Hardy grunted. “As ready as we’ll ever be.”
Garrick hugged Georgina before shaking hands with Hardy. He didn’t release the handshake, holding Hardy in place for a moment. “As soon as you find Janie. You come home. This isn’t the time for sightseeing.”
“We won’t be taking any chances,” Hardy said. “The western coastal road will take us directly above Glasgow. We’ll keep an eye out for other groups. You never know.”
The two men released hands.
Other groups.
Mabe clenched his jaw. He’d survived ten months alone before coming across Garrick and the others, and in that time he’d only encountered lawlessness and savagery. As far as he was concerned this was it. Civilization had died a long time ago under Chittrix rule, but he kept his mouth shut. Hope was a fragile thing, and the others didn’t need his negativity pulling them down.
“Hey.” Sawyer jogged across the concrete, Julia towing behind him, her shirt buttoned-up in lopsided disarray. He yanked a faded baseball hat over his shorn mohican. “I slept in.”
Foster’s eyebrows rocketed. “Yeah. We can see that.”
Julia beamed and Sawyer pulled her into the curve of his arm and planted a kiss on the top of her head. Julia relaxed into him for a second and then she broke free all businesslike, slipping into weapons engineer mode. “Mabe, the Sweeper?”
Mabe indicated where the Sweeper was secured inside the roof of the sludge-green Coyote. Her hypersonic weapon resonated at frequencies that detonated Chittrix at an atomic level. Damn, if that wasn’t just a little sexy. “Fully charged and prepped to go.” He shot her a grin.
She smiled and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Good. Feel free to obliterate any Chittrix while you’re out.” She swung up onto the top of the vehicle, edging past Foster, running her practiced eye over the alterations she’d made to the Coyote. “This will be your first full run on solar power, try not to do anything too crazy. There might still be bugs in the system I’ve missed.”
Julia pressed a hand to Foster’s body armor. “Not that I’m thinking anyone in this group would cane the Coyote.” She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow and planted a kiss on Foster’s cheek.
Foster grinned. “Sunshine power. Hell, yeah.”
Garrick shook his head. “Keep it clean. Anna prepped the list of supplies we need. Keep your eyes and minds open to new ideas, anything we’ve not considered until now.”
That didn’t mean Mabe couldn’t kill a few Chittrix while he was out. At least then the trip would be worthwhile. His palm brushed the gun holstered at his hip. He was ready.
Julia jumped down and slid into Sawyer’s arms once again, her curves fitting against him perfectly. She kissed him hard before releasing him.
“Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.” Sawyer headed to the front of the jeep. “Where’s Darr?”
Mabe waved in the direction of the loading bay doors where Darr waited. On the other side of the vaulted space, Darr raised his hand in acknowledgment, and began to wind the door crank. Grinding metal protested as flinty daylight reluctantly appeared between the separating bombproof doors. Foster disappeared from view, and seconds later the Coyote roared into life.
“Hey!”
Mabe spun to see Joe sprinting across the oil and dirt stained concrete.
He arrived breathless and threw himself into Georgina’s arms. “Don’t go.”
She dipped her head and hugged him tight. Since he’d arrived only a few short months ago, Joe had been Hardy’s silent shadow. It was only in the last week that the seven-year-old started to talk.
Hardy took a knee and wrapped his arms around Joe’s thin shoulders.
Mabe scraped a hand across his face. No use. The sight of Joe’s slight frame still burned within him. The kid should have enough to eat. They all should have enough to eat. Something had to change. Maybe this trip.
Joe blinked furiously, biting down on his lower lip.
“We’ll be back before you know it.” Hardy gripped Joe’s chin and tilted his face so they were looking each other in the eye. “Georgina and I need to find her sister, but I’ll be back. Both of us will be. I promise. You’ll be safe here with the others. Darr’s promised to look after the base with you.” He crushed Joe in his arms and smoothed the boy’s hair. “You know why I asked Darr?”
“He can control the Chittrix.” Joe stuck out his lower lip, unimpressed.
“Exactly. My two best men keeping everyone safe.”
Joe twisted his fingers in knots. “I know but—”
Mabe bent down. “Joe. Can you do me a favor while I’m away?”
Joe blinked as Mabe scooped Barney out of his top pocket. The mouse’s nose twitched as he sniffed the fuel scented morning air, sunlight from the now open doors burnishing his coat. Barney was Mabe’s drop of happiness, his connection to the past. He’d belonged to his niece, Rachel. A child was the best place for him.
Mabe dropped Barney into Joe’s cupped hands and pressed them gently closed. “Make sure he gets plenty of sleep and eats his vegetables. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” Joe’s voice was fragile and reedy. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I can,” he repeated, his voice stronger this time. “But, I still want to come too.” Joe’s face was set, his arms tense.
Hardy ruffled the uneven scruff on the boy’s head. “Not this time. It’s too dangerous.”
Joe stuck out his jaw. “I’m not a child.”
Georgina swept him into her arms. “We know that.” She shot a glance over his head at Hardy. “But you’re still not going, not this time.” She took a knee in front of him, pushing up her sleeve to reveal a dark wristband. “This band is a tracker. If you speak to Emma in the comms room, she’ll show you how you can track where we are on the computer. That’ll be cool won’t it?”
“I guess.” Joe’s stance softened a little.
“Someone needs to stay and look after the vulnerable,” Hardy reminded him. “Just because you aren’t coming doesn’t mean you’re not being useful.”
Joe stroked Barney’s head. “Sounds like something a grown up would say.”
Hardy exhaled. “Well—”
“We need warriors to protect the base.” Mabe winked at him and patted his thighs as if looking for something. He produced a small penknife as if out of thin air and held it out for Joe to accept.
Joe’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
Georgina frowned, but Mabe shot her a warning look. “Think I had a means of self-defense when I was his age.” He tilted his head in mock confusion. “What are you? Eighteen?”
Joe grinned and puffed out his chest. “Seven. Nearly eight.”
“No way.” Mabe snapped his fingers in disbelief.
Joe rotated the knife, running his finger along the back of the blade. “I’ll be real careful, I promise.”
“I know you will be.”
Across Joe’s head, Hardy shot him a grateful glance.
Mabe swallowed against the constriction in his throat. “Good lad.”
He climbed into the back of the Coyote. Sawyer had taken the wheel with Foster beside him, one leg propped on the dash. A digital map of South Wales was visible on the tablet perched on his lap.
Mabe sat down heavily, adjusting the SIG on his hip as they rumbled out into the dawn air. The Coyote and Jackal tracked each other for ten miles before separating on a hilltop intersection. For a second, both engines idled. They exchanged glances, and then with a final wave, Hardy steered the Jackal down the hill, north toward Scotland and Georgina’s sister.
Mabe settled back against the roll of the Coyote as they headed east toward Cardiff.
Foster rapped the dash with his knuckles. “Okay. Clock’s ticking. We have supplies to find and leggy bastards to kill.”
Mabe stared out the small side window. Summer was in full swing, a jostling mess of earth plants and alien invaders that stretched long vine tendrils across the road. “Something has to change. Every recon missio
n brings back less and less.” When he looked forward, Sawyer met his gaze in the rearview mirror, his lips pressed together in silent agreement.
Foster scratched his chin. “Easier said than done.”
“We can’t survive another winter like the one we’ve just had without altering things drastically.”
“Well, give me a heads up when you’ve got a plan.”
Mabe eyed Foster but remained silent. Foster was right. What other alternatives were there? Out of habit, he patted his shirt pocket. It was strangely empty without Barney.
Foster spotted the gesture. “Missing your rat?”
Mabe shot him the finger and grinned despite himself. “Fuck off, Foster.”
Foster winked and smiled back. “See you’re not as heartless as you make out. There’s hope for you yet.”
Mabe glanced out the rear window. The Jackal was just a wink of metal in the distance. Foster was wrong. It had ripped his heart to pieces when he lost Lissy and Rachel.
But he’d made his peace with that.
3
Sarah led Zoe down the incline in a deliberate zigzag. Tired looking beech trees and warped conifers provided paltry cover as they hiked through waist-high scraggy bushes determined to remain impassable. Small bugs hovered in thick clouds, biting at her arms.
Zoe swore under her breath and swatted at the insects. “Jesus. These things are like midges on speed.”
Sarah’s grip on her pulse rifle was painful. Sweat soaked under her arms and her spine ached with anticipation. Even under cover of trees and bushes the incessant hum of Chittrix wings permeated her brain. It saturated the evening air with their presence, and eroded her resolve.
“I can’t see any vines yet. You?” Zoe whispered.
“No.”
“This won’t work.”
“It will. Just shut up, keep your head down, and your eyes peeled.”
Sarah pulled the small knapsack she wore over one shoulder around to her front and flipped the buckle open. She looped it around her neck so she could fill it as she crawled and secured her pulse rifle to her back. With hypersensitive fingertips she confirmed the knife holstered on one hip, her handgun on the other. Good to go.
She dropped to her hands and knees. Soon they would be too close to risk standing. “You can wait here. Whistle if you see anything.” There were teasing glimpses of purple up ahead at ground level. “I can see vines.”
Sarah scuttled forward, the buzz and clicks of the Chittrix calls worming deep into her bones, dirt grinding under her fingernails. She focused on her breathing, one breath in and one breath out. Anything to distract her from the yammer of her heart and the bands of tension locking down her lungs.
A minute later, she pushed through a sickly looking honeysuckle trailing along the ground. Its tendrils were intertwined with the cloyingly scented vine only inches away. She opened her mouth to breathe; the vine’s aroma was rancid, milk and garbage that had been left out in the sun too long.
She unsheathed her knife and slashed several tendrils free. The plant reacted, its slippery limbs contracting under her touch, driving her to work quickly. She pushed her knife close to the soil, slicing through turgid stems, wrapping them in cloth and stuffing them in her backpack. It was a job of minutes.
Sarah rocked back on her heels to an awkward crouch and wiped her forehead. When she lowered her hand, her skin was sticky, vine juice staining her fingers a lurid violet. She winced and wiped them on the seat of her pants before stowing her knife and lashing her backpack closed. Her mind raced, planning dissections back at Carven House. The vine grew at an exponential rate, as did much of the alien vegetation. The genetics of the plant’s rapid growth could be—
A muted squawk erupted behind her.
Sarah froze, her heart rate shattering the stratosphere under igniting sparks of adrenaline. Scrubby growth and branches rustled, and a heavy thud travelled up from the damp earth against her palms. Hairy leaves rasped her cheek and a sharp branch stabbed her neck. Stock still, she exhaled slowly, parting her lips, listening hard.
Where the hell was Zoe? She scanned the greenery behind her, her vision fuzzing under the force of her heartbeat.
No Zoe.
Time for retreat. Sarah lowered herself back to the ground, her abdomen grazing stones. Close to where she’d left Zoe, she parted branches, muscles in her shoulder creaking. Zoe was right there, motionless, her eyes wide and white, her face ashen, perfect beads of sweat dotting her upper lip. Zoe flicked her gaze upward without moving her head.
Sarah tracked the direction Zoe indicated, the vertebrae in her neck grinding with the protracted motion.
An elongated barbed hind leg glistened only a foot away.
Sarah’s breath stalled in her throat. The rear leg of a Chittrix soldier. No scrub that. It was too large, its carapace tinted orange, not gray like the soldier. A guard. Further up the hierarchy.
Bigger. Faster. Stronger.
Claws sank into the dirt, gouging thick channels and the jointed foot flexed, glossy black plates sliding against one another in oiled perfection.
Leaves brushed Sarah’s face in a smothering blanket. She dug her fingers into the gritty earth, using the cool dampness to ground herself and keep her from stumbling to her feet and bolting to certain death. The Chittrix would be on her before she could draw a full breath.
Dry twigs crunched and the leg lifted. Air rushed down, pushing her flat against the soil as enormous wings lifted the Chittrix into the sky. Sarah flattened her body, her face pressed into the dirt, thankful for the camouflage of her faded and grubby clothes.
She held her breath, not daring to breathe or risk movement that might draw attention until she was sure the damn thing was gone. After what felt like an eternity, she reached for Zoe’s leg. A touch to her ankle, and then she risked a look and pointed back up toward the hill.
Zoe nodded, a red flush rising up her neck, but before she could move rustling erupted around them.
Scutters.
Zoe blanched, blinking rapidly.
Leaves woke and trembled everywhere as the dog-sized scorpion-like creatures surged through the undergrowth. Fear clanged in her mind, louder than any alarm and her stomach contracted into a ball of hot panic. There was no way they could outrun Scutters. She reached for her hip pocket where she kept a small container.
Zoe’s face stretched, her mouth opening in warning. She shook her head. No.
But there wasn’t any other choice. Grass twitched everywhere. They were surrounded. Heavy clubbed black talons flashed between the blades. They had seconds at most.
Sarah popped the lid and pressed her finger to the trigger. Pyrethrin insecticide. Highly concentrated and ready to go. She soaked her legs, dousing herself in the bitter smelling liquid, letting it soak into her pants and t-shirt. God, it stung. She tapped Zoe’s foot and then tossed her the bottle.
Hurry.
Zoe sloshed it over her legs and arms, grimacing but not stopping until she too was soaked. She touched her thumb and forefinger in the universal sign for okay.
Sarah held up five fingers.
Five.
She bent her thumb.
Four.
Three—
A Scutter broke through the grass, its heavy claws snapping at thin air.
No time. “Come on.” Sarah jackknifed up, and reached for Zoe’s hand to pull her to her feet. They collided, face-to-face, breathless.
Over Zoe’s shoulder it was worse than Sarah feared. The entire common ground at the bottom of the hill was alive, plants shaking with the force of alien bodies. And the Chittrix? She craned her neck, checking a full three-hundred-and-sixty. High above, a black dot hurtled toward the seething mass in the sky. “Walk slowly.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Discussion wasn’t an option. Sarah gripped Zoe’s hand like it was a lifeline. “No, they get more agitated if you run.”
She pushed her foot forward at ground level in a sliding motion so she w
as pressing against vegetation and not stepping on anything. Like pointy scorpion aliens.
Hard shells bounced against her leg, making her skin crawl, but the Scutters recoiled from her Pyrethrin soaked legs, separating like an oiled black sea. Their curved tails rose and rattled in agitation but didn’t fire blinding venom.
Sweet God. Jacob’s stinky liquid worked. He’d rustled it up in the lab recently, based on an email he’d unearthed from colleagues at Magdon Down before communications failed. She increased the length of her stride, towing Zoe back to the hill and safety, still not quite believing their luck.
Scutters heaved around her, their backs reflecting the fading sun, but the base of the hill grew closer. Only another ten feet or so. Hot tingles rushed from Sarah’s chest to her fingertips in anticipation. “Nearly there.”
She hit the beginning of the incline, the last Scutter sidestepping with a hiss. Behind her the common was alive, bushes and brambles trembling under Scutter assault.
Sarah broke into a jog as the land rose, her legs eating up the slope, her muscles fueled by unadulterated fear. Zoe panted at her side, matching her pace till they topped the hill. Finally, their beaten Volvo estate was visible, alone in the desolate car park. A small bubble of triumph welled inside Sarah.
“Walk in the park,” Zoe wheezed as she stumbled over the crest and jogged toward the Volvo, her face beetroot-red, arms wind milling. She fell to her knees and retched, her sides heaving for several minutes. When she looked up, her face was shiny. “We should do this more often.”
4
Sarah parked the aging Volvo outside the gates of the parking lot, burying the hood in rampant honeysuckle, a green disguise, as if the car hadn’t moved in months. Evening had descended, and the air was sweet with the scent of the flowers, a harsh contrast to the craziness of the day.
The cooling engine ticked and sprouting branches scraped the hood as Sarah closed her eyes, letting the silence soak into her skin, soothing her muscles from the brunt of their violent escape.
“We were lucky today.” Zoe’s voice was loud in the enclosed space. When Sarah looked, Zoe’s face was a more normal color, but her expression was pinched.
Mabe (Earth Resistance Book 5) Page 2
