by T. M. Catron
Solomon faced the crowd. “Why would the boy tell you the Glyphs had spies if he was one of them?”
“That’s right,” Mina said, hurrying to think of something she could say to clear Evan. “Iverson was just using him.”
“For what?” someone else yelled.
Mina glanced at Doyle. His look held a warning.
Lincoln was looking at Doyle as well. “Why would the Glyphs use a child when they could use grown men? Anyway, it’s easy enough to tell. The symbols mark their chests.” He looked at Evan now.
Solomon nodded. “Show them they have nothing to worry about, Evan.”
The crowd stood breathless, the air heavy with expectancy.
“This is crazy,” said Mina. “He doesn’t have anything to prove. Why would Iverson’s gang have left Evan here if he was one of them?”
But Evan was already removing his black t-shirt. Beneath it, his ribs protruded from his pale chest. Anyone could see he didn’t have the adarre.
“There,” said Lincoln, turning to the first man.
“He could have them elsewhere. Why are you defending him? He’s a stranger to you, isn’t he?”
Lincoln towered over the man. “Again, why would the Glyphs use children?”
The man stepped back. “You know,” he called, “we didn’t have any trouble until we started accepting strangers into camp.” The crowd murmured again.
“That’s right,” said Marty, pushing his way to the front. “We had it all worked out, then people wanted us to share what we’d found, to take advantage. No one helped us when we needed it. We were turned away. But we accepted strangers because we felt it was right. Turns out we can’t trust anyone.” He stared at Mina and then Lincoln.
“Marty,” said Mina, “What could we possibly have had to do with this?”
“You tell me. I think we need to check everyone right now.”
“What?” Mina asked.
“This is crazy,” Lincoln said. “If Iverson’s buddies killed him, and they haven’t returned, why would we think more people were spies?”
“Could be that his buddies didn’t do it. Someone else could have killed him and driven off the others.”
“But we saw them leave,” Lincoln said.
Alvarez appeared from behind him. “That’s right,” she said. “They left calmly. No one was chasing them.”
“So you say,” said the first man, “but how do I know it wasn’t you?”
The whole crowd talked at once. They pressed closer around Mina and Doyle, separating them from Lincoln. She glanced at Doyle again and wondered why he didn’t talk to her through the adarre. But he was watching the crowd.
“I still say we need to check everyone right now,” said Marty.
“I agree,” said Helen, standing at the rim of the mob, her hair out of its usual ponytail, her clothing rumpled. “And we need to start with her.” She pointed at Mina.
“What?!” Lincoln said. He moved to stand with Mina, but the crowd wouldn't give way.
“Why me?” asked Mina. Doyle’s arm brushed hers, but she didn’t take her eyes off Helen.
“You were the first to come here. Iverson and his friends showed up right when you did.”
“Yes,” said Evan.
Stunned, Mina stared at him.
“She threatened me,” he continued, “with her gun.”
A sickening jolt ran from Mina’s heart to her gut. “Evan . . .”
Solomon looked curiously at Mina. Lincoln and Alvarez did too. Only Doyle remained watching the crowd.
“What are you talking about?” Solomon asked Evan.
“A few days ago she tried to corner me.” Evan stood up straight and glared at Mina. “She drew her gun and told me to stay away from Iverson. She tried to make it look like she was concerned, but when she pulled out the gun, I knew she had something else in mind. Then I heard from her brother that Iverson was a spy. It all fits. She didn’t want me to find out about them—that’s why she wanted me to stay away!”
“My sister’s not a spy!” yelled Lincoln, taking a step toward Evan. Marty put a hand on his chest.
Solomon raised the rifle a little higher. “Is it true, Mina?” he asked. “Did you point a gun at my grandson?”
Lie. Her word against Evan’s. Solomon would believe her. The knife. Evan’s knife. Tell them.
“Yes,” she said.
Lincoln looked confused. The crowd only talked louder, repeating what was happening to those who stood in the back.
“He pulled his knife on me!” No one heard her.
“He’s a child!” yelled Marty.
Solomon jumped in, betrayal registering in his blue eyes. “A minute ago y’all were willing to believe that Evan was a spy. Don’t pretend to care for him now!”
Helen pushed her way to Marty’s side. “Then let’s end this. Obviously she can’t be trusted, or anyone else associated with her.” She glared at Lincoln and Alvarez. “They defended the Army when soldiers shot my daughter and her husband in the back. We don’t owe them anything. They need to prove they are who they say they are!”
Mina now turned to Helen, dumbstruck. What? Her daughter was the one who died? Why didn’t anyone say anything?
The crowd agreed with Helen. A man behind Lincoln tried to grab him, but Lincoln elbowed him in the face. Another man grabbed Mina’s wrist. In turn, Doyle grabbed the man’s arm and wrenched it back, forcing him to let go. He then forced the man to his knees and held him there, looking at the crowd, which paused at this new development.
“Let the others go,” commanded Doyle, his gun still at his side.
“Who are you?” asked Helen.
“There’s no one else left here to worry about. Let these people leave. They were only trying to protect you.”
Mina scanned the ugly faces around her. The mob pressed closer. She still couldn’t see Nelson or Carter. Six against how many lodgers? Two hundred? Even Doyle cannot overcome so many, she thought.
The mob seemed to realize this as soon as Mina did. Several called for those closest to grab the strange man who held one of their own. Mina looked to appeal to Solomon, but he was somewhere behind the people pressing forward. Someone else grabbed Mina’s left arm from behind, pinching it painfully in a strong grip. In the next second, Doyle let go of the man at his feet and pressed his gun to the other man’s temple—Jake.
“Don’t,” Doyle said. Jake let go, but the lodgers smelled blood. Several guns clicked. When she glanced around, every weapon in camp was pointed at them. Even Solomon aimed his rifle at Doyle. Doyle held his own weapon to Jake’s head.
“Wait!” said Mina. “We’re leaving! All of us. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Leave so you can bring the enemy to our door?” someone yelled.
“No!” Mina turned slowly, terrified someone would misinterpret the movement for a threat.
“Yes!” yelled Doyle. “If you don’t let us go, we’ll call down the invaders on you!” His voice rang with authority.
Mina gaped at him.
Doyle’s eyes locked with hers.
Everyone needed to get out.
“All of you leave!” she shouted. “Right now! Invaders are coming!”
***
Calla crept through trees above the lodge. The Condarri were here. Already they moved around the lodge, closing it in. Doyle would not escape. She found her vantage point and gazed down at the parking lot.
He wasn't faring well, anyway. Ringed in by a mob of humans, guns pointed at him and that woman. Calla unslung the rifle from her shoulder and took aim. She just had to ensure no one killed him before the Condarri arrived.
***
Lincoln stared at Doyle and Mina. They had turned into something strange. Of course Doyle was a mole for the invaders. Lincoln hadn’t wanted to think about it, considering how attached Mina
was to him.
But she knew what Doyle was. Had to. And she didn’t seem to mind. Lincoln watched the woman standing next to Doyle as if seeing her for the first time. She looked hard and strong. Mina had always been opinionated, even radical at times, but she stood now with a different kind of confidence. Lincoln couldn’t quite figure it out. Her voice sounded different now too, with a hint of steel in it.
Secretly he thought they had both gone mad. But if they had a plan for getting out, Lincoln wasn’t going to hinder it. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “That’s right,” he said. “You need to listen to them.”
Alvarez nudged him with her elbow, but he ignored it and tried to look like he knew what was going on.
“Lower your weapons!” Doyle said. “Now!” A few did.
They believe him, Lincoln thought. This might work.
Solomon leveled his rifle at Doyle. “It’s a trick,” he said. “Don’t let your guard down.”
“It’s not,” said Doyle. “If you don’t let us go, we’ll all die here. They’re on their way.”
“Did you know about this all along, Mina?” Solomon asked.
Mina craned her head to see him. She found his eyes and looked at him, but didn’t answer.
“Why didn’t you warn us?”
“I tried,” she said.
“Enough!” shouted Helen. “Why are they still standing? We know what they are now. You!” She pointed at Mina. “Pretending to have found us by mistake. To have survived by chance. And all along you were leading them to us. Ready to take over what we worked hard to claim!”
“I did not bring Iverson here!” Mina said.
Helen glared at her. “Get them out of here.”
The crowd obeyed. They jostled and shoved Lincoln and Alvarez toward Mina. Nelson and Carter must have been somewhere behind, but Lincoln didn’t know where. Doyle still held his man, gun pressed to temple. Lincoln was grateful Doyle had the sense not to shoot while they were surrounded by weapons.
“Enough!” Doyle shouted and pushed the gun into the man’s head. The man winced.
He’ll kill him, Lincoln thought, like Baker.
Solomon pushed through to the front. Lincoln used the distraction to actually count the number of weapons. Only about ten people carried guns. The rest had pocket knives and sticks. Ten guns against Doyle’s one.
“Let that man go,” said Solomon.
“No,” answered Doyle. He forced him to his knees and stared at Solomon. “I will kill him if you come nearer. Do you want that on your conscience? Put down your weapons.”
“Put them down, Solomon!” the captive said.
Then the man’s body snapped back, blood spattering on Doyle and Mina. A gunshot echoed through the parking lot as his body slumped to the ground, bleeding from a wound in his neck. A woman screamed and ran forward. What had Doyle done?
But Doyle and Mina looked up to the ridge. Doyle, whose gun had been pointed at the man’s temple, could not have shot him in the neck. Lincoln jerked his gaze into the surrounding trees too.
They were the only ones to look up. The mob swarmed over them. Solomon pointed his rifle right at Doyle. Another shot cracked the air, and Solomon crumpled beside Lincoln, dead before he hit the ground. Lincoln tried to spot the shooter, but the mob pulled him to the ground too. Someone stepped on his injured leg, sending fiery pain into his hip. Hands and arms grabbed every limb. The lodgers began dragging him across the rough gravel.
“Lincoln!” Mina shouted.
“I’m here! Get off me!” He swung at his attackers, but he was no match for the six strong men who dragged him to the hotel door. Rough gravel dug into his back. “Cowards!” he shouted.
They tried to pull him through the open door, but Lincoln hooked his hand onto the doorframe and twisted his body, fighting for every inch. Someone kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Another shot. A woman shrieked. What was going on? Then Lincoln’s attackers stopped, their attention caught by something on the mountain behind them. Then, without another glance at Lincoln, they dropped him and scattered. Panting, he pulled himself up to a sitting position.
A ship glided silently over them, looking like a floating wall of dark polished stone. Lincoln had never seen one of the alien ships up close, and the shadow moving over the lodge filled him with dread. Doyle had been telling the truth.
Despite the terror washing over him, part of Lincoln’s brain continued to analyze the ship. It flew silently with no visible engines. Now that it was positioned directly overhead, the stone looked perfectly solid. How did stone fly?
The air crackled. Lincoln reached for the metal doorpost to get up. It shocked him, the static discharge tingling all the way up his arm to his mouth, leaving a buzzing in his tongue.
“Lincoln!”
He climbed to his feet. Alvarez was running for him.
“Why haven’t they attacked yet?” he asked, looking at the monstrosity above.
“I don’t know,” she said, grabbing his arm, “but this is our chance to get out!”
Lincoln looked down at her from his daze. He vaguely registered people running around, away from him, toward him, toward the trees. “Where’s Mina?”
***
When Solomon had fallen, Mina tried to run to him, but Doyle grabbed her around the waist, half-carrying her to hide behind the hotel.
She stood with her back to the brick, crying. “Who shot him?”
“Calla,” said Doyle grimly. “She’s hiding up there like a sniper.”
Mina turned and slammed the palm of her right hand against the brick wall. Her hand stung as the skin opened with the blow. But the pain didn’t come close to matching her hatred for Calla. The hybrid seemed determined to destroy everyone Mina cared about. She pounded the brick a few more times with her fists, sobbing. Blood oozed from her wounds.
Doyle grabbed her hands. “Stop!”
“Why does it matter!” she screamed at him. “What’s the frickin point?”
“Don’t throw it all away now!” He held her wrists, keeping her away from the wall.
Mina inhaled shakily, willing herself to calm down. Refusing to let go, Doyle watched her for several moments.
People shouted as they tried to find each other. Others grabbed handfuls of belongings and supplies and stood at the end of the parking lot, waiting to bolt up the mountain. Some had already run into the trees. The slamming of doors reached them behind the hotel. Doyle shook his head.
“They don’t have a choice, Doyle.”
He released her wrists. Mina pulled a kerchief from her pocket and wrapped it around her bleeding right hand. Doyle scanned the trees above them.
“Can Calla see us here?” she asked.
“Don’t think so.”
“Why haven’t they attacked?”
Day 110 Fight
CALLA STOOD LOOKING DOWN ON the lodge from her vantage point. Three bodies lay below. She had shot the first one to let Doyle know she was there. The second had pointed his rifle directly at Doyle, and Calla couldn’t have anyone kill him before she turned him over to the Condarri. Doyle had shot a third man as he carried that woman around the building. No doubt he was looking for an opportunity to hide in the forest. But the Condarri were tightening the circle while Calla covered the open space on the front two sides of the lodge. Doyle would not escape.
***
Doyle pulled off his pack and dropped it to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Mina asked.
His face had tightened, eyebrows knitting together. He shoved his rifle into her hands. More people began running past them into the trees. “Stay here until you find an opportunity to run safely. Wait until all these groups are gone. Then take my pack with you if you can, but don’t let it slow you down.”
Whatever he said, Mina wasn’t leaving without Lincoln—or him. She reluctantly grasped the rifle. “Where are you going?”
“T
o finish something.”
***
People below ran over each other to gather their gear. A woman even stopped to break down a tent while the man with her fought another over a bedroll. This would have been easier if there were no humans, but if Calla burned the lodge, Doyle would use the smoke and fire to escape. She also needed to make sure he didn’t disguise himself in the crowd.
Doyle’s voice echoed in her mind.
He appeared down below in the shadow of the hotel, his gaze fixed on Calla. People ran around him, unconcerned with the pistol in his hand. He tossed it to the side and beckoned her.
His motion triggered memories of fighting together, underground and on the dais. Doyle flooded her mind with the images of their fights, but only the ones she had won. He was baiting her. He wanted a fight.
And so did she. Calla tossed her rifle aside and sprang out of the tree, hitting the ground at a run. In two minutes she had slid down the mountain and stood at the edge of the gravel, watching Doyle. He waited beneath the Condarri ship’s shadow. They didn't have much time. The Condarri would soon be standing here with them. And then Calla would go to her death. She only wanted to deal out justice to this one last traitor before she died. And she wanted to do it with her bare hands. Even if he killed her now, the Condarri would soon deal with his rogue heart.
They met at the edge of the tents, just out of arm’s reach. Doyle would attack first this time, but he didn't circle Calla or make a move. He swept his gaze over her newly shaved head. “Why did you go after Morse?” he asked quietly.
“He was a traitor. You know this.”
“But why did you do it?”
“Every hybrid should have begged for the opportunity to catch him. Yet I was the only one loyal enough to deal with him.”
“And loyalty is all you care about?”
“It is all that matters.”
“The Condarri are not loyal to you. What do you think will happen in a few minutes when they drag away my body? You’ll die, Calla.”