hopped on one leg, rubbing the offending bone. One-upped by an ankle-biter. Dammit.

  Right, that was it. He’d given the kid a chance, but clearly he wanted to play hard. If that was what he wanted, so be it.

  His shin throbbing and his ear still leaking blood, Hardy reached into the car and grabbed the keys.

  It took him about ten minutes to get the woman out of the car. He was painfully aware he was being watched, so he took extra care to be gentle with her body. He laid her on the side of the road where there was a small depression and the grass was soft. Then he tucked a cardigan he’d found in the trunk under her head and covered her body with her coat. He kneeled for a moment, his knuckles resting in the dirt. He hoped she was at peace now. Sorry lady, it’s all I’ve got.

  He climbed back into the car and turned the ignition. All the dials lit up in a blaze of modern technology. Hardy checked his watch. It’d been over an hour since he found the car, but with the half tank, he could get to Brackla without stopping.

  Finally. Something was going his way.

  He did a three-point turn till the car was pointing in the direction he was headed. West.

  He sat for a moment, the engine idling, then he climbed out and walked to the trunk, his boots splashed red from the car’s sidelights. He had no idea which direction he should be facing. Raising his voice would have to do. “Kid. I’m going now. I can’t wait. There’s… Someone needs me. I have to go help her.” Hardy pinched the skin on the bridge of his nose as he waited for a reply that wasn’t going to come. What was he doing, standing out here explaining himself to a seven-year-old who’d tried to shoot his head off?

  Christ.

  He waited a few more minutes, the wind sharp on his damaged ear. Shit. He patted at it with his cuff. The bleeding had slowed, and he’d seen it was only a nick in the car wing mirror, but it still hurt like hell.

  Another minute. The kid wasn’t coming. Fine.

  He put the car into first.

  A scrawny figure filled his rear mirror. About fifty feet back.

  Fuck.

  Hardy leaned over and shoved the passenger door open. Cold air blew in, fighting the warmth from the car’s heater.

  The ragged figure ran and climbed in, wiping snot from his nose with the back of his hand. He slammed the door shut and folded his arms across his chest, his knees tucked up under his chin.

  Hardy put his foot down and changed gear. “Put your seatbelt on,” he growled. “I drive fast.”

  42

  Georgina was on her last legs. She had no idea how long they’d been walking, but the sky had shifted from cold blue to a pinkish haze. Night was fast approaching, and they still hadn’t found the Brackla bunker. Which stood to reason, the damn thing was underground and a MOD secret. Beyond the warning at the edge of the forest, it wasn’t going to be signposted.

  Behind her, Mathew’s tone was becoming increasingly irate, the jab of the gun in her spine more vicious. He was pissed that she didn’t know exactly where the bunker was and that they were likely going in circles.

  When they finally topped a small hill, Georgina sank to her knees, her chin bumping her breastbone. Her muscles shook from the endless exertion and the remnants of whatever Mathew had drugged her with. Her mouth was parched. “I need to rest.” Moisture from the soggy ground seeped into the knees of her pants. Agony pulsed through her entire l
eft side. She was pretty sure she’d broken a rib.

  “Five minutes.” Mathew took a swig from his water bottle without offering her anything.

  Bastard.

  A dribble of water ran down his chin and darkened the ground. She stared at the damp spot. Her mouth still hadn’t recovered from the moisture-sucking abrasion of the gag. The inside of her cheeks was dry as a bone, her tongue like old rope.

  He stabbed at the map, his voice rising, the tendons in his neck taut. “Fuckers are here. Somewhere.”

  Georgina bit down on her lower lip. This wild goose chase wasn’t going to have a good ending. If they didn’t find the base, Mathew would have no reason to keep her alive. Right now she was collateral to trade for whatever he wanted from Garrick and the others. But if he didn’t find them…

  Mathew was striding around the small copse, taking his bearings from the extra height their vantage point gave them. He scribbled on the map with a pencil, briefly ignoring her, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  The absence of his scrutiny for even a few minutes was a welcome respite. She closed her eyes, gathering her dwindling reserve of strength. Soon, she’d be too weak to escape.

  Her mind raced. Hardy was alive. If he was dead, she’d know, wouldn’t she? Her throat constricted as she considered that reality. There’d been a brief delay before Mathew got in the van. She was pretty sure he went back to the cave. Sweat at the base of her spine was suddenly chilly and her stomach gave a slow nauseating roll.

  “There.” Mathew pointed with a dirt-rimmed nail toward the horizon where the sun was preparing to give up on Earth’s devastation for another night. “It’s the only part of the woods we haven’t covered. We keep going west. It has to be down there.”

  “It’s hidden. You’ll never find it.” The words were out before she could stop them, and his retort across her mouth was as fast, the rough edge of his gold signet ring slicing deep into the flesh of her lip. Hot blood burst in her mouth and invaded her nose with salty bubbles. Georgina coughed and spat on the grass.

  He bent down and grabbed her hair. His voice was low and full of venom. “If I want your fucking opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

  “Finish me off. If you killed him, why don’t you kill me too and be done with it?”

  Mathew’s eyes glittered with lunacy. “Everyone needs a little collateral in this new world and you’re mine. Once we find your friends, they’ll be bending over backward to get you back.” He tucked the map into his hip pocket, hooked a rough hand into her elbow, and hauled her violently to her feet.

  She ran her tongue along her lacerated lip. She had nothing to lose anymore. “They’re not my friends.”

  His eyes narrowed and he stepped up to her, invading her body space, breathing into her hair as he leaned close to her ear. “You can’t mess with my head, bitch. So don’t bother trying.” He released her with a rough shrug.

  He turned his attention to the sky, muttering under his breath. Far in the distance, a formation of Chittrix was visible, the first night-hunting packs carving through the sky.

  Georgina scanned the hill while he was distracted. It sloped steeply then was enveloped by a band of thick trees. Many were dead. Thick, rubbery vines had contracted around them, rupturing the trunks into splintered posts. It wasn’t hard to imagine that in a few years, here at least, the native fauna would be eradicated.

  It was a fucking bleak place to die. But, she could die on his terms or her own.

  Mathew’s back was turned to her.

  Now or never.

  Georgina took off, her legs a rattling train wreck as she careened down the steep slope she’d climbed only ten minutes before. If she could make it to the tree line, she’d have a chance. She could disappear, hide in the undergrowth, burrow into the mud. Anything was better than facing death at the hands of the lunatic who’d brought her here.

  She tripped and nearly fell, but staggered on, her breath dragging in and out like sandpaper. The exhilaration of being away from Mathew brought new life to her limbs and she bolted on the last reserves of energy her body had to give. This was it. This was her last chance.

  She crashed through bushes at the bottom of the incline. Thorns snagged her clothes and hacked at her thighs and upper arms. Blood welled in streaks on any exposed skin, but she felt nothing, her mind laser-focused on straight ahead.

  Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

  Her heart pounded and her stomach was a hard rock, as adrenalin powered through her in brutal waves.

  Trees and bushes rose high in front of her, blocking her path. Fuck, Where do I go? She lunged forward, head ducked to disappear into the undergrowth.

  “Bitch.” His voice cracked loud and sharp behind her like a whip. He thrashed through the undergrowth behind her, his bigger body making much more noise.

  God, he’s close. Too close. Her vision shimmered. Branches whipped her face, lashed her throat.

  “Bitch. Fucking come back here now. I’m going to kill you when I get my hands on you.” His voice rose in pitch. “I’m going to kill you fucking slowly, inch by inch. And then when I’m finished, I’m going to cut you into pieces and feed you to the fucking Scutters.”

  Something snagged her foot and she pitched headfirst into a spiked bush. Her shoulder smacked into a rough branch, and she keeled over in a dizzying spin, crunching against her broken rib. She landed flat on her back, the hammer of her heart threatening to shatter her remaining ribs.

  Die. God, this was how she was going to die. Alone.

  Above, fading sky was visible in a leafy gap. She focused on a scudding cloud, on her breath, desperate for something to harness herself to, before she detonated from pain.

  The labored rasp of his breathing was close. The hack of his knife against branches and stems made a wet slicing sound that made the skin on the back of her neck creep.

  Leaves squelched into mud next to her shoulder. His boot.

  She dug her teeth into her lacerated lip, squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing herself not to scream.

  The boot moved on, slower this time. He was listening for her. But he’d been close and hadn’t seen her. Maybe she could do this. Survive. She’d just stay here till he walked off the hill and died somewhere.

  She opened her eyes.

  A spider hung above her.

  Georgina went rigid. It was the size of a fucking basketball.

  Jet-black with crimson slashes down each of its multi-jointed legs. Its limbs contracted and flexed in a rasping, slow motion ballet. A cluster of reflective, globular eyes stared unblinking at her, surrounded by thick, stubby bristles.

  The air locked in her throat. Her eyes stung, her lids paralyzed. Mathew was nearby. If she broke now, he’d catch her.

  The spider stopped its descent, now only inches from her breastbone. It was so close tiny hairs were visible on each leg. Her reflection stared wide-eyed at her in the protruding orbs that passed for eyes. A breeze swirled through the bush, and the spider spun, rotating above her like a freakish baby mobile. Her skin contracted around her bones, recoiling from the ghoulish creature.

  Ohmigodmigomigod.

  Her brain seized. Her eyes were drying out, but if she closed them, it might touch her.

  Oh God.

  Its back was heaving with babies. A fucking congregation of baby spiders, each the size of a golf ball, crawling over the adult spider’s body in a scraping river of barbed, black legs and beady eyes.

  Ancestral fight or flight kicked in. She rolled, out of the bush and onto the path, not stopping till she struck a tree trunk. Searing agony blasted her ribcage, choking her. She blinked through tear-blurred eyes. The thronging spider-thingy wasn’t above her anymore. She scrabbled to her feet, aware of the racket she was making, but too petrified to care. If she took too long, that thing was going to come firing out of the bush and disgorge its babies onto her. Jesus.

  She bolted, no longer caring where she went as long as it was away.

  A shout ec
hoed behind her. Male. She almost fell. How’d he gotten in front of her so quickly? She swerved and veered in a new direction, her feet catching on every root and stone, her balance shot to shit because she didn’t have her hands free to counterbalance her out of control, seesawing motion.

  Ahead, a glimmer of light beckoned. Georgina sprinted, her muscles running on empty. She stumbled into the light. A clearing. Grass. Fucking normal green grass from Earth carpeted the ground. She spun in a crazy circle, desperately checking the ground for golf-ball-sized spiders. Where was Mathew? Which direction?

  Mathew exploded out of the trees right in front of her and skidded to a halt.

  A grin cracked his face and he reached for the buckle of his belt. He slid the leather out the belt loops, then slowly across his palm, his eyes never leaving her.

  His voice hummed with grim satisfaction. “Come here, bitch.”

  43

  Georgina retreated, her breathing panicky and shallow. There was nowhere to go. Just trees, and scrub and hill. She had nothing left. Wherever she ran now, he’d catch her.

  “Shall I beat you first or cut to the chase and enjoy that sweet body of yours?” Sadistic intent darkened his eyes and contorted his face.

  “Stay away from me.” She retreated from him. A burst of dandelion seeds, disturbed by something behind her, floated between them. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Her voice broke, catching as he stepped closer, the stink of his sweat invading her nostrils.

  Her heel stubbed a rock, and she fell heavily on her backside, jolting her injured rib. Tears flooded her eyes and nausea rushed through her. God, no. Her fingers dug deep into the moist soil.

  This couldn’t be it. After everything she’d survived. And Hardy. She’d only just found him and she was going to die at the hands of this—

  Mathew loomed above her, his lips scraped back from his teeth.