“Not that I saw,” Layla said.
“The little croatoans are cowards,” Gregor said. “They’ll hide until more of their big boys show up. We do it now or leave Alex and Vlad. Show of hands for who wants to leave them.”
Gregor looked around the group. Nobody moved or said a word.
Three metallic snaps pierced the air in quick succession. Dirt burst from the ground just in front of Gregor.
Gregor dived for cover. Placed his back against a tree. Glanced around it.
Six croatoans were advancing around his office. Three on each side.
Layla’s trailer exploded into flames.
Three croatoans on the right of the office fired again. An alien projectile whistled past Gregor and slammed into a tree behind him.
The odds were stacked against them. The croatoans must have worked out what happened at the shelter. Without the extra weapons and element of surprise, they only had one option. He didn’t like it, but they might just live to fight another day.
“Run for the bikes,” Gregor shouted.
Gregor let off four rounds in the aliens’ direction. They scattered for cover.
Layla dropped her backpack and sprinted away.
“Get moving. Now,” Gregor said.
Ben seemed to freeze. He crouched behind a tree, breathing heavily, holding the revolver up in both hands. Marek grabbed him by the collar and yanked him away.
They stumbled to the clearing, weaving between trees. Gregor followed, occasionally turning and firing in the direction of the office.
Branches snapped, and dirt and leaves flew from the ground as the croatoans fired through the woodland.
On open ground, the group would have been cut to pieces. Gregor doubted the aliens intended to stun them and use them for livestock.
He stopped at the edge of the clearing next to the others, turned, and shouldered his rifle. “Get the bikes started. We’re going north. I’ll cover.”
Shots ricocheted around the trees, but there was no sign of an alien advance. Gregor returned fire until he emptied the magazine. He replaced it with one that Marek had given him earlier.
Behind him, three hover-bike engines started to collectively hum.
Gregor turned to see two already rising. Marek and Ben. Layla looked back at him, frantically gesturing him over.
He fired twice more, spun around, and sprinted.
Layla clutched the handlebars. “Come on. Get on.”
“I’ll fly it—”
“Just get the fuck on, Gregor. We haven’t got time to debate it.”
Without thinking further, he grabbed the rear handle and swung himself onto the back seat, keeping his rifle in his right hand. “Go, go, go.”
They thrust vertically into the sky, faster than he’d ever experienced. Gregor clung on tightly with his left hand and squeezed his legs against the seat as if riding a wild horse. He jerked into Layla as she twisted the right handle grip.
The bike quickly progressed to a rapid speed, moaning loudly, bouncing slightly, like taking a powerboat over a lake. Something Gregor used to do in the good old days when entertaining overseas clients, organizing drug deals.
He was impressed with how Layla controlled the beast. They passed the other two bikes in a matter of seconds and cut north through the headwind.
Looking back toward camp, four small dots rose above the main square. Gregor leaned forward. “They’re coming after us.”
Layla reinforced her hands against the bars. There was no detectable speed increase.
Marek and Ben had upped their pace after Layla passed. Gregor signaled to both, pointing to the camp and raising four fingers.
Shuffling around on the seat like a clumsy pommel horse gymnast, he faced backwards. The croatoans closed in, flying in an extended line formation at least a mile behind.
Gregor bent back until his head brushed Layla. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”
She turned momentarily. “What? I can’t hear you.”
“They’re catching up. Can you get more out it?”
“Hang on,” she said.
Gregor slung the rifle and grabbed both handles. The bike banked left and swooped down to a few feet above the trees.
The tactic was safe at a cruise. At this speed, it was dangerous. The reaction time to avoid less obvious things like old overhead power lines or stray lampposts was minimal. He understood her thinking. At least two aliens had crashed at low levels when they were based in Florida.
Ben and Marek followed, plunging down behind them.
Gregor didn’t hear the sound of the alien weapons first. Tiny projectiles hissed past the bike.
One clanked against the rear housing.
He reached over Layla’s shoulder and pointed down. The aliens were faster, and their only protection was his rifle. They were sitting ducks in the sky for the advancing pursuers.
Two more projectiles whizzed past, between the bikes.
Gregor returned fire, trying to take aimed shots. The bump of the bike made it impossible. Something flashed to his immediate left, followed by a metallic rattling sound. He glanced across.
Marek’s bike must have taken a hit in a key area. A jet of red gas sprayed from the side. It began to arc downward. Gregor’s lifelong friend slumped against the handlebars, right arm limply hanging by his side.
He looked up at Gregor with a forlorn expression and opened his mouth.
A second later, the bike smashed into the trees at high speed. Marek had no chance.
“Take us down. Now,” Gregor shouted.
Layla swung the bike left and right. She must’ve been searching for a clearing. Anything to get them out of the sky.
The croatoan riders hovered over Marek’s crash site, giving them a moment’s respite.
A reservoir appeared below. Layla dropped altitude. Ben followed suit. Flying yards above water, they blasted two white trails along its glistening, dark brown surface.
Ben looked across, his face full of panic. He pointed to the side of his own bike. Through the roaring wind, Gregor detected an inconsistent tone. Ben headed for the edge, toward a building at the head of the dam.
Gregor carefully watched behind, searching for the arrival of the croatoans over the trees. He grabbed Layla’s shoulder. “They’re not here yet. Do it now.”
Layla decreased their speed to a cruise and reached a grassy area to the right of the building. The bike reared slightly as she twisted the left grip, bringing it to a hover. She pulled back the handlebars. The bike dropped five yards and thumped against the ground.
Ben gently approached, his engine spluttering. Before he reached dry land, the bike nose dipped and entered the reservoir, spraying a thick sheet of water. He was thrown over the handlebars and splashed in, head first.
Ben quickly surfaced and flapped his arms around. “I can’t swim. Help.”
He was ten yards away.
“Hold this a minute,” Gregor said. He passed Layla the rifle, pulled off his jumper, and waded in, pushing off to a swim after a few yards. He grabbed Ben under one arm and started dragging him to the side.
“They’re here,” Layla said. “Hurry up.”
Gregor looked into the distance. Three bikes roared over the trees, advancing along the reservoir, heading directly for them. He staggered out of the water, dragging Ben by his side. “Head for the building.”
Layla ran for a faded red wooden door of an industrial-looking building, Ben and Gregor followed. She jumped over a partially collapsed metal fence and walked through a patch of waist-high weeds. She reached out and rattled the handle. “It’s locked.”
“Out of the way,” Gregor said.
He carried on his forward momentum, roared, and slammed the bottom of his boot against the door’s midsection. It crashed open, revealing dark space inside.
A croatoan hummed into view, stopping at a hover fifty feet away, thirty feet in the air.