Darr

by Theresa Beachman

  He could at least keep telling himself these lies.

  A bat swooped and grazed the windscreen, its underbelly skimming up and away. Darr muttered silent thanks that the small animal avoided injury. The world was a quiet enough place since the arrival of the Chittrix had wiped out most indigenous species.

  As he drove, his headache eased to a dull throb. There were no Chittrix or Scutters close by, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe Judge wasn’t organizing his men in pursuit. The snow would make tracking them easy. Darr squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers, wishing the night away as he calculated the backtracking necessary to cover their trail.

  Violet interrupted his plans. “I saw them take a Scutter inside the Box.”

  Darr nodded.

  Her eyes had darkened to cool wintergreen. “A Scutter, Darr? What does it take to capture a Scutter?” She held her hands out in disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one on its own before. They’re always in groups of at least twenty or thirty or hanging off an eight-foot Chittrix that’s intent on ripping your head off.”

  Sweat sheathed Darr’s brow. “I don’t even want to know.” he lied.

  Violet splayed her hand on the side window. “My team will help us.” Her tone softened with affection. “They’re good people.”

  “Yes.” Darr agreed. Despite his run-in with Ben Sawyer at the Command Base, he’d never doubted the ethics of the men who protected the bunker. And now, understanding Violet, he saw that more than ever. Tightness enveloped his throat.

  He changed gear to distract himself and grinding noises shimmied through the car floor. He thumped the steering wheel as the vehicle protested his ongoing abuse. “Damn heap of junk.”

  “I told you it was a crappy car.” Violet admonished.

  Her crooked smile eased the ache at the base of his neck, and his pulse relaxed slightly from its mad gallop.

  It was possible this would be okay. He could help Violet and Garrick without them discovering what he was. Then at least Violet would know him as a man of his word before he left. It was a compromise, but a small glimmer of hope grew within the dark corners of his psyche, briefly warming his heart with a golden glow.

  Hope. He’d forgotten what it was.

  A flicker of movement caught his eye. Something was outside the car, keeping pace, flashing in and out of sight through the skeletal winter forest. His breath stalled as his instincts flared into life.

  Too late.

  The windscreen imploded, the glass shattered into dazzling confetti by a dark form. Metal screamed as the world flipped upside down. A tornado of darkness engulfed Darr, dragging him away from Violet.

  18

  Violet woke with a start, disorientated. She lay crumpled on her side, her face resting against Darr’s arm. Icy wind blasted rain through the shattered windscreen. A fully-grown deer lay sprawled across the nose of the car, its head almost sheared off by the collision. Pale grey intestines spilled from a wide gash in the nut-brown belly, still steaming in the weak half-light. Violet blinked slowly, gathering her senses. Dawn was coming.

  She pressed her fingers to Darr’s neck, reassured by the steady metronome of his pulse under her fingertips. Pushing herself upright, she checked him over, gently probing his skull for injuries. He was unmarked, apart from a white scar on his forehead, revealed when she brushed the hair away from his face. Despite his unconscious state, his breathing was regular, and his color was good. No need to worry yet.

  She fumbled with her seat belt. After some significant cursing, it reluctantly gave up the goods so she could crawl out the car. Her ears strained, scanning the environment for any indication of attack—Chittrix or human—but for now, the only noise was the soft huff of her own breathing and the icy rasp of snow drifting on metal. She exhaled slowly and waited, her breath hanging in the air in a hazy puff. Nothing. She was alone.

  Meager blue light struggled to brighten the sky in the east. Another crisp winter morning. Violet hated winter, hated the cold and the absence of life and growth. And this winter, the first since the Chittrix invaders had taken the Earth, was the worst.

  They’d made it as far as the edge of Chippenham’s industrial estate. Or the remnants of it. Low lying, pre-fabricated buildings with corrugated metal roofs and shuttered doors surrounded her. Empty windows gaped, their glass long gone. Signs hung above doors, lopsided and faded, stained with black mold. Furry, mustard-colored alien algae conquered the walls, undulating even though there was no wind. She walked a few paces up the road. Frozen knee-high grass clogged the verges while under her feet, the concrete was ruptured by ice and plant roots.

  If I wasn’t depressed before I got here, I sure am now. Damn.

  She turned on her heel. If her memory of the map she’d used with Bailey was accurate, it was approximately a half an hour walk back to Darr’s library in the town center. Might as well be the damn moon.

  Glacial gusts cut through the loose fabric of her too-big cargo pants, bleeding heat from her body. Her thick coat had been stripped from her at the Box, along with her hat and gloves. If she walked, she’d be a popsicle before she made it, especially in her weakened state. And that was before she’d even worked out what to do with Mr. Unconscious.

  Violet rubbed her upper arms until it felt like she might chafe the skin from her bones as she jogged back to the trunk of the car. The lock was jammed, damaged in the crash, but when she climbed into the rear seat and yanked at the parcel shelf, she was able to access the trunk. She removed a dusty picnic blanket and gave it shake. Dust and dog dander enveloped her, triggering a coughing fit. Violet wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then wrapped it around her shoulders, grateful for the dog-scented protection.

  Bolstered by her lucky find, she turned and re-checked Darr. Time was the enemy. Either men or aliens would find them if she didn’t get him out of the car.

  She cupped his jaw and stroked the bristles of his beard. He was paler than she liked and his skin was clammy. He stirred against her hand, warm breath escaping his lips. What was he concealing that drove him to dose up on tranquilizers? This could so easily have been her if Garrick hadn’t brought her back from the brink.

  She leaned toward him and spoke in a quiet voice. “Hey, you.”

  Darr opened his eyes, but they were glazed and unfocused, his attention sliding away.

  She shook him gently, gripping his shoulders. “Darr. Wake up.”

  He mumbled, and his head lolled as if the muscles had been disconnected.

  Shit.

  Violet took a deep breath. “Sorry. Desperate times.” She punched him in the chest. “Darr!”

  Nothing.

  Double shit.

  She bent down and looped his arm around her shoulder, supporting his weight and ignoring the shards of pain lancing her chest.

  “Work with me—you’re bloody heavy!” she bellowed. His legs finally locked straight, and he took a stumbling step, lurching out the car. She guided him forward, heading away from the wrecked vehicle. Every minute they remained here they were more likely to run into someone or something she didn’t want to meet.

  At last, they made it to the chain link fence marking the boundary of the industrial estate. Violet’s shoulder throbbed with the awkwardness of Darr’s tall weight, and her ribs were protesting loudly. She pointedly ignored the wet blood on her thigh where the dressing had given up the ghost.

  Darr groaned. “Leave me.” He struggled with her arms, and they staggered, crashing into the chain link fence and showering Violet in sugary snow dust.

  “Darr. Quit mucking about.”

  He grunted and sagged against the fence, his solidity dragging her down. “Go.”

  Her shoulders were screaming now. A loud voice in her head told her to walk away like he was asking. There was no way she would be able to walk him back to the library. She imagined her brother Garrick yelling at her to leave Darr alone and get herself somewhere safe.

  But he had come for her in th
e Box. He’d helped her when he could have left. There was decency and honor in him, qualities she’d never imagined he possessed.

  She released him into the stretchy embrace of the chain link fence then tucked the smelly dog blanket around him, pulling it up to his ears. She wasn’t sure how much difference it made when the temperature was below freezing, but at least it was something.

  Nausea rolled in her stomach, and the world swam, hazy and indistinct. She dropped to her knees and hung her head, drawing in slow breaths and getting herself back under control. She rested her head against the fence post, digging deep.

  I can do this.

  When the Chittrix had emerged from the meteorites and infested Earth, she’d fled to her parent’s home. She arrived too late, unarmed and unable to help. After she’d crawled out the wardrobe on her hands and knees onto carpet sticky with her parent’s blood, she’d armed herself and gone to kill the Chittrix that killed her parents. Day after day she’d hunted, until Garrick had returned and prized weapons from her blood-crusted hands and forced her to stop.

  But she’d decided that first day—if it was in her power to help, she’d do everything, anything, to make penance for the two most important lives she’d been unable to save.

  Violet smoothed the hair from Darr’s forehead as she crouched next to him. His scar was a thin ridge under her fingertips. Yes, that’s what she was doing. Helping him like she helped everyone else. Nothing to do with his dark lashes and the strong lines of his jaw disguised by his scruffy beard.

  She snatched her hand away. The only reason she was helping Darr was because she needed him. She needed his help to return to the Command Base so she could rescue Cassy and Fiona. Nothing more. It was completely unrelated to the way she was starting to feel whenever she looked at him or got too close

  Shit.

  She stood abruptly, arms wrapping around her sides in a miserable attempt to stall heat loss. The sun was up. If she didn’t hurry, they were both going to die of hypothermia.

  She checked her gun. Full round. She stuck it under her string belt in the small of her back.

  Time to get moving.

  19

  Twenty-five minutes later, Violet arrived at a small retail park, her hands stuffed in her armpits for warmth. Her teeth chattered non-stop, and deep shivers raked her body. She needed to get out of the weather and soon.

  The first store was a beauty salon. Faded adverts for hair colors and facial scrubs decorated the small parking lot. Violet had never been one for feminine fripperies, but right now she would’ve paid a lot of money to sit in a robe with someone painting her nails and moisturizing her cuticles.

  Two cars were parked in the lot, crusted with snow but with their windows intact.

  A dilapidated looking Honda or a Ford Fiesta. She was spoiled for choice.

  She cast around, desperately hoping for a Jaguar or something a bit more upmarket that might have heated seats.

  Nope.

  The Ford had two flat front tires. She kicked one with her good leg, then wincing, limped back to the three-door Honda. There was a tissue box with a crocheted cover on the rear parcel shelf and matching throw cushions on the rear seat. But best of all, a knitted blanket covered the back seat.

  Violet glanced skywards. Thank you.

  Clenching her clacking jaw, she smashed the driver-side window with a rock. She brushed broken glass from the seat and dropped gratefully into the tiny car. A Christmas tree air freshener spun from the driver’s rearview mirror. Violet dragged the blanket off the back seat and hauled it around her body and over her head. She sat like that for several minutes, clutching the wool to her cheeks, waiting for her body to stop shaking. Lavender and mothballs had never smelled so good.

  As soon as she was able to flex her hands, she removed the cover under the steering column. She tugged the wires free and stripped the plastic casing from the appropriate ones with a shard of glass. Spending too much time with Garrick in her teenage years was finally paying off. Saying a silent prayer, she sparked the ignition and battery wires together, and the engine gave a strangled squawk.

  “Come on.” She stroked the wires together once more, not daring to breathe as sparks flew and the tiny engine coughed to life. Violet stamped the accelerator, revving the engine into a frenzy before easing off and letting the engine settle to a tinny putter. Blessed heat finally flowed from the air vents.

  She rubbed the skin at the top of her nose. Her fingers stank of rubber and electricity. She shoved the car into gear. Ahead of her, the streets were empty and quiet. No Scutters. No insane men out to rape her, and no fucking enormous Chittrix. Absolutely excellent.

  Violet drove the car back to Darr as fast as the tiny engine would allow.

  Right now, she didn’t even know if he was alive or not, and the thought that he might be dead when she returned made her eyes sting. Everything had cascaded into such a mess in less than twenty-four hours. She was still no closer to getting herself back to the Command Base, and now Darr’s life was at risk because of the choices she’d made.

  Violet blinked furiously and wiped her nose with the edge of the blanket before returning her hands to the wheel with a grip that made her bones hurt. She shifted straighter in her seat, steeling herself. She had dealt with far worse than this since the Chittrix invasion. She was a goddamn soldier after all.

  She just had to focus on the next step.

  It was full daylight when Darr finally came into sight, still slumped against the fence in an untidy heap of man and blanket.

  Her pulse accelerated. He looked unharmed. She stamped on the brake and jumped out, leaving the engine running. Her knees buckled under an onslaught of adrenaline as she dropped down beside him. With shaking hands, she cradled his cheeks. He was breathing, only semi-conscious, his lips muttering some litany under his breath, too quiet for her to hear.

  She hauled him close, surprising herself with the unexpected hug, and buried her face in the roughness of his neck as laughter shook her body. “Still alive,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Violet?” he mumbled.

  Violet froze, her cheeks heating. She recoiled, pushing her hair off her face and ignoring the warm trace of his scent on her skin.

  “Darr,” she replied, regaining her composure. She slapped him lightly on the face then shook his shoulders. He groaned.

  She pulled his arms and encouraged him up to a wobbly standing position. With significant cursing, she maneuvered him to the waiting passenger seat of the Honda. After a moment of fearing he was just too big, she wedged him in, his long legs and knees pressing up against the interior of the car even after she’d slid the seat as far back as it would go.

  It took another half an hour before she found the library then she spent an extra ten minutes doubling back and forth to cover their tire tracks.

  Darr remained semi-conscious throughout. Awake enough to help her a little as she manhandled him up the stairs, but not enough that her side wasn’t screaming in a riot of pain as she finally released him onto his narrow bed.

  He sprawled out, his face a filthy contrast to the white sheet as unseen dreams flickered across his closed lids. Violet unlaced his boots and stripped the wet socks from his feet. She glanced up the lean lines of his body—dark cargo pants hugging his thighs, his broad chest encased in a woolen jumper. If it wasn’t for the circumstances, she could have mistaken him for a model on a photo shoot.

  Violet touched his calf. His clothes were wet from the snow. She was going to have to strip him.

  All the moisture in her mouth evaporated.

  She clenched her hands then stretched them wide. Wiped them on her pants. Where did she start?

  “Okaaay. Let’s do this.” She reached for his belt and unbuckled the black leather. It pulled free of his waist with a hiss. Violet rubbed it between her fingers, stalling.

  Top or bottom first?

  Top.

  With tingling palms, she lifted his sweater up across his stomach, her f
ingers grazing the heat of his skin. His arms slid easily out the sleeves, and with a quick tug, it was over his head.

  Violet rocked back on her heels, her gaze drawn to his washboard abdomen. A gorgeous, defined V disappeared under his waistband. Unthinking, she placed her palm flat on his chest, absorbing the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. Soft hair tickled her palms and continued in a line down the center of his belly and into his pants. It took all her self-restraint not to reach out and trace its descent.

  Instead, she began to unbutton his cargo trousers.

  One. Button. At. A. Time.

  Her tongue darted against her lips, tasted salt.

  The last button popped open.

  Her heart was bruising her ribs.

  Fuck.

  Violet closed her eyes. This was insane. He was hurt. She was a soldier. But her body reacted to him in a way she’d never experienced before. She spread his legs apart and climbed in between, hyper-aware of his thigh muscles pressing her own. She shimmied closer and tried not to think about the intimate position she’d now assumed. Heat scorched the back of her fingers as she hooked his waistband at his hips, her face only inches from his navel. His scent filled her brain, unraveling any remaining rational thoughts.

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Exhaling in a slow, controlled breath, she slid the fabric off his hips, inching it under his backside and down his legs.

  She shouldn’t be looking. But holy cow. Her heart rate picked up by several hundred beats a minute.

  She drank the sight of him in, allowing herself seconds to absorb his almost-naked dark beauty. Tousled hair hid his eyes, and a rough beard disguised full lips and a strong chin, but to Violet, he was physical perfection. Old scars—from Chittrix talons, she guessed—marked the defined muscles of his thighs, evidence of battle and strength. The navy shorts he wore hugged the curve of his athletic body, leaving little to the imagination. At last, she covered him with several blankets, tucking them around his still form.