Sawyer

by Theresa Beachman

  Sawyer froze, his soles rooted to the spot, as Nathan Darr lurched into view, dragging a semi-conscious man. It was Jakub, his head lolling and bumping against his breastbone. Darr stumbled but righted himself, squinting against the headlights and rifle laser guides directed at him.

  Ignoring the stab of dislike piercing his gut, Sawyer surged forward with Foster. Foster sloshed to the opposite side of the pair and grabbed Jakub’s arm, lifting it across his shoulder.

  Jakub’s abdomen was a bloody mess of gouged flesh and the wet shimmer of internal organs. Darr’s shirt was torn and his shoulder was scored with thick lacerations obvious even in the poor light.

  “Chittrix.” Darr spat out as Sawyer marched past him, rifle held high and alert. The tunnel ahead was empty.

  “I’ll take V and Hardy, Anna can check out Jakub,” Sawyer whispered to Garrick who had stepped up beside him. He craned his neck, searching the ceiling. “Damn Chittrix could be anywhere.”

  Garrick dropped to the rear, speaking quietly to the others before Violet and Hardy skirted the injured Jakub, joining Sawyer. His eyes ached from scanning the black void of the tunnel. Jesus, he needed to see something, even if it was an alien. His palms were slippery with sweat and ambient water, but he kept his hands locked on his weapon.

  Water slopped noisily in every direction, the sound bouncing off the walls and making it impossible pinpoint anything. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. Fuck, where is it? His breathing was too loud, so he held his breath, but his ears filled with the hot roar of his own blood and his racing heart.

  Hardy made a dropping motion, his hand skimming across the surface of the water. In tandem, they dipped the noses of their weapons, sweeping cautiously.

  Damn, nothing.

  Fifteen more paces and the tunnel widened, opening into high, intricate arches thirty feet above their heads. The noise intensified as water cascaded in a tumultuous flood from a jagged split in the brickwork high in the ceiling. It hammered on the surface of Sawyer’s helmet, making it nearly impossible to look upward. Water surrounded them, knee deep and obscuring the walls in silvered sheets. The surface jumped and popped with the force of the downpour, shielding anything lurking in the depths.

  To Sawyer’s left, Hardy’s face was grim, his mouth set in a thin line of frustration. Bronzed rivulets of hair clung to Violet’s face as she wiped the deluge from her eyes.

  Then the water surged in a terrible rush, splitting and releasing the alien beneath.

  The Chittrix rose, water escaping its limbs in a torrent. The exoskeleton was mottled grey and black with coppery patches, its forelimbs webbed like the Chittrix that had attacked the Command Base. It stretched to its full height, barbed head tilted as it appraised them. Deep guttural clicks and chittering emanated from low in its throat.

  It lunged, the massive body tilted at an awkward angle, and Sawyer realized it was injured. A large chunk of flesh had been gouged from its body, unbalancing it.

  As all three unleashed their pulse rifles, Sawyer aimed low, where vulnerable flesh was exposed between the barbed thigh plates. Lethal shards of chitin exploded into the air, mixed with globs of viscous body fluids that spattered and soaked his face and forearms. Sawyer roared and edged forward as Hardy and Violet spread out, creating a net of laser fire from which there was no retreat.

  The Chittrix stumbled, its teeth snapping to sever arms from bodies. Razor flesh scored Sawyer’s jaw as the serrated tongue slashed his face on its downward arc. He recoiled, waves of pain licking across his face, before snapping back up, unleashing another furious burst of laser fire. More slick alien shrapnel filled the air as its thorax disintegrated in thudding chunks.

  It careened headlong into the water, screeching, drenching Sawyer in greasy sediment that stung his eyes and clung to his nostrils. He squeezed his eyes tight and shook his head to clear his vision. He blinked, his eyes smarting. The Chittrix had fallen only a few feet from him.

  Sawyer stepped forward and rammed the thick snub of his pulse rifle against the alien skull. He screamed as he discharged his weapon, pouring his hatred and anger into the dying alien. Finally, his charge ran empty and he stood panting, struggling to pull oxygen into his fear-soaked body.

  The Chittrix’s head sank under the water. Its spine arched in a convulsive death twitch, monstrous tail cracking the tunnel wall one final time before it collapsed, lax and unmoving.

  Sawyer exhaled a long, slow breath and then kicked the fallen Chittrix in the flank for good measure, rocking the body with the force of his boot. Next to him, Hardy wiped his brow with a filthy hand, allowing himself a brief inhalation of achievement. Sawyer turned from the corpse, to see Violet appearing out of the darkness. She waited as he wiped gunk and mucus from his face and then she followed him silently back to the others, Hardy bumping on their heels.

  Darr was kneeling, cold water swirling around him, his head bowed in exhaustion.

  He lifted his face as Sawyer, Hardy, and Violet sloshed into hearing.

  “Dead?”

  “You’d already taken a chunk out of it,” Sawyer replied, his tone curt.

  Darr nodded and inclined his head in Jakub’s direction.

  “Jakub, with his semiautomatic. Before it tore half his insides out.”

  Sawyer focused on the injured man. Garrick squatted beside him, his brow creased. He ran a gloved hand across his hair and shook his head before standing up, his helmet dangling from one hand. The water shifted around Jakub and one hand bobbed in the current, drained of life.

  Anna dropped her head in defeat as she straightened next to Garrick and rested her head against his body armor. Garrick cupped the back of her neck in gentle affection and turned to Darr, lifting his weapon.

  “This is a theme every time we run into you. Maybe you should go.” Garrick motioned for Darr to get up.

  His pulse rifle emptied, Sawyer’s hand moved to the fully loaded SIG holstered at his hip. His thumb flicked the leather restraint, allowing his palm to settle on the grip.

  Darr held up his hand in surrender. “I don’t want to fight.” He caught his breath. “Not against you.”

  He waited for his words sink in, but when he got no response, he continued. “We found the nest. I want to fight with you.”

  29

  Thoughts of Sawyer tormented Julia all morning until Emma stuck her head through the lab doorway, her face awash with relief.

  “Scanning team is back early.”

  They jogged in hurried silence to the communications room, where the team was debriefing.

  Julia’s heart raced, and her tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth with anxiety. When she pushed into the communications room behind Emma, she hurriedly checked for Sawyer, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

  She’d been worried. It mattered to her that he was okay. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this when he’d been out on a mission before. The knowledge nagged at her, nibbling around the edges of her confidence.

  The room was warm from the presence of so many bodies, the air damp and heavy from soaked clothes and equipment. Her nose wrinkled at the bitter scent of the sewer water.

  He was here.

  She halted. His skin was grimy, his eyes dark in the shadow of mud that scuffed his face. A wide scrape marred the edge of his strong jaw, beaded with dried blood. The collar of his shirt was unbuttoned and with his armor removed, it exposed a taste of the hard planes of his chest that made her breath hitch.

  Thank God, he was alive.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining what they could have had if the world wasn’t so fucked up. Or, if he’d been honest with me. Resentment for what he’d kept hidden pricked at her. She wanted to imagine they could be happy, that they could have a relationship, just like in the pre-invasion days. Like normal people.

  She opened her eyes. It wasn’t ever going to happen.

  Darr was behind Sawyer. He was a wreck. His shoulder was bloody, and a thick, white gauze pad pres
sed against his collarbone. Dirty hair obscured his eyes, and he was scowling, but Julia was rapidly concluding that pissed-off was his natural facial expression.

  Leven and Jakub were absent. Her knuckles whitened on the pencil she clutched, knowing they must be dead.

  Around her, desperation hung in the air, thick and suffocating like smog. It soaked into her skin and skimmed the features of the assembled base. Some she knew, residents of the Command Base before her. Others were scavengers, recently arrived from Crossness. Panic and fear tugged at their faces and twisted their hands as they registered the bloody soldiers in front of them.

  Certainty calmed her.

  This was why her work had to take precedence. It could too easily have been Sawyer, or Garrick, or any of the others missing from this room. They had achieved small victories against the Chittrix, but they needed something more, and her work, the Sweeper, was their most realistic hope. She had to focus.

  Fortunately, she was good at that, compartmentalizing her life so work was the priority, driving her forward. Intensity and commitment were what had led to the development of the Sweeper in the first place. Obligation had served her well, and it would continue to do so.

  Her attention drew back to Sawyer. He was watching her, heat burning in his gaze, making every nerve in her body tingle. He smiled, and she returned the gesture but skirted away from him, heading for the far corner of the room where she perched on the edge of one of the desks. Sawyer tracked her, his face unreadable. She told herself she felt nothing but relief when he didn’t attempt to follow her.

  Garrick raised his arms, gesturing for everyone to shut up. “People.” The hubbub in the room died, and everyone turned in his direction. Violet was at his side, radiating tension, her hand resting on the SIG tucked into the waistband of her navy cargo trousers. She glowered at Darr, who pointedly ignored the blast of her stare.

  Garrick dropped his hands to his hips as he cast his eyes around the disheveled and downtrodden inhabitants of the room. “We have new information. Darr may have located the nest.” Garrick nodded, motioning for Darr to speak.

  Darr scanned the room, his gaze obscured by unkempt hair. An irrational urge to storm up and wipe it out his eyes itched at Julia.

  “Three of us left here, but I’m the only one still alive.” He scanned the group, moving from one frightened face to another. Garrick stood behind Darr, his solid presence lending credence to the scavenger’s words.

  “We returned to the pumping station to see if there was anything to salvage after the Chittrix attack,” Darr continued. He stopped, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. He’d lost people, and no matter what he’d done or who he was, he was human, and empathy grazed Julia’s heart.

  He continued, his voice gruff with purpose. “The detonation destroyed part of the pumping station wall. We found cable conduits on the other side, large enough for a man to walk through. Tunnels have been dug off them and they go deep.”

  Darr hesitated.

  “We followed one. It went down through solid fucking rock till it hit a river. We think it’s the original tributary that supplied Crossness. There’s a massive natural cavern, easily the size of a football field.” He spread his arms wide.

  “The passageway opens about thirty feet above the river. We saw Chittrix in the water and what I believe is egg chambers below the waterline. It’s warmer. The water is warm in the sewers, have any of you noticed this?”

  Heads turned as people exchanged looks.

  Foster stuck his finger in the air, grimacing. “Not that I’m any kind of sewer expert, but hell yeah.”

  Darr tilted his head in acknowledgement “They might be using plant thermogenesis to raise the temperature of the water to incubate their eggs.” He cast his gaze around the room. “Together, we have a chance. Two of my friends died coming out of there. I want to kill every last Chittrix and I need your help.”

  His word hung in the air, as sleek, twisted alien shapes invaded everyone’s mind.

  Foster’s expression was doubtful. “You had your chance earlier. You fucked that up. You chose to go it alone.”

  Sawyer interrupted. “We all make mistakes.” He spoke his words slowly and carefully, avoiding looking at Darr. “Maybe we should talk about this.”

  “No. I’m with Foster on this one,” Violet volunteered.

  Julia fired her a sharp look, but Violet ignored her, her eyes trained on Darr.

  Darr gave a muted snort. “Should have known you wouldn’t understand.”

  “You—” Violet leaped forward, a lithe blur, one hand outstretched for Darr’s neck, the other going for her holstered weapon. He reacted just as swiftly, catching her waist, spinning her off balance and wrapping his forearm around her neck.

  Panic eclipsed Julia, as Darr clutched Violet tight against him, one arm restraining her throat while the other gripped her wrist so tightly she dropped the SIG. It hit the floor with a loud clatter. Tension hummed in the air as hands found weapons and fingers tightened on metal.

  Then, just as suddenly, Darr released Violet, and she stumbled forward, gasping for air. His attention returned to Sawyer and Garrick and his mouth pressed into an uncompromising line.

  Violet coughed, stooped and submissive, then she dropped onto her hands and kicked her right leg out behind her, driving toward Darr’s ankles. Her leg connected with his boot, and he went down, feet knocked cleanly out from under him. Violet was nothing if not efficient.

  Darr collided with the ground, the air expelled from his lungs in a surprised grunt. Violet was on him before he had time to draw breath, the nose of her SIG tucked under the soft meat of his chin. She rasped the gun against the unshaven bristles of his neck, forcing him to raise his hands in surrender.

  “Never underestimate me. It will get you killed.” Violet jammed her gun against his Adam’s apple and raised her voice. “We might not agree with these idiots, but the Chittrix are our common enemy.”

  “Violet.” Garrick jerked his thumb, and his sister lowered her weapon from Darr’s neck, but not before flicking the metal of the chamber against the angular bone of his jaw.

  “Just remember, handsome.” She pushed herself up from his body but didn’t holster her gun.

  Darr climbed slowly to his feet. His skin was flushed where Violet had pressed the gun to his throat. He shook his head, swinging his finger round the room in an accusatory arc. “I’m not asking you to like me. But our odds are improved if we work together.”

  A shiver of unease crackled from the base of Julia’s spine to the nape of her neck. The scavengers were unpredictable and violent, and there was little she liked about Darr, but he was right.

  Darr’s hand flew to his temples, and he swore under his breath, rubbing the skin under the unkempt hair that brushed his face. When he looked back up, his expression was glazed and pain danced around the tired creases of his eyes. There was more going on with Nathan Darr than he was admitting.

  He stepped backward, toward the nearest exit, stress infecting his speech. “Think about it. I’m going to get cleaned up.”

  A huddle of scavengers split to let him storm through as he exited the communications room.

  Garrick gestured to Hardy. “Make sure Mr. Darr makes it to the infirmary in one piece.” He pointed at his sister. “Violet. We need to chat.”

  30

  Empty corridor loomed ahead of Sawyer. Most of the base had turned in for a restless night before a team headed out in the morning with Darr to destroy the Chittrix nest. Sawyer took a deep breath and rapped on Julia’s door.

  He had no idea if she’d speak to him or even listen, but he desperately needed to hold her and be honest about his feelings before they left tomorrow. Every time he’d left the base, he’d understood he might not return, but this time was different. This time, he had to tell Julia what he felt.

  Time was precious, and he was tired of playing games. He smoothed down his shirt. Sharing this with her was the right thing to do, the only thing th
at mattered now. It was time to grow up.

  The door opened, and there she was. A cloud of dark waves rested on her shoulders, and her lips parted in surprise. Behind her, a computer monitor spooled through columns of digits faster than his eye could track. Tools littered her desk, and the room hummed with the smell of hot electrics.

  He stroked her arm. “Hey. Still working on the damn Sweeper?”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Hello to you too.” She peered over her shoulder. “I’m close enough to have a handheld for tomorrow. I think. Shit.” Squinting at him through her glasses, she pushed them further up her nose in that way that drove him crazy. “What is it, Sawyer? It’s late.”

  “Well, I thought you might ask me in.”

  He stepped closer, his hands slipping past the swell of her breasts, grasping her waist and pulling her to him. He crowded her with his body, enjoying the softness of her rich curves pressing into him. Julia melted against him and his tongue teased the fullness of her lips, exploring the yielding warmth of her mouth.

  He shifted, making room for the growing constriction in his trousers. She pressed into him, meeting his urgency, before suddenly breaking the kiss. Catching his hand, she pulled him into the room and closed the door behind them.

  Her scent enveloped him, a warm vanilla that soothed his bruised emotions but she pushed his arms from her waist and took a step backward. She shook her head, her mouth a firm line.

  “Sawyer, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  He took a small, hesitant step backward. Her expression was serious and distant. He stiffened. Whatever she had to say to him, it didn’t look good.

  Julia bit her lip. “I…we need some space.” The words rushed out of her as if they’d been pent up behind a dam. They swamped his brain, trying to find purchase, casting darkness over the bright thoughts that had sustained him only moments ago.

  “Space for what?” He stepped forward again, finding her fingers. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles, but she wriggled free.