Cole suppressed the shudder rising up his spine as he gaped at the immense alien carrying a heavy rifle. Cole cringed with the certain knowledge of what would happen if it detected them.
As they neared their target, part of him wanted to leave, to abandon the plan.
This wasn’t as simple as being pursued by a couple of drones or an exchange of bullets with a few humans on the wrong side of the fight. This was sneaking onto an alien spacecraft, a god damned alien spacecraft, and most likely never coming home again.
He didn’t know what hurt more about that: the very real concept of his own mortality or the selfish feelings of what he’d lose if he didn’t come back. He’d had nothing for most of his life, not since Tom left him alone to wander the country in search of somewhere to hide, but now he had things. Important things.
He had a brother. He’d had an uncle for a while. He had Soares, whatever the man meant to him because he hadn’t quite figured it out himself yet, and he had Lina. Hell, they had a dog together.
With no more time to reflect on what a monumentally stupid decision he was making for his own existence, Soares dragged him upright and propelled him toward the open door. He moved, gun up and barrel searching, and felt the presence of Soares right on his shoulder and the cold metal of the Tracker bumping his right calf muscle intermittently as he dashed over the uneven ground.
They rushed up the ramp, shoved onwards by Soares behind him, and stopped as his boots clanged on the hard, metal deck of the ship’s interior. He couldn’t see the end of his gun in the intense darkness of the unlit space.
Soares kept nudging Cole along, but the backpack nuke was heavy, and Cole went with great caution, not wanting to disrupt the device. He dropped to a knee and whispered into the darkness.
“Go in front of us. Switch to night-vision mode.”
It took Cole a second to realize he wasn’t talking to him, and in that second, the Tracker squeezed past them at the same time Soares was pulling the tablet free from inside his vest. The dull light of the screen illuminated Soares’ concerned face, distracting Cole from their surroundings as he stared at the man’s features for any early warning of whatever lurked in the gloom ready to rip them apart.
“There,” Soares whispered. He walked forward, reaching out with his left hand to grip a handle and draw the door aside.
The drone entered, text appearing on the screen to tell them the chamber was empty. Soares lowered the tablet and went through the entrance, reaching behind him to pull Cole inside and shut the door behind them. He set the bulky pack to the deck, treating it with the care it deserved, given the destructive capabilities contained within the unassuming package. Soares took a seat, facing the door.
“Can we lock it?” Cole whispered. Soares had no answer, nor did he have the chance to give one before the Tracker turned and issued a sound like moving gears. The lower section of its head hinged free like a dog opening its mouth, and a small prong whirred forward to connect to a terminal socket in the wall.
Cole panicked for a second, thinking that the thing had reconnected to the alien network, before he figured that the thing was always listening to them and had anticipated the answer.
The lock audibly clicked into place. Cole leaned over Soares to see the screen, reading along with SW-18’s feed.
[DOOR LOCK SECURE]
[OVERRIDE CONTROLS AVAILABLE TO HUMAN USER]
[CHARGING…]
The Tracker sagged, folding its legs beneath its chassis.
“Can you, I dunno, hack in to the ship systems or anything?” he asked the inert drone, prompting it to power up and stand before the response appeared on the screen.
[UNABLE TO COMPLY – SECURITY PROTOCOL IN PLACE]
“Can you at least see where we’re going?”
[UNABLE TO COMPLY – SECURITY PROTOCOL IN PLACE]
“What can you find out from the ship systems?” Soares asked, searching for the right question.
[SHIP DESIGNATION – hyõ9çvXqÇ6Ä$]
The list of symbols meant nothing to them, and the tablet didn’t translate the alien glyphs.
“Destination? Crew roster? ETA?” Soares tried.
[UNABLE TO COMPLY – SECURITY PROTOCOL IN PLACE]
“Forget it,” Soares said, leaning over in exhaustion. “Keep charging. Warn us if there are any aliens in the cargo sections,” he instructed. Cole looked at the tablet and saw the response of [CHARGING…] appear as the drone tucked itself in again. Cole took the device from Soares’ hands as the older man lapsed into an almost sleep-like state after the terror of sneaking on the ship.
He swiped away the interface with the drone, freaked at seeing the live image of the room they were in from a different perspective, and switched to the map option using two fingers as he scrolled out to show the whole continent. He saw nothing, no other icons denoting their forces, and felt his breath come faster as he scanned out even further to swipe the image of the entire globe around to find nothing.
Panicking for real now, he nudged Soares with a sharp elbow until he jostled to alertness and asked what the problem was.
“I can't find anyone,” Cole breathed, his voice cracking.
“Open the comms,” Soares ordered. He did, sending out a message to Alec, to Lina and Monet, to Zhao… nothing. None of them showed as being able to receive any communications, which could’ve meant any one of ten different things.
“What do we do?” Cole asked in disbelief.
“What can we do?” Soares answered. “Wanna give up? Go home and see if anyone’s still alive? Maybe go live in the woods and hope to die of old age?”
“No,” Cole answered, so distressed that he was close to tears and almost sobbed the word.
“So strap in, kid. Let’s finish these assholes for good.”
Chapter 26
Dex
The others had a few days’ head start after the evacuation of the base in California, but Dex noticed that not much had been done in the last week. At least superficially. The Reclaimers had set a base there years before, but had left when they thought it might have been compromised. From the looks of things, it had to be two decades since anyone had inhabited the area. Everything was in disrepair, the cabin roofs half caved in, the entire camp needed some serious TLC.
“Good choice,” Dex had told Bethany, one of the few survivors from Zhao’s last stand, when they first arrived. She was young and would have been born after the invasion, but she had the kind of eyes that had seen too much.
“Tom used to say that these old camps were the best sites. Ones like this could house five hundred kids on any given summer weekend, and they are already equipped with a mess hall, doctor’s office, and everything else you could need for a temporary establishment,” she’d said.
They’d already told everyone about the base back home, and the west coast facility residents mourned their leader, Gregory Zhao. The Freeborn, and all the ex-workers, along with the Roamers, had gathered around the lake that first night and held a ceremony, honoring his loss and the sacrifice of everyone that had stayed behind to fight the Overseers.
Dex hated this. Sitting there in southern Oregon, waiting for what? He pulled a tablet from his jacket again, but there was no signal. No way to communicate with the Masons. Jesus, he hated being left in the dark.
Dex was growing used to walking, but the trip had taken a lot out of him. Twenty miles a day for five days was a rough pace, but they’d all made it. He’d shared a full cabin with Scott and a few others. Even with the couples dividing bunks and the kids being forced to sleep in the same cots as their parents, there were still countless people taking turns sleeping on the floor. They were lucky it was warm and dry this autumn, because with the holes in the roof, it was going to grow unpleasant really quick.
He stretched, walking from the cabin, leaving fifty or so people inside dozing away the early morning. The sun had begun to peek through the trees to the east, casting long dim shadows over the calm lake. It was peaceful h
ere, serene, and he moved through the camp, almost laughing at the fact that people once sent their children to a place like this. The world had changed so much.
There were over three thousand of them in total, and that number had shocked Dex when he’d first heard it. The cabins were scattered around the lake, with half on the southern edge, half on the north, with the main halls and counselor quarters in the middle of the grounds. People were sleeping in the mess hall, while some were rising with the sun like he had, and he returned a few waves from friendly faces. Not everyone thought of him as an ally, though.
He saw a dog, then realized it was a coyote. It loped along with a teenage Freeborn, happy to be given a piece of meat. This place was strange. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much vibrant life, and it renewed something inside him.
This was their new existence. If they were finally able to finish their plans and rid the planet of the aliens, they would have to start over. And it wouldn’t be a quick process. It would be groups of people like this, fighting to survive. But looking around, he saw them for what they were. These humans had worked in logistics, in manufacturing, in mechanical engineering, in agriculture. The aliens had inadvertently prepared humanity to rebuild and restart.
Dex chuckled to himself at this.
“What’s so funny?” a Roamer asked.
He hated thinking of them like that, and cringed as he considered how many people like her he’d caught and returned to the Occupation over the years.
“The fact that we might have a shot at this.”
“I’m Marisol.” She smiled, a bright grin that reminded Dex of some primal instincts that had all but lay dormant over the last few months. She was a looker: smooth skin, long dark hair pulled into a braid. She wore a hand-stitched leather vest and a gun on her hip. His kind of woman, although maybe a little young for him.
“Walk with me,” she said, her voice soft but commanding.
“Sure thing.”
She led him toward the lake, and soon they were on what used to be a beach. Thick weeds and grass grew in the sand. She bent down, picked up a flat stone, and showed it to him, giving him another one of those smiles that hit him in the gut. Without a word, she flicked her wrist, sending the rock skipping across the calm surface of the water. “You try.”
Dex didn’t see the point of the activity, but he did as she told him and attempted to duplicate her action. Only his rock hit the water and dove under with a gulp of the lake. “It didn’t work.”
“This is what we’re talking about,” she said.
“Huh?” Dex didn’t follow.
“Something as simple as skipping a stone. You’ve never done it, right?”
He nodded.
“Imagine all the things that humans used to do but haven’t in twenty-five years. How much has been lost from the world? Rebuilding is going to be about so much more than hammers and nails. It's going to be about learning, sharing our pasts, and forming a future together.” She spoke with such passion, the sunlight carrying over the trees, and covering her with its warm morning glow.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.
“Most haven’t, but I can’t blame anyone. All most of us have done for our whole lives is survive. And kudos to us for accomplishing that goal, but the next step is going to be difficult,” she told him.
Dex’s stomach growled as the smell of food drifted from the mess hall to their position. “We’re not done yet. There’s still a war going on.”
She nodded. “My mother went with Alec Mason. We haven’t been able to reach them, but we know they won in Spain. That’s a good thing. They were heading for Norway. She should be safe.”
Safe. Dex didn’t think he’d feel secure until every one of the hulking enemies were dead or vanquished from Earth. “Sure. I bet she’s fine.” Dex didn’t want to upset her. She was like a butterfly that came to land on his hand, and he didn’t want to scare her away.
“Wanna eat?” she asked, her grin returned.
“I could go for some slop.” He smiled back, grunting as his legs protested the incline toward camp.
“How old are you?” she asked, her tone mocking.
“Listen, I just walked a hundred miles after fighting an alien commander in hand-to-hand combat.” He hoped his brag didn’t sound like one.
“Right. And I took down one of their tanks with my mind.”
“Don’t believe me, then.”
She gave him a questioning look as they neared the mess hall. Already people were gathering, and Dex glanced a few hundred yards from where a team had begun felling trees in order to repair the rooftops. “You aren’t kidding, are you?”
He shrugged. “You’d do the same.”
She lifted her left hand where her stump was covered by a leather pouch, cinched with a finely tied off band. “I might do worse at hand-to-hand. More like hands to hand...”
Dex laughed, Marisol joining him. “I think we’re going to get along.”
She set her hand on his forearm but removed it as someone came running toward them.
“Who’s that?” he asked. The guy was hefty, wearing a black baseball cap, and he was panting by the time he arrived. He stopped and directed his conversation to Marisol. Dex guessed she was one of the leaders here.
“Tyrone, what’s up?” she asked the newcomer.
“I tapped into something. I’ve been trying to reactivate our communication lines, but I think it’s impossible now. The bastards found out we’ve been using it, but I did manage to find another entryway to their system.” He rested his hands on his thighs as he bent over, gasping for air.
“What… tell us,” Dex urged him.
“Norway. They know about Norway somehow, and they’re sending a fleet tomorrow night. I think it’s the last major fleet they have, but it’ll be more firepower than we’ve ever encountered,” Tyrone advised.
“Shit. Is there any way to warn them?” Dex asked.
Tyrone shook his head, beads of sweat dripping down his temples. “No, sir. We’re screwed.”
“Marisol, it looks like you have some sway here at camp, right?” Dex asked the woman.
“With my mom being gone, and Soares with Cole, and Zhao dead, I guess I might. What are you thinking?” she asked, hand on her hip.
“We have that ship still, and a pilot?”
“Becca, yep. Along with an army of drones stashed away,” she said. “Not to mention a few dozen bazookas, claymores, sniper rifles, and AR-15s. Zhao didn’t let us leave without a few presents.”
Dex lit up at this. “And we can control these drones?”
Tyrone lifted a hand. “That’s my area. I worked at the Atlanta antennae.” He swallowed hard. “Don’t judge.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, kid. I was a Hunter,” Dex rubbed his palms together anxiously.
“That makes sense. You’re the Dexter Lambert everyone’s talking about,” Marisol said.
“All good things, I hope.”
“Some of them wanted to string you up.”
“Because of the video?” he asked, forever hating himself for bearing witness to Tom Mason’s death without doing a damned thing about it. No wonder they disliked him.
“That would be why. But they understand he ordered you, and that you’re on our side. Still… these people loved him and everything he stood for.”
“And you?” Dex asked.
“I for one am glad to have you on our side. Tyrone, gather the drones, bring them to the ship. We leave tomorrow.” The guy walked off as soon as she gave him the order, and Dex followed her into the mess hall. Scott was there, along with some faces he didn’t recognize.
“Becca, gather the troops. This is the big one.”
Even with the smell of pancakes in the air, Dex found he was no longer hungry.
Chapter 27
Cole
Almost two days spent in a closet-sized room made the cave they’d camped out in seem like a luxury. There wasn’t enough space for
them both to lie flat, so they took uncomfortable turns sleeping while sitting and had to keep standing to stretch out cramped muscles.
As the ship crawled toward Detroit, in spite of his constant attempts, Cole couldn’t make contact with anyone else. Logically, he knew that meant the network had failed, or at least their clandestine connection to it had failed or been severed, but he couldn’t dissuade his mind from thinking maybe this was because there were none of his allies left to communicate with.
They’d brought enough water and rations to last almost a week, but something about the enforced inactivity doubled the stress he felt.
Soares said next to nothing for the first day. The few times Cole had spoken to him had earned only a grunt in response that was more dismissive than anything else. He’d fallen into a dark mood, which prevented Cole from seeking the kind of reassurance he wanted.
Midway through their first day as stowaways, he snapped, forcing Soares to talk to him.
“What the hell’s with you?” he demanded. “You won't even try…”
“Try?” Soares sat up stiffly and winced at the discomfort in his shoulder. “Kid, we’ve tried everything there is. Other people had their roles to play and there was nothing I could do about that, but… but I’ve been trying since long before you were in diapers, so don’t come at me with that bullshit.”
Cole recognized it then. He saw how the man truly had given up, but not in the way he’d assumed.
“You really don’t think we’re coming back, do you?”
Soares scoffed. “One of us is,” he spat.
“Fine, I’ll stay and set off the bomb. Show me how.”
“Don’t be stupid, kid,” he grumbled in an angry murmur. “You think the world needs to see my old ass on the screen telling them to fight? No. I’ve had my time, and after everything, the least I can do is actually achieve something… When we reach Detroit, you’re getting off. Survive however you can, live off the land like you’ve been doing your whole life, and find whoever’s left. I’ll turn off the gates. Let me have that, will ya?”
Rise | Book 3 | Reclamation Page 17