Darr

by Theresa Beachman

  Violet raised her head, distracted. “Darr?”

  “We should hurry.” Hairs rose along the back of his arms as he craned his neck, checking once more. Blue sky mocked him, and at ground level, the street in both directions was empty. The same derelict cars, same rubbish piled in doorways. Sunlight glinted on one of the few remaining windows at the end of the street.

  Violet froze. “What’s spooked you?”

  He raised one finger to his mouth.

  “What?” she mouthed, her eyebrows rising.

  He shook his head, and with practiced skill, he slotted a bolt into his bow, securing it with a soft click. Violet unholstered her SIG and took a step closer, placing her back against his.

  “Chittrix,” Darr muttered.

  They were coming, an unrelenting force howling through the sky, gathering in a dark mass of terror that ruptured his thoughts.

  They hurtled nearer. And something else.

  He waited, slowing his breathing, his gaze skipping from car to car, searching for any telltale giveaway.

  Violet mirrored his movements. Licked her top lip. “Darr. You’re freaking me out.”

  A flash of reflected light crossed the edge of his vision as a door nudged open. He swung the crossbow and spotted a man ducking behind a large estate car crashed into a bollard at a drunken angle.

  “Up beside the red people carrier,” he muttered, tensing as she craned her neck to see.

  “Another. Beside the chemist,” she replied in a low voice.

  Shit.

  Glass shattered. A high-pitched tinkle that carried easily in the cool air. Three men. He pressed closer to Violet, focusing on his breathing. Evidently, Judge did not give up easily.

  Slowly, more men revealed themselves from behind doors and cars, one after the other in a tightly-closing net. Every single one was armed, their weapons aimed at Darr and Violet. Darr counted at least twelve. His heart stuttered because he knew. These men were not after him. He was just an inconvenience. These men, Judge, they were all after Violet.

  The circle tightened, nudging Darr and Violet into retreat, away from the bike and supplies and back toward the library.

  Judge appeared, striding from out of nowhere as if he owned the place. He walked tall and straight, a man who knew what he wanted and didn’t need a gun in his hand to show it.

  Darr took a step in front of Violet. He would die before he let them touch her. Just like that, he knew it. If they hurt her, or worse, he wouldn’t have a reason to keep going.

  Judge raised his hand in greeting and stopped fifty yards away.

  Darr glanced up, searching the cloudless sky for the Chittrix he knew were near.

  Judge spoke first. “No need for weapons. I’m a civilized man. I’ve come to talk.”

  Darr gestured with the nose of his bow. “There’s nothing to discuss. Leave.”

  Judge smiled, exposing perfectly white teeth. They gleamed incongruously against the dark shadow of his beard. “I will. When I have my property back.”

  Darr’s trigger figure curled. It would be so easy to take this animal out right now. One clean shot through the head would do it, but then there were the others to deal with, and even if he killed Judge outright, there was no way he could protect Violet from so many men.

  How had he let this happen? He’d been so careful, disguising their tracks when he rode back, circling the library and the surrounding area before letting Violet dismount. When he’d gone to the store to get the warm clothes, he’d scouted the entire block and found nothing out of place. But he’d missed something, and now he was paying the price for his own sloppiness.

  Gunfire erupted, eradicating the need for an answer.

  A Chittrix plummeted, a malevolent black arrow slicing earthward, veined wings tucked against its body for extra speed. Its long, spiked body blocked the feeble sunlight as it swooped low, its jaw widening in a rattling alien chatter that buzzed through Darr’s bone marrow. A second later, it leveled out and rocketed down the street, its wings spread in a wide canopy, herding three of Judge’s men against a shattered department store display window.

  All hell broke loose.

  Judge’s men fired as one, attacking the Chittrix with a barrage of bullets. It howled as ammunition ricocheted from the smooth chitin of its exoskeleton, but enough hit home, punching into the meaty areas between its joints and unleashing gouts of ochre fluid. It bucked violently, slamming the closest man backward, severing him in half with perfectly tapered talons.

  A second Chittrix plummeted from the icy sky and ripped a running man clear of the ground. Razor-sharp claws ripped through the thin material of his windbreaker and hooked him upward, his blood spattering down in savage rain. His companion tripped, his attention captured by the gory death. He hit the ground, rolled, and was gone, snatched effortlessly by murderous limbs, his arms and legs flopping like a rag doll.

  The remaining gunmen scattered, and Darr grabbed Violet, retreating into the safety of the library. Shots destroyed bricks in a hailstorm around them, puffs of red grit and dust hazing the air.

  The thunder of battle suffused the atmosphere—the Chittrix screeching and hissing, the harsh retort of gunfire, and the shocked cries of men torn apart. Momentary empathy flipped inside Darr. These men weren’t soldiers; they were ordinary people scared shitless into vengeful animals who’d lost track of what being human meant.

  Then the moment was gone, survival taking precedence. The Chittrix presence fractured Darr’s mind, fragmenting his thinking. More will follow. He stumbled after Violet, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the gloom after the daylight outside.

  Dust puffed from their feet as they sprinted, skirting the desks littered with dead enameled lamps. They ran as one between perpendicular rows of shelves, covering each other in an easy, intuitive partnership. Darr took comfort in the way she handled herself and her weapon, and he had to admit it, admiration. Violet was strong, and she didn’t back down.

  By the time they arrived at the rear fire exit, Darr’s eyes were watering from the throbbing in his skull. Salty tears ran down the back of his throat as he cleared his vision with the backs of his hands.

  A thick loop of steel chain crossed through the door’s press bar and linked to a bolt Darr had secured to the wall himself. The key-nail he’d hung at the side was empty.

  Violet kicked the door and rattled the chain that secured it. “Fuck.” She rounded on him. “What now?”

  “Looking for this?” Mathew emerged from the darkness, one hand outstretched with the small key dangling, while the other leveled a handgun at Darr’s face. A wicked grin tweaked the edge of Mathew’s mouth.

  Darr tensed, anticipation readying his muscles. This was the only exit to the rear, and there wasn’t time to backtrack and locate the side entrance. “Take me and let her go.” He raised his hands in supplication, gripping his crossbow in a neutral position.

  Mathew chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

  Darr repressed a sigh. Numbness filled his belly. “Don’t say I never gave you the opportunity. Violet, go,” he directed in a soft tone.

  She hissed under her breath. “Say what?”

  “You heard.” Darr was sick of killing, and there was no end in sight. Not fighting was no longer an option. He saw that now. He’d been a fool to think he could hide out in his library, but he was ready to be counted now.

  Now he had someone to fight for.

  Mathew grunted. “Less chat. Get—”

  Darr launched at Mathew, driving hard from his heels, his crossbow outstretched in from of him like an ancient shield. He hit Mathew like a battering ram, ignoring the agonizing lance of pain up his wounded arm. He drove the air from Mathew’s body, and they toppled together, smashing into a full bookshelf. The unit rocked then tipped backward.

  Darr roared, grabbing Mathew’s fist that held the key in a crunching grip until the snap of bones shot up his arm. Mathew screamed, blood oozing from his hand as he dropped the key.

 
; Mathew’s hand splotched the aged wood flooring with blood, infuriating Darr. Nothing was fucking sacred anymore. He threw the key to Violet just as Mathew staggered back to his feet and struck his handgun against Darr’s temple. Pain ricocheted around his skull.

  “Darr,” Violet shouted, her voice penetrating his fading concentration. The chain clattered to the ground.

  Gunfire echoed in his head, brutally loud. A posse of bloody men charged down the central aisle toward them.

  They were outnumbered.

  Violet bust the fire door open, shouldering it when it resisted the last few inches. Mathew was hunkered over his seeping hand. She kicked him in the groin, then lunged forward and laced her fingers into Darr’s.

  “Let’s go!”

  32

  Violet pelted down the narrow side road skirting the side of the library, Darr on her heels. Her wounded thigh pulsed agonizingly—the local anesthetic had finally worn off.

  Darr had secured the fire door behind them, jamming a paperback under the threshold as he slammed it shut. But now, fifty feet away, the narrow street echoed with the pounding feet and shouts of Judge’s men. Darr had bought them only a few minutes, but if they could get to the bike, it would be enough.

  “Wait.” Darr edged cautiously past Violet as they approached the front of the building. Violet eased back, stuttering to a limping halt behind him as she wheezed for air.

  Darr dropped to his knees, his shoulders flexed and rigid, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the street ahead. He straightened. “It’s clear.”

  Before she could reply, he’d darted to the loaded bike. The gas tank shone in the morning light incongruously spattered with blood.

  Darr tossed her the keys. Violet caught them and frowned.

  “You’re going alone,” Darr said, his face stern.

  Violet stopped mid-stride. “No.”

  “If we go together, they’ll follow. If you go alone, I can hold them back.” His eyes darkened.

  “We can do this together, Darr.”

  “Damn it, Violet. Do as you’re told.”

  She let the command pass, more concerned about getting him the hell away from here. His words from earlier boomeranged around her mind.

  There is no ‘we’.

  No matter how much she wanted there to be one. Why did she find his words so difficult to accept? How had he done it, gotten under her skin and made her want things she’d never imagined could be hers?

  He thrust a helmet into her hand. His face was slick with sweat; his eyes midnight blue. “Put it on. You want to get Cassy and Fiona the hell out of there?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “This is how you get them out, V.”

  Raised voices echoed up the side street they’d exited.

  “Go,” he said. “Now.”

  Any argument about leaving together died on her lips. Violet tucked the helmet against her chest, the thump of her heart bumping against the plastic. “This is it then?”

  “There are more Chittrix coming, V.”

  The obstinate part of her wasn’t ready to give up just yet, despite everything he’d insisted. She craned upward, but the sky was empty. She returned her attention to Darr. “Will you come after?” God, she sounded pathetic, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. She had to know.

  Darr pinched the skin at the top of his nose as if explaining to a small child. “What bit of ‘there’s nothing between us’ did you not get?”

  She recoiled as if he had slapped her, the skin on her face ablaze. Dizzy, she struggled to fit the helmet on with uncooperative fingers. At last, the helmet was on, snug against her cheeks. She fastened the chin strap, and the squeeze of tension across her ribs eased a little. At least he could no longer see the humiliation painted on her face. She willed away the tremble in her knees with quick breaths and blinked back hot tears. She would not let him see what he did to her.

  Violet mounted the bike and swallowed the lump in her throat.

  This was wrong. She never ran from conflict. She always faced up to the fight, but this time she was at a loss. Darr was pushing her away, and she had no idea how to find a way back in.

  He leaned close and lowered the visor on her helmet.

  “Go,” he said, and he turned away from her, not giving her a backward glance.

  Violet gunned the engine too hard, then she kicked off and let out the throttle heading in the direction that would take her home. The Command Base, where her brother and family were, far away from Darr and everything he made her feel.

  She accelerated swerving between the bloody remains of Judge’s men, driving clean and fast.

  Taut rope across the road at the end of the street hit the front wheel and the bike snapped sideways, spilling her onto the ground. Her head dragged along the concrete as she skidded, and despite the helmet, a hot wash of pain slashed through her ear. At last, she came to a halt, her breath loud in the confines of her helmet.

  She was alive.

  A dark shadow passed across her, blocking out the light.

  “Well, hello, sweetheart,” drawled a voice.

  Violet was yanked abruptly to her feet, her hands restrained behind her back with harsh plastic before she’d even caught her breath. Her ears rang from the impact with the road, and her mouth was sour with blood. She probed tentatively with her tongue at a laceration in her cheek and traced the indentations of her teeth. Rough hands removed her helmet, snaring her hair, forcing her head to tip upward.

  Judge strolled toward her.

  He smirked, the aroma of leather and cigars emanating from him. Nausea gagged at the back of Violet’s throat, but she swallowed it down.

  He grabbed her chin between sturdy fingers and tutted. “Sweetheart. Such a pretty face. Why are you trying to mess it up, throwing yourself off the bike like that?” He slapped her cheek playfully and grinned. “Bad girl.” But his eyes were dark and lethal.

  Violet found her feet, her thigh tender as she placed her weight on it. She didn’t even want to think about what state her leg was in right now. She twisted against the man holding her, but it was pointless. Thick-set, he restrained her easily, although his eyes were apologetic. As she wrestled in his grip, a flush spread across his neck and colored his cheeks, matching the orange of his hair.

  Another three men flanked Judge with pulse rifles cocked in her direction, while a fourth stood watch over a battered Range Rover and a family estate car. She was outgunned.

  “Seems your boyfriend isn’t going to help you. He’s made his choice, sweetheart, and it’s not you.” Judge pointed to Darr, who was retreating back into the bowels of the library.

  With a half-hearted shrug, Judge considered the remnants of his dead men and frowned as he stared skywards. “Let’s move. Too much bad karma going on here.”

  He bobbed his head in Darr’s direction. “Riggs, we’ve already discussed the plan for him. Make sure you bring him back in one piece. Take Shanks and Jenkins with you.” He paused, searching the street. “And find Mathew.” A lanky youth clutching a pulse rifle in his skinny arms gave Judge a curt nod, his mouth a determined line. He set off in the direction of the library, tailed by two reluctant older men who anxiously peered at the clear sky.

  Judge turned back to Violet and rubbed his hands together, his skin making a rough, sandpapery sound. “I have other lovely proposals for you.” He gave her captor a brisk nod. “Clarkie, you know what to do with her.”

  “No!” Violet bucked, kicking her feet, but wide, unrelenting hands bulldozed her in the direction of the Range Rover.

  “Your boyfriend isn’t coming after you, sweetheart but don’t worry, I have fun plans for him.”

  Judges words raked down Violet’s spine like icicles, and her stomach constricted. “Don’t look sad, sweetheart, you’re safe with us now.” Judge winked and laughed.

  Why was Darr standing on the step, not moving? “Don’t you—”

  Crack.

  Judge silenced her with the brutal slap o
f his hand.

  Hot blood burst from her lip. She coughed and spat, swearing a litany of abuse as Clarkie dragged her by her underarms away from Judge to the waiting Range Rover.

  “Please stop fighting,” he mumbled under his breath, his moist lips close to her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Violet swallowed warm blood. Where were the Chittrix Darr had promised her were coming? She gagged, tears blurring her vision.

  Judge made a mock salute at the now-empty library entrance and clicked his heels.

  Darr was gone.

  He’d left her.

  Violet sucked in a breath and held it, shutting the world out, unable to process what was happening. She curled her hands into fists and dug her fingernails into her skin, anything to ground herself in the reality she wanted to flee.

  She landed on the plush leather of the rear seat, and the door slammed behind her. Through the glass, she saw Riggs and his men walking up the hill, armed and ready. The doors clicked, locking her in the stuffy confines of the car. She pummeled her heels into the front seats in futile anger, screaming.

  Judge opened the driver’s door and climbed in. He raised his handgun and pressed the cold metal against her forehead.

  “Do it,” she challenged, dry heaves racking her lungs.

  Judge gave her a predatory grin. “That would be too easy.” He cocked the weapon away from her face and cranked the ignition, revving the engine as he waited for Clarkie to join him.

  Violet sagged, scrunching her eyes tight. Icy waves rushed over her body. She was trapped, and Darr had abandoned her. He’d meant what he said—she was nothing to him. Her stomach rolled with nausea as she attempted to slow her breathing, steeling herself for the next step.

  They were taking her to the Box. Violet swallowed, marshaling her reserves. She was alive. For now, that would have to suffice.

  33

  It took everything Darr had not to go to Violet. His instincts tore through him, wanting to pull her from the Range Rover and stab his knife deep into Judge. Hissing through clenched teeth, he savored the cut of his fingernails on his slick palms. The pain focused his thoughts, soothing the urge to run to her that burned like quick-fire through his bloodstream.