by Clare Murray
That kind of thing pissed him right the fuck off. He’d even modulated his usual blue language in an attempt to give her a taste of politeness he suspected she hadn’t been exposed to in… How long? How long had she been imprisoned inside the former White House? Even Patrice hadn’t known.
Before their mission, Patrice had come to them, tears in her eyes, begging them to look for her only granddaughter. Hell, if they hadn’t agreed to do their best, he suspected she would have traveled to DC to stage a rescue of her own.
Turbulence shook the plane lightly. Cam adjusted his course again, flying manually because he wasn’t sure how long the remaining battery was going to hold out. He’d already altered his route, fearing the Feds might be crazy enough to fly after him. Rumor had it they had a couple fixed-up F-18s under wraps. If they were arrogant enough to scramble them, Cam figured they’d make straight for Chicago in an attempt to shoot them down as soon as possible.
So he veered southwest initially, then north again when it was clear nobody was on his tail. Now they cruised quietly at two thousand feet over rolling farmland. They weren’t over water, at least, nor dangerously near any large walled City. And every minute brought them closer to Chicago.
They had half an hour’s worth of juice left by now, according to the gauge. Cam had a bad feeling there was something wrong, though, that the plane was seriously damaged. He’d done quick calculations in his head, marking out the most likely areas for landing within a short radius.
Their UV-sabers were fully charged, meaning they could fight off Barks if necessary. Given it was barely eleven, that scenario was painfully likely.
“So long as we don’t land in a nest of them,” Russ sent.
“I don’t plan to take us down next to a City. I’m banking on the plane being able to recharge without us having to source parts.”
That could be risky, but less so than plunking themselves down in the midst of a couple hundred aliens. Cam wished he knew the extent of the damage to the wing. The auxiliary battery was damaged, but the way the main one was running down, there was something wrong with that one as well.
The dash beeped, warning of low energy. When they ran out, they could glide, depending on how strong the updrafts were. That wouldn’t take them very far, though. Maybe five or ten miles—and his maneuverability would be shot to hell.
Cam brought up a map and studied it briefly. It was fundamentally flawed, of course, as all maps were post-Invasion. He chose to set down near what was once an interstate highway. Flanked by fields in the middle of nowhere, they stood very little chance of running into anyone—or anything—sentient. Livestock would have been devoured or carted away to live within the protection of walls, leaving aliens nothing more than wild animals to sustain themselves upon.
Unless there were a rogue human settlement out here, they would be fairly isolated. With that knowledge in mind, Cam began a slow descent. No runway meant a risky landing, and he needed to scope out the land thoroughly while there was still power left.
Russ monitored his side while Cam scoped the other. They cruised at fifty knots, eight hundred feet up, well above stalling speed but not too fast. Here and there, abandoned cars sat like boulders, but they were few and far between this far away from any civilization.
When Cam found a decently clear stretch, he circled back, easing down. The plane’s tires hit concrete, bumping over potholes as he braked to a stop. One wing overhung the grassy highway median, but it wouldn’t be a problem to turn her around in the morning and take off again. There was a nice long stretch of highway behind them.
Just as he was congratulating himself on a job well done, movement in the darkness snagged his attention. A slow-moving armored van came to a halt on the other side of the median, directly across from their wing. Cam cursed himself for not spotting them earlier.
Next to him, Russ clicked off his seat belt and reached for the gun he kept holstered against his chest. The weapon wouldn’t do much against the Barks—they had an uncanny tendency to mold themselves around bullets, their jelly-like flesh absorbing much of the impact. Against humans, however…
Cam glanced over his shoulder at Abby, who sat still and rigid in the darkness. He hadn’t heard her make a sound, which likely meant she was used to being woken abruptly. Her wide eyes were fixed upon the armored van, which still sported its company’s logo on the side. He’d initially estimated Abby’s age to be between late twenties to early thirties; now he mentally subtracted a few years.
Drawing his own revolver, he turned his attention back to the van. Ironic that it had once been used for security—now it was almost certainly driven by bandits, who’d exploit the van’s bulletproof windows to rob fellow humans.
Looked like they had a new target in their sights.
“Oh, they’d better not,” Russ sent.
But even with his genetically enhanced vision, Cam couldn’t see inside. Couldn’t get the measure of whoever owned the van. That was unnerving.
“Out,” Cam ordered, sensing Russ was in full agreement with the idea. He folded down his seat as he half slid, half jumped to the cracked asphalt below, then turned to catch Abby. Although adrenaline ran high, he looked forward to feeling her body against his again.
But she bypassed him by ignoring his outstretched arms, landing on the asphalt with what was clearly a bone-rattling thud. He couldn’t help but reach to steady her, and this time she accepted the assistance.
A gun cocked. Cam barely heard the sound, muffled as it was by their retreating footsteps. To a human, the click would have been inaudible. As it was, there was only half a second to react—and Cam used it well, grabbing Abby with both arms and caging her within them as he hit the ground.
Gunfire sprayed into the side of the airplane, shredding the metal. Several bullets penetrated and whined over their heads, signifying that the assholes in the van had access to some pretty damn decent firepower.
They’d have been dead were they still in the cockpit.
Underneath him, Abby was shaking. Cam picked her up and ran for the weed-infested ditch ahead, where they stood some chance of sheltering from further bullets.
“They weren’t aiming at us—they were disabling the airplane,” Russ sent.
“It’s pitch black. Doubt they saw us bolt.”
“True. Stay with the girl. I’m going to loop around the side, see how many we’re up against.”
His brother’s unspoken thoughts were grim. Now that the airplane was destroyed, they were stuck in the middle of nowhere with hours to go until dawn. If a pack of aliens came onto the scene…
“We fight while those fuckers drive away.” Russ completed the thought. “Looks like there are two of them. One’s getting out, and he’s heavily armed. I don’t think they’ve twigged who we are, so keep your UV-saber under wraps in case they shine a spotlight over your way.”
Cam obliged, ensuring the cuff of his jacket was tugged over the innocuous-looking wristband. The thing turned into a sword of light at a touch, able to cleave through UV-sensitive aliens with a flick of his wrist. In a human’s hands, they were dangerous to the Barks.
In a Twin’s hands, they were utterly deadly.
“Easy, Abby,” Cam soothed. He still felt her shaking, figured she was thinking she’d traded one hell for another.
“W-what’s going on?”
“Russ is getting the jump on them.” He kept his voice pitched low, though his Twin would warn him if they were in danger.
He felt Abby’s nod against his shoulder, although she remained otherwise still and silent. Her reactions mirrored that of a true survivor. How she’d gotten caught by those fat-cat former senators was beyond him.
“One down.” There was a long, fraught pause, during which he sensed Russ was in motion. Then: “I have them both. Come on out.”
“It’s okay now,” Cam told Abby, who was clinging
like a limpet to his arm. “Russ has the situation under control.”
She gave him a wary look as she straightened, retreating from the protection of his arms.
It took them a minute to get back through the brush and up the incline to the highway. By the time they reached the van, Russ was standing on the median with his hand around a man’s throat. One easy squeeze and he’d be dead.
Cam knew his brother was tempted.
“Not in front of Abby,” he warned. Instinctively, he knew it was something she wouldn’t forget.
“They deserve it, Cam.”
“Granted, but setting them free is arguably more of a punishment.”
Russ mulled that over, grinding his boot a little harder into the back of the prone man in front of him. But Cam sensed the roiling fury within his brother, knew he had to act to defuse the situation—fast.
“Look, the plane’s down for the count. Let’s take their van and let the bandits see if they can race the aliens to the nearest wall. Abby needs more sleep, anyway.” Cam watched his Twin, saw the moment Russ stepped back from the precipice.
“Two assholes, playing God,” Russ drawled. “It’s one thing to planejack us. But to destroy our only method of transportation?”
“That’s a real low,” Cam agreed. He came forward to hoist the man on the ground onto his feet, keeping a hand at the nape of his neck in case he tried anything funny. The guy stood around five eight, a good six inches shorter than the Twins. He shook, yet kept his mouth tightly shut.
His companion wasn’t so prudent. “How were we to know you weren’t gonna attack? Shooting your plane up was simple self-defense.”
“You should have rolled on by,” Russ said in a deadly quiet voice. The quiet before the storm. Lately, his temper had been vicious. Not even a month of R&R had been able to chill him out.
“All those gunshots will bring the Barks running. I heard they like to eat former wannabe lawyers like you,” Cam said conversationally.
The man he was restraining twitched involuntarily, trying to scan the horizon. As if on cue, a distant howl reached them. “Oh God,” he moaned.
Russ snarled, picking his captive up like a sack of grain and carting the man to the side of the road. “Here’s where you run. We’re taking your vehicle in exchange for ours. You might live if you find somewhere defensible.”
“Come on, man. Please.” Weaponless and in the open, the guy didn’t talk so tough now. But even he had the smarts to shut up when Russ pressed the muzzle of a revolver against his cheek.
“Run, both of you. Or get shot here, your choice.”
They ran.
The Twins gave them a moment to get clear, then returned to the armored van, where Abby was pressed against the side, staring into the night with a slightly glazed look. Overloaded, probably, but coping admirably under pressure. He went to her side, standing guard as Russ returned to the destroyed plane to fetch the rest of their provisions.
They’d packed lightly, but the Complex’s modus operandi was to stick in another day’s rations in case something went wrong. The extra protein bars didn’t weigh much anyway. Cam hoisted Abby’s bag into the rear of the van and gestured for her to follow.
The interior was in surprisingly good shape. Its former owners had tricked it out with two extra bench seats in the back, which looked like they’d make for a comfortable ride even though there were no rear windows. Abby set up camp on the middle one, slumping against the reinforced side of the vehicle, and Cam arranged the bags on the rear bench, sweeping a crumpled can out of the back. For a moment, both men stood still, digesting the sudden turn of events.
Alien howls sounded again, much closer this time, jarring them out of the brief apathy.
“I’ll drive,” Russ said curtly. He disappeared around the front, leaving Cam to close the rear doors. Once he’d done so, he climbed in next to Abby, buckling both of them in as Russ pulled onto the highway.
“You all right, sweet thing?” Cam, disguising his surprise at the way the endearment rolled off his tongue.
“I’m fine. But those men aren’t.”
“No,” Cam agreed. “They’ll have a chance at survival, though, if they manage to find something solid to hole up in. More of a chance than they would have given us, in any case.”
“That’s true.” Abby suddenly rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m not saying we should have done anything different. Can’t help wishing it wasn’t such a dog-eat-dog world, though.”
“I know. But there are flashes of civilization here and there. If you look hard enough.”
“Is life good at the Complex?” The last syllable was broken by a yawn. She didn’t complain when he put an arm around her, only snuggled closer. Cam told himself he was just making her comfortable so that she could sleep.
“It could be better.” He opted for honesty. “Some of the government officials—and most scientists—regard us as weapons instead of humans. That attitude is beginning to change. Materially, we live fairly well. President Wright herself goes on half-rations whenever food is scarce.”
“That’s…nice.” Abby’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Yeah, it is. It’s a decent life, even compared to pre-Invasion living. You wanna go to sleep now?”
“No.”
The slight petulance made him grin. “All right,” he said affably.
“Want to…watch the road, see where we’re going.”
“Of course.”
“There’s Barks…out there.”
“They won’t get us.”
She made a sound between a grumble and a sigh, the weight of her head increasing slightly as she relaxed against him. He stayed quiet, and Abby was out like a light in less than two minutes’ time, a sweet bundle against his side.
Chapter Three
Abby wriggled and stretched, rolling over with her eyes closed. This was the most comfortable bed she’d had in years. The pillow was a little lumpy, though.
Still in that gray stage between sleeping and waking, she slit her eyes open—then blinked. Her pillow was Cam’s jean-clad thigh, and she lay with her cheek pressed into blue denim. Early morning light filtered into the armored vehicle, which was still moving down the highway.
They were here because those two opportunistic dickwads had blown up their plane. She wondered if the two men had lived through the night. Once upon a time, she might have been concerned for them. But she’d learned there was little point worrying about strangers.
The thigh under her cheek moved incrementally, prompting Abby to wriggle to a sitting position. She felt absurdly bereft when she lost contact with Cam. Before she could overthink things she slumped back against him, glad of his warmth and support. His arm went around her immediately.
Abby let out the breath she’d been holding, letting herself snuggle into the man’s chest. There was only so much a person could take, she told herself rationally, before they needed some sort of human contact. And Cam felt safe. Safe and protective.
For now.
If she were part of his mission, he’d simply walk away once they reached the Complex. He’d no longer be obligated to put up with her.
Maybe she could finagle a job in Chicago. If the Complex was as safe as the Twins said it was, she could be happy there. She was used to hard work, so maybe they’d take her on. She’d have to find some kind of stable job—Grammie belonged safely behind high walls at her age, not gallivanting around looking for bottles of shampoo, cutlery, and whatever else they could trade for food.
“Where are we?” she asked, raking a reddish-brown lock of hair from her eyes. Her lips twisted in a slight grimace. She missed being able to dye her hair a brighter red. Hair dye was easy to scavenge. Unlike food.
“The outskirts of Columbus.” That was Russ, speaking from the driver’s seat. He’d heard her over the rumble of the engine? Impress
ive—but then again, these were Twins. That reminded Abby to be cautious around these men. There was a lot of hype surrounding them. She couldn’t be certain what was true and what was not.
Besides, hadn’t some of the Twins defected to the Shadow Feds?
“We planned to go around Columbus and continue on to Chicago,” Cam said. “Less trouble that way.”
“Planned?” she asked.
“Fuel’s running low,” Russ said.
So they didn’t want to stop, but they had to. Abby couldn’t blame them for being tense—she knew next to nothing about the lay of the land. After she and Mom had left Scar City and traveled east, she’d realized how fragmented things had become. Each City had rules unto itself.
Most densely populated places were fairly civilized, maintaining at least bare-bones civil services like police forces and fire departments. The president still controlled the Armed Forces and didn’t hesitate to deploy the National Guard when necessary. The latter’s ranks had swelled thanks to its policy of feeding and housing recruits.
As Abby well knew, food and safety was scarce these days.
The feeling of security she now experienced was so strange that she was briefly afraid she might be coming down with the flu or something. That would have been a death knell back in Headquarters. There was a sick bay, but it was underequipped and barely staffed.
The van jolted over a series of potholes, rocking Abby against Cam. He seemed to be all hard muscle, holding her tight so that she didn’t fly halfway across the vehicle. Still, when they hit another series of bumps, she wound up half in his lap.
“Sorry,” she gasped.
“Don’t even think about being sorry,” he muttered. His grin as she looked up, startled, was equal parts mischievous and amused.
He was flirting with her? That was both surprising and thrilling. After her fiancé had died, Abby had thought herself done with romance. For the past few months, all excess emotion had been tied up in simply trying to survive—and dodging the lechery of the worst senators.