Garrick: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Earth Resistance Book 1)

by Theresa Beachman

  It was the wasp-like Chittrix, the yellow-striped one she’d seen only days ago when Magdon Down was razed to nothing. The glossy head twitched sideways as she sprinted towards it, her thighs protesting at the violence of her run.

  Its tail swung as she closed the final few feet between them. She ducked, bringing her arm up to protect herself, but she misjudged the clubbed pincer driving from the other side. It whipped through the air with a crack, an unstoppable steam-train that collided solidly with her temple.

  Blackness engulfed her.

  39

  Garrick focused on the stars above him. His ears were ringing, wet coldness soaking into his back while his brain unscrambled. He lifted his head.

  Anna was gone.

  Anna. His head whipped from side to side. She’s not fucking here.

  Sensation rushed back into his arms and legs, allowing him to roll onto his side. He pulled himself up to his hands and knees. His brain was packed with stainless-steel wool, and spasms racked his lungs as he took in thick, whooping breaths, calling out her name into the barren air.

  He took an unsteady step, picking up his machete from where it had landed. Too much, too soon. He dropped back to a crouch, his hands resting on his knees, willing clarity back into his thinking. A warm swell of blood ran down his temple, leaking into his eye and blurring the world.

  Slowly he raised his head to the sky. Murky shapes shifted near the moon, but it was impossible to tell if they were clouds or the Chittrix that had been here only moments before.

  Garrick straightened.

  He knew what he had to do.

  40

  Garrick’s footsteps were unnaturally loud on the polished floor. He wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his sleeve as he ran through the corridors. His thoughts were no longer murky with anger and guilt. It was like stepping out from under a waterfall where the drumming water made it impossible to think straight.

  Chittrix had never been seen this near to the base, and Garrick didn’t believe it was a coincidence. The Chittrix had come because it knew there were humans here. Just like they had been at Magdon Down for a reason. They needed to take the offensive, otherwise more Chittrix were going to arrive, dig them out of this hole, and kill every single person living in the base.

  He powered into the main operations room of the bunker, a cross between a TV studio and a satellite launch base. TV screens filled one complete wall, some black and empty, others connected to cameras throughout London, providing continual updates from the destroyed capital. The rest of the space was packed with banks of computers built into metal consoles that ran the length of the room. Electricity hummed, making the air stuffy from the heat of technology and hot, dry plastic.

  Garrick skidded to a halt in front of one of the computers, pushing the mouse to wake the sleeping machine. A technician on the other side of the room raised her head from behind a monitor in acknowledgement, her face bathed in blue light. Emma Laing. One of the tech hotshots who had found her way to the CB courtesy of a long-dead lover who’d worked high in the Cabinet. Her eyes creased as she took in his dishevelled state and bloody face.

  He ran over to her terminal. “Laing, I need your help.”

  Laing’s fingers flew over the small keyboard faster than Garrick could follow. She clicked through various screens, narrowing down the location of the tracker bracelet Garrick had given to Anna. It was only the work of seconds, but his bloody fingers drummed on the desk impatiently.

  “Here we are,” she said at last, tapping the computer screen with her nail.

  Garrick squinted, trying to make sense of the digital map.

  A small red dot pulsed near the bottom of the screen.

  “Southeast of the city. The Isle of Dogs.” She paused, recognition in her voice. “That’s the location of the primary Chittrix hive.”

  A deep male voice cut across the room. “Major?”

  Garrick straightened as Gerard Fox strode into the room, heading directly for him. Fox was out of uniform, but his eyes glinted like pale-blue ice, sharp with indignation.

  God. He didn’t have time for this. For Fox.

  Garrick nodded to Laing.

  “Upload and synch it with a tracking pad.”

  “On it.”

  “Someone’s dismantled one of our entrance control panels. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?” Fox’s ridged brow was raised.

  “That was me.” Garrick said with a dismissive shake of his head. “I was outside with Anna when a Chittrix attacked us. It didn’t kill her, it took her. It may have been tracking us from Magdon Down.”

  Fox released a long, drawn-out breath. “Oh.”

  Garrick fired him a sharp look. “Her biometric bracelet is showing her location as the primary hive. I’m going to take anyone willing from my team and go get her. Then we’re going to set the Sweeper Device and vaporise every last one of them.”

  The tracking pad beeped next to him, and Laing unhooked it from the mainframe and passed it to Garrick. “You’re good to go.”

  Fox stepped sideways, blocking Garrick.

  “If you go out there now, you’re all going to die. Chittrix activity in the city is at an all-time high because of this swarming your Dr. Ward was talking about. Going out there is suicide.” Fox gestured at the screens behind him, full of images of flying Chittrix and waves of Scutters. Full of death. “And if that’s not bad enough, we suddenly have them on our doorstep.” Fox jabbed an accusing, meaty finger at Garrick, his skin mottled with anger.

  Garrick tightened his jaw. Losing it with Fox wasn’t going to help. “You don’t understand, do you? They know where we are now. They’re going to keep coming for us unless we go on the offensive. We finally have the opportunity to do just that. If we don’t, they’re just going to swarm and suffocate the entire country. Either that or they’ll come and dig us out. This is an opportunity to wipe out an entire generation of Chittrix poised to spread like a living virus.” His voice was rising now, and Fox visibly bristled at the volume but Garrick found he didn’t care anymore.

  “Major, there’s no proof this explosive device is effective. I spoke to Dr. Simmons, and she informed me it’s a prototype.”

  Garrick shook his head. “That doesn’t mean it won’t work. Anna and Julia are both weapons engineers. If they say the Sweeper Device is good to go, we should trust them. It’s not as if we have anything else up our sleeves. The only other option is to sit and wait to die, and I don’t know about you, but I’m done with that. We need to go out and show these fucking insects what we’re made of.”

  An image of Anna appeared in his mind’s eye, her body arched beneath him, letting him slide into the furthest corners of her heart and soul. His voice dropped. “There isn’t a choice anymore.”

  I’ve had enough of hiding.

  “Major.”

  Garrick twisted away from Fox, repressing the desire to punch him on the nose. “If we wait, the new queens will spread, and it’s all over. Sometimes a risk is worth taking.”

  He turned to Emma. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  Fox hesitated slightly as Garrick faced him full on, five inches taller and all hard angles. Complete belief and confidence in what he was about to do pulsed through Garrick for the first time since the Chittrix invasion.

  Fox’s voice escalated. “I forbid you to leave this base, Major. It’s a suicide mission.”

  Garrick gave Fox a pitying look. The man was weak. Before the invasion it was tolerable, idiots had important jobs. But now natural selection chose the strongest to lead, and that wasn’t Fox. “No one made you commander of this base, Fox. It was self-appointed. You can’t make these decisions when you don’t even go out there. You’ve lost your sense of reality. I’m going, and I’m taking whoever will come with me. From now on, we do the right thing, the human thing, not the correct military decision based on pre-invasion logic. That’s all we have left now. It’s all that gives us the edge.” Garrick pushed past him, resis
ting the urge to knock the other man over.

  From behind, Fox said. “What if I don’t let you back in?”

  Garrick turned. Fox was slightly pink, beads of sweat on his brow. Laing sat entranced, her mouth slightly open in astonishment.

  Garrick shook his head. “I’ve made good decisions in the past, based on the information I had at the time. What happened after that was out of my control. That’s what I’m going to do now, make the best decision, and I’ll deal with the consequences afterwards.”

  Frustration bit at Garrick that it was so late, but here was a chance to fix things. To show Anna he made good choices.

  He dismissed Fox with a stare that took no prisoners and strode out the room.

  He was going to bring his woman home.

  41

  Garrick woke Foster and Hardy on his way down to the main vehicle hangar. By the time he arrived at the hangar and began loading weapons into one of the armoured vehicles, Violet had appeared. She was pulling a worn, fuzzy grey woollen jumper over her head as she jogged in. Garrick chucked his kit bag into the back of the Coyote, shaking his head.

  “Who woke you?”

  Violet grimaced. “Foster. Did I tell you he’s mental?”

  Loud, masculine screeches echoed down the corridor.

  She raised her eyebrows. “See what I mean.”

  “You don’t need to do this, V.”

  She grabbed his forearm and squeezed it. “No. But I am. Foster filled me in.” Her mouth was set in a resolute line that Garrick knew better than to mess with. Besides, his sister took care of herself. After things had really hit the fan and Tom had died, Garrick had made it back to their parent’s house by the skin of his teeth. He’d found Violet locked in some crazy, killing routine that involved her going out every day and shooting as many aliens as possible. She was a one woman, Chittrix-annihilation team.

  “Besides, look what happened the last time I let you out on your own.” Violet’s green eyes never left him. “It’s good to have you back.” She touched the open gash on his forehead. “Want me to dress this?”

  “No. Stopped bleeding now.”

  He pulled his upper-body armour out of the bag and began to buckle it.

  “Anna is wearing my tracker bracelet. Laing picked up the signal.”

  “Where?”

  “Isle of Dogs, south of the city.”

  “Ah. The primary hive?”

  Garrick nodded. “Look at it this way: now we kill two birds with one stone.”

  Frustration and anger made his jaw ache. He tried to slow his breathing. Anna was out there on her own and unprotected, and it was his fault.

  Hardy and Foster stormed into the hangar, arms full of kit. Julia followed, hobbling, her fingers strained white on a green canvas satchel. The Sweeper. She passed it over to Garrick, and then unclasped the activation chip from around her neck.

  Foster lobbed the gear he was carrying to the floor beside the Jackal TSV then straightened and gave Garrick a questioning look.

  Garrick preempted the inevitable inquisition. “We bring Anna out and leave them the Sweeper Device as a thank-you note.”

  Foster glanced at Hardy and then back at Garrick, eyebrows raised. “What about Fox?”

  “Screw Fox. He’s spent his entire military career sat behind a desk making decisions based on probability, not experience. I’ve seen how well that works. We have a chance to show the Chittrix we’re not going to lie down and let them wipe out our entire planet without a fight.”

  Garrick’s voice was calm and modulated, belying the tension singing through his body, but it was damn good to finally take responsibility for his own fate again. To fight with the men who had fought their way out of a Chittrix-infested building with him only a few days ago. Garrick hadn’t chosen the job, but he accepted right now he was the leader of this checkered group. A job he’d thought he didn’t want.

  He’d been wrong.

  Adrenalin energised his muscles, sweeping away the last vestiges of plant venom and fatigue.

  Foster cracked his knuckles and bounced on the balls of his feet with nervous energy. “I’m in.”

  Hardy nodded, his expression serious. “I’m hardly going to let you go out there on your own. Let’s get shit organised.”

  Eager anticipation burned in Garrick’s blood. He could make a difference, even in this new, fucked-up world. Anna had shown him. She’d cut through all the crap he’d built and torn it down.

  “The Chittrix took Anna. It didn’t kill her. It took her for a reason.”

  Foster whistled through his teeth. “Keeps things interesting.”

  Julia didn’t miss a beat. “You need to plant the Sweeper, regardless.”

  Foster raised his eyebrows and pointed at the satchel. “Your boom box good enough? Isn’t it a bit small?”

  “Size isn’t everything, Mr. Foster. I wouldn’t waste your time with a below-par product.”

  Foster smirked and hoisted himself up the gunning tower of the Coyote.

  A loud bang made them all turn. Sawyer hurried in through the swinging door, buttoning up his trousers as he jogged across the concrete. His clothes were rumpled, his mohican sticking up in random directions.

  “Hey, Sawyer. No one expected you to break up your booty call for pest extermination.” Foster taunted.

  Sawyer glowered and yanked his zip closed. “This shit better be good. I don’t tell Fox to fuck off for anyone you know.”

  “You told him what?” Violet failed to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  “Came and woke me up. Told me he wanted me to talk some sense in to you.” His eyes never left Garrick. “Don’t know what made him think I hold any kind of sway round here.”

  Hardy hummed in agreement. “Too much political pussy-footing been going on since day one.”

  Violet bit her lip, and then sighed. “Let’s leave the political revolution for when we return.”

  “What’s the plan?” Sawyer asked.

  “We plant the Sweeper Device in the primary hive while getting Anna the hell out.”

  Sawyer frowned. “Do we know if she’s alive?”

  Garrick grimaced, his insides clenching in a hard, painful knot. “The tracker is registering some movement. Enough to believe she’s still alive.”

  Foster slammed his hand on the dented mustard-yellow metal of the Coyote, startling everyone. “Let’s hurry up then people. Clock’s a ticking. Let’s go get the doctor-chick and blow those leggy fuckers up with the disco box. We need to be out of this place yesterday.”

  Ten minutes later, Garrick was rammed into the Coyote, scanning the tracking pad as the Jackal roared up behind them from the exit of the vehicle hangar. Anna’s location was a tiny red pulse. Dead or alive, there she was. His fingers rested lightly on the screen as if by touch he could connect with her and let her know he was coming.

  Hold on, Spitfire.

  42

  Garrick knelt on the roof of the Coyote, picking out details of the primary hive in the flushed morning light through his binoculars. They were parked a little behind Canary Wharf, across the loop of the Thames that encapsulated the Isle of Dogs. In his sights the Chittrix nest squatted, its glittering black and honey-coloured pyramidal shape still rising from the ground in defiance of gravity.

  At the highest levels, several hundred feet in the air, Chittrix circled in long, slow loops of vigilance, screeching and chattering to each other. The rumble and thrash of Scutters mingled with the calls of the young queens, rising in a clattering cacophony. The normal humming synchronicity of the Chittrix nests had been replaced by an energetic frenzy. As he panned from left to right Garrick identified more queens easing themselves out the main nest entrance. Scutters flowed over the slick newly hatched bodies, their mandibles a black preening blur. He lowered the binoculars and turned to Hardy.

  “Queens are still there.”

  While Hardy took over the binoculars, Garrick scanned the tracking pad again. The red dot representing Anna
was still clearly visible deep in the bowels of the nest.

  He stared at the blip, willing it to tell him if she was alive or dead. The possibility she might not be alive constricted his breathing, and tied a painful knot in his gut. The location signature hadn’t changed in the last hour. Was that good or bad? He didn’t want to think about it.

  “She’s in there.” He ran a hand across his eyes. They stung from lack of sleep, but his thinking was clear, fuelled by adrenalin and fear.

  The Coyote rocked as Foster climbed up, his helmet jammed onto his head, chinstrap cutting into the skin of his cheeks. His eyes flashed with excitement.

  “Hey, ladies. What’s the delay?” He stepped across the vehicle, bent double to stay below the horizon.

  “Chittrix are having a party down there,” Hardy answered, not taking his eyes from the binoculars. “What about coming around the east side?”

  Garrick shook his head. “It will take at least another couple of hours to circle this monstrosity. We haven’t got that kind of time.”

  Foster unhooked his pulse rifle from his shoulder and raised the sights. “Bastard critters everywhere.” He dropped his rifle in disgust. “Fucking noisy, aren’t they?”

  Garrick rubbed his chin in thought then took the binoculars back from Hardy. “What about the Thames? It goes right under and into the hive. It’s the one approach they haven’t got covered. The air is full of them, and you can’t even see the ground for Scutters and Chittrix at the front, but the river is clear. We can use that.”

  Foster knocked the top of his helmet with his fist. “Not me. Can’t swim. ‘Sides, someone needs to stay out here for cover when you come out.”

  Hardy squinted down at the black line of water moving sluggishly on the horizon a mile or two away. “Just might work.” He squinted at Garrick. “Violet’s going to love you.”