World Killer: A Sci-Fi Action Adventure Novel

by Barry J. Hutchison

  Hath cast his gaze across them. “Your abilities lay dormant until I activated them. I had hoped for more time to train you, to help you realize your potential, but time is now running short.

  “Skalgorth draws closer. The World Killer approaches. And if we are to have any chance of stopping him, you will all have to do exactly as I say.”

  “Wait a minute,” began Daryl. “Ash said he was gone for three days.”

  “Me, too,” said Riley. “Give or take.”

  “I was gone for two weeks. Why?”

  Hath shifted uneasily. “There were… complications.”

  Daryl waited, expecting more. “What kind of complications?”

  “You died.”

  Daryl glanced back at the others, but they looked just as shocked as he was. “I died?”

  “Your body rejected the gene-mesh. It shut down. You died.”

  “Oh. Right,” said Daryl. He blinked. “But I got better. I mean, obviously. I’m not dead now.” He swallowed. “Am I?”

  Hath shook his head. “A secondary gene-mesh was carried out. DNA from another donor species was spliced with your own, granting you the ability to heal.”

  “To heal from being dead?”

  “On that occasion, yes,” Hath said. “Although don’t rely on it happening again.”

  Ash raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute.” His eyes darted to the corners of the station. “Is this… am I being Punk’d? Is this MTV? I’m totally being Punk’d right now, right?”

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. “OK, joke’s over. I’m onto you. Funny stuff, but come on out.”

  Ash turned to find Hath shooting him a withering look. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” the alien said.

  “Whatever, man,” Ash grunted. He thrust his hands in his pockets and turned away. “This is a load of bull. I’m out of here.” He walked a few paces, then stopped and looked around. “How the Hell do I get out of here?”

  “Ash, wait,” said Riley, but Daryl jumped in before she could finish.

  “He’s right. This is… I don’t know what this is, but I’m not staying either. You heard him, he abducted us. He killed me!”

  “And then he fixed you,” Riley pointed out. “I’ve been with him for days, Hath’s an OK guy. If you don’t count the face. I believe him. I think we need to listen to him.”

  “Good luck with that,” Ash called. Daryl hesitated, looked over at Yufo, then turned and began to walk away.

  “I need to make sure my dad’s OK,” he said. “I’m sorry, OK?”

  “Your father is dead,” said Hath, raising his voice. Daryl stopped. He turned, hands shaking.

  “What did you say?”

  “Your father is dead. Your friends are dead. Everyone any of you has ever known is dead.”

  Daryl shook his head. “No. That’s not true.”

  “Not yet, perhaps. But it will be if you don’t help me,” Hath said. “Without all three of you, the World Killer will be unstoppable. He will feast upon your homes, your loved ones, your entire planet, and he will leave nothing but dust in his wake.

  “When the time comes, you will fight with all you have to save them, and you shall all die in the attempt.” Hath’s fist clenched. “Because on your own you are as helpless as anyone else. But together, with my guidance, you can stop it. You can save everyone. And then, when you have saved the entire world, you can go about your business any way you see fit.”

  His bat-like nostrils flared as he looked at the teens in turn. “I am not of this world, but I am prepared to stand and fight for it nonetheless. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to prevent my home planet destroying this one and countless others.

  “The question is, are you prepared to do the same?”

  An hour later, Daryl, Riley, and Ash sat on folding chairs around a plastic table, eating slices of takeaway pizza. Daryl was pretty sure Dominos didn’t deliver to abandoned subway stations, so where Hath had managed to get the pizzas from was anyone’s guess, but nobody was complaining.

  Daryl hadn’t quite appreciated how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten since his bite of moldy toast that morning, which felt like a very long time ago.

  Hath had shut himself away inside Yufo, leaving the teenagers to get better acquainted. At least, that was the idea. In reality, they’d spent most of the last thirty minutes sitting in awkward silence, broken only by the occasional argument.

  “So…” said Riley, at last. “I know what we’re all thinking.” She looked across the blank expressions of the two boys. “Love triangle.”

  Daryl almost choked on a slice of pepperoni. “What?”

  “I’m one hundred percent not thinking that,” Ash said.

  “Come on,” Riley said. “Two guys. A girl. An unlikely science fiction scenario. This has got love triangle written all over it.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Daryl.

  Riley rolled her eyes. “Of course it does! You two will both fall in love with me, and I’ll have to decide which one is worthy of my affection.”

  “Or we’ll all get butchered by an alien psychopath,” Daryl said.

  Ash raised a hand. “That one gets my vote.”

  “Trust me,” said Riley. “It’s a done deal. There’s no avoiding it.”

  She leaned back in her chair, immediately started to topple over, then frantically clawed for the table. When she regained her balance, she adjusted her bobble-hat and cleared her throat. “Now, if we could all pretend that didn’t just happen, I’d be very grateful.”

  Ash leaned in, conspiratorially. “Want to know what I’m really thinking? I’m thinking… ‘What the Hell?’ Right?”

  Daryl and Riley exchanged a glance. “What do you mean?” Daryl asked.

  “What do I mean? Jesus. I mean… this is all messed up. All of it. Aliens. Superpowers. World in danger,” Ash whispered. “Like, I can see why I got picked, but why you guys? You’re nothing special. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Daryl said, taking another bite of pizza to stop himself from saying more.

  “You were nothing special when you were five, either,” Riley pointed out.

  “Ha!” snorted Ash. “You keep believing that, sweetheart. I may not have caught a break by then, but I was still me. Batface in there knew what he was doing, but… you two? I don’t get it.”

  Daryl felt his fists clenching. He’d hoped maybe he was wrong about Ash—that maybe his arrogant exterior was all an act for the cameras—but nope. He was just as unpleasant in real life as he seemed on TV.

  “On that note,” Daryl said, “I’m going to try to sleep. Hath said we’ve got a big day of training tomorrow.” He stood up and looked down at the others. “And if we really have to save the world, I think we’re going to need it.”

  Fifteen

  Daryl and Riley ducked as a tin can, the table it rested on, and several feet of the ground below it erupted in an ear-splitting explosion of metal, wood, and scorching sand.

  Ash blew on his hand like a cowboy blowing smoke from the barrel of his six-shooter and mimed slotting it into an invisible holster at his hip. “Pretty awesome, huh?”

  Hath didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. “You were supposed to destroy the can.”

  “Well, it looks pretty damn destroyed to me.”

  “Only the can,” Hath sighed. “A blunt instrument is of no use. You must learn precision.” He pointed to another table, further away. A can sat on that one, too. “Again.”

  Ash took aim, closing one eye to look along his arm. “I gotta say, man, this is all disappointingly low tech.”

  Much as Daryl hated to, he had to agree. When Hath had said they were going to spend the day training, he’d been hoping for some sort of X-Men style Danger Room, or the Holodeck from Star Trek.

  Instead, they’d flown out to a rocky canyon in some desert somewhere, so Ash could shoot at a few tin cans. In the Top Trumps rankings of state-o
f-the-art training facilities, it barely scraped a 1 out of 10.

  Daryl leaned against the wall of the canyon. His back ached from a night spent in a sleeping bag on the subway station floor.

  The sun blazed in the sky overhead, but it was surprisingly cool in the shade of the canyon, and he felt Riley shivering next to him in her meat onesie.

  Ash had said he wouldn’t be seen dead in the skin-tight red outfit and had refused to put his on. He still wore the clothes he’d been wearing when they’d rescued him the day before, complete with blood spots from their encounter with the injured pilot.

  “Bet he doesn’t hit it,” said Riley, her teeth chattering.

  “Just the can or any of it?”

  “Any of it,” Riley said.

  Daryl looked along the canyon to where the table sat. It was a long way off, yet he could make out every detail, right down to the barcode.

  “I reckon he’ll do a wide beam and hit all of it,” Daryl said. They’d been watching Ash for a while now, and Daryl was beginning to get a handle on how the other boy’s powers worked.

  Riley spat on her hand and held it out. “Want to bet on it?”

  “I don’t have anything to bet,” Daryl confessed.

  “I’ll take your soul!” Riley growled in a raspy voice. “Or you can give me a piggyback ride back to Yufo. Either one.”

  Daryl smiled. They shook hands. “Done.”

  They watched Ash adjust his stance and stretch his arms before he took aim again.

  “Quicker,” Hath said. “It should be instinctive.”

  Muttering, Ash fired a blast from his right hand. It screamed through the air, scorching the label of the tin can as it sailed wide.

  “Ha! Told you he’d miss!” Riley cheered.

  Ash spun angrily. “Oh, and what? Think you can do better, do you? I’d like to see you try.”

  Still smiling, Riley stood up. She licked a finger and held it above her head, checking the wind direction. When she was satisfied, she pointed the finger toward the can. Not another part of her moved, but a chunk of stone the size of a bullet pinged free of the canyon wall and rocketed toward the table.

  There was a crack as the stone punched straight through the can and out the other side. A gush of tomato soup splattered from the holes and pooled in a puddle on the table top.

  With the briefest of bows, Riley sat back down. Ash scowled and went back to his target practice.

  “That was amazing,” said Daryl.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, my friend,” Riley told him. “You’re still carrying me back to the ship.”

  Despite everything, Daryl laughed. “No way. You can have my soul.”

  “Aaargh!” Ash growled, firing three or four bolts in quick succession. They all screeched past the target. He turned to Hath. “Why is no one else doing this? How come it’s just me?”

  Riley stuck up her hand. “Everyone just saw me stick a stone all the way through that can, yes?” she asked. “If you look closely, you’ll notice that it’s right through the O of ‘tomato’.”

  “No it isn’t,” Daryl said.

  “The other O,” said Riley quickly. “And shut up.”

  Ash pointed at Daryl. “OK, but what about him? I haven’t seen him doing anything.”

  “Apart from saving your life, flying a spaceship, and catching a jet in mid-air,” Daryl said.

  “What, you think you’re better than me? Is that it?” demanded Ash, his chest puffing out. “What is your power anyway? Because if it’s supposed to be brains, you’ve been short-changed, buddy. Or did you forget how you messed up disarming those handcuffs?”

  Daryl shifted on the rock. “It’s not brains,” he began, but then stopped. What exactly was his power? So much had changed in the past day, but what had Hath actually done to him all those years ago?

  “Evolution,” said Hath, as if reading Daryl’s mind.

  All eyes went to the alien. He stood on a low rock, making him look even taller. “The gene splice on Daryl Elliot resulted in an evolved evolutionary state.”

  Daryl looked down at himself, still not quite sure what Hath meant.

  “Your body and mind have both reached their full potential, or are well on their way to doing so, at least. You are faster, stronger, and more agile than any person who has ever lived, or likely will ever live,” Hath explained. “While you are also the first human being in history to be able to tap into the full power of your mind, granting you telekinesis and the potential for an intellect unrivaled in this part of the galaxy.”

  Daryl’s lips suddenly felt very dry. He knew he’d changed, but he hadn’t grasped by quite how much. If what Hath was saying was true, Daryl wasn’t just the highest scoring card in the Top Trumps pack, he was in a whole other pack of his own.

  “Cool,” he managed, smiling weakly.

  Ash glanced from face to face. “I don’t get it,” he said. “What the Hell does all that mean?”

  Hath sighed. “It means, Ash Stone, that yes—he is better than you.”

  Ash raised his hands, palm open. For a moment, it looked like he was going to open fire on the alien, but instead, he spun and unleashed a single narrow blast toward the distant target.

  With a metallic clang, the tin can exploded, spurting what was left of the soup in all directions. Ash punched the air. “Yes! That’s how you do it! Ash Stone one, tin can zero.”

  He spun on the spot, bowed dramatically, then gave Hath the finger. “Now who’s better? Training complete. Boom!”

  Hath raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t your training. That was simply a means of attracting its attention.”

  Ash faltered. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  Hath gestured beyond the entrance to the canyon. A cloud of dust was approaching. It was just possible to make out vehicles racing along somewhere in the middle of it all.

  “That is your training,” Hath said.

  Daryl and Riley stood up. “What is that?” Riley asked.

  “Jeeps,” Daryl said. He squinted in the glare of the sun and felt his stomach knot. “And a lot of men with guns.”

  Ash stepped up beside them, cupping his hands above his eyes. “How can you…? There’s no way you can see that far.”

  “Hath, where are we?” Daryl asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the approaching cars.

  “Afghanistan,” said Hath.

  All three teenagers spun on the spot, but the alien was nowhere to be seen. “Afghanistan?” Daryl spluttered. “What are we…? Oh great. He’s gone.”

  “Hath?” Riley called. “Yoo-hoo?” She listened for a moment, then nodded. “Yep, he’s definitely gone.”

  “We should get back in the ship,” Daryl said, turning. His shoulders drooped. “Except, he’s taken the ship.”

  They faced the approaching sandstorm again. It was close enough now that they could all make out the men in the open-top vehicles. They wore dusty camouflage clothing, with balaclavas and black headscarves covering their faces. Over the roar of their engines, Daryl could hear the clack of magazines being loaded into assault rifles.

  “Maybe we can reason with them,” said Riley, brightly. She ducked as a bolt of energy scorched past her from behind. It struck the front jeep, flipping it into the air in a chorus of screams, grinding metal and chattered cries for help. Ash whooped with delight.

  “Or, you know,” Riley sighed. “Maybe not.”

  The jeep smashed to the ground, upside-down. There was a brief sputter of gunfire from within which made Daryl and the others leap back in fright, then the wreckage fell silent.

  “Yeah!” laughed Ash. “Oh man! Did you guys see that?”

  He raised his hand again, but Daryl batted it down. “What are you doing? We don’t know who they are or what they want.”

  “They’re our training, like our ugly mutual friend said.”

  “Hey!” protested Riley. “Oh, wait, you mean Hath. Gotcha.”

  “We don’t have to worry about what they want, we j
ust have to kick their asses!” Ash said.

  Daryl opened his mouth to argue, but then he heard it: the creak of a tendon tightening on a trigger. Grabbing Riley and Ash he pulled all three of them to the ground, just as a burst of machine gun fire ripped through the air.

  Looking up, Daryl could make out the bullets, but only barely. The dart the PPA had shot at him had seemed to travel in slow-motion, but the bullets were a different story. He saw them as glints of hot metal, spinning furiously as they whistled past. His speed may have been enhanced, but he definitely wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet.

  The jeeps skidded to a halt, spraying dust and sand in a vast cloud. Four or five men jumped down, shouting angrily in a language Daryl somehow recognized as Dari as they took aim with their rifles.

  With a grunt of effort and a wave of her hand, Riley rolled a rock between them and the approaching gunmen, just as they unleashed another volley of gunfire. The bullets thudded and pinged against the stone, buying the teens a few valuable seconds.

  “Who are these guys?” Daryl gasped.

  “Who cares?” Ash snapped. “They’re shooting at us. Them bad guys. We good guys. It’s not difficult to--”

  He yelped as a bullet ricocheted off the rock right above his head. “That’s it. I’m taking these guys down.”

  Ash stood up, raising both hands. He roared at the top of his voice as he opened fire, curving his beams across the sand and carving cleanly through two of the approaching gunmen.

  Daryl heard their flesh sizzle as the energy blast sliced them apart. They had no time to scream before they flopped to the ground in pieces.

  “What do you know?” Ash said, his face twisted with glee. “Narrow beams really are the way to go. Burn, bitches, burn!”

  There was a boom and a high-pitched squeal like a balloon rapidly deflating. Daryl peeked over the rock in time to see a rocket spiraling through the air toward them.

  “Missile!” Daryl yelped.

  “On it,” Ash said. He smirked as he swept his beam into the path of the missile. It exploded immediately in a cloud of fire and smoke and molten lumps of metal.

  Ash turned, covering his head with his hands, but he was still in the path of the speeding metal shards. They’d rip through his stupid designer t-shirt—and him—like a pebble through soup, Daryl realized.