Sawyer

by Theresa Beachman

  He tugged her arm and pointed at his watch. They were running out of time. He stabbed two fingers toward the bottom of the cavern, far from the dead Chittrix drifting above their heads.

  Shadows flitted at the edge of Julia’s vision.

  The Sweeper had woken the entire nest.

  Time had run out.

  40

  Sawyer gripped Julia’s hand. If he let go, it would be because he was dead.

  He kicked down toward the sludgy bottom, pain hammering at the base of his skull. The Chittrix had lashed him with its barbed tail, and the water played with the raw edges of his wound.

  Dark shapes shifted at the corners of his vision. They only had a few more seconds of advantage. If they were above the surface when the TNT detonated, they were dead. Below the surface, there was a slightly higher chance of survival. Sawyer stopped swimming and floated, sensing the direction of the current. He swam with it, heading toward where the cavern emptied, one hand searching the sediment at the bottom of the basin while his other kept Julia close. Clouds of mud and grit shifted under his touch.

  His fingers brushed the edge of a raised lip of metal. Human metal, and it was round.

  Finally, something was on their side. Sawyer fumbled for his knife, flicking it open and lodging it in the sealed edge of the drain, so he could pry the lid free. It resisted, the water pressure securing it in place. He forced the blade in deeper.

  Something gave.

  He worked his fingers into the gap, and finally the cover tore free of its mooring, revealing an opening in the cavern floor. He pulled two re-breathers from his now almost-empty backpack and attached Julia’s first, pressing the plastic firmly against her nose and mouth. Her eyes were wide, her hair framing her face in the current but as processed air filled her lungs her features relaxed a little.

  He spun and checked behind them. The water was still clear. He steered her toward the tunnel opening in the ground. Pushing against her back, he directed her down and into the narrow space.

  He risked a final glance as he thrust his own feet into the passageway. Only feet away, a Chittrix barreled toward them, its teeth bared in a steely grimace of jagged shards. It flexed at breakneck speed toward them, skirted by three others.

  Sawyer ducked into the tunnel and grabbed the grate, sliding it back into position to stall the aliens for a few precious seconds. He glanced at his watch, the second hand inexorably sweeping round. Only seconds left.

  He grabbed Julia’s hand and began to swim down the tunnel, away from the already-shifting grate, his legs protesting as he strove for every inch of advantage he could gain over the Chittrix.

  Seconds later explosions drove a tsunami of energy through his body, the power of detonation pummeling him from behind. Sawyer squeezed Julia’s hand, his fingers locked around hers. Sound waves ripped at his abused ears in a watery boom that speared hot pain directly into his skull. Agony overwhelmed him, and Julia’s hand was wrenched from his grasp. He somersaulted in disorientating confusion, the world a rushing mess of grey and black that battered his skin.

  Exhausted, he curled protectively into a ball and rolled with the current, waiting for it to ease only to collide with solid rock. Shards of pain ricocheted across his spine as he tumbled, spinning out of control into shockingly cold water. It drove the air from his lungs and momentarily immobilized his muscles. His face broke free of the water and he blinked in pale evening light, tearing the re-breather from his mouth and nose. Trees hung over the water, trailing their branches in the bracing flow.

  He was in the Thames, above ground.

  Julia.

  Grey river water rushed past him. He spun, his legs kicking against debris. The choppy water mushroomed, and she surfaced in a violent surge, clawing the re-breather from her face. She was hacking and gasping for air, but she was alive.

  He swam one strong stroke and then he was beside her, yanking her shivering body tight against him. She wrapped shaking arms around his around his neck and whispered his name into his ear. Sawyer squeezed his eyes shut muttering thanks for the heat of her firm curves alive in his arms.

  They swam in tandem, aiming for the riverbank. Sawyer sank his fingers gratefully into the thick, sticky mud as he searched for a handhold. Tree roots just under the waterline caught his fingers, providing a safe harbor from the fierce current. He found a foothold on some rocks, precarious, but enough to support him while he boosted Julia out.

  “There was one right behind us,” he gasped as he shoved Julia out the water, pushing the small of her back to get her moving.

  He risked a glance over his shoulder. The river swirled behind him in lazy drifts.

  Julia crawled up the muddy riverbank, holding onto tufts of grass. Sawyer followed, the tussocks of straggling greenery tripping him up at every step.

  The wet rattle of a Chittrix trilled behind him.

  Sawyer reached instinctively for a weapon, and his stomach sank. His pulse rifle was gone, as was his knife. His hands flattened uselessly against the pockets of his trousers. They were empty.

  He had nothing.

  41

  Julia was still on her hands and knees, wrist and ankle-deep in thick, cloying river mud. She pulled deep, sobbing breaths into her lungs, her elation obliterated in seconds by bitter fear.

  The Chittrix rose in the middle of the river. The maw of its mouth widened and it screeched, the terrible sharpness of the sound piercing the still air. Julia scanned the sky, fearful of what the noise would attract, but only clouds shifted and spun.

  Sawyer’s swearing filled her ears as he searched for his weapon.

  Julia pressed a mucky hand to her breastbone. The shoulder strap for the Sweeper was still there, its weight pressing on her back. She had no idea if it would work so soon after being discharged. She ripped the weapon from her shoulder, allowing herself one glance at the Chittrix. Its tongue licked in her direction, and then it dove below the surface pointed in the direction of the bank.

  It surfaced seconds later, calling loudly as it clawed its way onto land, barbed feet plunging deep into the thick grey mud. Yellow fluid streamed across its belly where the chitin was damaged and gaping.

  Julia scrabbled backward on her backside, her grimy hands struggling with the Sweeper controls. Her nails were torn, and blood from a deep gash obscured the operating screen. Everything was caked with slime and muck. She swiped the barrel against tired grass. An improvement. The battery indicator flashed blue. Intermediate charge.

  “Julia?” Sawyer collapsed beside her, his head sagging with exhaustion.

  “Sixty-percent charge,” she said.

  The Chittrix staggered and fell on the muddy bank only feet away with a wet slapping sound that made her wince. The last time she’d been this close to a Chittrix was before she’d left Magdon and had stabbed one to death to save Anna. The Chittrix thrashed the sludgy sediment slowing its limbs, howling with fury. Its tongue lashed at her in a hissing flick but fell short, rasping as it recoiled.

  Sawyer yanked the Sweeper from her. “Sixty-percent is enough.” He pulled himself on to his feet on visibly trembling legs. He took a squelching step forward. What was he doing? Julia’s hand shot out, grabbing for his ankle, but her fingers closed on thin air as he took another lurching step through the sucking ooze toward the Chittrix.

  “Sawyer!” she screamed. She scrabbled, mud hampering her efforts, but Sawyer was already several feet ahead of her.

  He swayed unsteadily before the Chittrix as it strove to stand, thrashing against the slippery earth. Its tail churned the mud into a thick wet spray as it slashed from side to side, missing Sawyer by inches.

  He raised the Sweeper to his shoulder.

  “Sawyer. Leave it!”

  He shook his head. “Damn thing will just haul its backside out of the mud and follow us.”

  The Chittrix finally stood and blundered toward Sawyer with an unsteady gait.

  The thick hum of the Sweeper saturated the air as it powered up, co
ils shimmering as it prepared to unleash its devastating sound.

  Julia was unable to look away, her fingers clawed at the soft flesh of her cheeks. The Sweeper was taking too long.

  The Chittrix towered before Sawyer, its head angled low, so their faces were level. Powerful thighs flexed in preparation for the kill, corded muscles and tendons bunching. It shrieked, obliterating the hum of the Sweeper, and Julia couldn’t tell if the weapon had achieved maximum charge.

  She screamed Sawyer’s name, her throat raw. He was going to die.

  At the final second, as the Chittrix leaped, Sawyer tipped the Sweeper skyward, the weapon pointed directly at the incoming alien throat.

  42

  Sawyer aimed in the shadow of the Chittrix as it launched toward him, an unstoppable rocket of alien muscle and armored plating. Out of the corner of his eye, the power charge of the Sweeper blinked to orange. Seventy-percent. As good as it was going to get.

  Julia yelled at him to run, but her voice compelled him to stay. She was the reason he was here, his reason to fight. Sawyer depressed the button, unleashing a bolt of pure sound frequency at point-blank range.

  There was a moment of absolute stillness as the Sweeper searched for the correct lethal frequency, and in that instant, the Chittrix collided with Sawyer. Its venomous teeth embedded in his bio-armor, sinking deep into the protective vest. The Chittrix shook its head in wild fury and frustration at the ineffectiveness of its attack and released him. Sawyer skidded backward on the wet ground, mud ramming down his neck, the Sweeper still aimed at the Chittrix but now wedged between their bodies.

  From far away, Julia cried out his name, but the sound was an abstraction compared to the stinking weight of the Chittrix ramming him into the freezing mud. The Chittrix turned and hissed at Julia, still flattening Sawyer under its insectoid body, thick strands of mucus sliding onto Sawyer’s mouth and nose.

  In that instant, the Sweeper found the correct frequency and the Chittrix shuddered. Its exoskeleton shimmered like an empty road on a hot day, and its jaws cracked too wide in a howl of agony. It reared back and then tipped off his body, bucking sideways, its limbs convulsing.

  Sawyer rolled and coughed, swiping gobs of gunk from his face, flinging the secretions from his fingers, his face pinched with disgust. He crawled through the sucking dirt on his elbows, the discharged Sweeper swinging loose around his neck and banging painfully against his knees. When he tried to stand, his feet caught in the carrying strap, and he landed heavily next to Julia, who instantly pulled at him, her arms around his biceps as she half-lugged, half-kicked him away from the dying Chittrix.

  They hit the grass verge and inched onto dry land, their chests heaving. Sawyer’s legs felt disconnected, working with a will of their own as they carried him step after step. Julia staggered next to him, her breath loud and hot in his ear. Finally, he checked over his shoulder to make sure the Chittrix wasn’t following, relief swamping him as his brain acknowledged the stillness of its corpse.

  When he turned back, Julia punched him smack on the chin. His head snapped sideways, his teeth piercing his tongue. Blood filled his mouth, mixing with the dirt and river water. He sucked in a breath, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture.

  “Whoa, what the hell—”

  "You could have gotten yourself killed!" she shrieked, a vein pulsing high on her temple.

  Then she grabbed his face and kissed him forcefully, her mouth hot and urgent against his, eagerly seeking proof they were alive. Her fingers pressed into the tender flesh she’d just struck, but he didn’t care. He hugged her tight against his body, swearing he would never let her go.

  When Julia finally broke away from the kiss, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes luminous and bright. Sawyer held her close, unable to release her.

  He pulled a curl from her forehead and tucked it into the pile of muddy hair behind her ear. His heart was light and hot in his chest. He had never seen her look so beautiful.

  She grinned and kissed him again. “Ben, if you ever do something insane like that again, I will have to kill you.”

  43

  Darkness skulked in the corners of the room, held back only by the honeyed glow of a nightlight. Sawyer checked the neon hands of his watch. It was almost seven in the morning. A full day and two nights had passed since he’d escaped with Julia from the destroyed Chittrix nest.

  Once they’d hauled themselves out of the mud of the Thames, they’d walked for hours, leaving the motionless corpse of the Chittrix half-buried in tidal silt. They’d stumbled and half-carried each other, bone-deep fatigue gnawing at their final reserves of energy, their headsets stubbornly silent.

  When they the Coyote and Jackal TSVs had finally roared into sight, it felt to Sawyer that he’d not seen anyone for days. He’d never been so glad to see the bunch of filthy, battered soldiers and scientists. Foster had almost flipped the Coyote bringing it to a careening halt before jumping out, turning the air blue with choice expletives of happiness. Julia had slumped to her knees beside him, relief buckling her legs as Anna had scrambled out the vehicle and flung her arms around Julia in a smothering bear hug, tears streaking clean trails across her grimy cheeks.

  Everyone had escaped the nest before the explosives detonated. Crossness was gone, the Victorian pumping station sucked underground by the disintegration of the underlying warren of Chittrix tunnels and sewers. Hardy had skirted the Jackal around the edge of the demolition area as the TSV carried them home. The wide, concave depression stretched for at least a mile. The team were all accounted for.

  Except Darr.

  Sawyer lay on the bed, wide-awake. He couldn’t explain it and had kept his opinion to himself, but there was no doubt in his mind that Darr was still alive. Whatever his reasons, Darr didn’t want to be found and had simply chosen not to return to the CB. The enigmatic scavenger would be back on their radar when it suited him.

  Meanwhile, the entire base was enjoying what Violet called an alien-moon. Despite constant monitoring from drones and surveillance teams, there’d been no activity from the flattened nest.

  Hardy had volunteered to take responsibility for improving security and spent the day before installing infrared cameras and motion detectors in all the sewers and conduits that approached or fed into the base directly. The set-up went smoothly, and the monitors remained silent.

  Peace wouldn’t last, the Chittrix were here to stay and had already demonstrated their ability to adapt to whatever was thrown at them. Extra scavenger trips were planned over the next few days to take advantage of the temporary respite, an interval in the on-going fight.

  Sawyer had consciously decided to make the most of this period of calm and actually enjoy it, instead of expertly tormenting himself about choices he couldn’t change. What was done, was done, and for the first time since forever, his mind was clear.

  He rolled closer to Julia’s heavy warmth next to him in the bed, wrapping his arm around her and clasping her snug to his body. She pressed against him, her backside nestled in the crook of his groin, one hand draped possessively across his thigh. Her spine curved against his abdomen, her hair a soft cloud under his chin. He breathed in her clean scent of soap, tightening his arm protectively around her waist.

  This.

  He knew he’d wanted this, but it was more intense than he’d ever imagined. Finally after all the broken, snatched pieces of time he’d endured, they’d spent the entirety of the last two nights together.

  And a whole day together in full view of everyone.

  He kissed the nape of her neck, biting the skin in a gentle tease. She murmured and pressed more firmly against him. His cock hardened against her buttocks as she turned to face him. It didn’t matter how many times he possessed her soft, voluptuous body. He always wanted her again.

  She bumped his chin with the tip of her nose then kissed him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Morning.”

  “Sleep okay?”

  She gave the tiniest of
nods. “Like a baby.”

  “No nightmares?”

  She butted her forehead up against his, her lashes tickling his cheek. “No nightmares. Must be a world record, two nights in a row.”

  He pulled his head back a little, focusing on her. “I feel the same. Like a switch has been turned off in my brain, and it’s quiet in there. Kinda spooky.” He broke eye contact, embarrassed at his admission.

  Julia stroked his cheek. “Silence is good, Ben.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love hearing you say my name.”

  She grinned. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “You happy?” He asked the question quickly before he changed his mind and chickened out.

  She smiled and nodded. “Even if I have to listen to all the ‘told you so’ chat from Anna.” She peeked up at him through thick lashes. “Maybe I could make you breakfast?”

  Sawyer grinned. “Dr. Simmons, are you offering to cook?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him as she rolled away and pulled on his t-shirt. Damn if it didn’t look better on her than it did on him.

  “I make killer toast.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Live a little.” She switched on the bedside light and padded across the room. Opening the cupboard set under the counter, she produced a brown paper bag. “See. Foster’s been growing sourdough babies.” She pulled a dumpy rectangle of bread out the bag and waved it aloft, like a trophy.

  Sawyer scooted up on one elbow. It was a good view. His t-shirt barely skimmed the top of her thighs, giving him tantalizing glimpses of hot pink lace.

  “I could get used to this,” he said. “Lying here, watching you cook.”