by Sean Platt
“Marina, move!” Teagan pointed to the trees. “There! Find cover!”
More gunshots.
Teagan hoped she wasn’t sending Marina into the worst of it but saw no other choice. She turned Whinny around, searching for Brent and the children.
Gunshots, flying dust, screaming horses.
Chaos.
Teagan wrapped her arm around Whinny, pressed her face to the horse’s neck, and surveyed the scene, keeping low enough to hopefully miss any whizzing bullets.
She found Brent and the children at the edge of her vision, barely visible through the dust clouds. Between her and them, a fallen convoy.
Peter and Joe had been trampled; Rebecca lay sprawled with her head busted like a melon dropped on Spanish tile, a pool of blood soaking the dirt; James and Nils didn’t seem to be bleeding, or breathing. Marilyn was lying facedown, half her head blown off.
Only the big man, Sammy, seemed unscathed, galloping away from Brent toward Teagan.
She hoped Marina was safe in the trees.
“Come on, girl,” Sammy said, riding up beside her.
“We have to get the children, and Brent.” Teagan pointed through the dust.
“I’ll get them. You get to Marina.” Sammy nodded toward the trees. Reading her mind, he added, “And pray that it’s safe.”
It took everything inside Teagan to listen. She wanted to ignore Sammy and gallop toward her daughter, the only man left in this world that she truly cared about, and his son. But she imagined a volley of bullets sending her to the dirt. Sammy was a way better shot than her and far less likely to get everyone killed.
She swallowed hard, licked her lips, and said, “Okay. Bring them back to me, Sammy.”
Sammy was already gone.
Staying low, Teagan kicked Whinny and took off toward the trees, searching for Marina but not seeing so much as a hint of her scarf.
Most of the horses had lost their riders and fled. The remaining few cantered in nervous circles, making scared sounds. She peered through the dust, desperate to see, crying out when it finally cleared.
Brent and Sammy, along with Ben and Becca, huddled near their horses, surrounded by a half-dozen bandits, all with rifles or pistols aimed directly at them.
Teagan began to go forward but stopped when the frozen voice behind her growled, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 4 — Ed Keenan
Ed and Lisa stood on the warehouse roof under the pretense of watching the streets and skies for signs of aliens. Truth was, tension was too thick in the warehouse, so Ed found a reason to leave, taking Lisa, his most trusted person in the team.
“So,” she said, “do you think it was a trap?”
He nodded. “I think so.”
“Do you think Mary should’ve sliced her throat?”
There was a time when Ed would’ve thought yes. He’d killed too many people to judge Mary. But since losing Jade, he wasn’t sure he would’ve — or could’ve — done the same thing.
“No,” he said. “There were other ways to respond.”
“Agreed. And I don’t even think she was doing it in response to the trap. I think she snapped.”
“I wouldn’t blame her.”
Lisa stared at Ed as if trying to read him. “You lost your daughter, too. How do you keep it together?”
He shook his head. “Who said I do?”
For a long moment, neither spoke.
A cool, salty breeze rolled in off the coast. The clouds had broken, and the sun was high in the sky. They could see the mothership in the distance, always hovering above The Island — so close, yet so far out of reach.
Lisa paced, as if wanting to say something but unable to figure out how to broach the subject. It was odd for her, as she was usually such a bold person — too brusque for Ed’s tastes.
Ed took the bull by its horns. “What is it?”
“What are we gonna do about her?”
“Do?”
“We can’t trust her not to do something like this again. She could’ve got us all killed. Hell, she would’ve if not for Luca teleporting in and saving our asses.”
“First off, if it was a trap, and we were in danger regardless. Yes, things would’ve unfolded differently, but given what happened, I’d say we were pretty lucky. Maybe we wouldn’t have been so fortunate without Mary acting.”
“You don’t really believe that horseshit, do you?”
Ed met her eyes. Lisa was giving him that look like she dared him to argue that she was wrong. She was used to intimidating others. He wondered how much his calm reaction fueled her anger, never taking the bait.
“I’ll ask you again, what would you have us do? Ostracize her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So, what are you saying, Lisa?”
“She shouldn’t go on any more missions, at least not until she gets her head clear.”
He chewed on it then said, “So, you want me to approach the others, is that it?”
“It can’t come from me. They hate me.”
“True.” He nodded.
“Screw you,” she joked. “Seriously, they won’t take this as well coming from me.”
“And you think they’ll take it better from me?”
“Boricio respects you.”
“He’s a psychopath.” Ed laughed. “He respects nothing.”
“No, Ed. He respects you. Don’t tell me you can’t see it.”
“Maybe. But he’s with Mary. They’re an item. You can’t go telling a guy that his girlfriend’s a loose cannon that needs to be kept away from the gang. Even if he agrees, he’s not gonna tell her she can’t go on missions.”
“Then I want a reassignment.”
“To where?”
“Beta Team? Charlie Team? Delta? The Farm? I dunno. Anywhere but here. She’s an accident waiting to happen, and I don’t want to be here when it does.”
“Fair enough,” Ed said. “I’ll talk to Boricio.”
“So, you’re not going to reassign me?”
“I’d prefer not to. Pain in the ass that you are, you’re one of the only people I can count on 100 percent.”
She smiled then quickly turned away.
He was reasonably sure she was blushing but wasn’t about to call attention to it for fear she’d think he was flirting. Lisa might have a thing for him, but Ed had no room in his heart for anyone else. It was bad enough that Teagan and Becca — two of the only people he cared about — depended on him for their safety. He couldn’t stand to let anyone else in for fear of failing them as he had Jade.
Ed started back toward the ladder leading down into the warehouse. “I’m gonna talk to Boricio. You staying or going?”
“I’ll hang out here,” she said. “Let shit cool down.”
“Good call.”
Ed went to the rooftop hatch then descended the ladder.
He found Boricio sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of Luca and the now-conscious girl. No matter how many times Ed saw Luca heal someone near death, he still wasn’t used to the remarkable feat. Nor how much it had aged the young boy into an old man.
Luca’s hair was a thick gray mop falling over his droopy, dark-circled eyes. Wrinkles, which had only appeared a month or so ago, were now deeply etched into his face. Luca was leaning against the wall, looking exhausted, while Boricio questioned the girl.
Luca closed his eyes. Ed wondered how many more miracles the man-child had inside him.
Ed approached Boricio and the girl.
Boricio looked up. “Pop a squat, Keen-O! This here is Emily. And Boy Wonder here says she checks out. If it was a trap, she didn’t know. But she also wouldn’t be surprised. Turns out her dad works with Desmond Do Right.”
“In what capacity?” Ed asked, still on his feet.
“He helps get people ready for implantation, putting the aliens in their fresh new hosts.” Ed noted that Boricio wasn’t shitting all over the man’s being
a traitor to his kind, probably wanting to keep the girl from getting defensive. “And it’s an important job because he’s one of the only free humans.”
“Free humans?” Ed asked. “How many humans are on The Island, and the ship?”
Emily looked up at him. “I don’t know. Probably six hundred, though I don’t know how many are free. Most of the people who work on The Island are hosts. They have an alien inside them. My dad is important, though, so we’re allowed to keep our independence, along with a few other people with important jobs.”
“How many aliens are on the ship?”
“Just over nine hundred, I think.”
Boricio and Ed exchanged a glance. They didn’t want to verbalize it in front of the girl, but that was a lot of fucking aliens.
Ed asked, “What can you tell us about Desmond?”
“Not much. I know he makes my dad nervous.”
“How do you know that?” Boricio asked.
Emily paused, as if unsure whether she should voice her thoughts. She looked at Luca.
He nodded.
“Because sometimes I can peek into his head.”
“Whatchyou talkin’ bout, Willis?” Boricio asked.
Luca said, “She’s like me. She has powers.”
Boricio asked, “Like X-Men powers ’n shit?”
“Maybe kinda like Jean Grey but not Phoenix. She’s a telepath. But not from the vials or anything. Telepathy runs in her family.”
“How do you know this?” Ed asked. “She tell you?”
“No, I could tell while inside her head. And when she went inside mine.”
“You let her inside your head?” Boricio looked annoyed. “We don’t even know her!”
“She’s okay.”
Suddenly, footsteps. Mary approaching. The last thing this conversation needed.
Mary must’ve heard the last part of the conversation because she snapped, “She’s okay? So then why the hell did she lead us right into a trap?”
“I didn’t know it was a trap.” Emily looked up at Mary nervously, likely afraid the woman who nearly killed her was back to finish the job.
Boricio popped up onto his feet and stepped between Mary and the girl. “She’s clean.”
“Yeah, and how do you know? How can any of us know for sure? How do you know this isn’t part of the trap, too? We bring her back to our headquarters, then they come and hit us when we’re off guard.”
Luca, with considerable effort, stood. “Please, Mary. Stop it.”
Whatever steam had been building in Mary was suddenly let out in one big gust as her shoulders slumped and she stared at Luca as if he’d smacked her. Less angry than surprised. Perhaps she was taken aback by his appearance. It was one thing to be called out by a child, but another when that child looks like your grandfather.
Luca continued, “I know you miss Paola. We all do. But you can’t live your life in fear.”
Mary shook her head. “I don’t know if you’ve looked around lately, but that’s all we have left — fear we’ll be discovered, fear we’ll be infected, fear that The Farm will be overrun and that no one can protect them, fear that … ”
She stopped.
“What?” Luca asked.
Mary looked at Boricio and Ed then back at Luca. “Fear of what happens when you die.”
Luca seemed genuinely confused. “Why are you afraid for me?”
“Because you’re the only thing that’s kept us from being killed already. You’ve saved us more times than we can count, and now you’re aging too quickly. And fuck, I didn’t exactly help.” She pointed to Emily. “That must’ve aged you five years between teleporting us and healing her.”
“It’s okay,” Luca said. “I don’t mind. I want to help you all.”
“What’s the point, though? Really. We’ve been rats for four fucking years: running, hiding, running, and waiting for what — a chance to get on The Island? Then what? Do we have any fucking clue how to bring the aliens down once we get there? If we even can?”
Everybody was silent.
Ed considered saying something, but hell if Mary didn’t have a point. They’d been trying so hard to find a way onto The Island — kidnapping people, attempting to hijack a shuttle, and they’d even sent two scouts on boats late at night — but nothing had worked.
The Island was a fortress. And the alien ship above it, an even more impenetrable one.
While they’d saved a number of humans from being killed or taken by the aliens, many whom now served as scouts for the cause in other sectors, some who joined their ranks, they didn’t have the soldiers to win a war. Not against nine hundred-something aliens, and however many humans were now on their side.
“She’s right,” Ed finally said. “We’ve got nothing.”
They’d had similar discussions before. They’d never known the number of aliens on the ship, so conversations hadn’t felt so defeating or hopeless, but certainly the shades of doubt weren’t new. Each time, Boricio had given them a pep talk to get their heads back in the game, ready to do whatever might keep them fighting.
But now he was silent.
They all traded stares.
Jevonne, who had been on the discussion’s periphery, stared at the ground without any suggestions.
Emily spoke.
“I might have something that can help.”
“Oh?” Ed asked. “What’s that?”
“I may be able to reach my dad.” She touched her temple. “In here.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 5 — Paul Roberts
Paul hated when they drugged the subjects.
He sighed at the Guardsman leading the sluggish redhead into the interview room then depositing her handcuffed body into the seat opposite him at the table.
“Really?” Paul said. “You’re bringing her to me like this? How the hell am I supposed to get a good reading on her in this state?”
“Hey,” the Guardsman answered from behind his dark visored helmet, “she was feisty.”
Paul looked the woman up and down, rolling his eyes. She was in her early twenties and weighed about a buck ten at most. Unless she was a jujitsu master, he didn’t see her creating too big a problem for the armed Guardsman.
“So, do you want her or not?” the Guardsman asked.
“Just get out of here,” Paul said, annoyed at their incompetence. More so today because he found it hard to think of anything other than his daughter, wondering how the mission was going, and if they had what was needed. Paul had tried to feel Emily’s presence but couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was the distance between them or if something had happened to her. He tried not to think of the latter.
Focus on the work. The rest will take care of itself.
The Guardsman left, closing the door behind him.
Now it was Paul and his subject in the dimly lit interview room.
He hated entering drugged minds. It felt like more of a violation to people who were already victims — kidnapped and possibly giving their lives up to become hosts for parasitic aliens. And worse, their brains seemed to move so much slower when drugged. It was like swimming in a sea of memories with one hand tied behind his back, and sometimes like dealing with an overemotional child’s tantrum.
Just looking at the woman — the bruises and track marks on her arms, old abrasions on her face, scratches all over — Paul could tell she’d been through some serious shit and was using a lot of drugs to cope with life in The Wastelands. He’d have to wade through it all to determine her worth as a host.
There was a time when he’d have dismissed her as dysfunctional without even sifting. She had too many strikes against her. But lately the people being picked up were looking worse and worse, and beggars couldn’t be choosers when crops were thin. They needed new bodies. The upper levels were designed to accommodate the aliens in their current forms, but their bodies were atrophying at an alarming rate. And who knew how quickly they could get their baby farm producing more children for th
e aliens to use?
Paul shuddered. He wasn’t sure which grossed him out more: the aliens’ insect-like bodies or their gelatinous true form. He’d been present for three implantations so far, and had barely been able to hide his disgust.
At least they weren’t using his body — or Emily’s.
“So,” the redhead said, her voice slurred, “who the fuck are you?”
God, I hate my job.
“I’m here to determine if you’re a match for our program.”
“I don’t wanna be part a no program. I jus’ wanna go home,” she said, her voice slightly raised, body still sedated.
Judging from her grammar, she was the right amount of stupid to make for an appropriate host. The aliens didn’t want morons but found the ignorant easier to placate once inhabited. How exactly the aliens pacified the host mind, Paul wasn’t certain. He imagined that they flooded the host mind with arousing sensations — similar to the consumption of food, sex, and drugs. Intelligent people were coddled in a different way — making them feel like they were part of the decision-making process rather than a vessel used by the aliens.
Paul wasn’t sure which would be a worse hell: thinking you were an equal in your body or being distracted by a flood of meaningless pleasantries.
Well, ignorance is bliss, right?
He asked the woman a series of questions designed to relax her mind, to make her more receptive to his infiltration.
Six questions in, the door to the room opened.
Paul was half out of his seat ready to yell at whoever the hell was interrupting him. But it was Desmond.
“We need to talk.”
**
Paul couldn’t do anything other than stare at the command center screens, watching replays of the woman, whom Desmond called Mary, slicing his daughter’s neck on repeat.
He wanted to hit something while watching the video footage shot from the shuttle. No, not something — Desmond. And not hit, but murder.
“She’s not dead,” Desmond assured him. “I’m certain that Luca has healed her.”
“How can you know that?”
