The croatoans stood in a circle, tick-tocking away.
Marek patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Igor watched until all three specks disappeared into the distance. This was his chance to cement a place as number one in Augustus’s eyes. To raid Jackson’s den and bring back information, or better still, kill him. He’d do what the boss had failed to manage.
Gregor was past it. Ten years was long enough being in the tin-pot Armenian’s gang. It was time for Igor to run the show. Augustus had already verbally promised him the job; there’d been too many mistakes. Harvester damage, livestock escapes, and dead croatoans: It all added up, and it was time to pay.
Augustus had informed him yesterday that Gregor would be taken on a one-way trip to the forest. Left for animals to nibble on his stinking corpse. These things were best done in private.
Layla, Vlad, and Alex were still required and would all have to fall in line. The croatoans wouldn’t give a shit.
Igor waved toward the barracks. His croatoan rider exited the door and took its position on the hover-bike. He held a map forwards and pointed to a location. The alien punched in coordinates on its tablet before clicking it into place above the handlebars.
The bike drifted over the warehouses for a couple of minutes. They had to wait for the shuttle to take off. The brilliant blue craft shot into the sky. Its six pink rings glowed against the gray clouds before slipping through them, out of sight.
Below, the little surveyors left their barracks and headed to the chocolate factory. That would be the first thing Igor renamed. Gregor and his stupid nicknames. He should have had more respect for his masters.
They cruised over Gregor’s office. Much better than a shed. Soon, the whole place would be Igor’s. He hadn’t decided on whether to take Alex or Layla first.
He tapped the croatoan’s shoulder.
The alien jabbed its head to one side. He rolled his finger around, trying to signal an increase in pace. “Faster, faster.”
No response.
Sedately traveling over trees gave Igor a better view of their immediate surroundings. If he was going to be boss, it was a good chance to see potential looting spots. Overgrown buildings with trails leading from them or signs of smoke drifting out of the forest. Both signs of habitation.
After spotting two thin streams of smoke curling out of the trees, he looked back to the farm to orientate their positions. Only a few miles away. He’d treat survivors like the hag near the ambush site. They had no value unless young enough to process.
The bike lowered in a clearing not quite at the specified location but close enough. Igor recognized the vague, broken lines of a tennis court. Shrubs and weeds filled the cracks brought on from age and ice. Remains of a rotting net stretched across the middle, raised by bush. A rusty chain link fence surrounded the court, half-smothered in ivy. The bottom of it had mostly broken away and curled upwards. Only two sections remained in place.
Igor slipped a compass out of his pocket and checked his map against the tablet location. Just under a mile north.
“I’ll be back in half an hour,” Igor said.
The croatoan ignored him.
“Whatever,” he whispered to himself as he checked his watch.
He pulled up a section of the fence and ducked underneath. The forest was dark ahead. It suited his approach. Stealthily moving from tree to tree, keeping a close eye on his bearing, Igor made quick progress.
After ten minutes, he sensed he was getting close and slowed to a deliberate creep, placing his feet away from any twigs or branches. Revolver to the front.
Igor crouched behind a large rock and searched the woodland. Ben had directed him to this spot. If this was a wild goose chase, he vowed to beat the little shit’s brains out.
Through the gloom, Igor saw it. A dark slit slightly raised off the forest floor. A manmade entrance. Charlie Jackson wasn’t as clever as he thought. A couple of obvious trails led to the opening.
He waited five minutes. Observing, searching for signs of movement. The place appeared to be deserted. If Jackson or his bastard weren’t around, some of his supplies or any available clues to his whereabouts would have to do.
Igor moved around the side of the shelter and edged forward, aiming at the entrance.
From a distance, it looked like a small hump, blending in with the surrounding forest floor. Up close, steep dirt steps were cut into the ground, leading into what was probably a bunker. Igor thought about shouting a threat but decided against it. If anyone was here, he’d take them by surprise.
He crouched, listened by the entrance. Not a sound from the inside. Trees rustled above in the gentle breeze.
Igor leaned around the corner, peered down. Holding his revolver through the entrance, he started to climb down.
A loud bang filled his ears. He felt searing pain in his right knee. Igor instantly buckled to the ground, dropping his revolver and sliding down the steps.
He desperately fumbled in the dark. A boot stamped on his wrist.
A shotgun barrel pushed against his cheek.
Through the gloom, Gregor’s face appeared. “Say goodnight, you Russian fuck-rat.”
Igor groaned. “Wait. I wasn’t here to kill you. I followed and came to warn you.”
Gregor forced the barrel harder against his check. “Stop lying. It’s over. Your only mistake was thinking you were smarter than me.”
Igor had seen Gregor in this kind of mood a hundred times. There would be no stay of execution. “Get it over with. You’re a dead man anyway. A ship’s coming to complete the process. Augustus told me—”
Gregor’s ears rang with a high-pitched tone after his two deafening shots reverberated around the bunker. The effort of dragging Igor’s body up the steps helped his anger subside. Ben was right; Igor was playing a dangerous game. The two-faced bastard was trying to get one over on him. He searched the Russian’s pockets, then tossed the revolver to Ben.
Ben caught it and wiped mud from a groove in the cylinder. “Is this mine?”
“Look after me, and I’ll look after you. It’s that simple,” Gregor said.
“You’ve done well,” Marek said. “He was a bad apple.”
“Tell me about it,” Ben said, pointing to his face.
Gregor lifted Igor’s legs and nodded toward the bank. “Grab an arm each. We’ll throw him in the river. Don’t want to leave a calling card for Jackson.”
The other two gripped the corpse under each shoulder, and they staggered and crashed through thick ferns thirty yards across to the bank.
“What was Igor saying about another ship?” Marek said.
“Something about completing the process. I’ll pass it on to Layla. He was probably bullshitting to try and save his own pathetic life.”
They dropped Igor by the edge, and Marek rolled him into the water. The body rolled onto its front and slowly floated away.
All three stood amongst the foliage, catching their breath.
“Remind me to thank Jackson for the use of his shotgun. When I kill him,” Gregor said.
Marek smiled. He’d found an AR-15 wrapped in plastic complete with three full magazines. He tapped the stock. “Not if I get to him first.”
Ben frowned. “He’s not that bad. A bit of a dick, but…”
“A bit of a dick?” Gregor shook his head. “Do you think you’re the first crew that met him?”
“I don’t know,” Ben shrugged.
“I’ll tell you a little story about the hero, Charlie Jackson. Our farm was based near Jefferson City a few years ago. He blew up a harvester and kidnapped two of the crew. One was sent back to place a bomb in the chocolate factory. It detonated, killing several croatoans and my cousin. At the same time, he and his bastard son flattened a paddock fence with a log strapped to the roof of a small truck.”