by Sean Platt
Charlie eased himself up, his head pounding, and muscles achy, but otherwise feeling okay. “Yeah . . . Where are we? What happened?”
“A cabin I found.”
“How did we get here?”
“I found you in a car, asleep. Your skin was blue, and you wouldn’t wake up. I figured you for dead at first. But I found a weak pulse. So, I carried you until I found a car with some life still in it, then drove until I found this place.”
“You carried me?” Charlie said, stunned, but also feeling guilty for practically wishing Adam dead.
“Yeah. Not far though. There was another car close from where you were. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” Charlie said, “A bit out of it, but alive.”
“I got this, too,” Adam said, holding up a shotgun. “And a whole bag of ‘em, in case anyone shows up.”
“Did ya get ammo, too?”
“Of course, duh,” Adam said with a grin. Then, just like that, the glow in his face was gone. “I’m ... I’m sorry about Callie.”
Adam’s eyes were sad and mopey, all apologies.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said, calling on his best reassuring voice. “We’ll find her. And it wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could’ve done without a gun, except maybe get taken, too. Or killed.”
“I wish it were me instead of her,” Adam said. “I mean, she’s a girl. God only knows what they’ll do to her.”
“She’s a tough girl,” Charlie said. “And if they were government people like you said, then they’re probably not gonna kill or rape her or anything.”
“So, why do you think they took her?” Adam asked.
“I have no idea,” Charlie said. “But when Boricio finds out, he’s gonna wage a goddamned holy war against them, don’t ya think?”
“Oh yeah,” Adam said. And then after a long pause, he asked, “Do you think Vic made it out of the storm?”
Charlie flashed back to the asshole’s shocked face, eyes the size of softballs, the instant before he slit his throat.
Could Adam have seen me do it? Is he testing me, checking to see if I’ll tell the truth?
Adam was likely too far away to have seen him do it, but maybe he had. The thought invited a chill back into his body despite the roaring fire. That left him with only one possible reply ...
“I killed him,” Charlie said, flatly, watching Adam’s face to gauge his reaction.
Adam’s eyes expanded like a balloon for a moment. “Good. He was a dick.”
Charlie laughed, laughed so hard it hurt his ribs, more relieved than amused.
Adam caught the laughter bug and started howling, too.
When the embers of laughter died, Adam said, “Though, it would’ve been good to have his help getting Callie back.”
“Yeah, probably, but I think Boricio is an army all his own, right? We don’t need Vic. The guy was a ticking time bomb. If he didn’t make a move on us, he might have made one on Boricio. Guys like him aren’t loyal, not like you and me.”
“Thanks,” Adam said, smiling sheepishly.
“How long was I out?” Charlie asked.
“More than a day. I was worried you weren’t going to wake up. I got you some clothes from another house. I hope they’ll work.”
“A Day? Shit! We need to get going. How far are we from the compound?”
“About a half hour by car, I think,” Adam said.
“OK, let’s go.”
They arrived at the compound just before dawn. The house was dark. Charlie flicked the lights to signal whoever was on watch, if anyone was. There were only two others left in their group, Boricio and Harry, the stoner mechanic who rarely did guard duty at night because he couldn’t be trusted not to get wasted or doze off.
Charlie honked the horn and flashed the signal again.
Moments later, the front door opened and Harry came running to the gate, flashlight bobbing up and down as he ran. Charlie noticed with displeasure that Harry wasn’t even armed.
“Charlie, is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” Charlie said, annoyed as he stuck his head from the Honda so Harry could see.
“Shit, man, Boricio was wondering where you all were! He took off a while ago looking for you.”
“Fuuuuck!” Charlie said as he pulled the car inside the gate.
“Don’t lock it,” Charlie said to Harry, “We’re gonna head back out. We need to get supplies, then find Boricio. Do you have something gassed and ready?”
“Yeah,” Harry said in his drawl, “Got the F-150 gassed and ready to go if you want it. Where’s Vic?”
“Vic was held up,” Charlie said. “We’re gonna get some shit from inside. We’ll meet you in the garage in five minutes, okay?”
“Alright,” Harry said with a smile. He took the Honda as Charlie and Adam darted to the house.
“What are we getting?” Adam asked. “I got a whole bag of guns in the car.”
Charlie grabbed a flashlight from just inside the front door, clicked it on and headed upstairs to his room, Adam on his heels.
Charlie pulled out the bottom drawer of his dresser, reached his hand into the back, found what he was looking for, then pulled it out.
“What is it?” Adam said, stepping closer.
Charlie pulled out a small wooden cross that Callie had carved for him two months ago. He’d hidden it not out of shame, but because it was his most valued possession — the first gift anyone had made for him since he was a child.
“A cross,” Charlie said as he slipped out of his borrowed clothes.
“I didn’t know you were Christian,” Adam said.
“I’m not, well, not much, anyway,” Charlie said, as he slipped into his jeans, T-shirt, black jacket, and sneakers, then slipped the cross into his jacket pocket. “Callie made it for me. For luck.”
Adam went to his room and changed into some fresh clothes, then they dashed downstairs and headed out the door. Charlie froze in his tracks, heart flatlining, at the sight of a red Mustang just inside the gate, parked with its lights off. The F-150 was running idle in front of the garage, lights illuminating the inside of the empty Mustang. Shadows came from within the garage. Someone was with Harry. “Who’s that in garage?” Adam asked. “Is Boricio back?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, a nervous chill slithering through his gut, as they moved toward the garage
The bag of weapons in the car punctuated Charlie’s thoughts; he wished he’d thought to bring a gun with him into the house. And he never thought to ask Adam where his knife went after Adam saved him. He looked at Adam, who was also unarmed.
Shit.
They approached the garage with practiced caution.
His ever sense in alert mode, Charlie nearly jumped out his skin when Harry came bolting into view. “Hey guys, guess who’s back!” the mechanic said with a smile.
Charlie felt a swell of hope rise in his heart.
Boricio’s back. Time to go get Callie, right now!
Except, it wasn’t Boricio.
Seconds after Harry spoke, something black pierced him from behind, ripping through his back and out his stomach, followed by a river of gore.
Harry’s eyes widened, his smile a memory, as he looked down and saw the dark, glistening alien hand which was twisted into a large blade jutting from his stomach as his guts spilled onto the ground. The blade retracted, and Harry fell to the ground as the owner of the dark alien blade stepped out of the shadows, a smile on his face and a scar across his neck.
“Hello, boys! Miss me?” said Vic.
Thirty-Nine
Edward Keenan
When Ed awoke, the morning sun was bleeding through a sliver of the slightly parted curtains, and Brent was gone.
He grabbed his Remington 870, and was on his feet in seconds. He was already dressed; all he needed was his tactical vest, which he quickly slipped on and fastened. Fully armed, he approached the hotel room door like a ghost, silently opening it and sl
ipping into the hallway. Brent was at the end of the corridor staring out the window.
“What you looking at?” Ed asked, surprising Brent, who looked pale.
“Come look,” Brent said, keeping his voice low, and waving his hand in a “come here” motion.
Ed jogged to the end of the hall and joined Brent at the window. Someone was in the parking lot. Not just one someone, but several someones — three men and one woman, walking between the cars, searching for something. They were identically dressed — camouflage pants, shirts, jackets, hunting gear. Each carried a hunting rifle and had a backpack strapped to their back. They were a serious bunch, but not military.
“Are they Black Mountain?” Brent asked.
“No, just civilians, probably looking for supplies or a place to stay.”
“What do we do?”
“We wait. As long as they don’t touch our van, we let them pass.”
“And if they don’t pass? If they come in here?”
“Then they’ve got a problem,” Ed said.
“I don’t think they’re looking for supplies,” Brent said. “I think they’re looking for someone.”
Ed watched as one of the men squatted and peered beneath a truck, his rifle muzzle leading the way.
“You know; I think you’re right. The question is who?”
“They’re looking for me,” a scared voice said from behind, jolting both Ed and Brent.
Ed spun, gun aimed, and saw a young boy, maybe 12, eyes wide and scared, teetering toward terrified. The boy was dressed in jeans, a red T-shirt, and dark-blue jacket. No gun. With his big, blue eyes, mop of brown hair, and dirty face, he didn’t seem much of a threat, but Ed kept his gun on the kid just the same.
“Please, don’t let them find me,” the boy said, voice raspy.
“Who are they?” Ed asked.
“I don’t know. I woke up yesterday and they’d killed the man I was living with. I tried to hide, but they saw me, and now they’re after me.”
“Why?” Brent asked.
“I don’t know, and I don’t know what they want.” The boy was on the verge of tears.
Ed lowered his gun, then looked back down to the parking lot, but didn’t see them anymore. Where are they?
Seconds later, breaking glass answered the question.
“They’re inside,” Ed said to Brent, who already had his pistol ready.
“Hide in here. Do not leave until we come get you, okay?” Ed said, ushering the boy into the room at the end of the hall, not the room they were in. He didn’t trust the boy enough to put him in a room with their supplies and weapons.
Ed closed the door with the boy inside, then turned to Brent. “You ready?”
“Ready for what? Are we gonna shoot them?”
“You want to talk it out over canned spaghetti?” Ed asked.
“I’d like to know what’s going on before we shoot them; maybe it’s a misunderstanding.”
Ed stared at Brent hard, “We are not really having this conversation, are we? I don’t need to convince you of the threat these people pose, do I?”
Brent looked chagrined, “No.”
“Good. Follow my lead and don’t shoot until I do.”
Ed ducked into their room, grabbed a couple of grenades from his weapons bag and attached them to his vest. Then they slowly approached the stairwell. He doubted he’d need explosives with these people, but you could never afford to underestimate an unknown enemy. He would have waited in the hall to ambush them, but the door leading into the stairwell had a window, stripping the element of surprise.
Ed eased the door open and they stepped into the stairwell, which was lit by daylight from the skylight on the roof. The stairwell was empty, which meant the people were probably still circling the lower floors. Brent didn’t say a word, watching Ed and waiting for cues.
A door opened in the stairwell, two floors down.
“We know you’re in here, you little fucker!” a man shouted, voice fat with anger.
Ed put a hand up, telling Brent to stay put as a single set of footsteps echoed up the stairwell. They stopped one landing beneath, then opened the door and went through.
“Let’s go,” Ed mouthed, and they descended the stairs quickly. When they reached the sixth floor, Ed peered through the door’s window and saw the man stepping into the first room across the hall.
“Open the door, softly,” he told Brent.
Brent did as instructed and stepped into the hall, his shotgun lowered at an angle. As Ed reached the door, the hinge behind him squeaked. The man spun around, but was too late. Ed fired, sending a round of buckshot into the man’s chest. He fell to the ground, killed in an instant.
Ed slipped another shell into the gun and turned back to Brent, “Good chance the rest of them gonna be coming up those stairs. Stay behind me; watch my back.”
“OK,” Brent said as Ed went down the stairs. One of the men came into the stairwell, looked up, and rushed a shot. A miss. Ed returned fire, a hit, shearing the man’s head off in one shot. Ed kept moving, not missing a step, flying down the remainder of the stairs, over the corpse, and into the hallway beyond, searching. Nobody. They were likely still downstairs. He ducked back into the stairwell, looked down, saw movement on the bottom floor, and took aim.
Whoever was down there, moved back quickly out of the way.
“We don’t want any trouble,” a woman’s voice said. “We just want the kid.”
“Why?” Ed asked. “What’s he to you?”
“None of your business.”
“Wrong answer.”
The woman didn’t return a verbal shot, but Ed was pretty sure she was still there.
“What do you want with the kid?!” Ed shouted down the stairwell.
“He’s got something that don’t belong to him,” the woman shouted back.
“What is it?!”
“Just give us the damned kid, and we’ll be on our way!” the woman said.
“Well, there’s two less of you now, so I say you leave right now before you join your friends!”
The woman screamed in frustration, though Ed wasn’t sure she’d said a word.
“Ed?” Brent said from behind, at the top of the landing. His voice sounded off.
Ed turned and saw why. One of the men had a pistol to Brent’s head and bloodshot eyes aimed at Ed. “Put your gun down,” he said with something between a grin and a scared grimace.
Ed raised his shotgun, and stepped forward. “No, you put your gun down and I’ll let you live.”
The man pressed his pistol into Brent’s temple and Brent cringed. “I’ll shoot him,” the man said.
“And I’ll shoot you,” Ed said, voice calm as he took another step forward. There were about 10 steps between him and the man. “You’ve got, what, a .38 Special? I’ve got a Remington with double ought buckshot. Do you really think you’ll get me before I get you?”
Ed took two more steps. The man’s eyes were darting between Ed and Brent.
“Last chance,” Ed said. “I know you don’t want to do this. Step away and I’ll let you and your friend leave alive.”
Something in the man’s eyes changed, and Ed knew he’d seen the light. He said, “Okay,” and pulled the pistol away from Brent’s head and put it on the ground.
Brent stepped away, quickly, letting out a deep sigh, then maneuvered behind Ed.
Ed’s shotgun roared again, striking the man in the chest and sending him to the ground.
Brent screamed in shock, “What the hell?!”
“We’ve got one more,” Ed said, then pivoted and yelled down the stairwell, “Better run; you’re on your own!”
The lower door slammed shut. Ed raced down the stairs, hit the first floor, and saw the woman running across the parking lot toward the truck they’d come in.
Ed sprinted outside. The woman slid into the driver’s seat of the pickup, fired the engine, and hit the gas. Instead of fleeing, she came at him.
He ra
ised the shotgun and fired twice. The first round shattered the window; the second shattered the woman. Blood painted the inside of the cab as the truck veered and slammed into a car to Ed’s right. The woman’s body crashed into the horn. Ed moved quickly to shove the woman aside before the horn alerted every alien within earshot to the open buffet at the Holiday Inn. The horn now silent, Ed turned back to the hotel’s entrance, where Brent was standing with eyes wide open, staring past Ed into the distance.
Ed turned around to see a half dozen aliens across the parking lot, near one of the banks, now gathering together and running toward the hotel.
Ed started back to the truck.
“No,” Brent said, “What about the kid?”
“Fuck!” Ed said, slamming on his brakes. He turned on his heels and raced back inside the hotel.
“Go! Go! Go!” Ed said, racing up the stairs, hoping like hell the aliens would lose track of him and give up. Brent was winded by the fifth floor. Ed passed him, saying, “Hurry up! I’m not waiting for you!”
They made it to the seventh floor, and went to the end of the hall where they’d told the kid to wait. “Go get him,” Ed said, “I’m gonna get some ammo.”
A few seconds later, before Ed even reached their room, Brent called out, “He’s not in here!”
Shit!
Ed knew then what he was about to find in their room, though the realization wouldn’t lessen the sting. He opened the door, spent a half-second looking inside, then left. He marched down the hallway back to Brent, anger fueling his every step. “The kid took our shit.”
As if on cue, the sound of more glass breaking erupted downstairs.
The aliens were coming.
Forty
Mary Olson
After dinner, Mary pulled Desmond to the side. “We have to go.” Her eyes were bolted on his, and her fingers dug into his arm.
“As soon as we can,” he said. “But nothing has changed. We have to stick with what we all agreed.” They had agreed. John’s eyes and ears were all over them. They’d wait and talk things over when they had more time alone. But right now, rash action would get them killed.
