The door screeched on the far side of the room and, after a sickening beat of silence, the dragging sound entered the lab.
Bang. The door slammed shut.
It was in here with them now. There was only one way out, and that was through the fucking thing.
Mabe released Sarah and left the safety of his position, ducking down to the next bench, following the horizontal ladder of cover to the rear of the room. He stopped at the fifth bench. One more before he would reach the wall. Blackness surrounded him and all sounds had stopped. Only a faint blue light emanated from a glass tank ahead. Wherever the Chittrix was, it was camouflaged in the gloom, hidden until it moved.
He waited. He could be patient. He’d waited a long time for this.
A soft crunch of movement on his right. Mabe advanced to the final bench in a walking crouch, his handgun ready. One step. Two.
The tail sliced through the air, smashing his gun to the floor with a sharp crack. Agony exploded up his arm as he dived for cover and his handgun vanished, skittering into oblivion.
Fuck. Knife. He grasped the handle tucked in his boot.
Scrape. Click.
He ducked as the Chittrix lunged. Teeth snapped a whisper from his ear, engulfing him in the stench of rotting meat. He fought his gag reflex, swallowing hard and opening his knife with a practiced flick of his thumb.
The Chittrix catapulted from the deepest shadows, its silhouette outlined in the pale blue light. It was injured, one leg splayed across the floor at a wrong angle. Fluid pooled below a smashed hip joint, leaving a slippery trail that led back to the door.
But the rest of the fucker was more than intact and it reared up, black carapace gleaming oily in the meager light. Even injured it exuded death. Its mouth split wide, flashing wicked fangs and a multitude of razor-sharp teeth.
Mabe threw himself forward, fighting the fear that hardened his gut to stone. Sarah was in this room, and he would die before he allowed it to harm her.
He jackknifed onto the bench in a side leap, his boots skidding on the polished wood. Glass beakers crashed to the floor, splintering into blue faceted diamonds. Without pausing he jumped from the bench, his knife raised in his hand, aiming for the area behind the head.
He cannoned into the Chittrix, his fingers scrabbling for grip on the alien-slick scales plating its thick neck. His skin recoiled, repulsed by the greasy texture. But he gritted his teeth and dug his fingernails under the plates, blocking the sensation of thick, fatty matter forcing its way under his nails.
Fuck.
He clenched his thighs, securing his hold, as the Chittrix bucked, fighting to dismount him. Tiles shattered like thunderclaps as its tail hammered the floor, but he hung on and plunged his knife between scales, using the blade as an anchor, sinking the knife to the hilt. The Chittrix screamed as thick reeking fluid gushed over his hand, soaking him.
He willed it to die, ignoring fiery pain tearing through his shoulders as he fought to remain mounted. The Chittrix stuttered, staggering to a panting halt. The head dropped, its sides wheezing with the effort. Was the injured leg taking its toll? Air from spiracles along its side puffed against his skin, cloaking him in a stinking mist.
He had a chance. Advantage hung in the air between them, so close he could taste it.
Mabe tightened his grip and yanked with everything he had, wrenching a plated scale from the Chittrix’s body. The Chittrix howled, shaking its head in a brutal frenzy.
Mabe threw himself forward, half sliding off, prying his knife free and plunging it deep again. He hacked with the blade, slicing under the plates that protected its throat. Flesh gave under the pressure as he stabbed repeatedly, his hand slashing jellied meat. Vibration rolled through the Chittrix, and something popped under his blade and his arm sank up to his elbow. He gasped, his left arm screaming in agony as it supported his entire weight in a twisted handhold.
“Mabe!” Sarah screamed from across the room, and he glimpsed her ashen face in the darkness.
His legs were on fire, his muscles shaking as he levered backward, freeing his knife.
This was for Rachel and Lissy.
Fury and rage poured out of him like fuel, igniting something deep, burning away the fear and hatred that had consumed him for far too long. He stabbed the Chittrix repeatedly, his knife hand slimy with blood and alien gore. Too slippy. He lost his grip and sliced his palm open as he fell against the Chittrix’s neck.
Die, you fucker. Just fucking—
Flesh tore under his hand and his left hand ripped free, taking a scale with it. For a second his legs held him, gripping the Chittrix.
And then he was tumbling, the floor rushing to meet him in a crash of darkness.
46
Sarah’s heart collided with her ribs, and the world stopped as Mabe fell under the Chittrix. His head hit the tiled floor with an audible crack that tore through her.
No.
Fluid spurted from its wounded neck, splattering his body. His knife flew free, skidding to the far side of the room.
No. Her lungs contracted, fighting the air she needed. This wasn’t happening.
The Chittrix raised its head in a triumphant shriek, its jaws sawing open, a dreadful shearing sound that cut right through her. It straightened, rearing on its hind legs to its full height, raking at its injured chest with spiky forelimbs, exposing its orange-streaked underbelly. It crashed back on its functioning legs and tilted its head, blue light catching a myriad of angles on its compound eye. Her mind yelled she was crazy, but it knew her.
This Chittrix was here for revenge.
She pressed her eye to the sights of her pulse rifle, focusing on the lined target in front of her eyes. She didn’t look at Mabe, motionless on the floor, because if she did she would break, and it would all be over.
But with him off its back, she had a clear shot.
Her voice was a low mutter. “Come on then.” She flexed a shaking finger around the trigger and pulled.
Nothing happened.
What? She tilted the weapon, sure her finger had slipped, but the rifle was unresponsive. What the—
The Chittrix hissed, sensing an advantage, lashing its tongue toward her.
She flung the useless weapon away and threw herself to the floor in a bone-jarring thud. She careened onto her elbows, skinning them against rough tile grout. Air exploded from her lungs, tears messing with her vision as she battled to get back onto her hands and knees in a mad scrabble.
A wet crunch. Scrape. Click.
Sweet God. It was coming for her, and she was cornered.
She bolted around the glass cabinet to keep it between them. On the far side, she ripped off her jacket and wrapped it around her wrist before punching through the glass. It shattered with a satisfying crack, showering her in stinging, icy shards.
The Chittrix swiveled, lurching another step in her direction. Mabe lay at its feet, forgotten as it headed for new prey. Sarah threw her jacket on the floor and leaned into the cabinet. A row of wax sealed vials stood in test tube frames.
Scorpion virus.
She picked through glass splinters with fumbling fingers, adrenalin making her clumsy, and swore as jagged edges nicked her skin. There was a bloody trail as she removed the vials with lacerated fingers.
Tape. Tape. I need tape.
In the drawer.
She opened a drawer in the clinical storage unit behind her. Needles and vial caps jumped free from the force of her pull. A full roll of white adhesive tape lay unused next to the green first aid kit. Glass ground behind her, and a barrage of ticking needled her ears. She didn’t dare look, but the darkness was closing in on the edges of her vision. The Chittrix was taking its time, considering her an easy target, her weapon useless and jammed on the floor.
She ripped the edge of the tape free with her teeth, snatching vials up and strapping them into a thick bundle. Quick. She wound the tape around, the glass clinking as she ripped the tape again, catching her lip on the sticky si
de. Hot prickles stung her lip, and she tasted the copper of her blood.
She weighed the vials in her palm. Heavy. Loaded. She was ready. She swung back to face the orange-streaked Chittrix. It loomed over her, fluid seeping from its neck, blocking out the feeble light, darkness made real, coming for her.
She held the taped vials up. “You want this?” she howled, not caring as a note of insanity fractured her voice. They’d killed all of her team, had taken any chance of a future from her. Taken Riley’s mother. Rage poured through her fierce and hot and she let it race because without it she wouldn’t have the courage to do what she had to do.
The Chittrix smashed the glass cabinet with one pounding whip of its tail. Glass peppered Sarah as she fell backward, the entire cabinet detonating in an explosion of lethal fragments. The Chittrix pounced forward, missing her by an inch, its fetid stink burning her lungs.
She ducked, the vials clutched to her chest. Mabe was behind the Chittrix, and she didn’t even know if he was dead or alive. She’d lost so much, grieved for that loss too long, but now she’d found something more, found a reason to go on living. Mabe. And right now she was willing to put her life on the line for him.
She swerved, and before the Chittrix could react to her abrupt change in direction, she slammed into it, thrusting the virus vials into the gaping wound Mabe had gouged. She ground the vials against the open flesh, ignoring blood pouring down her wrist, the pain clawing at her hand. She shoved with everything she had, bellowing, her hand sinking deeper into jellied flesh.
Die.
The Chittrix jerked, jolting back from her, tearing itself free from her scorpion touch. It staggered, head weaving, amber foam frothing from the hole in its chest.
Sarah stumbled back and fell to her knees, fighting to breathe in racking sobs. She clutched her injured hand against her breasts, coppery blood soaking her clothes. Her jacket, where the hell was her jacket? She crawled one handed over the floor, grabbing the thin fabric to wrap around her bloodied hand.
Scrape, click.
Click.
The Chittrix sagged against the opposite wall, its good rear leg tapping an irregular pattern against the tiles, while its head wove jagged circles. Opaque clots of gunk dripped in fat globs from its neck. Sarah swallowed, her stomach seizing.
The head movement slowed, becoming more labored and sluggish until it hit the tiles with a wet crunch. Armored plates separated, coming apart in a liquid slide, spreading across the floor, pooling in the grouted dips between tiles. A low hiss escaped from the rear of the Chittrix and the arch of its back surrendered to gravity, its vicious angles softening like butter in the sun. One leg jittered then fell to the side, shearing free with a jellied splat.
Silence.
Sweet God, it was still.
Sarah gasped out loud, tears stinging her eyes as she dragged in huge gasping breaths. Mabe. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and dragged herself over to his prostrate form.
God. He wasn’t moving.
His face was a blurred mess through her tears. She’d come so far, fought so hard. He couldn’t be dead. She cradled his head in her hands, lifting it from the floor’s chill to her lap where she smoothed a lock from his forehead. His skin was gray-tinged, his flesh cool. “Mabe?”
No response. Her grip tightened on his shoulders, and she shook him, fury spitting through her. “You can’t die. You can’t leave me.” Jesus. Her voice fell to less than a whimper. “Mabe. Please.”
She closed her eyes and hung her head, clutching the blood-soaked scruff of his collar.
“Sarah.”
“Mabe?”
“Hey.” His eyes were open, his voice croaky with pain.
But he was alive.
Relief surged through her, loosening her joints, dissolving the tension of the fight. She pulled him close, smothering his poor battered face with kisses. “I thought…” She couldn’t say what she thought. It was too terrible. Raw emotion scalded the back of her throat and sobs choked her.
He groaned and lifted a hand to stroke her hair. “Shh.” A smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “Where’s—?”
“Dead.” She clung to him, her forehead touching his. “It’s dead.”
He closed his eyes, and his big hand closed over her ruined one. His tentative smile broadened. “Mine.”
47
Two weeks later
Sarah leaned back in her creaking chair. Not bad for two days’ work.
With Anna’s help, her viral simulations were up and running. Power from solar panels secreted around Brackla hummed through the small room. She was growing more of the scorpion virus with salvaged samples from Carven House. There was fine-tuning to be done, but she was no stranger to work. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her brain ached from the intense concentration of the last few days. An entire generation was dying within the Cardiff hive, but her work was far from finished. She would find better ways to cloak the virus. Soon. “I’m done for today.”
On the other side of the desk, Anna raised her blonde head. “You’ve barely looked up from that screen over the last three days. You calling it quits?”
Sarah stretched. “The samples are established. And now,” She gestured at the growing samples that filled the glass cabinet on the far side of the room. “Now, I have the virus growing again. We’re making progress and I can relax. I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
Anna slid a sample under the microscope, and a dissected ant appeared projected on the wall. With infinite care, she separated the insect’s thorax from its head. “Nothing to do with Mabe returning from scavenging supplies today?” She didn’t look up, but she was smiling.
Riley’s scruffy head popped up from behind another computer. Anna had her coding entomology samples. Riley grinned. “Foster promised me a new notebook. You know for writing stuff down.”
God, it was good to see Riley smile after the hell of recent weeks. Helping Anna appeared to suit her, gave her a focus, a sense she was working on something that would make her mother’s death meaningful.
She stood up and stroked Riley’s head. “That’s brilliant, sweetheart.”
“Maybe Mabe brought something for you too?”
Anna widened her eyes and smirked. A strange snort escaped her.
Sarah’s cheeks grew hot, she’d thought about little else this morning. He’d been gone three days, and it felt like months. She set her computer to sleep. “Um, well, they’ll need help with unpacking supplies.”
Anna smiled. “Uh, huh.” She looked up, the soft curve of her belly visible.
That first choice, to help Mabe when she saw him with Foster and Sawyer in the lot. It had been the right thing to do for all of them.
Anna tapped her chin with a pencil. “I think you’re good for each other.”
Sarah smiled. “I think that works both ways.”
She left the room and headed down the long corridor, rolling her shoulders as she walked. Her neck ached from hours spent bent over the computer. What she needed was some fresh air. She headed to the rear of Brackla, and the long tunnel that led up to the grassy roof. When she pushed open the hatch at the end of the tunnel, fresh early autumn air blew in. Was it only a matter of weeks since the first time Mabe had brought her up here? It already seemed like forever, the past year underground a fading memory.
When she climbed out the sun was blazing. She let the hatch slide shut and lifted her face to the heat. After over a year living underground with only brief forays to the surface, it was still a luxury. She wasn’t sure the intense pleasure would ever wear off.
“Hey.”
Mabe was behind her. He caught her around the waist, pulling her close and burrowing his face in her neck. His beard tickled her skin, but that was forgotten in an instant as he nipped the sensitive spot at the base of her throat.
Oh.
His kisses rose higher, brushing the line of her jaw and then the corner of her lips before he captured her mouth, tilting her backward in his
arms.
She was breathless when he broke the kiss, her heart dancing like a mad thing in her chest. This was what he did to her. Everything she’d done to hold herself together over the preceding months since the Chittrix invaded, he dissolved it all. And she was better for it. She drank him in, pressing herself against his comforting heat, breathing in his scent. Finally, for the first time since the world ended, she could be herself. The woman she’d lost in this whole terrible mess.
“I missed you.” His voice was a deep rumble against her throat.
“Really?”
“Yes, Dr. North.”
She skimmed her hand across his forehead, around the back to where the raised line of scar tissue marked where he’d cracked his head on the tiled floor. She grazed his neck tendons with her fingertips. “How’s your head?”
He tilted his cheek into the cup of her hand. “Much better now I’m with you. I have to swing past to see Edward in the infirmary later for a checkup.”
She frowned. “Concussion can be serious.”
Velvet brown eyes studied her, then he lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. Butterflies took flight in her belly at his touch.
“I’m fine. I brought dinner.” He stroked a hand down her side, skimming her ribs. “You need to eat.”
Desire rose within her. “I’m not sure I’m hungry.”
He squeezed her backside and raised one divine eyebrow. “We have plenty time, but right now you need to eat. Come.”
He tugged her hand and led her across the grassy knoll. It dipped, and just out of sight he’d laid a checkered blanket on the ground.
“Sit.” He pointed to a spot on one side of the blanket and brought out a basket from behind a rock. He’d covered it with a cloth. Mabe was an old-fashioned romantic, who would have guessed.
Mabe (Earth Resistance Book 5) Page 21
