“So we’ve got time?” Gregor said.
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Igor mentioned something about another ship coming to complete the process,” Marek said.
Layla’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. That has to be it. Did he say anything else?”
Gregor looked away, sweeping the immediate area through the rifle sights. Still quiet. Igor’s driver hadn’t returned. They would’ve seen the bike. “Let’s get to more immediate business and talk about this later. We’re getting Vlad and Alex out and leaving. We’ll find a quiet area to regroup, somewhere inconspicuous.”
“What’s the plan?” Ben said.
He tapped the AR-15. “This is the plan.”
“Seriously?”
Gregor cleared leaves and weeds away from the ground with his boot. He picked up a small stick and drew a rough layout of the farm. “Gather round and listen up. This is how we’re going to do this.”
“Seriously, Gregor. Igor’s info, it’s…,” Layla said.
Gregor pointed the stick down. “Marek will go through the back window of my office, retrieve guns and ammo from my drawers. I’ll provide cover and keep watch. While you’re in there, Marek, check through the front blind to see if the coast is clear to the chocolate factory.”
Marek nodded. “No problem.”
“We’ll head to the main square. Shoot the barracks windows through; choke the bastards who haven’t got a helmet on. Any alien that comes out is a dead alien.”
“What about us?” Ben said.
“You and Layla move around the other side of the chocolate factory in a right flanking maneuver to provide covering fire. The surveyors, mechanics and meat processing ones are armed. Shoot any that leave their buildings.”
“This sounds like a kamikaze mission. There must be an easier way,” Layla said.
Gregor shook his head. “I thought about it on the way over. If we give them a chance to get armed and organized, we’re done. We take them while they’re not expecting it. There’s not that many croatoans here.”
“Three from today. Igor’s rider and the ones Jackson killed yesterday must leave around six of the bigger croatoans. Unless the shuttle brought replacements this morning?” Marek said.
“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.
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.
In 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 gave him earlier.
Behind him, three hover-bike engines started to collectively hum.
Gregor turned to see two already raising. 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 life-long 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.