Garrick: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Earth Resistance Book 1)

by Theresa Beachman

  “This way I can find you if you wander off.”

  Her cheeks bloomed pink. She rotated her wrist. “Thank-you.”

  He turned away from her, not wanting her to see his face. Already the thought of something happening to her made the breath catch in his throat.

  He gestured to their meagre pile of belongings in an attempt to change the subject. “Let’s get packed up.”

  They walked in silence most of the day, each lost in their thoughts. Garrick gave directions only when he needed to and didn’t push her. Despite frequent investigations of abandoned vehicles, functioning transport evaded them. The MP5 stayed looped around his chest, ready for any sign of Chittrix activity. Mercifully, the sky had been clear since they left the legal office, and the hum of alien activity was only a distant noise.

  He was angry with himself. Yesterday was sloppy. Didn’t clear the other door. It wasn’t going to happen again. He didn’t save his brother, but he was damn well going to get Anna to safety in one piece. Her armour was a real breakthrough, and there was a brilliant mind inside that opinionated head of hers. I’m going to keep her safe.

  He risked a glance over his shoulder. She was following closely. Less chatty since their run-in with the scavengers. And after? He still wasn’t sure what had happened in the small office when he’d cleaned her wounds, other than her presence obliterated his rational mind. When he’d held her, her scent had swept through his brain igniting desire deep within him. It was as if until now he’d been asleep, and she was leading him from the fog that shrouded his life. He’d wanted that kiss and deep down he wanted to kiss her again.

  It was nearly noon and he was about to suggest they take a break when a long shadow passed over his head, cutting out the sunlight. He glanced up. A Chittrix circled lazily above, like a vulture assessing half-dead animals. Slowly it’s head tipped downwards, the facets of its compound eye glinting oily in the afternoon sun.

  Garrick cupped Anna’s elbow with his hand, silently guiding her under the shelter of the nearest building, a modern construction of smooth, pale sandstone that jutted into the bright sky. She followed his line of vision and quickly fell in behind him. She was a fast learner.

  They slipped into the recess of a double storm-door. Trying the handle on one of the substantial wooden doors, relief swamped Garrick as it swung open into the gloom of the building beyond. He didn’t know if the Chittrix had seen them, and to check or hesitate was to risk death. They slipped inside a dark, cold reception area. Chilled air penetrated the fabric of his cargo trousers.

  “What is this place?” Anna asked as she followed him, her footsteps echoing in the vast, dusky space. A thin row of skylights, thirty feet above their heads, leaked feeble light onto the tiled floor below.

  Garrick didn’t have time to answer. The Chittrix announced its presence, bellowing on the other side of the door. Acrid air rushed against them through the narrow doorway as it dived and howled on the other side, wings rasping.

  He sprinted down the hall, pulling Anna after him. Their feet sounded loud on the ceramic floor, grit grinding under their steps. Garrick skidded once on the smooth tile, steadied himself and kept going.

  Stone shattered and wood splintered in an ear-splitting cacophony behind them, as the Chittrix used its body as a battering ram. Doors whipped past them in a blur. Garrick didn’t stop; they had to get as far from the front entrance as possible. A lift sat silent and open, its doorway a dark void.

  “Garrick!” Anna’s voice had a panicked edge, and he increased his grip on her hand. He charged the red fire-door at the end of the hall, his shoulder angled forward, his hip catching and depressing the push-bar that ran across the middle. The door slammed open under his brute force, plaster breaking free from the wall in grainy clouds as it ricocheted off the wall on the other side.

  Shards of glass rained down into the space behind them, shattering as they hit the floor. The barrelling thump of the Chittrix continued relentlessly as it shifted position, now trying to force its way through a skylight.

  It’s going to be through in seconds, not minutes.

  The fire exit opened to a compact landing, which curved in a darkening spiral down to the basement. A tiny Plexiglas window, the size of a shoe box and set high above their heads, was the only source of light. Anna careened in after Garrick, her eyes wide.

  He ignored the visible panic on her face. If he let that fear into his mind, it would all be over.

  He took her face in his hands, her eyes huge between his palms. Her gaze jittered, trying to catch what was happening behind them.

  “Look at me, Anna.” His voice was calm and modulated.

  Slowly, she focused on him.

  “It’s going to be ok. We’ve got this.”

  Her eyes searched his for doubt, but he knew there was none. This was no different to previous situations. When he had been behind enemy lines in Afghanistan, the only option had been to go forward, to carve a path back home through the enemy.

  She nodded with a tremulous smile. “Yes.”

  He cupped her cheek in gentle reassurance. I’ve got your back, Spitfire.

  Keeping hold of her hand, he bounded down the steps, two, and three at a time. Two flights down, the stairs ended in another cramped landing with a heavy steel door. Garrick already knew what was on the other side.

  The door was unlocked and opened easily, the fluorescent lights, running on some unseen auxiliary power, clicking on automatically in a flickering sequence. He pulled Anna through the doorway, scanning the windowless space.

  Anna stopped dead as she entered. She turned to face him, her eyes wild again as she took it all in. The space extended for sixty feet. A vast array of body-sized stainless steel drawers was set into the wall on their left. Concrete and steel dissecting tables rose to their right from a floor crisscrossed with drains.

  Her face blanched with shock. “It’s a dead end.”

  18

  The mortuary door frame shook, brick and plaster dust rushing into the room in a white cloud that obliterated Anna’s view of the Chittrix. It hollered and raged on the other side of the door, spitting fury.

  Bam. Bam.

  Finally, it broke through in an explosion of brick and concrete, its head tucked low to its spiny chest. Red dust filled the room, wiping out everything but the high-pitched keening that heralded its terrible presence.

  Anna rammed herself into in the furthest corner of the room, as far as she could get from where the Chittrix pummelled and tore at the foundations of the building, its clawed feet scraping and scoring the tiled floor. As the dust cleared, it spied her hiding place behind the autopsy tables. It froze, a long razor of tongue sliding from its black, shiny mouth, tasting her on the air.

  It dipped on wiry haunches and leapt, launching itself across the room by its thick, pistoning thighs. A dark nightmare, thundering towards her with the unstoppability of a rocket.

  Pressed against the cold white tiles of the wall behind her, Anna struggled to suck air into her lungs. Adrenalin and fear shot through her bloodstream, leaving her light headed.

  If I’m going to die, I’m not going without a fight.

  She brought the pulse rifle to her shoulder, charged and ready, tracking the advancing Chittrix. The trigger was greasy under her fingers, and she desperately wanted to wipe her hands on the leg of her trousers.

  Come on.

  The Chittrix careened to a halt halfway across the distance between them, just on the other side of the concrete autopsy tables. It stretched its head and flexed thick jaws that split wider than Anna believed possible. A ragged howl of domination tore from its throat.

  Fucker’s savouring the moment.

  She waited, not wanting to fire too soon. There were no second chances in such an enclosed space; no Plan B if she missed the first time.

  Move you bastard. Over or around?

  The Chittrix cocked its head. Searching for Garrick? Anna kept her finger relaxed on the trigger. This Chittrix w
as one of the biggest she had ever seen. It was easily eight feet tall, with an equally long spiky, plated tail that fractured the tiles beneath it.

  The Chittrix decided. Powerful limbs bent and contracted in preparation to leap.

  Garrick burst from the shadows of the autopsy storage drawers like human quick-fire, his machete held high above his head, as he landed on the Chittrix’s jagged spine. He swung the blade forcefully against the back of its neck, biceps bulging with the effort. The Chittrix staggered under his unexpected weight, its lethal jaws snapping shut in a collision of needled teeth. Its barbed tail flailed as it tried to right itself, bending metal drawers and smashing the base of the nearest autopsy table in the process. Anna tracked them with her pulse rifle but Garrick was too close to the Chittrix for Anna to even entertain the idea of firing a shot.

  The Chittrix shook violently, trying to dislodge him, as he repeatedly stabbed the machete blade into its carapace. He rolled with the beast’s movement, preventing it from dislodging him. With frustrated bellows, it pitched to one side, trying to crush him under its body weight. Garrick dived from its back, rolling behind one of the autopsy tables.

  Scraping itself upright, the Chittrix howled in fury, neck cracking like a whip as it scanned the room for him. Garrick darted, quick and liquid in his movements despite his considerable muscle mass. He lunged, his machete drawing a thin line of yellow fluid across the Chittrix’s breastplate. It hissed and rattled, reaching for him with talon-tipped limbs. Its tail connected with a dissection table, splitting the top clean in half, creating a punishing vibration that rose through the soles of Anna’s feet.

  The Chittrix had the advantage of size and weight over Garrick, but he continued to dance and weave, his machete connecting one stab and cut after another. Finally, the brute grew frustrated with his dancing avoidance and lunged for him, its hooked spurs hungry for his soft flesh. Garrick didn’t falter, egging it on, turning the air blue with taunts. At the last second, he dropped and rolled, leaving the Chittrix to collide with the concrete slab behind him. It still managed to reach him, raking razor sharp teeth through his flesh of his right arm from elbow to wrist. Welling crimson lines sprang up against his skin.

  Garrick scooted away from the Chittrix on his backside, smearing blood on the grey tiled floor. Physical pain shot through Anna’s belly.

  He’s hurt.

  The Chittrix shook itself, gobs of gelatinous fluid flying from its jagged, open mouth. Climbing to its feet on the polished tiles, it raised its wings, battering and raging against the too-small space in an increasing frenzy.

  Clawed feet slashed and cut the air at Garrick’s back, scraping uselessly against the armour and giving him time to pull himself to his feet and duck behind the end of a dissection table. He pulled out a cascade of silver body drawers in his wake, creating a jagged maze of metal that the Chittrix railed and crashed against.

  Garrick was only a few feet away from Anna now, the neck of his t-shirt dark with sweat. Even with the screeching rattle of the Chittrix, the erratic rhythm of his breathing was audible. His arm was bright with blood. Rivulets ran down his hand and dripped off the end of the machete, mixing with the ochre fluid of the Chittrix.

  The sight of his blood released her. She threw the pulse rifle to the floor and pulled the smaller SIG from the small of her back. Her hands grasped the reassuring weight of metal.

  The Chittrix was slick with its own fluids. She tried to judge whether its movements were less coordinated or clumsier. It was difficult to tell as it jerked and howled, bending the metal drawers out of shape as it clawed towards Garrick, goaded by his curses.

  It jumped onto the dissection table, clawed feet scrabbling for purchase as its tail held perfect balance. It towered above Anna, an iridescent black shadow of pure hatred, eyes reflecting her own pale face in multiplicity.

  But its body was angled towards Garrick, its attention fully on him.

  Anna thrust herself forwards, using an open drawer as a step up to the Chittrix, her SIG steady in front of her like a talisman. Tendons and muscles strained as she jumped, utilising every ounce of her strength. She collided with its rigid abdomen and jabbed her weapon up towards the sweet spot where the chitinous armour met unprotected underbelly. As the gun scraped between the impenetrable plates of chitin, she twisted forcefully, pointing the snub muzzle upwards.

  She discharged the weapon, one bullet after another hammering into the jerking, screaming insect body, numbing her ears with the thunderous roar of gunshot.

  The Chittrix bucked and kicked, and even though Anna ducked her head, its claws collided with her shoulder, making her eyes water. Pincers scraped down her back, trying to gain purchase on her armour.

  It jerked violently then slumped limp and heavy, splattering her hair with alien fluid. It fell, sagging onto the floor in a wet cracking pile, leaving her to fall to her hands and knees on the autopsy bench. Her trembling fingers and the SIG were coated with alien jellied gunk.

  “Anna.”

  She turned. Garrick was beside her, smeared with blood, his eyes full of concern.

  “Give me the gun.”

  Anna hesitated; her finger was still against the trigger. She relaxed her hand, flexing her digits painfully as he took the now-empty weapon from her. Scarlet blood traced delicate rivers down his forearm. She wiped her hands against the thigh of her cargo trousers, but it was going to take a lot more than that to remove the tactile memory of the alien from under her skin.

  The Chittrix lay motionless on the floor in front of her, faceted eyes already clouded and opaque.

  Garrick stuck her SIG in his belt then reached over with his uninjured arm and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead in a gesture of infinite gentleness. “It’s over.”

  She stumbled down off the bench and picked the pulse rifle up from where she’d dropped it. She stood with one foot on the Chittrix’s neck and discharged the full force of the weapon against its skull.

  Just to be sure.

  19

  Anna’s heart pounded in her chest, trying to find some kind of escape from all the crazy shit raining down on it. She took deep, gulping breaths, her mind still processing the dead Chittrix on the floor. Her eyes met Garrick’s, and her stomach did a little loop. How did he do that to her?

  “You hurt anywhere?” He ran a protective hand over her shoulders and arms, then down her torso, checking for wounds. His hands were careful as they ran over her legs, provoking a deep thrill of pleasure that sparked from her ankles to the apex of her thighs. When he straightened his hands remained resting on her hips.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her throat thick with emotion. The intensity of desire running through her was overwhelming, fuelled by adrenalin from killing the Chittrix.

  She indicated the blood that had soaked through Garrick’s shirt and down his arms. “You’re hurt.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not serious. I’ll deal with it later.” He glanced at the shattered doorway. “There will be others.”

  He was still holding her. She reluctantly left the warmth and safety of his embrace, dropping to a squat beside the dead Chittrix.

  Something had caught her eye. Her brow furrowed in concentration. “This one looks different. Not that I’ve done a lot of Chittrix dissections but…” She stopped, speechless.

  What is that? I need to take a closer look.

  Exhaustion wanted to drag her down to a quiet, dark place, but her curiosity was piqued. At the counter she pulled open a drawer, searching for surgical instruments.

  “The poison sac will start to disintegrate in the next hour, dissolving the body. I want to look at this one, and I need to do it now.”

  Garrick pulled a face. “Well, at least that explains why their corpses aren’t littering the streets.”

  He walked away from her, wiping his machete against one broad thigh. “I’m going to make sure this one doesn’t have any friends.”

  His feet crunched on the broken tiles and glass
as he approached the doorway, and her heart skipped at little at the thought of him leaving her alone, but then she looked down at the dead Chittrix.

  There have hardly been any Chittrix dissections. We know so little about their anatomy.

  She pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves then placed a tray of surgical instruments on the counter. Crouching next to the dead alien, her brain shifted into scientist mode.

  It had landed on its side in a wet, viscous pool. Its lower abdomen was a sticky mess of shattered chitin and fused, melted flesh where she had unloaded the SIG. The stench of charred meat made her gag. She pulled a white surgical mask from the supply cabinet and tied it at the back of her head. The odour of death still penetrated the fabric, but it was better than nothing.

  On examination, the exoskeleton of the Chittrix was iridescent. Jade, ochre, and brilliant blue shifted and turned in a rainbow of terrible beauty as she ran her fingers along the ruined edges. Its mouth gaped open, displaying an obscene multitude of needle-sharp teeth. Translucent, their inner core was a pearlescent pink with an opaque tip, terrifying, even in death.

  But the teeth were not what she was interested in. She ran her hand down its flank. The exoskeleton was smooth for the most part, with tiny ridges tracing the shape of the muscles beneath. As she ran her hands over the body her fingers traced several rough patches, where the chitin appeared more granular in consistency.

  Garrick returned, breaking her concentration. She was glad to have him back, even if the Chittrix was dead. He crouched next to her, huffing out a tired exhalation, which caressed her forearm and made the breath catch in her throat.

  He’s so close.

  Blood was drying to a dirty brown crust on his right arm, but his left reached out and touched the Chittrix. Sleek muscle flexed under his skin, igniting an animal heat in her belly, and making her mouth go dry.

  “Rest of the building’s clear. It’s getting dark outside and starting to rain. We should stay here for the night.” He regarded her with steely eyes, waiting for an answer.