by T. M. Catron
After five minutes of walking and listening to birds chirping, he climbed around a boulder and slid down the slope. Something moved in the brush off to his right. Lincoln paused, listening, looking around in the dim light. The noise grew louder before he saw Baker wading through dense foliage toward him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice sounded bitter. Lincoln held back a curse. But he didn’t have time to devise an excuse before she drew her sidearm and pointed it at him.
“There’s no need for that!” he said, hoping the others would hear and stay away.
“Lower your voice.” Baker closed the gap between them and grabbed his arm. She turned him back up the mountain, jamming the muzzle into his ribs, pushing him up the trail. “Where are the others?” she asked.
Lincoln’s anger at being held against his will, at having a gun pointed at him, at having to even sneak away at all, overrode his good sense. She was under orders not to kill him, he knew that much. And suddenly he didn’t care what happened to him. He shook her off, eyes on the gun. “Why—?”
A blinding orange light flashed up through the trees below them, followed by a blast of sound like a deafening peal of thunder. The mountain shook, and the air with it. With surprising strength, Baker shoved Lincoln to the ground as another blast caused the trees to sway. Branches cracked and snapped around them.
Then Baker jumped up, tugging at Lincoln’s pack. “Hurry!”
He climbed to his feet and looked down the mountain. A bright plume of fire rose over the camp hidden in the trees. He gaped at the way the fire and smoke grew so quickly over them. Above, two enormous black ships appeared out of the smoke, their hulls gleaming orange from the fire below. They hovered over the valley, looking more like polished stone than metal.
Maybe they are stone, he thought. Then he thought of the people in camp—how would anyone survive that kind of attack?
Baker still tugged at Lincoln, her gun forgotten in her other hand. “Now! We've got to go!”
He didn’t need to be told again.
They scrambled up through the trees as the sky turned dark again with smoke. After several minutes of huffing and puffing through the trees, they reached a dense stand of pines beneath a shelf of rock—the tunnel entrance. Lincoln led the way through the trampled undergrowth.
The team wasn’t there. He clambered up the rock to the narrow shelf above it. The duffel bag was gone. So they’d already left. Knowing his friends couldn’t be far away, he hurried down the mountain, a stitch growing in his side as he gasped for breath. Baker shouted something at him. Shockwaves still shook the ground, and the cloud hung over the trees even on this side of the mountain.
He had to find them.
***
The Nomad had spent the night hidden in cloud cover over Appalachia. Doyle appeared an hour before dawn when he brought Mina a new pack and her clothes, now clean. Then he left, giving her a chance to change back into her old jeans and shirt. She rolled the sweater and tucked it in her bag. It no longer smelled, but little snags and holes peppered the loose knit. Mina still needed it—none of the clothes on the ship fit her well. Still, she put the overlarge sweatpants and t-shirt she had borrowed into her new pack with her sweater.
When Mina entered the cold white galley a few minutes later, Doyle handed her a mug of coffee. “We’re not far,” he volunteered. “The Nomad detected lots of heat signatures over the mountain.” Dressed in clean jeans and t-shirt, he looked fresher than she did.
Mina wrapped her cold fingers around the hot cup and took a sip before saying, “If the Glyphs could find camps with heat signatures, why did they need hybrids?”
“Actually, the Condarri don’t use it on their ships. The Nomad is using modified human technology to do it. And hybrids have proved invaluable at gathering information.” He was referring to the part the hybrids had played in the alien invasion.
Doyle opened her bag and began stuffing food into it. Dried hybrid food, sealed in white paper-like packages that hissed when opened. Mina had tasted it and preferred the rabbit food she’d been eating recently to its powdery blandness.
“You talk like you aren’t a hybrid,” she said as Doyle continued to add food.
He raised an eyebrow at her accusatory tone, but Mina didn’t care. Despite the bed and quiet room, she hadn’t slept at all, and now the thought of a tough hike up the mountain with thirty pounds strapped to her back was doing nothing for her mood. To keep her mind off it, she said, “So tell me about this place.”
“At first, we thought it was just another bunker—”
“We?”
“Myself and some other hybrids.” Doyle paused to see if Mina would interrupt again, and when she didn’t, he continued, “The hybrids know of the bunkers scattered around, but this one is buried in the middle of nowhere. It’s nowhere near a population center or has any strategic placement. It’s useless. And the Condarri show no interest in going there. Even after the recent reports of humans gathering, they’ve been reluctant to send in more hybrids to assess the situation.”
“So why are humans going there?”
“That’s one of my questions. The other being, what’s there that the Condarri wish to hide?”
“Couldn’t it be coincidence that humans are there?”
“Maybe.” But Doyle’s frown said he doubted it.
“So why’d you take so long to come here?”
“At first, there was no reason, and we suspected nothing.”
“We again.”
Doyle shut the freezer door and turned to her. “Do you have something you want to say? Because now is the time to get it out. Unless you want to die, you can’t speak openly about the hybrids. For all anyone else knows, they don’t exist.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. There are other hybrids out here—rogues who won’t hesitate to kill you to protect their identities.”
Irritated, Mina plopped down in a cold metal seat next to the small table and pretended to fix her ponytail. Doyle went back to digging food out of a drawer in the wall. A question tugged at her, burning on her lips until she could no longer hold it in. “Doyle, why did you come back for me?”
He rubbed a hand through his short hair and leaned against the counter to study her. “I told you: I regretted our argument.”
Mina snorted. “You’re a hybrid. Why do you care?”
“Do you wish I didn’t?”
“Answer the question.”
“Maybe I can’t answer it. What do you want me to say, Mina?”
Mina stood, placing her coffee on the table. “I don’t want to be someone you feel you have to protect.”
“And why does that offend you?”
Because I’ll never be your equal, Mina thought. She played with the idea of saying it aloud, but the thought seemed cheap. And yet she wondered why it bothered her. Why did she want to feel equal to him?
Doyle moved toward her, his hand brushing her arm. “Are you upset with me for coming back . . . or yourself for coming with me?”
“Neither, I want clarity.” Mina tried to ignore his warm hand on her arm, his thumb pressing into her skin, but she watched it anyway.
“I’ve answered every question you’ve asked,” he said.
“Except this one.”
“Do you regret meeting me?”
She brushed her fingers across the faint scars on his arm that were leftover from the dog mauling. “No,” she said. “I would be very ungrateful if I did.”
“I don’t want you to stay out of gratitude.”
“But you do want me to stay,” she said. Mina met his eyes, knowing she would only draw him in closer. Last night, Doyle had seemed content to let her keep her distance. This morning, he pressed toward her, and she couldn’t push him away. With the prospect of meeting others today, they possibly were spending their last few minutes alone. And she had an inexplicable desire to keep Doyle to herself. Suddenly Mina regretted her current mood.
&nb
sp; “Why didn’t you turn and run the minute you found out what I was?” he asked.
“I don’t want to spend my life running.”
“Sometimes running is the best choice.” He leaned in, an arm sliding around her waist, dark eyes asking silent permission. Doyle was warm—a sharp contrast to the cool kitchen. Mina inhaled against him and put an arm around his waist, ready to close the distance.
She shouldn’t be so easily taken in.
Why? she thought. It’s not like anyone else is around to care who I kiss.
Just as Mina decided, the Nomad shuddered and tilted. They tumbled with it, hurtling toward the wall. Doyle grabbed the counter with his free hand just in time to catch them both from bouncing against the cabinets. Mina’s cup flew off the table and smashed onto the floor. Then the Nomad righted itself, and they regained their footing. Doyle released her.
“What happened?” she asked.
Instead of answering, Doyle grabbed her arm and dragged her into the corridor, seizing her bag on the way out. Mina expected them to go to the cockpit, but he turned right and passed the bunk room. The door to the spiral staircase opened, and he pulled Mina down it so quickly she thought she would fall.
“Wait!” she said.
Doyle’s feet hit the bottom running. Still gripping her arm, he pulled her through several rooms at the bottom of the ship.
She winced and tried to shake him off. “Let go!” But he didn't let go until they reached the hatch. Mina rubbed her arm. “What’s going on?” The hold quivered again before going still. “That’s not right, is it?”
Doyle hefted the backpack onto her shoulders. The added weight on her back was nothing compared to the weight in her stomach. “You have to get out,” he said as Mina shifted the bag around.
“I thought that’s what we were doing?”
He secured the straps around her body and shook his head. “No. You have to go. They’re coming.”
The weight in Mina’s stomach jumped to her throat. “The Condarri?”
In the floor behind, the hold door opened. Wind funneled through the opening. She turned, expecting to see the ladder going down to grass or dead leaves, but the gray pre-dawn light shining into the hold was enough to tell her they were still airborne.
There was nothing below them but air.
Mina grabbed the wall for support, unable to tear her eyes away from the gaping sky. Doyle pulled her over to stand at the edge, steadying her against the wind.
She pushed at him, but he held her too closely to gain any leverage. “Are you crazy?” she said, glancing down.
Far below, the still-dark mountains looked like ripples on water. Something large and black glided by underneath the Nomad, blocking the hatch. Doyle held Mina at the edge, perfectly balanced despite her struggling. He was saying something over the sound of the wind. Mina’s heart pounded in her throat. Cold air stung her eyes, blurring her vision with tears.
He was going to toss her out.
She clutched his arms, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. “Don’t!” she shouted.
“Pay attention!” Doyle pried her fingers away from him. “Give me two days. When you land: hide! Don’t look for me. Don’t run. Just hide! Got it?”
Mina’s lip quivered in the cold. “Land?”
In answer, Doyle closed the gap between them and kissed Mina hard on the mouth. Surprised, she hesitated a second, then leaned into him, returning his kiss with the same intensity. Doyle’s lips were warm, but his mouth tasted like ice. Her heart pounded in her chest, either a result of her desperate terror at standing so close to the edge or the touch of Doyle’s firm hands wrapping around her arms. The Nomad shuddered again.
And Doyle shoved.
Mina lost her footing and fell backward. She grabbed for him, for the ship, for anything to stop her fall. But all she felt was stinging cold air. So cold it stole her breath. The Nomad shrank above her, its door already closed. Doyle was gone.
Mina’s head swam. Wind pummeled her body, whipping her clothes until she thought they would tear. She twisted in mid-air, blinking to clear the tears.
She was going to die—smashed into the trees, impaled on their branches. Either that, or every bone in her body would break when she hit the ground. She imagined both happening, her body slinging through the trees, torn to pieces before landing on the mountain. She gasped for breath. Why did Doyle save her life only to throw it away a few days later? She was so stupid to trust him!
Unwilling to watch the ground grow closer, Mina steadied her breathing as best she could and looked around. The sky was growing lighter. To the North, black, dense smoke covered the valley, and two monstrous ships, each looking like they could house a small city, hovered inside it.
The fire followed the wind until the entire valley was burning. Even at this distance, the heat warmed Mina's cold, raw cheeks. She was going to fall straight through the flames before striking the ground.
She felt oddly detached from the revelation as if the whole thing were happening to someone else. Then the morning sun blazed to the East, and she shut her eyes at the sudden brightness.
As she did, the wind stopped howling, the heat disappeared. Confused, Mina opened her eyes. Everything had gone dark. But the fire must be close even though she could neither taste nor smell it. Any second now, she would burn. Mina tensed, squeezing her eyes shut, terrified and expectant. But the darkness only closed in tighter. Then the wind ceased altogether.
She opened her eyes. Instead of falling, she was floating in the murky air. Something was slowing her down—but what? Then invisible branches grabbed at her outstretched arms, and she pulled her hands into her body. She landed with a soft thud on prickly twigs and leaves. Mina grasped at the ground in relief, half afraid of being ripped away from it and back into the air.
Cool air clung to her skin, but Mina couldn’t see much even as the darkness lifted. She stood, but her backpack threw her off balance on the steep slope. Quivering, she sat again to make sense of what had just happened.
How had she survived? The ground shook—the rumbling a sign of the Condarri ships somewhere above destroying the valley. Was it the camp Doyle had mentioned? The odorless cloud around her dissipated, and now the scent of burning wood filled her nostrils. A billowing cloud blocked the sky, grown from the blaze on the other side of the ridge.
As Mina looked around in the dim light, a thought pushed itself to the front of her mind: hide. She looked up at the smoke above and then through the gloom to the trees below.
Where?
***
At the creek, Lincoln looked for the spot—a shady one over a clear, deep pool where they’d had luck catching trout. Alvarez, Nelson, and Carter hadn’t arrived yet.
“Hello?!” he shouted. “Guys! Where are you?”
“Shut up!” hissed Baker. “You don’t know what else is in here!”
But Lincoln was already climbing down toward the water to look through the trees on the other side. The gloom beneath them still limited visibility. He turned to Baker beside him, who was also peering through the trees.
Another rumble shook the air, and in the ensuing echo, a roaring sound like a gust of wind caused both of them to look up. A summer storm, maybe? Lincoln couldn’t see anything in the gloom above. Then the dark cloud above them faded to reveal sunlight that touched the cool nook.
“Hey, anybody! Alvarez!” he called again. The woods remained silent. Even the birds had ceased their morning song.
Baker raised her gun and pointed it at Lincoln’s face. She had attached a silencer. Surprised, Lincoln took a step back.
“You'll get us both killed,” she hissed. “Now shut up and hide!” She motioned for him to crawl under a small tree overhanging the pool. Its low-hanging branches brushed the water meandering past.
Hide from what? Lincoln thought. But he crawled into the foliage, drawing his long legs under his chin to keep them out of sight. Baker followed.
We were only minutes behind the others, he
thought. If they’d got here first, they would have waited for him. Maybe they hadn’t reached the creek at all. Maybe they’d been forced off the trail somewhere. Lincoln considered climbing out to look for them, but Baker was watching him with her gun on her knee.
***
A male human ran through the smoke and trees below. He looked young—early twenties. A corporal by his uniform. Calla watched him dodge burning trees, grope his way through the smoke. She heard his coughs pierce through the roar of the fire. She heard everything—trees crackling in the flames and falling, heat consuming metal, plants, and bodies, tents sizzling into nothing.
She stretched, flexing her newly repaired body. The human was inconsequential. One survivor to carry tales and fear of the invaders. Fear that would spread among the remaining humans, discouraging and killing them. Yes, one survivor. As always.
Another hybrid slipped through the trees, hunting the human.
They spoke as if nothing had happened between them; the current mission was more important than their own bitter differences. Doyle looked through the smoke at Calla, then turned and left his quarry. When he reached her side, they found higher ground together and watched the valley burn. If the way Calla had attempted to retake the Nomad angered him, he didn't show it.
“So you convinced them to let you go,” he said, his eyes still on the valley below.
“They know I’m loyal. And they will let me prove it.”
“I doubt that.”
“Then why did they attack the humans here on my information, when they have declined to attack this camp in the past?”
“A question even you can’t answer, I think.”
“Because they know I’m the only one they can trust!”
“You failed them, Calla. A Condarri is dead because you couldn’t catch the rogues. Your punishment has only been postponed.”
