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

by Theresa Beachman

  “That’s a lot of hypotheticals, Anna.”

  “I know, but the Sweeper is our only realistic option. Do you have any better suggestions?” She massaged her temples, rubbing at the tender muscles under her skin.

  Garrick remained silent, his face telling her there was nothing at the Command Base with power to match.

  “Only the emerging queens will be on the surface.” His jaw tightened at her words. “There’s likely to be many more still in the process of hatching. Any egg chambers will be the deepest within the colony. Any serious attempt to wipe out the new queens must target the centre of the hive itself.”

  Finally he grunted, whether in affirmation or disbelief, she wasn’t sure.

  “So where is this device?”

  “In Julia’s backpack.”

  Garrick halted abruptly, but Anna barely noticed now she was in full swing.

  “It needs to be attached to a coding chip to work. Julia and I both carry one.” She tugged a chain from her pocket. Attached to it was a small silver lozenge. When she looked up, Garrick had come to a halt several feet behind her.

  “With help from your men, we can break into the hive and trigger the device. Stop the queens from flying.”

  “Anna—”

  She cut him off, ignoring his pissed-off face. “We have to at least try.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t mention this before.”

  “I’ve explained why,” she said, struggling to contain her irritation. She spun on her heel and stomped to the nearest car showroom. Glaring into the smashed dimness of the window, she sucked in deep breaths to slow her racing pulse.

  “Nothing useful here.” His words caressed the skin of her nape as he guided her away from the window, his palm pressed against the small of her back. His fingers slipped under her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you,” she said.

  He took her hand, pressed it to his warm lips and kissed her fingers, firing a quiver of heat right to her core. A half smile lit up his face but as he began to speak his reply was lost in the battle cry of a Chittrix plummeting towards them.

  32

  The Chittrix plunged within inches of Garrick, the force of its dive raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It swooped low, blasting through the plate-glass window of the showroom, shattering the glass in a storm of icicles that exploded as they hit the road. The Chittrix screamed, circling in the enclosed space, demolishing brickwork as it attempted to crash its way back out.

  Garrick yanked Anna’s arm, jerking her to her hands and knees. Seconds later, a damp sweep of air thrummed against his back as an entire swarm of Chittrix soared overhead calling for their companion.

  The Chittrix in the showroom reacted in piercing alarm, staggering sideways out of the building in a drunken lurch. It collided with an LPG gas tank, the squeal of wrenching metal outlined in a crystalline second before everything was engulfed in an orange wall of fire.

  The ferocity of the explosion knocked them both backwards. Sharp grit rammed into the heels of Garrick’s hands, tearing his flesh. Scalding air engulfed them, swiftly followed by a swirling curtain of acrid black smoke.

  Garrick grasped Anna’s hand, the delicate bones vulnerable and small in his grip. She was barely visible through the soot and dust as he hauled her to her feet. He ran, ignoring the agony that jolted his wounded arm, guiding her to safety.

  He hustled Anna, her face bleached with shock, up a narrow passageway between two decaying car showrooms. Its slimness, afforded them some protection as he urged her forwards. Anger boiled in his blood. The Chittrix had been waiting. They were being hunted and he hadn’t seen it. He’d put Anna’s life at risk, thinking he knew what he was doing. His gut lurched with nausea at the thought of anything harming to her. It’s not happening.

  “How did they find us?” Anna yelled as they sprinted to the end of the alley, before skidding to a halt. Garrick jerked his head around the corner and swiftly withdrew as a dark wave of Scutters swamped the street beyond.

  Where now?

  “We ran past a fire door.” He turned on his heel without explanation, dragging Anna back with him. Her eyes widened with fear as she glanced up to the barrage of shrieks and howls from the rooftop. Garrick had lived rough long enough to know the sound of Chittrix hunting cries.

  The fire door was locked with a rusty padlock. He shouldered Anna away from the door and unhooked his machete.

  “Back!”

  The padlock fell from the door in one fierce blow. Rusty metal shards peppered the air, and the security chain fell as Garrick kicked the door open. He yanked Anna inside. “Quick.” He risked a glance back out to the alley and spotted more Scutters before slamming the fire door shut.

  Inside was dark, a black abyss that swallowed up all definition. The effect was disorientating, and he tripped and stumbled while guiding Anna through a ramshackle storage area. Large, metallic hanging-rails blocked their path at every step. Garrick edged through them with his shoulders, never letting go of Anna’s hand.

  I am getting her out of this.

  No Chittrix was going to touch her as long as he was breathing. He’d deal with the rest once they were safe. He cursed as he pushed through more rails, their wheels screeching in protest.

  They burst through heavy swing-doors at the end of the stockroom, almost falling onto the main floor. Large picture windows surrounded them on two sides, giving them a clear view, but also making them sitting ducks for whatever lurked beyond.

  Garrick led the way, a glance at Anna’s determined face reassuring him. He stopped a few feet from the glass, his pulse raging in his ears as he checked the street outside. It heaved with Scutters flowing over each other, a black sea scrabbling in desperation to find easy human prey.

  Think. His mind raced as he considered their options. There was always a way forward. This is not where we’re going to die. There was always a plan.

  He turned to Anna.

  “We need to go outside.”

  “Yes, but not here, right?” she hissed, pointing at the writhing mass outside on the pavement.

  “Yes. We’ve a better chance of staying alive if we go through the Scutters than we do of trying to fight an army of Chittrix.”

  Anna glanced out into the street, hugging her arms tightly to her body. Garrick tracked her horrified gaze. Scutters were ramming up against the window, their barbed claws a dark blur of motion, the armoured undulations of their underbellies scraping the glass.

  He pointed across the street. “There’s a lot less on the other side.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Yes. But planning on remaining alive, regardless.”

  Anna chucked her backpack on the floor, knelt and rummaged, muttering to herself. He squeezed her shoulder, the bones delicate and fragile under his grip. “We don’t have time for this, Anna. We need to go now.”

  He gave a harried glance in the direction of the stock room. Nothing yet.

  “Yes.” She stood, her skin washed out in the insipid light that filtered through the window. She handed him a small jar. “This will help.”

  Garrick took the jar and held it up. As he turned it, the black substance inside shifted lazily against the glass.

  “Pyrethrin. It leads to a loss of motor coordination and paralysis in insects. For a time, anyway. I’ve tweaked it, juiced it up a bit and it worked on injured Scutters I found near the lab.”

  Garrick tried to disguise the disbelief on his face. “They tried this at the time of the initial invasion. It sucked.”

  She huffed a breath of impatience. “Yeah. That was then. This is the new and improved super-Ward version. It’s amazing what you can do in six months with no TV.”

  He sniffed the contents, his nose wrinkling.

  Anna took the jar out of his hands and unscrewed it. “Stop being such a girl.” She rolled up her sleeves then stuck her fingers in and scooped out a handful, slapping
it on her arms. Golden freckles disappeared under a greenish-black substance.

  “Jesus. Here give me some.” He tucked his MP5 between his thighs and scooped some out and rubbed it onto his arms and face. Like camouflage paint, but worse. It stung his skin and his nostrils were filled with grass and bitter metallic overtones. He reached down and smeared it across the armour plates on his thighs, then his trousers and boots.

  Anna grinned at him, her teeth white against the black sludge on her skin.

  “You look hot in battle-paint,” he said.

  She pointedly didn’t look at the seething street outside. “Remind me of that later.”

  His Spitfire.

  “C’mon.” His hand slipped possessively into hers. “I’m not letting you go.” He squeezed her fingers, enjoying the warmth of her hand. He inhaled a deep breath as they approached the exit. Then he popped the inner lock and yanked the door wide open before either of them changed their mind.

  33

  Garrick took a sharp breath as the cascade of Scutters poured in, spreading like black, snapping oil. He dodged the first rush and waded through the flailing creatures as fast as possible. Some crunched underfoot; others began to roil in a frenzy of motion at the humans invading their midst.

  Anna was holding his hand so fiercely he thought she might break it. Barbed claws caught and nicked their clothes as the Scutters lashed out, pyrethrin smearing onto the spindly black bodies. Garrick held his breath, not daring to hope and then the first shrieked and fell away. Others rapidly followed suit, landing on their backs, legs twitching spasmodically.

  Garrick pressed forwards, carving a path through the bodies. His shins were lacerated in several places, but despite the blood soaking through the fabric of his trousers, the Scutters continued to dissipate.

  “It’s fucking working,” he muttered, not daring to believe it.

  He kept his focus, heading for a motorcycle showroom on the other side of the road, windows smashed and bikes tipped over in a mess of jutting metal. By the time he reached it, the ground at his feet was clear. Behind them, Scutters thrashed in a heaving, flailing mass.

  We don’t have much time.

  Garrick climbed over the threshold of the broken picture window and headed for the service desk at the rear, Anna still in tow. The key safe was in a prominent position on the wall. He flipped it open with his free hand and scooped out a handful of keys. Scutters rattled and chittered outside on the street, their agitation and volume of their cries increasing. Garrick didn’t want to be here when the back-up arrived.

  They retraced their steps to the front of the showroom and he handed several of the fobs to Anna.

  “Start pressing.”

  She gave him a worried look but turned and pointed at the parked bikes. Garrick moved behind her, aiming the first key fob in his hand at the motorcycles. Nothing. Sweat trickled down his back as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The next three he tried were all unresponsive too. Anna let out a stream of impressive profanities under her breath.

  “It’s not working. None of these are doing anything.” She flung dead key fobs to the floor in frustration. Garrick had two left in his hand.

  “Move closer. Batteries might be flat.”

  He inched nearer, aware of the depth of Scutters approaching from outside.

  Finally! Lights flashed at the back of the display.

  He stepped forward as fast as he dared and pressed the fob again. The bike winked at him. It wasn’t new.

  A Honda Fireblade. Serviceable.

  He gripped the handles and slipped the key into the ignition. The dash lit up in pale blue light. There was half a tank of petrol. Enough to get them the hell out and safely to the Command Base.

  “Help me with this.”

  Anna rushed forward and began to drag another bike away from the front of the Fireblade. She grunted with the effort, squawking as a Scutter scuttled towards her. She let the bike drop, trapping the Scutter underneath. It convulsed under the heavy lump of metal pinning it in place.

  With the Fireblade upright, Garrick swung his leg over the seat. Anna didn’t need telling. She jumped on, wrapping herself around his waist. She scooted up behind him, thighs pressed tight to his and he allowed himself a microsecond to enjoy the sensation, before he turned the engine and gunned the bike to life.

  It caught the first time, letting out a throaty roar that echoed in the smashed-up showroom like the bellow of a woken beast.

  Scutters froze momentarily and then spurred on by the noise, they rose in a high wave in the Fireblade’s direction. Garrick threw it into gear, and it powered forwards. Anna’s arms crushed his waist, holding on for dear life as the bike accelerated through the showroom at full throttle. Scutters were knocked sideways and flailed under the wheels as the tyres spun, trying to gain purchase on the smooth showroom floor. The bike tipped dangerously high on its back wheel, forcing Garrick to fight to bring it under control. If they slipped now, they were dead.

  The front wheel dipped and bit solid ground again. Garrick pulled the accelerator hard. He wasn’t taking any chances. The Fireblade exploded out the smashed entrance doors.

  Acrid sooty air invaded Garrick’s lungs. He blinked as his eyes took a second to adjust to daylight after the dark of the abandoned show room. Thirty feet away, Chittrix were cruising high in the sky through columns of black smoke. They clocked the Fireblade, their sleek bodies instantly coiling to dive.

  He jerked the steering hard, forcing the back tyre to grind dust and gravel. The bike skidded sideways, struggling to find purchase. Anna’s arms were a band of steel around his waist as she pulled her centre of balance as close to his as she could. They hovered for a millisecond, tipped at a precarious angle, the engine gunning, and then the bike dived forward, barrelling past a charging Chittrix by inches.

  Garrick ducked his head and opened the ‘Blade out, powering them away from the seething insanity.

  34

  Anna was hanging on to Garrick so hard her arms were starting to ache. She was grateful when they stopped briefly to rearrange their backpacks on the rear of the bike and she took the opportunity to stretch out her creaking muscles. Minutes later they were off again, the speed of the bike chilling her thighs. At least her hands were warm, tucked under the bottom of Garrick’s armour, resting against his sculpted, flat belly, only a thin layer of cotton separating them. He’d clearly done this before and he drove the bike hard, swooping low to cut corners, dodging broken buildings and wrecked cars, never losing control.

  Wind streamed through her hair, bringing a sense of freedom and space after the claustrophobic confines of the broken city. She rested her head against his back, enjoying the shift and flex of his muscles under her body, knowing that their time together was coming to an end.

  Eventually, she dared spy over her shoulder. Garrick had taken country back roads, tracking the M3. The motorway occasionally loomed into sight, ridden with empty cars, a prime picking ground for scavengers. Further back, the Chittrix were tiny receding black dots on the horizon.

  Garrick drove for another hour. The throttle of the engine soothed her, exhaustion chipping away at the edges of her consciousness. When they finally cruised into a built-up area, it took her a few minutes to comprehend that the landscape had changed, and they were no longer in open countryside. They sped through empty residential streets, whipping past houses sitting empty with bleak windows and front doors hanging off their hinges.

  “Where are we?” Anna shouted over the revs of the engine, wiping loose hair from her mouth.

  Garrick glanced over his shoulder.

  “Nearly there,” he replied, dropping down a gear to a throatier rumble.

  The bike slowed. Garrick was taking his time, inspecting the streets they were passing. The houses flicked past, changing from modern to box-like, seventies construction.

  Anna recognised these less salubrious houses as Ministry of Defence quarters for service personnel. There were plenty o
f them in the extensive grounds of Magdon Down. She’d lived in one herself when she’d first accepted the job and needed temporary accommodation until she’d found her flat. She assumed they were for the army training-college that had been signposted a few streets back. There was nothing obvious to indicate they were nearing the entrance to an underground silo built by the British Government.

  The Fireblade pulled up in front of a small, nondescript bungalow. White plastic framed windows and a red concrete tiled roof sat in front of them in unassuming quietness. Anna gave Garrick a questioning look as he kicked the foot-stand and climbed off the bike. He held out a hand to her and helped her off. Her legs were wobbly from the sustained ride. She stretched and turned to view the building, anxious to see what was inside. Had Julia or Blake made it out?

  Garrick stepped in front of her, grabbing her elbows, stopping her from going any further. Without warning, he pulled her tight against his hard body, his mouth crushing hers in a hot, claiming kiss.

  Anna struggled. This was the end. They were here now. But then she melted into him, frustration and lust enveloping her in equal quantities. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t erase him from her system.

  He broke away first, his eyes dark with lust as he continued to shelter her with his chest and arms.

  His voice was gruff against her neck, his breath teasing her nerves with possibilities. “I just want you to know where we stand before we go in. In case there’s any doubt.” His eyes searched hers, wanting answers. “You believe what you’re doing is right. But it’s not. It’s misguided, and I can show you.”

  “Oh?” Her mouth thinned to a line.

  “You’re trying to push me away.”