Her notebooks weren’t much better. A lot of hurried scrawls about the livestock condition, available food, and observed human-human and human-croatoan interactions. Clouds surrounded the notes filled with written ideas about how to improve things. Nothing about the noticeable rise in humidity, increasingly amber skies, or the greasy film that was starting to coat the region’s foliage. She kicked herself for not paying attention to the bigger picture.
Layla checked her watch. Three in the morning. The only thing for it was a clandestine trip to the chocolate factory. She slid open a window next to her bed and listened.
Distant clanking came from the meat-processing warehouses. Nothing unusual; the automated machines ran around the clock. Layla had only been inside those buildings on a single occasion. That was enough. She’d narrowly avoided throwing up.
An owl hooted.
She gently rattled open the flimsy trailer door and crept past Gregor’s office. Light streamed through gaps in the blinds. She heard raised voices coming from inside. Probably talk of the good old days with Marek after a few drinks.
Layla glanced into the clear, navy, starred sky. The mother ship was more revealing during the hours of darkness. It must’ve been hundreds of miles away but still appeared large, vivid. A bright strip ran across its center.
Pouring in and out of the strip, minute specks of light headed to and from earth, shuttles on their supply runs. Hundreds of them like worker bees, probably landing at different farms around the world in other time zones.
The moon looked like a scarred apricot as it had for a while. She’d seen it that color before when on vacation in Sydney. A bushfire took hold in the Blue Mountains, smoke scattering the rays of light from Earth’s natural satellite.
Layla knew the croatoans were terraforming but avoided the inconvenient truth. The requests to update land conversion and the experiment on the paddock brought it into sharper focus. Survival instincts that motivated her to work on the farm were now pushing her in the opposite direction.
Monitors faintly glowed through the frosted glass of the chocolate factory door. Vlad was probably watching them at the far end of the building. Nothing in the immediate vicinity suggested the presence of surveyors.
The square was quiet. No signs of any outdoor alien activity.
She slowly twisted the handle, slipped through the gap, and closed the door behind her. Vlad slumped over the desk in front of the bank of monitors, probably getting a snatch of sleep. It wasn’t a huge issue to doze on shift. The harvester alerts sounded like the grating buzz of an old, electronic alarm clock.
Ambient light was sufficient enough for Layla not to use her flashlight. She crept around the empty surveyors’ table to a walled-off area on the left-hand side.
Croatoans usually carried their equipment and charts there before leaving. The space was used by the alien with the red-rimmed helmet visor. It usually sat surrounded by three of their little computers. Layla watched the alien enter the chocolate factory two weeks ago. The devices sprang to life when the croatoan touched them. She hoped it would be that simple. Just like their tablet devices.
All three trapezium-shaped computers were folded open. Layla took a deep breath and touched a central pad with a silver outline on the first.
The screen filled with bright electric-blue background. A black square in the middle streamed unrecognizable, light green digits. Layla swished her finger across the pad. Nothing happened.
She touched the middle computer. The screen burst into life and split into four sections, each showing a different graphic. The top right was a bizarre picture of planet Earth; the bottom three-quarters of the globe were orange-tinted. It spun around, showing hundreds of black dots across the continents, probably farms. In the top left was a graph, some kind of measurement, impossible to read.
The bottom two pictures showed North America. One she recognized as the land they’d farmed colored in red. It wasn’t a surprise that the croatoans were also tracking progress; she expected that. The final picture had a shaded-in area of previously untouched land to the north of their location. She guessed it covered a hundred square miles.
Layla focused on the last image and wondered if she was looking at the tipping point for the required atmospheric change. It looked too small.
She touched the last computer. It flashed awake.
The display looked like a timeline. Thirty tasks in alien language. Twenty-eight struck through. Whatever they were doing, it looked close to completion.
None of the information was as compelling as the experiment. Collectively, it all led to the same logical conclusion.
Something gripped Layla’s shoulder.
She flinched. Turned.
Igor smiled, his face bathed in a blue glow from the computers. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Layla put her hand to her chest and felt her rapidly drumming heart. She let out a deep breath. “Jesus. I thought you were …”
His right arm was behind his back. He never failed to look shifty and dangerous.
“Thought I was an alien?” Igor said. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She glanced to his side. “What have you got there?”
Igor stepped toward her. “Things are going to change around here. You need to make sure your colors are nailed to the right mast.”
***
Gregor poured a whiskey into a shot glass, slammed it onto the table, and pushed it across to Ben. The dog from the harvester had earned it.
“Drink. It’ll put hairs on your chest,” Gregor said.
Ben frowned and twisted the glass. “What is it?”
“The water of life. Now drink. Do not insult me.”
Ben the dog held the contents of the glass in his cheeks and swallowed with a single, exaggerated gulp. He screwed up his face, squeezed his neck, and coughed.
Marek, who stood beside Ben, roared with laughter. “Looks like he enjoyed it.”
“You do realize what’s going to happen if I find out you’re lying?” Gregor said. He swiped a finger across his own throat.
“Why would I lie? It’s been a nightmare since he attacked our harvester.”
Gregor held up the necklace and gazed at the bead. “Jackson pretended to be my friend when I first arrived. It was all an act. He was gathering information for his assaults. He risks all our lives.”
Marek pointed at the dog. “What are we going to do with him?”
“I’m with you guys. You can trust me,” Ben said.
Gregor stared at the dog, mulling over three options. Ben quickly broke eye contact and looked down at his empty glass.
They couldn’t return him to the Operations Compartment of the repaired harvester. This dog had seen the outside world. He could easily open his mouth during a moment of weakness and compromise the whole crew. The second option was to turn him into silver trays of slop. It seemed like a waste.
“I’m going to reward you,” Gregor said. “Because of the information you provided, you can have a job on the farm. Be under no illusion; what I give I can take away with a bullet. Do you understand?”
It wasn’t much different from the speech Gregor used to give to new recruits in Yerevan. Before anyone became fully integrated, they had to prove themselves. Ben the dog had already done this to some extent, but Gregor was wary. Jackson had shown to be a sly operator in the past. Leopards didn’t change their spots.
Gregor smiled as the frightened dog nodded.
“Yes. Thank you, sir,” Ben said.
Gregor winced. “Don’t call me—”
Two knocks boomed against the door.
“Who the hell is that at this time?” Marek said.
Before anyone could respond, Layla flung the door open. She looked immediately at the dog.
“Strange time for a visit,” Gregor said.
“I’ve been carrying out a little bit of the investigation work you asked me to do. Who’s he?”
“Let me introduce
you to Ben,” Gregor said. He held up the necklace. “He’s given me the location of a hideout used by the little wasp. Jackson tried to use him as his new bitch. Recognize this?”
“Is that?” Layla said.
“Jackson’s necklace. Yes. I’m going in a few hours.” He turned to Ben. “He’ll show me the way. And you’re coming with us.”
“Me?”
“If you’re bullshitting, I’ll leave you in the forest.”
Layla sat on the couch. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“Bigger things than Charlie Jackson?” Marek said. “We’ve wanted that bastard for years. What could be bigger?”
“Yesterday, I watched the croatoans carrying out a test. Did you see a large transparent structure in the paddocks?”
Gregor nodded. “We passed over it. Why?”
“It was some sort of atmosphere box. They tested five different levels on humans and aliens. Let’s just say we wouldn’t survive in an environment where they can take their helmets off.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to work that out. They wouldn’t wear them in the first place if they didn’t need them,” Marek said.
“You’re missing the point,” Layla said. “Look around you. The sky during dusk and dawn. Go out and look at the moon. The increase in land conversion. It’s all building.”
“They want more root. So what?” Gregor said.
“They’re terraforming the planet. The root is how they’re doing it.”
“Even a fool can see they’re changing the place. What are we supposed to do about it?” Gregor said.
“Why would we run away to live in a ruined city?” Marek said. “Somebody else would just step in. The croatoans needs us. We’ve proven that.”
“I’ve just come back from the chocolate factory. There was information on the computers that collectively pointed to something happening very soon.”
“Very soon? Collectively?” Gregor said.
“Graphics and a timeline,” Layla said. “They looked close to concluding whatever they are trying to achieve. I think the experiment backs it up.”
“I think you’re being a little dramatic,” Gregor said. “We provide them with food. Manage the farms around the world. Why would they choke us to death?”
Layla rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. To live on our planet in conducive conditions?”
“No need to get sarcastic. I can’t risk everyone’s lives based on your theory. You might be completely wrong.”
“And if I’m not?”
Ben cleared his throat.
“Do you have something to say?” Marek said.
“Charlie thinks the same,” Ben said. “That’s why he’s been trying to stop it.”
“Who gives a fuck what he thinks?” Gregor said. Ben looked back at his boots. “I can see things changing. We can all see things are changing. It’s a question of to what level, the timing, and our personal survival. Layla, I’m not going through this in the middle of the night.”
“We might not have time to wait,” Layla said. “I told you the other day they’re acting differently. It’s happening soon. I know it.”
Gregor twirled the necklace around on his finger. He sat back in his chair, stroking his chin. “First I deal with the hideout. Layla, try to find out more. We’ll get together this evening and decide our next steps. If we act, we have to be one hundred percent sure. I’m not risking everything on a hunch.”
She nodded.
“It’s crazy,” Marek said. “We’ve been doing this for ten years. Why now?”
“We’ll discuss it tonight. I need a couple of hours sleep before heading out,” Gregor said.
“There’s something else,” Layla said. “Igor came into the chocolate factory. I think he knows what’s going on. He threatened me and said things were changing.”
“Don’t worry about that Russian scumbag. I’ve got him just where I want him,” Gregor said.
“Have you?” Layla said. “Or does Augustus?”
“Screw that freak,” Gregor said, resisting the urge to insult Layla. He jumped from his chair and grabbed the back of Ben’s neck. “I’ve got my eye on a different prize at the moment.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Morning broke with a rich purple stain across the sky. An hour later, the color burned away to be replaced by a thick tobacco-orange.
Denver parked the truck at the edge of the broken road, what used to be the New Jersey Turnpike, where it met the Newark Bay Bridge. The structure lay half in the bay. The thick, sludge-like water rolled slowly back and forth across the debris.
From their position, they could see across to Manhattan. The broken shards of hundreds of towers pierced the orange sky like shattered, grey teeth. They spoke of the initial devastation during the first invasion.
Charlie got out of the truck and helped the others. Ethan and Maria had slept for the entire overnight journey. Charlie got a couple of hours when Denver took over driving, but his body could have done with a few more. He needed another intake of root to really feel awake again, but now they were in the city. Root wasn’t so easy to come by.
His current supply would have to last. If things went well, they’d be heading back out by noon anyway. Just a few hours here to get the device and they’d be done.
“Wow,” Maria said, stretching her arms above her head as she stared out toward the city. “That’s incredible. This is the old world?”
“Yeah. Used to be one of the greatest cities on Earth,” Charlie replied.
“This is the place where you worked?” Ethan asked, impressing Charlie that he remembered. “Must be hard to deal with the memories of your colleagues when you come back.”
Charlie shrugged. He’d lost so many over the years it was difficult to still grieve for individuals. Occasionally, he would think back to the young lad he’d tried to save in the sinkhole, Luke, and his supervisor, Steph. That fateful day would always remain with him. How he and Pippa and a single fireman were the only survivors from that day.
“Right. It’s where we’re headed,” Charlie said to break himself from his memories and cut any more inquiry into his grief.
“How are we going to get across?” Maria asked. “It’s not like we were taught to swim.”
“Follow me,” Charlie said.
Leading them across the deserted bridge until they came to the point in the middle of the bay where the concrete road split apart, Charlie leaned over the side and ran his hand along it until his arm was submerged up to his elbow.
It took a moment, but he found it. A rope. He pulled on it, and from within the murk of the water, he pulled up a plastic container with weights on the side. “I need some help over here,” Charlie said.
Ethan and Denver grabbed the rope, and the three of them hauled up the eight-foot by four-foot plastic container and dumped it onto the concrete road.
“What is it?” Maria said.
“Transport,” Charlie said. They unclipped the plastic ties of the container, leaving the lid on the broken road. Inside was a rubber dinghy with a small outboard motor. A compressed-air tank would self-inflate it. They lifted it out and depressed a button on the canister and watched as it took form over the course of a few short minutes.
“Come on,” Charlie said, “Let’s get this in the water.”
The dinghy hit the surface with a wet slap. Charlie sat in the back, manning the outboard. The others sat on the hull with Denver at the front, facing the mainland, his sniper rifle shouldered, scope to his eye. He scanned in slow, sweeping arcs, keeping them protected.
Progress was slow across the bay as the prop struggled to propel the boat through the thick water. They had to stop a number of times to get around dense weeds that had grown up from the bay’s bed. They looked like vines, alien and entirely out of place for the water. But then that’s what those bastards wanted: to turn Earth into their world.
They eventually reached the mainland and pulled the boat up into a wooded area. T
he weather was getting cooler. Charlie zipped his camouflaged combat jacket. He’d have to get Ethan and Maria some better clothes; their uniforms from the harvester were getting badly torn and damaged, and being blue and orange were standing out too easily for his liking.
“Where now?” Maria said as Pip pointed her nose toward the foliage-strangled city. Her head tipped up as she picked up a scent. Charlie could smell it too. Roasting meat.
Charlie held up his hand. “Okay, listen to me. The city will have pockets of survivors. Some will be friendly, others won’t; don’t do anything stupid. Just follow Denver’s lead and mine. By the smell of it, there’s a group not far from here, and the wind direction is telling me they’re just beyond this copse of trees.”
“So why don’t we just go round and avoid them?” Ethan asked.
“Too far,” Denver replied. “Most of the city was totally leveled during the war. Entire buildings and towers were toppled, roads destroyed. It won’t be easy, and the longer we’re out in the open, the longer we’re a target for anyone who doesn’t want us around or wants our supplies.” Denver pointed to the three backpacks of gear, food, and water they had brought with them.
Charlie hefted one onto his back, Maria and Ethan took the other two, leaving Denver free to carry and aim his rifle. As the best shot in the group and with vision that would rival an eagle, it was better to have him free to move.
“Let’s go. Lead the way, Den,” Charlie said.
His son nodded once and turned his back. With two long strides, he moved into the forest, Pip dutifully staying by his side.
It was cooler inside the forest with the thick tree cover blocking out the morning sun. The smell remained though, carried on a breeze. It didn’t take long for them to hear the sound of voices, thankfully human.
Although the problem with that was that it wasn’t always clear what their motivations were. Just because they were human didn’t mean they had the same outlook as Charlie.
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