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 in 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.”
“They used it like a battering ram,” Marek said. “Livestock fled through the gap.”
“Wasn’t he just trying to help other humans?” Ben said.
Gregor scoffed. “A few croatoan soldiers were still around back then. They hunted down every human they could find. Livestock, survivors, whoever. They purged the area clean.”
“How did Charlie and Denver get away?”
“It’s the same every time,” Marek said. “They just vanish like ghosts. Probably into a network of hideouts like the one over there.”
Gregor looked over the ferns. Something caught his eye: a flash. He whispered, “Get down.”
Marek shouldered his rifled, aiming it toward the shelter. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Someone’s out there, close.”
A twig snapped. Gregor peered through the ferns.
Three figures moved through the trees, forty yards to their left. Unmistakable croatoan movement. Bouncing along as if taking individual one-legged jumps, short pauses between each one. An alien passed through rays of sunlight that streamed through the trees in two thick beams. Its visor glinted in the sunlight.
“Looks like our riders,” Gregor said.
“What the fuck are they doing here?” Marek said.
Gregor put his finger to his lips. The aliens stopped short of the shelter and stood behind three individual trees. After several seconds, they sprang out and rapidly moved to entrance. All had weapons drawn.
“Holy shit. They’re attacking,” Gregor said.
“Attacking who?” Ben said.
“Exactly.”
One pulled a tennis-shaped silver object from its belt and threw it into the shelter. An alien grenade. The croatoans stood to one side.
Gregor had seem them plenty of times before. But usually carried by the croatoan soldiers, not the smaller patrollers that looked after farm security and local transport. They wouldn’t carry out an action like this unless under orders.
Smoke drifted from the entrance following a dull blast.
“Get your grenades ready,” Gregor said.
“What?” Marek said.
“We’re taking them out. Give me the rifle; get a couple of grenades ready to go. Now.”
“What do you want me to do?” Ben said.
“Two croatoans disappeared down the stairs. I’ll shoot the one above. We sprint straight to the entrance. You drop the grenades and I’ll provide covering fire. Got it?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Marek said.
Easy from this range, Gregor thought. His shot smashed through the side of the alien’s helmet.
Marek immediately jumped up and ran with a grenade in each hand. Gregor followed, aiming at the alien who sank to its knees and keeled over backwards. Ben appeared by his side, holding his revolver forward. Not what Gregor had anticipated. But a welcomed bonus. He thought Ben would be a useless coward.
Diving to the ground next to the entrance, Marek reached around it and threw down both grenades in quick succession. A shot fired out of the opening. The metallic snaps of a croatoan gun.
Gregor knelt by the side with rifle shouldered. Ready to take out anything that appeared. Ben trained his weapon from the opposite side, aiming at an angle.
Both grenades erupted in quick succession, like a thunderous double-tap.
Mud and smoke spewed out of the shelter.
Smoke cleared. An alien hand shakily reached out of the entrance before flopping to the ground.
Marek sprinted to the downed alien outside and grabbed the weapon by its side. Gregor edged around the entrance, aiming into the hazy gap. One alien lay against the dirt wall. Its uniform was ripped around its body armor and its helmet was smashed. The other slumped at the top of the stairs, the bottom half of its right leg missing.
Gregor gritted his teeth and stamped on the croatoan’s visor, smashing it like an eggshell. The alien let out a light wheeze as its skin crackled.
“What the fuck?” Marek said.
“We need to warn the others.” Gregor said. “The croatoans are turning. Layla was right. It’s happening now.”
He glanced at the three dead aliens and scowled.
Augustus. It had to be him.
Chapter 25
LAYLA SAT in the chocolate factory, peering at monitors. Results increased by fifty-five percent since they designated harvesters to the land she helped pinpoint. It wasn’t what she wanted anymore. It wouldn’t be what any human wanted.
She’d arrived at the monitors as Igor was taking off in the square, the same time as the surveyors. They buzzed around in a usual fashion, business as usual stuff. Mixing soil samples in glass tubes, pouring over charts, and generally appearing fussy. To avoid looking too suspicious, Layla moved to the back of the building.
Vlad slumped against the desk, oblivious to it all. He yawned and twiddled a pen. “Do you want a coffee? I’ve still got some of that freeze-dried crap left. A bit gravelly but…”
“No thanks. Have you seen anything different around here in the last couple of weeks?” Layla said.
“What do you mean? Like croatoan stuff? It’s all alien to me.”
Vlad seemed to have thrown up the mental shutters long ago. He didn’t care about anything, at least not when she tried to strike up a conversation. Layla couldn’t decide whether to feel jealous or sorry for him.
Her planned task for today was to check the occupants of the breeding lab. Events of the last two days had a horrible effect of pushing reality to the surface. Survival was no longer an excuse. The thin self-justification for her actions had vanished, and she knew it.