Few trees had managed to settle within the city, but there were still overgrown areas of bushes and shrubs, contrasting their natural hues with the monochromatic palette of human endeavor. Charlie and Denver stuck to the main streets where possible. If there were any survivors in the area, they’d likely be in the houses; many had set up homes there or in the low-rise apartment buildings, almost as if nothing had happened.
There were some who still thought it meant something to live in Manhattan. But the place was a ghost town now with little to offer anyone apart from the most basic of shelters. Unlike Mike and Mai’s basement that had power from the building’s rebuilt diesel generators, almost none of the makeshift domiciles had any power. Years before, Charlie had been part of a fuel group whose task was to extract fuel from other generators, cars, and trucks.
The yield was low, but given the sheer number of sources, they’d managed to gather enough to keep the Quaternary basement running with power for decades to come. Most of that was due to Mai’s genius in mixing the diesel generators with solar and wind power.
They’d made their way about halfway to the warehouse, weaving in and out of streets, making sure they were covered at all times by shadows or dilapidated buildings. Denver, as ever, took point, using his scope to observe their intended route.
Maria and Ethan took up the rear and watched the flanks.
Charlie kept his attention on the sky. He didn’t want to worry the others, but ever since they’d arrived, he’d seen the shadow out of the corner of his eye and the glint of something in the clouds. It was flying in stealth mode now, but after hearing the roar earlier, he knew it was here.
Which of course was one of the reasons he didn’t want the others to come with him, but like Mike said, they had to make the choice; he couldn’t protect them at all times.
They crossed a street, rounding a pair of rusted limousines. Most of the road signs had lost all their lettering to the elements. Given the destruction, he couldn’t tell exactly where they were but knew they’d walked for thirty minutes, always heading north. The Ford warehouse wouldn’t be much further.
As they turned left out of a tight avenue, they came to a wide road that led straight forward. Before Charlie could warn the others, having just seen the shadow the instant he walked out onto the road, an alien fighter craft—triangular, flat, and deadly black—landed at the end of the street no more than a hundred feet away.
“Get into cover,” Charlie shouted as he dived behind a pile of rubble on the left side of the street. Denver joined him. Maria split to the right, and Ethan remained in the middle of the street looking confused, his attention on the alien craft.
It looked nothing like the regular croatoan shuttles and was more advanced than the first fighters that had come down after the invasion. This was something new.
A door opened. Blue light surrounded an alien creature with an almost neon glow. This was no ordinary alien. It was twice as tall as any croatoan soldier and featured a form-fitting, matte-black suit. Its head was flat and pointed, resembling the triangular hull of its craft.
Before anyone had time to do anything, a blast of blue energy shot out down the road. Charlie screamed for Ethan to move, but the kid was too slow, too scared. The bolt of energy coalesced into what looked like ball lightning.
It struck Ethan with a crackling explosion.
The boy’s body seemed to be ripped apart at the cellular level as he screamed. A few seconds later, all that remained was a charred, black stain on the street’s surface. He’d been completely vaporized.
Another bolt, smaller this time, fired down the street, crashing into the debris. Charlie and Denver jumped back just in time. The shot destroyed half of the concrete before it ran out of energy. The air crackled with electricity. Maria screamed from the other side.
“Get down! Stay down,” Charlie screamed over to her. He pulled the pistol from his hip and aimed at the alien. It was on the move now, walking purposefully down the street, reaching behind its back.
“Mother fucker,” Denver said as he raised his rifle, using a part of the partially melted rubble to steady his aim. He adjusted the scope and took a deep breath.
Charlie fired off three controlled shots, aiming for the giant alien’s legs and torso. His aim was off. Something about the way the alien moved made it hard to focus. “Shoot the fucker,” Charlie said, urging his son.
Denver obliged. The crack of the rifle echoed around the buildings. The shot was true, but the alien seemed to shift physically in a blur. Charlie fired off two more shots. They went right through the weird-phasing movement of the alien, striking the craft with a spark behind him.
Maria, screaming, shot out from her position, lifting her shotgun.
“No!” Charlie screamed. “Get back. Now.”
It was too late.
Maria stood in the street directly opposite the alien. Charlie could tell now with Maria as reference that the damned thing must be at least seven and a half feet tall. Its limbs were twice as thick and muscular as any soldier croatoan.
When the phasing stopped, it came into full focus. The black, form-fitting armor seemed to harden. Maria fired off two shots. The buckshot bounced off its armor.
It lifted the rifle-like weapon, its barrel square and at least a meter and a half long, and aimed it at Maria. Its long, talon-like fingers curled around a trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Crashing through the ferns, Gregor led Marek and Ben along the riverbank. Speed was of the essence. They had to get to the bikes before any more patrols arrived. The aliens had clearly been ordered to kill them and leave them out in the forest.
Ten years of loyal service down the drain.
Gregor wanted Augustus’s mangled face under his boot.
Igor had approached the shelter from the opposite direction. His croatoan rider wouldn’t be too far away but would wait until it received further orders.
Gregor reached the bikes and rested on the closest one to the river. Marek and Ben stood in front of him, both with hands on their knees.
“You’re serious about using these?” Marek said.
“I’m not leaving Layla, Alex, and Vlad to the mercy of those bastards,” Gregor said. “Three of us, three of them. We take the bikes.”
Ben mopped sweat from his brow and looked over the controls. “They look familiar to what I used in the harvester. Have you ridden one before?”
“It’s easy. We used to have a bike for our team,” Marek said. “Until Igor crashed it. After that, we had to request a ride. They’ve been pretty good about it up until now.”
Gregor grunted. “Sit. I’ll show you.”
Ben jumped on the bike and pointed down. “I know that button switches on the engine.”
“That’s right,” Gregor said. He patted each part, explaining, “You push the handlebars forward to rise, back to lower. Twist the right handle to speed up, let go to slow down. The left to hover. Don’t turn them at the same time. Nice and easy.”
“You do know left from right?” Marek said.
Ben frowned. “Of course I do. What about landing?”
“Twist the left and pull the handlebars back. Not too fast.”
Croatoans loved tracking everything. The blue beads in humans, harvester locations, land conversion. Gregor rubbed his chin and looked at the bikes. He leaned over Ben’s controls and ripped the tablet from its fastening and passed it to Marek.
“Good idea,” Marek said and unclipped the other two from the bikes. He spread the tablets around a bush a few yards apart.
Ben’s engine hummed into life. “Where are we going first?”