Mabe (Earth Resistance Book 5)

by Theresa Beachman

  He leaned in. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  Sarah turned to look at him. Going by her expression, he’d done a poor job of keeping the frustration out of his voice. “It’s in here. I know it.”

  Foster suppressed an eye roll. “What exactly is it?” He tapped the face of his watch. “It’s light in an hour. We should prep to leave, not mess around doing research.”

  There was only one thing that was any use when it came to the Chittrix, and it wasn’t fucking stashed on a computer. The defined edges of explosives strapped to his torso cut against the inside of his arms. They were the plan he could get behind.

  Sarah exhaled, gripping the mouse with bloodless fingers, her gaze tracking numbers. “The last few days have been pretty shit so far. If you have nothing positive to say, perhaps you should leave the room and go polish a gun or something?”

  Foster cocked an eyebrow. Since when did the doc start talking back?

  Riley bit her lip, suppressing a smile. It was good to see one on her face. Kids were meant to smile, grumping was for grown-ups. He cleared his throat. “I’m good.” He patted the SIG on his hip. “Continue.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah’s hands flew over the keyboard once more. The screen filled with images of dead Chittrix, dissected bodies, adults and larvae. Sarah halted the spiel of images on a smoky-gray cocoon. She clicked the play button, and Diana’s voice filled the room, talking through the stages of a dissection.

  Riley glanced up at him, and it cut right through him to see the hope in her face that her mother might still have a role to play in wiping out the Chittrix, that there could be something useful on the damn computer. He shot her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even though he knew he was fucking rusty at them. But she returned the gesture. Deep inside him, the granite hardness that had sustained him over the past eighteen months strained at the seams.

  What the fuck was that about?

  Everything was fucking unraveling. Something about Riley had unlocked everything he’d burned into a molten ball and locked in the furthest reaches of his subconscious. He saw so much of Faith in her.

  Too much.

  Faith’s blonde hair curled around her ear as she showed him her drawing, her face beaming. “Dad, look—”

  “Look.” Sarah stabbed the computer screen, triumph raising the pitch of her voice.

  Foster blinked, dispelling Faith back into his memory where she was safe, locked away from the fucked-up mess of the here and now.

  Text scrolled across the screen, too fast for him to track. There were good reasons he’d ended up in Special Forces instead of reading numbers from a screen all day. “Looks like gibberish.”

  Sarah shook her head. Nothing was going to dim her excitement, and his pulse skipped a beat.

  “Okay, what am I missing?” Excitement that involved killing leggy fuckers was one thing he didn’t mind catching.

  “During the initial stages of the invasion we obtained cocoons. This video of Diana’s dissection confirms what I remembered. The cocoons are waterproof, protecting the developing larva from environmental extremes. But her tests also confirmed the cocoon membrane was oil permeable.” She rapped a pencil against her thigh in a rapid beat. “So, a substance could penetrate the cocoon if it was oil-based.”

  Her excitement was infectious, even though he still didn’t understand how this would help them kill any more of the bastards.

  Sarah dropped her pencil and when she picked it up her hands were shaking. “We know the virus works, and the infection is a significant threat leading to an infected individual being removed from the hive. So, we have that knowledge.” She held up one finger. “The difficulty is keeping the Chittrix in the hive long enough for the infection to spread through liquefaction.” She paused and gripped Riley’s hand as she held up a second finger. “What if we infect the larva while they’re pupating? Their exoskeletons only harden after they leave the cocoon, similar to earth insects. So in the cocoon they’re vulnerable to systemic infection by an oil based agent.”

  “Shit.” Foster bent closer to the screen to where Diana was slicing through membranous exoskeleton with droning commentary.

  —The exoskeleton is jellied and soft until the adult Chittrix hatches and dries…

  He pressed his hands into his hips. “Seriously?”

  She met his gaze. “Seriously.”

  Zoe cupped her mouth, her eyes wide above her fingers. “They won’t know what hit them until it’s too late.”

  Riley squinted, sucking on her lower lip in concentration. “But the nurseries—”

  “Are in the deepest and most secure part of the hive.” Sarah smiled. “That’s okay. I have an idea.”

  34

  Mabe wiped his hands on his pants, forcing his doubts away. A weird fluttering had set up camp in the base of his stomach. He knew what Foster would call it. Nerves. He whistled out a low breath. If Sarah told him no, he’d deal with it, but he had to tell her how he felt.

  Whatever the consequences.

  He double-checked the side panniers on the motorbike he’d commandeered to return to Carven House. The leather buckles were secure. His watch told him it was after four in the afternoon, so there were several hours of daylight left. Time to be hitting the road. He lifted his battered helmet from the bike seat, but shouts distracted him before he wedged it on his head.

  Sawyer jogged toward him, his mouth cranking upwards in pleasure. “You need to see this.”

  “See what?”

  “No, really, you have to see it.” Sawyer shook his head and beckoned for Mabe to join him as he headed toward the back of the loading bay where a dented fire door led to the makeshift comms room.

  Mabe hung his helmet on the bike handlebars. He checked his watch again and dragged his hand across the back of his neck. This better be good.

  Excited chatter filled the room. Mabe edged past Emma Laing who ran their comms with an iron will. “What’s all the excitement?”

  She tapped the feed from the security link they’d set up near the entrance with a chewed biro. “Birds are home to roost.”

  Mabe squinted at the black and white footage. Foster was helping Riley out of Diana’s jeep at the top of the hill.

  Riley. Mabe’s heart skipped a beat. Riley ran a few steps to keep pace with Foster’s stride, her shoulders pressed back, pulse rifle held proud across her chest. No one would think her mother had died less than forty-eight hours ago.

  Artem and Jacob lugged heavy bags behind Foster. Even from this distance Artem’s scowl was visible, and Jacob was mopping his round head with an oversized red handkerchief. Zoe brought up the rear, her gaze sliding left and right in alert watchfulness.

  “Where’s Sarah?” he asked, his voice catching even though he fought it.

  Emma blinked at him, her blue eyes clouding with confusion. “Who?”

  If Riley was here, Sarah would be too. This made no sense. Instinct took over, and Mabe ran, out of the comms room and across the loading bay to where the main door was being rolled open.

  Why wasn’t Sarah with them? What had happened to her?

  It didn’t bear thinking about. His heart rattled painfully like it was missing parts.

  Cool, late afternoon air scented with wild honeysuckle filled his lungs as he exited the base, but he barely noticed the scent. At the top of the hill, Foster raised a hand in greeting. He leaned in toward Riley, speaking in her ear. Mabe’s pulse filled his head, a rushing noise that obliterated everything else. He powered up the moss-slippy incline.

  “Mabe.” Foster smiled and shrugged his backpack from his shoulders. He dropped it to the ground and pointed to the offending object. “That is fucking heavy. I could do with some help.”

  His lungs were too tight. This was his fault. He should never have left her. His job was to protect her. Everything inside him constricted. If she wasn’t here, she must be hurt. Or worse. “Where is she?”

  Foster gestured at Riley. “Right here—” H
e chuckled, and that stupid grin appeared that Mabe wanted to pound to the back of his skull.

  He pushed past Foster, past the jeep, his legs hammering over the hillcrest. Hidden over the incline, an aging Volvo was parked against a tree.

  Sarah slammed the trunk shut. “Mabe?” Her pale features were smudged with dirt. She was weighed down under an oversized backpack and a laptop bag slung around her neck.

  Relief surged within him, making the back of his throat tight and everything but her blurry. He closed the distance between them in four clipped strides. The rest of the world faded as he pulled her into the safety of his arms. He cupped her jaw and stroked the smoothness of her cheek with his thumb. “You’re alive.”

  “Of course.” She tilted her head up to look at him.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was coarse.

  She shook her head. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was the one who told you to leave. And for that, I am so sorry. “Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was so angry. Angry we’d failed. Angry Diana died.” She sucked in a breath. “I can’t spend the rest of my life upset and full of regret. I’ve spent all this time blaming myself for the past, but I can’t change that. And maybe I was wrong once, but I won’t be wrong every time.”

  He held her tight, unwilling to release her, needing to feel her secure in his embrace. “I shouldn’t have left.”

  “He was too damn foolish to realize it at the time.” Glee suffused Foster’s voice. “No matter what I told him.”

  Mabe slipped the backpack from her shoulders, unwound the laptop from her neck and tugged her closer. Something hard and painful in him eased to have her in his arms where she belonged. He kissed her full on the mouth, one hand snaking through the softness of her hair, the other to the small of her back, pressing her body to his, a perfect fit.

  “Ahem.”

  Foster. What now?

  Sarah broke the kiss, breathless, her cheeks blushed pink, happiness dancing in her eyes. The warmth of her nose bumped his. His Sarah.

  Sarah glanced over his shoulder. “Foster helped me put some things in perspective.” She patted the laptop at her feet. “I don’t come empty-handed.”

  Mabe took the battered bag. The leather was worn smooth, but the bag had been expensive once. The stitching was fine, the craftsmanship evident. A relic from before when things were about beauty and not just survival.

  “Infecting the adult Chittrix had limitations because the others sensed it. That’s a conundrum we still need to work on. But in the meantime, Foster mentioned one of your team is an entomologist.” She shot him a shy smile that he could never see enough of. “I have an idea, and I need your help.”

  35

  Mabe ran his arm along the back of Sarah’s chair, still wrapping his head around the fact that she was here. No way he was letting her out of his sight. He wasn’t even capable of letting her move more than an arms-length away for now.

  She met Garrick’s scrutiny with a lifted chin, and pride rose through Mabe in an unstoppable wave. She’d picked herself up and just kept going, even though there was still so much that could go wrong.

  Garrick leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the table. “Foster assures me I’ll want to hear this.”

  Sarah shot a glance of thanks to Foster across the room. He beamed back, flanked by Zoe and Riley. Mabe wasn’t surprised that they’d seen past his fierce tattoos and colorful language.

  Sarah rolled her shoulders. “I have an idea about how we can introduce the virus into the hive in a way that will allow us to establish a substantive infection.”

  “We’re all ears.” Garrick raised an eyebrow.

  Mabe stroked his hand down the curve of her spine and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. He was here for her.

  She stood up, resting her fingertips on the wood.

  “Foster’s already filled you in on how the original plan didn’t work. The Chittrix sensed the virus and killed the infected adult. My colleague, Diana, did several Chittrix autopsies before she died.” She turned to smile at Riley. “I believe the pupating larva stage before the Chittrix become fully grown could offer us a way in.”

  Her gaze grazed the room, exuding confidence. “We infect many cocoons concurrently with a virus rich oil-based spray. The scorpion virus is fast acting, even more so with an immature host, so there’s a significant likelihood we can kill them before they hatch. We could wipe out an entire generation in one sweep.” She waited for the significance of her words to register, her spine ramrod straight.

  “What about the worker Chittrix that care for the cocoons?” Anna smiled at her from across the table. Even in the last few days, the swell of her stomach had increased to match the rosy flush on her cheeks. Anna glowed, and pride warmed Mabe that Sarah had helped make sure her pregnancy was as safe as possible. Taking the med supplies had been the right choice.

  Sarah sipped water from a glass. “That’s a good point, and I don’t fully know the answer, but I’m hopeful and fairly confident that the rapid spread throughout the cocoons and subsequent liquefaction will lead to rapid infection of the workers too.”

  “We’ve been in a hive before.” Garrick’s face darkened. “It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk of my people ending up dead.”

  Foster nodded vigorously. “Bloody got flattened by a bug, I did.”

  “Hear me out.” She lifted a hand. “We use drones to initiate the infection.”

  “You have a combat drone?” Garrick asked.

  “No, nothing as perfect as that, but Riley has one she’s used before.”

  Riley bent and rummaged in her backpack before holding a small black box aloft. “It’s a surveillance one, from when we had military protection during the first days of the invasion.” She pinked. It was unlikely she’d been given the drone.

  Foster picked up the small piece of equipment. “It’s not designed to carry a payload like an UCAV. We’d need to modify it.”

  Zoe touched Foster’s shoulder. “You need to speak in English.”

  “Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicle. Normally carries an explosive payload into enemy territory.” He turned it over in his hands. “The spec is fairly similar.” He dug a chewed nail under the plastic and popped the casing. “And could be altered to carry a viral payload.”

  Mabe frowned. “How will we get this past the adult Chittrix?”

  Foster tapped the side of his nose. “I could think of a few distractions.” His gaze travelled across the table to Darr.

  Darr met Foster’s gaze, drumming his fingers on the table. Dark energy surrounded him, exacerbated by the pale scar on his forehead.

  “Darr has a special skill set. He can control Chittrix,” Foster explained.

  Sarah’s mouth popped open.

  Darr’s fingers stilled. “Not quite that simple, but I can help.”

  “Darr could distract the guards while we get the drones into the hive.” Foster was on a roll.

  Garrick leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. “We need some kind of insurance.” He turned to Sawyer and Darr. “Can we rig more of these?”

  “Yeah. Think so.” Sawyer looked up. “How many do you think we’ll need?”

  “I’m estimating at least four.” Sarah’s tone was definitive. “I’d say the Cardiff hive has at least four entrances.”

  “They’re not going to build themselves.” Foster punched his palm. “What are we waiting for?”

  36

  Sarah couldn’t sleep.

  She twitched backward and forward until the sheet was a twisted rope between her legs. Riley asleep on the opposite side of the room just made her more agitated. The youngster had passed out the second her head touched the pillow and was snoring softly.

  The ceiling above her head was cracked. She stared as a small spider emerged from a hole in the plaster, preparing for the hunt. Tomorrow would be the same for her. So many people had died, but right now they had a chance, a real chance
to make a difference and tomorrow she would find out just how much.

  She rolled out from under her blanket and tossed it to the foot of her bed. It was no use, she couldn’t sleep. Too many permutations flitted through her mind. Her socked feet hit the chilled floor.

  At least that was her excuse.

  If she was honest with herself, every thought related to Mabe. The way he’d looked at her since the first time they had laid eyes on each other, the joy in his gaze when she arrived at Brackla with Foster and the others. The way he had kissed her, the taste of him flooding her body and mind, stripping away all her defenses and leaving her open and wanting.

  She laced her boots and pulled on her waterproof jacket. She’d feel better with some air. Using both hands to open the door to minimise the soft click of the latch, she crept out into the hall. There, she pressed the door closed and rested her head on the cool wood.

  “Hey.” A soft voice intruded on her thoughts.

  Her eyes snapped open, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling under the caress of his breath.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I needed some air.” She faced him. He stood with his hands on the doorframe, locking her in with his body. Electricity ignited within her. The woman she’d buried at the beginning of the invasion waking under his closeness.

  He leaned close, his nose bumping hers, tracking down the side of her cheek, kissing her jawbone, the side of her neck. “Neither could I. I was worried about you.”

  “You’ve been waiting here?” A haze of heat expanded in her chest.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He pulled back and her gaze drifted down his hard body. He was hers, all hers.

  “You want some air?”