Resurrection (Alien Invasion Book 7)

by Johnny B. Truant

  He’d given up long ago, had stopped trying to prod his family and the villagers to discuss things they refused to acknowledge. Mostly, Kindred had settled into his own routines, in his dark little corners. People said that he and Meyer were once inseparable, almost able to finish each other’s thoughts. Now Kindred (according to popular view) had grown sullen and distant. But that’s not how it was. It was easy for Meyer to be the likable twin, seeing as he was governor, and could keep the secrets for himself.

  They’d left with such urgency. Kindred had watched them go, seeing the way they kept looking around as if dodging pursuit. Probably looking for Kindred, seeing as he had looked around too and saw no one to flee from. Where were they going, if they were so intent on leaving alone? Obviously, it must be somewhere Kindred would otherwise badly want to go but that his keepers would, as usual, protect him from.

  Well, Kindred didn’t need protection, nor any keeping. They were crazy, not him. When Kindred had asked Meyer whom he’d married to get the ring on his finger, Meyer said, “It was a long time ago.” And when Kindred had asked who’d made the ring, Meyer said he must have found it.

  Found it.

  Like Meyer found his ring?

  Like Piper found hers, with its perfect circle, burnished yellow metal, and precisely faceted stone?

  They were either going to report him, or were running away.

  (Or they’re going to see Stranger.)

  That didn’t even make sense. They were heading in the wrong direction, out into the desert rather than the center of town.

  Stranger must be somewhere else. It was all that seemed logical.

  Kindred ducked down when Meyer, dismounted and with his hand to his forehead, turned to look in his direction. Kindred’s horse was a few paces back; he went to the mount now, tugged it back down the dune until he found a ratty tree suitable for hitching. Then he moved back up, slowly, eventually on his belly, knowing how he must look but unable to help himself.

  Whatever he was searching for, Meyer didn’t seem to find it. Piper and Lila had dismounted as well, fanning themselves beneath the belligerent sun. Kindred watched their powwow, realizing they were lost.

  There was a cactus to Kindred’s left. It looked like a number four. Seeing it, he glanced to the right — and sure enough, not far off was a second cactus, also resembling a four. From enough distance, it’d look like you were splitting 44 down the middle. He always remembered it that way, from his own dreams.

  But in his dreams, he didn’t go to … wherever. In his dreams, he always went to the monolith.

  But he looked back, then forward with rekindled interest. And Kindred could clearly see more landmarks, all proving their location. They’d headed away in approximately the right direction, passing a shallow ravine, then the scree of rocks that had fallen, inexplicably, into the shape of a bent-over old man with a cane. Now here were the cactuses, and—

  There was a sort of buzzing from the sky. Kindred looked up and saw something large coming alongside him from several dunes away, low but hovering above the sand.

  He ducked away, but there was no point. The thing — whatever it was — didn’t seem to see him. It was moving straight toward Meyer and the women. Kindred watched, willing himself to shout. They hadn’t seen or heard it yet, and it was closing.

  Kindred got his mouth unhinged as Piper turned. She screamed, a knowing cry — one that accepts and already knows to fear what it sees coming.

  Piper knows what it is.

  But of course she did. Lila, too. Meyer, once he turned and gallantly put himself between the sphere and his wife and daughter, clearly knew as well.

  Serves them right, then, Kindred thought before he could stop himself, for keeping secrets.

  Because this secret wasn’t friendly. They were all shouting and screaming as they tried to run, tried to mount their horses. But the sphere effortlessly stayed ahead of them, blocking their way.

  Perhaps it would kill them.

  Kindred stood. There was nothing he could do, except maybe draw it away as a distraction if only he—

  But then the thing did a trick of light, and the air filled with the scent of burning, warmth lapping back at Kindred like ripples on the river’s surface. The shock knocked Kindred back to his rear, and this time when he scrambled back up, he didn’t consider trying to lure it away.

  Two huge black things that looked like lizards (or beetles) were now on the sand, apparently having disembarked with the flash of light. The sand near them was smoking, as if set ablaze. And between the beetle things and Meyer’s group, there was a tall, bare-chested muscular man with no color to his skin wearing a small cloth around his waist, hand extended to Meyer.

  The black creatures crept in circles around them, then came to rest by Piper and Lila — one within arm’s reach of each.

  If the pewter-skinned man said something, Kindred couldn’t hear it. He merely held out a hand while the black things chattered, mouths open, a blue fire inside both, bleeding out from between what seemed to be scales on their surface.

  Meyer’s head hung. Then he turned to the white man and followed.

  To the sphere, which had settled on the sand.

  Kindred waited, breath held and uncertain.

  Then he broke his cover, and ran as hard as he could.

  CHAPTER 12

  “What do you mean?”

  Before Clara could answer Sadeem, the warble of overlapping conversations bubbled from the cave’s front. They were levels deep, the air circulation and more troublesome pathways made bearable with Astral help before Sadeem moved in, and down here it was hard to hear more than tones and echoes. Most of the construction — as with previous Mullah clan homes — was planned by and hence known to the Astrals, but this time Sadeem had backup plans. If the Astrals could change the covenant for the new epoch, so could he. Above the table, two species shook hands. Beneath it, both were clinging to knives. As perhaps it had always been.

  And maybe it was truer than ever, given the Astral contingency plans Clara had seen in their collective mind when they’d blasted their way into hers.

  “Clara?” Logan said, apparently as curious about what she’d said as Sadeem. But the idea of Cousin Timmy had stopped mattering. She could tell them about Stranger’s oldest joke another time. What mattered now was the commotion above. It might be anything, but Clara somehow felt sure she knew exactly what it was.

  “We have to get out of here,” she said.

  Sadeem looked toward the entrance, invisible from here, two levels up. “It’s Stranger arriving. I sent a courier to fetch him when I sent for Logan.”

  But instead of feeling encouraged by the news (they needed Stranger same as they needed the others), Clara felt panic creeping. It wasn’t a logical reaction, given the civil tones. But somehow, it was right.

  “We have to go, Sadeem.” Clara stood from the cot, felt a wave of lightheadedness, and pushed it aside. She always brought a bag from the village and stuffed it with belongings, Logan and Sadeem watching and wondering. “Where is the rear exit from here?’

  “I don’t understand. Where are we going?”

  “Away.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I’d covered my tracks, but somehow they found me.”

  “Clara …”

  A scuffle from above. A shout. The rush of running feet.

  “Astrals,” Clara said.

  “They wouldn’t break the truce. They set the portal here. They built this place.”

  “Which is how they’ll know to check it!” Clara was unsure of exactly what was fueling her fear. She’d caught but a glimpse of the Astral collective — barely enough to tell that the human and Astral mental streams had mingled — but the confused deluge she’d woken with was reasserting itself with teeth. The sense of urgency was feral, like something driven by the brain stem, pure instinct and adrenaline.

  “Clara!” Sadeem barked as she reached the door. “There’s a truce!”

&
nbsp; “Where is the Ark, Sadeem?”

  Sadeem looked at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue.

  “Where is it, if they trust and respect the Mullah so much? Last time, your old order knew where the Astrals had left it. That’s how your knights knew where to find and hide it. So where is it this time? After the flood, where did they hide the archive that’s gathering all it will need to judge humanity next time?”

  “Just because we don’t know where it is this time doesn’t mean they’d dare to—”

  “You know the rules have changed! Now show me the fucking exit!”

  Sadeem was still sitting, looking punched. Clara never swore, or barked orders. But like she’d said, something had changed.

  “It’s—” Sadeem stopped when the shouting swelled and something exploded above. The walls shook with force. In Clara’s peripheral vision, it seemed like a balloon filled with ketchup struck a wall just out of sight. Blood was dripping onto the stone stairs in a miniature river. The way they had to go either way, be it toward the front or back.

  Clara grabbed Logan and practically dragged him to his feet. Then she shoved him through the door and to the right, his feet nearly faltering in the pool of gore. Nobody had come down just yet, and Clara hadn’t stepped back two paces to look up as they’d passed. Whomever the blood had belonged to, he or she was dead. Seeing those who would kill them a second earlier than they had to would be stupid. And yet behind them the corridor stayed empty, their luck holding. Unless, of course, this was more kabuki — more of the Astrals holding all the cards, playing their hands to observe the reaction.

  Not this time. This is real. For them and us.

  She stopped in an alcove two turns (she thought) from the temple where Sadeem’s second elder sat and guarded the portal, then waved for Sadeem to hurry and pass. He knew the way; Clara didn’t. She knew they’d added a second exit, same as her grandfather had told her the Mormons had added caves to the Cottonwood Canyon facility. But she didn’t know where it was.

  Clara heard a terrifying groaning from behind: a dry, soulless rattle like bones in a sack. A Reptar’s purr, a noise she’d hoped never to hear again.

  And the rushing of well-behaved feet behind, plus a steady clacking sound that was in no hurry at all.

  “Sadeem …” Clara said, recognizing their position — one level below ground but on the mountainous side, where the cliffs clawed the sky. If there was an exit here, it was into the heart of the hill rather than open air.

  “It’s … shit!”

  “Breathe. Think. Where is it, Sadeem?”

  “It’s on the other end. We turned the wrong way.”

  “Maybe we can hide,” said Logan.

  Clara shook her head. “We have to leave. We can’t just hide.”

  “No, that’s a good idea. We’ve added extra chambers, not just the exit. Remember the place we hid you when—”

  “I remember they found you just fine. I might still be invisible to them if we keep calm, but they can hear your mind, Sadeem. We can’t hide.”

  “Then you hide. I’ll distract them. They won’t hurt me. I’m the one they chose to head the Mullah.”

  Clara pursed her lips, torn between feeling sorry for Sadeem’s strange naiveté and being touched by his sacrifice. The Astrals had spent too much time locked in battle with human minds. They could get angry and become spiteful. Seniority hadn’t saved the Elders their last time around.

  “No.”

  “There’s no way we can get past them! It’s the only chance!”

  “It’s not a chance! We need all of us. All of us! Not just me and you. Kindred! Stranger! All the ones they’ve gone after! Do you understand? Hiding won’t protect them!”

  “What others?”

  “The Archetypes, Sadeem! The goddamned—!”

  “The goddamned what?”

  Someone had appeared in the hallway behind Sadeem. She didn’t frighten Clara; she surprised her. Clara was taller, and even the Mullah legend of the Archetypes was hardly confidential — or, in the traditional telling, even remotely helpful. They’d lost the scroll in the reset and relocation, but what did it matter? All that mattered was everything.

  But this woman didn’t know that.

  This ordinary, unarmed, almost welcoming woman who’d somehow ended up behind them in the frenzy, now sharing space with their trio.

  This ordinary woman with her white, almost alabaster skin.

  With her brown hair stylishly cut in a bob, as if fresh from a beauty salon of the type that no longer existed.

  In her black leather coat, her practical low black heels.

  “The what, Clara?”

  “Who are you?” Clara asked.

  The question was answered when two Titans entered the hallway behind her. There was a shuffling of claws from the other end, and two Reptars moved to block them in the passage.

  “I wasn’t sure we could trust a rogue,” the woman said. “But here you are, right where you’re supposed to be. I guess dreams do come true. You’re a hard woman to find, Clara.”

  “You’re not Astral,” Clara said. Everything about her screamed human, from her body language to the cadence of her speech.

  And the woman replied, “But not very smart.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The man behind the rock looked up at Peers after Peers asked his question. He had a long, weathered face that wasn’t quite handsome, nor ugly. The women he’d heard talk about Stranger seemed to lean in one direction, but it was always unclear which. He might be “rugged,” perhaps — handsome because he was a bit rough around the edges. But Peers knew two things: the face was long and drawn, never quite smiling. And — to Peers, at least — a bit frightening.

  And like everyone, Peers knew that the face hadn’t changed since their arrival — a day that Peers was now disturbed to realize he remembered in all its original clarity.

  “I might ask you the same thing,” Stranger said.

  Peers wasn’t sure how to respond. Officially, did they know each other? Had he forgotten the way the rest of them seemed to have? The way Peers had, only a few hours ago? He’d left Sadeem, meaning only to get the water for Clara requested by the Sage. Then the waking dream had claimed him. He’d left the caves without question, following a siren song written for him. Seeing the monolith glinting in the sun (ahem, the freighter) told him where he’d been headed all along.

  “Do you know who I am?” It seemed a safe question, and didn’t give away that Peers knew a lot more about Stranger than he had the day before.

  “You’re Mullah.”

  Peers looked down. That told him nothing. The robe gave him away. He was about to inquire further, but Stranger interrupted with something more relevant that Peers, with all his renewed memory, had been ridiculous enough to have forgotten.

  “Tell me you saw that.” Stranger pointed toward the big rusting boat on the sand. Now closer, Peers could see most of the ship, but it looked like it always had.

  “Saw what?”

  Stranger watched him evenly. This felt to Peers like a game of chicken —both of them wanted to admit something strange, with neither willing to go first.

  “Your name is Peers. Peers Basara.”

  “So you do know me.”

  “I may. From a long time ago.”

  But Peers could tell it was a half truth.

  “You’re the one they call Stranger.”

  “Why are you here, Peers?”

  “You asked me if I saw something. What did you mean?”

  Stranger was still looking at Peers as if there were weapons raised between them. He pulled something from his robe and held it up: a small silver sphere, about the size of the one Piper carried when they’d crossed the sea in that horrible metal box, and hid like something precious and shameful.

  Stranger held it up, then out for Peers.

  “Hold this.”

  Peers took the thing. It touched his palm, and he realized he’d been tricked. He felt
a hand enter his mind and grope around. The sensation was intrusive but lasted only a second. Then it was gone, and Stranger was meeting his eyes in a new way, reaching out to pluck the sphere from Peers’s palm.

  “So your memory is back.”

  “Memory of what?” Peers asked, blinking, trying to regain his composure.

  “There’s no need to pretend. I used to see much more than I can now, but I haven’t lost all of my tricks. It’s come back to you. And peeking into the network through your eyes, I’d guess it’s all come back to the others as well.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What is it that makes you want to hide, Peers Basara? What secret are you so determined to keep that you’d lie to me even as I stand here, knowing the truth?”

  Peers’s internal eyes flitted to something like a black box wrapped in thick, heavy chain. There was something hidden deeper, all right, and Peers almost knew what it was: a secret he seemed to be keeping even from himself. But he wouldn’t open that box. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

  Stranger pointed again. “There was an Astral shuttle there not two minutes ago. A man I know was loaded into it. A very important man. And there was a woman down there, too — a woman I’m afraid I also know. It scares me, and I’m not accustomed to fear. I know exactly who you are and that you’ve been drawn to this place without even being sure why. But most importantly I know that something has changed for you, as it has for everyone in the village, as it seems to have changed, albeit differently, even in me.” He pointed again. “I’m afraid that was Eternity down there with two Reptars and two Titans. The human face of their Divinity queen — on this planet, at least. I’m afraid because a long time ago, I seem to remember knowing where all the pieces were supposed to go in order for something to happen. But now I don’t know if this is what I’d wanted or something different. One of them has been taken, and this time I’m afraid that Eternity won’t be so easily fooled. It’s all coming back around, and you damn well know it, Peers Basara of the Mullah, who traveled with Meyer Dempsey across the ocean, guided by my hand. Stop being such a coward. Stand like a man, or go back to where you came from.”