Darr

by Theresa Beachman

  “I’ll come back with the others,” she said, her voice barely audible, “we should go.”

  “Yes.” He swallowed hard, her distress touching something long hidden within him.

  Darr started to rise but the snub-nose of a gun jammed against the back of his neck preventing him from standing.

  “Nice and easy now.” The gun slid to under his ear.

  With deliberate slowness Darr straightened, leaving his SIG in the dirt. He raised his hands above his head. Trees and bushes stirred, and from out of the depths of the night, a circle of men emerged, their pulse rifles trained on his chest.

  11

  Violet was marched down an endless whitewashed corridor. The ceiling was low, threaded with a maze of industrial-looking black cables and pipes that tracked their path. Stenciled numbers marked the route, but not in any discernible pattern that Violet could work out. It all looked the same, and her belly somersaulted at the thought of trying to find her way out of here unassisted. The place was a goddamn labyrinth.

  She’d tried to see how many men brought up the rear, but that had earned her a painful stab in the shoulders, sending her stumbling forward.

  At least she’d seen enough to know Darr was behind her. That was something.

  They passed more men as they progressed deeper into the mine. Dirty and disheveled, they were wrapped in layers of clothing against the bitter cold that permeated the bedrock.

  But no women.

  Violet kept her head high, aware of the interest she was attracting, especially since the wild-looking bearded man had removed her hat and released her long hair.

  Her breath solidified into tiny clouds of vapor as she was hustled onward, her hands too tight behind her back, and her fingers throbbing in protest. If possible, it was even colder down here than it had been on the surface.

  Finally, rough hands stopped her in front of a set of battered double doors, secured in triplicate with steel bolts.

  The bearded man dipped his face low, his bristles scratching her cheekbone. “Here we are, princess.”

  Violet held her breath as he rapped loudly on the door before smoothing his hands across his shaved head as if checking his appearance.

  The left-hand door swung open abruptly, creaking on protesting hinges. A wide-set man with greasy hair tied back at his nape yanked the door open and grunted for the group to come inside. Bright light spilled out into the corridor and pooled at Violet’s feet.

  The bearded man pinched the tender flesh at her elbow and propelled her into the room with a nudge that almost sent her sprawling. She blinked and squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust. Darr stumbled beside her and gave her an unfathomable look.

  The room was a spacious vault lined with shelving and battered military storage containers of various sizes. Dark rows of pulse rifles lined the walls, and Violet clocked explosive storage casings. She caught the faint whiff of an earthy solvent that she recognized from working with Foster at the Command Base—TNT. The thought of Foster sent a pang of longing through her, but she kept her face emotionless. Clearly, they were well supplied. There must be a radio.

  “On your knees.” The bearded man leaned into her shoulders and shoved her down. Rough concrete bit uncomfortably against her shins. Darr was kicked to his knees next to her, his hair falling across his eyes.

  “Visitors. How unexpected,” boomed a deep male voice from directly behind her. It was cultured, with an indistinct accent. American? Violet was crap at accents. Certainly not British.

  “Such unexpected loveliness.” A strong hand gripped the hair at the back of her neck and yanked her face upright, then a thick male finger traced down the line of her throat and stroked across her collarbone. Violet squirmed, the burning grip on her hair rendering her immobile. She could see only the dark outline of a man’s head against the bright white lights. She screwed her eyes up to protect them, and her hair was released.

  The man walked in front of her. He wore thick-laced army boots and black cargo pants. An old-fashioned fire axe, red paint chipped and flaking, was hooked into his belt as he halted in a wide-legged stance, his hands resting on his hips. He assessed her as he stroked a trimmed dark beard.

  “So…trespassing.” He drew out the ’s’ in a long sibilant hiss. “You do know this is private property? Did you not see the signs when you arrived?”

  Violet risked a sideways glance. Darr was intent on their captor, his neck corded and humming with tension. She checked the rest of the room and counted at least five more men. Trying anything right now would be insane. She rolled her shoulders, slowing her breathing and conserving her resources as she’d been taught in basic training.

  The man pouted. “Nobody talking? Come now, let’s not be shy.” He tapped his chest. “You may call me Judge because that’s who I am, and what I am.” He stepped forward and clipped Violet under the chin with one finger, tilting her head up and forcing her to look straight at him. His fingertips were soft, not calloused from work like the soldiers she fought with at the Command Base.

  “Miss Green eyes?”

  Violet twitched her chin away from his touch. “Violet.”

  “Violet. Sweetheart, you going to tell me what you’re doing sneaking around on private property?”

  “Your men killed a man and took a woman and child against their will.”

  “Ah. Did that offend your sensibilities?”

  Violet’s stomach clenched as he chuckled and stroked his beard. Merciless blue eyes appraised her in a slow sweep.

  Judge patted her head. “Quite touching. I can’t believe there are still people acting like the world hasn’t been destroyed by aliens, and that we can all be decent and nice to each other.” He touched his chest in a gesture of affectation. “Gets me right here.”

  He winked, and a wave of low, throaty laughs rippled from the other men. Violet stared at the floor. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage. Engaging these men was madness. A simmering current of violence hung in the air, and it was partly to do with her being a woman, she was sure of it. She was at a disadvantage, even if she wasn’t quite sure how.

  The man shifted his attention to Darr. “And you are?”

  Darr eyed him but remained tight-lipped.

  Judge took a step back, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Well?”

  Darr stared in resolute non-compliance. Judge cocked his head as if he’d spotted an interesting bug on the floor, then lunged forward and kicked Darr square in the ribs. Darr tumbled face first, a low gasp of pain escaping him as he fell.

  Violet lunged toward him instinctively, but a pulse rifle was shoved painfully into the soft skin under her chin, and she halted mid-twist, screaming obscenities in her mind. The gun pressed upward, forcing her to kneel again.

  She rounded on Judge. “Leave him alone!”

  Darr wheezed, drawing his knees high up against his chest as he sucked air.

  Judge chuckled. “How touching. Defending your man.”

  “He’s not—”

  Judge made a cutting motion for her to be silent. From nowhere, he produced a SIG and pressed the cold nose to her temple, clicking off the safety. Hot blood rushed in her ears.

  He spoke directly to Darr. “All these guns! One pretty lady. Be a shame to spoil this face. You are—?”

  Darr spat blood on the floor and grimaced. “Darr.”

  Judge peered at Violet again and smiled, but his eyes remained cold and emotionless.

  “Well, Violet and Darr. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but…it’s not. Those days are gone.” He lowered his handgun and stepped away, but the pulse rifle remained jammed against her windpipe, making every breath difficult.

  “I am Judge. This is my fortress.” He raised his hands to the ceiling. “You can choose to stay and work for me and live by my rules, or you can leave.” He slapped a hand across his eyes. “Forgive me. That option expired.” His face hardened, his eyes narrowing. “There’s no leaving. You work for me, or you die. Easy.�
� He twitched his head at the bearded man.

  “Mathew, take her to Cassy’s room.” Strong fingers gripped Violet’s upper arm.

  Violet resisted. “Get your hands off me.” She wrestled in Mathew’s hold.

  Darr was oblivious. He was back on his knees, blood leaking from his nose but his gaze was unfocused, trained somewhere on the scuffed space between them.

  “Darr!” she shouted. Another pair of unrelenting hands joined Mathew’s, gripping Violet under the armpits and manhandling her back to the door. She kicked and struggled, but she might as well have been fighting a brick wall for all the difference it made.

  “No, wait! You don’t need to do this. Darr, help me. Darr!” With a final push, Violet was out of the room and being jolted up the corridor so fast her feet barely skimmed the ground.

  On her own.

  12

  Darr was thrown head-first into a shadowy cage. His hands were cable-tied at the base of his spine, and he was unable to stop his forehead from colliding with metal bars. Stunned and in a blaze of pain, he curled into a wheezing ball, struggling to regain control of his bruised body. Grit ground between his teeth, forcing him to spit and clear his mouth.

  The door slammed behind him and he was alone.

  Darkness swamped him, rich with the stench of animals and blood. He closed his eyes, fighting to maintain his grip on reality as a mental orchestra of agony tuned up inside him. Forcing himself to focus, he visualized Violet, her eyes bright with intelligence, her gentle curves, and her skill in pick-pocketing car keys. Some unacknowledged part of him had already lost perspective when it came to the red-haired soldier.

  Less than twelve hours for her to upend the careful, hidden existence he’d worked hard to establish over the past three months. How was it even possible for everything to be so utterly fucked in such a short space of time? His eyes snapped open as frustration and worry ticked through him. For all her skill and strength, on her own, she was vulnerable. Letting her down wasn’t an option.

  Robust metal bars were buried in the concrete inches from his nose. They went high, higher than he could reach.

  Bloody excellent.

  He curled his legs behind him, so his boots rested against his hands. The men who’d searched him were morons. Darr grabbed his boots and tugged the rubber sole free, fumbling inside to reach the lethal sliver of the blade hidden in his heel. With awkward fingers, he flicked the blade under the cable ties. Several minutes of joint-numbing sawing later, his hands were free, and he sagged against the concrete, breathing through the prickling rush as life flowed back into his extremities.

  When the tingling eased, he straightened and rubbed his arms before tucking the blade back into his boot for safekeeping.

  A mental presence shifted, sharpening familiar needles inside his head. Torment reached out from the hidden corners of the room, pressing razor-like fingers around the edges of his skull.

  Holy shit. He wasn’t alone.

  A Scutter.

  There was a fucking Scutter here. In the room.

  Black spots shimmered across his vision as an alien scream penetrated deep inside him, ricocheting through his brain and ripping into the private space of his mind. He thrust his hands to his temples, pressing the heels of his palms to the scar on his forehead, clasping his head in a death-grip to stop his mind being invaded. But his hands were futile against the psychic attack, and it pressed and probed into the depths of his being.

  Darr crumpled to his hands and knees as the alien presence rushed through him in a scorching maelstrom of emotion, scarring and burning everything it touched. Dark alien shapes invaded his memories. Flashes of an arid red planet, dying and nearing implosion. Scutters and Chittrix, fighting to escape the destruction, burying themselves and their young deep in crevasses of rock. And then fire, relentless fire and the roar of a planet torn asunder, scattering itself into the furthest reaches of the universe.

  The Scutter hurled itself against the row of robust bars separating them, jolting him back to the here and now. The metal juddered under the onslaught, the Scutter’s talons screeching on the metallic smoothness. It howled in fury, its shuddering jaws stretched wide, translucent fangs slick with venom. Anger and confusion radiated from the alien, splintering Darr’s increasingly tenuous sense of self.

  Abruptly, it jerked backward, its teeth snapping shut in a metallic scrape that made his skin crawl. Soft clicks and burrs radiated from it as it twisted in its cage, its compound eyes fixed on his face while the organic connection stretched between them.

  Darr heaved, gasping for air and struggling to make sense of what he’d just experienced. Alien contact had only ever brought him pain and distress, never memories, or ideas, or…almost thoughts.

  He physically recoiled under a fresh bombardment. Human faces, fluctuating shapes seen through the multiplicity of an alien eye. Men with stabbing poles of blue electricity, torturing the restrained alien. The Scutter screamed again, a call of hatred and fury, calling to its own kind, calling for the slaughter of those who dared restrain it. Its call bounced back from the impenetrable rock ceiling above their heads.

  Darr strained to see the bedrock above. No-one would hear me if I screamed.

  The Scutter stopped short, honing its teeth against one another in frustration. It leaned closer to examine Darr through the bars separating them.

  It understood me.

  Darr forgot to breathe as the Scutter angled its head inspecting him.

  He’d done everything in his power to isolate himself from Chittrix and Scutters since their proximity caused him physical and mental pain. Medication had dulled the cerebral attacks, and his withdrawal from the world had protected him further.

  Now he had nothing.

  His vision fuzzing round the edges, his lungs lurched back into action. He rasped harshly as he fought for air, his skin clammy and damp as the ramifications of this new attack sank in.

  The Scutter had invaded his mind, drowning him in its ancestral memories of a planet long destroyed and its raw sensations of being. And most terrifying, it understood his thoughts. It had stopped screaming at the roof as soon as his assessment of the sound-absorbing stone had crossed his mind.

  Adrenaline burned his blood as he struggled to pull his mind back from the creature, to separate their joined consciousness. Panicking, he buried his knowledge of human resources and the locations of human survivors.

  And Violet. It saw Violet as he remembered her, her auburn curls framing her freckled skin. He closed his eyes as he screened her from the Scutter, protecting her within the furthest corner of his mind.

  His forehead touched the cold stone floor as the mental effort, depleted him. Meds. He groped in his pockets, desperate for anything. They were still empty. He groaned aloud, unashamed of his anguish. Trembling with the effort, the best he could do was push himself to the other side of his cage, as far away as possible from the alien.

  The Scutter tracked him, the poisonous curved talon at the apex of its scorpion-like tail clicking against the bars in a wretched rhythm. Soulless, faceted insect eyes studied him, inside and out.

  Darr scrabbled backward in retreat, but it was only a few short feet before his back collided with the rough-hewn stone wall. He wrapped his arms around his head, holding his forearms against his eyes while the Scutter crushed his mental defenses, searching for weakness. Shudders racked Darr’s body; he didn’t know how much more he could endure.

  He almost cried out in relief as a key ground in the lock, and a door swung open, illuminating the underground space. A tattooed man rattled the keys then stuffed them in his back pocket, laughing. Beside him, a younger man appeared, his hair neatly side-combed, at odds with the juiced-up cattle prod he carried. He rammed it against the bars, scorching the air with a fizzing, cracking azure shower.

  The younger man swore loudly as the Scutter recoiled, retreating into the shadows of its cage. Darr’s breathing hitched as waves of crystalline hatred from the Scutter flood
ed him in a deluge.

  He needed it out of his head.

  His breath caught as a new instinct ignited within him. Use the connection. Use the Scutter.

  Darr embraced it, seizing all the alien’s consciousness within him. He corralled it, gathering his momentum. His eyelids fluttered shut as the younger man unlocked his cage.

  “Up. You got somewhere to go.” Booted feet kicked the dirt next to Darr, nudging his leg.

  The Scutter paced, inhaling the scent of the men. The tang of rough alcohol burned Darr’s nostrils.

  “Hey. You.” The younger man stepped further into Darr’s cage. His cattle prod scraped on the ground in a slow threat. He stabbed the prod into Darr’s calf, blasting electricity through his body.

  Now.

  Darr’s eyes snapped open, staring at the man, amplifying the excruciating agony of the cattle prod and directing it back to the Scutter a hundredfold.

  The Scutter’s earth-shattering scream razed the room, and the man jerked backward, his face crumpled in uncertainty.

  Too late to go back now—the gate was open. Darr mustered another brutal push, forcibly directing a tsunami of fear and hatred into the Scutter.

  “What the fuck?” The tattooed man approached the Scutter’s cage, ignorance and stupidity making him careless.

  The enraged alien exploded forward like black lightning. Unadulterated rage propelled it straight into the cage bars, the impact of its weight bending the metal and grinding it against stone.

  The tattooed man’s retreat was sluggish with arrogance. Lethal talons slipped through the deformed bars, carving his torso from collar to pubic bone. He staggered backward, his hand clutched to his chest as dark red blood pulsed through his fingers in a hot gush. Small, garbled, wet sounds emanated from deep in his throat as he tripped and fell heavily in the doorway. His fingers were invisible now, hidden by the thick throb of blood escaping his body.

  Darr pushed again, mentally steering the Scutter back to the weak spot in the distorted bars. It flung its body repeatedly against the warped metal, battering against its enforced captivity with fury-fueled strength. Darr slid up the far wall of rock, supporting his weight on his right leg while his left still throbbed with electric aftershocks. Hidden in the darkness of his now-open cell, he became a mental bulldozer.