“Fuck this,” Gregor said. “Do you want to stand around here chatting while they come in and blow our brains out? If your man upstairs can see them, let me join him. Give me a clear shot.”
He held his rifle forward.
“Listen to his accent. He’s from the farm,” the woman said.
The man with the crossbow edged back, lowering it. “He’s right though. We’ll deal with this first. Then we talk. Are you armed?”
Before Layla could answer, Gregor said, “Yes. They’re coming upstairs with me.”
“This is the only way in,” the man with the shotgun said. “It’s a side building. Only one entrance to protect.”
Gregor grunted. He grabbed Ben and pushed him forward.
As much as she thought he was a cold bastard throughout the years, Layla couldn’t help admiring Gregor’s leadership qualities when the shit hit the fan. He was decisive, and made decisions based on what was best for the team, rather than himself.
For the first time since she could remember, she felt part of something. Gregor risked himself to come back and save her. And now he didn’t want to leave her downstairs with strangers.
Layla felt integrated like never before, following Gregor as he thumped up the dusty concrete staircase in his heavy boots.
Upstairs, a man crouched on the right hand side of the room, holding a pistol. He peered through a small sliding hatch, the size of a small pizza box, created half way up a boarded window. He squinted against the sunlight streaming through the gap, lighting up his face.
“I saw you arrive,” he said. “Where did you learn to ride those things?”
“I used to work in a harvest—” Ben said.
“Shut up, Ben,” Gregor said. He joined the man by the hatch. “Can you see the aliens?”
“They’ve landed and taken to the trees. Must be planning something.”
“Let me look,” Gregor said and stooped down.
The room above was the same size as the one below, about thirty square feet. Its three windows were covered by wooden boards, painted black. Light streamed in through cracks around the edges. Four single mattresses were spaced around. Blankets scruffily drawn over each one.
The floor was spattered with various colored dry blobs of candle wax. It reminded Layla of a Jackson Pollock painting she’d seen at the Guggenheim Museum in New York. A can of spam held more value in today’s world.
“Use the other window,” the man said, nodding to his left.
Layla gripped the edge of the other hatch, and eased it open along its squeaking rails. A ray of sunlight burst through the gap.
Across the grassy area, seventy yards away, three hover-bikes sat by the edge of the forest. She briefly saw the edge of a croatoan behind a tree before it quickly vanished.
Gregor nudged her out of the way. He dropped to one knee and aimed his rifle. “Get behind me. If I’m hit, take the rifle and carry on the fight.”
Layla stood to one side. Ben peered over the man’s shoulder, revolver in his right hand.
“What are the aliens packing?” the man said.
“Similar to our conventional weapons. Guns, grenades, that sort of the stuff,” Gregor said.
“No cannons or those guns that flatten small houses?”
“Those soldiers aren’t around here,” Layla said.
“Are you sure?” the man said. “I saw one of their fighters yesterday. First time in years. If the aliens get in touch with that thing…”
“If it was coming for us, we’d know about it,” Gregor said.
Layla wasn’t so sure. If the hunter was under Augustus’s command, he could give it a new mission. There was nothing stopping the croatoans outside identifying their location.
Gregor’s grip tensed around his rifle. Layla looked over his shoulder.
An alien scuttled from behind a tree toward the hover-bike she’d previously parked. It stopped a few yards short, took a silver ball from its belt and threw it.
Gregor fired.
The croatoan clutched its torso and slouched to one side. Its grenade exploded with a hollow pop, creating a cloud of white smoke.
Gregor aimed at the shroud as it slowly cleared, drifting away on the gentle breeze. The blast shunted the bike onto its side. The alien lay flat on its back, helmet blown clear by the force of the explosion.
“Nice shot. One down,” Layla said.
She never expected to hear herself utter those words.
“Two to go. And I can’t see them,” Gregor said. “Anyone else?”
A loud thud shook the building. Layla instinctively ducked. Flecks of paint dropped from the ceiling.
“What the hell was that?” Ben said.
“Sounds like they’re next door,” the man said.
“Joe. Get down here,” a voice called up the stairs.
“Sorry guys. They want me downstairs,” the man said.
He shrugged and hurried away.
“We could make a run for the bikes?” Ben said.
“It’d be a turkey shoot,” Gregor said. “We stay. Our hosts have offered to be the first line of defense.”
The building shuddered again after another internal boom. Layla pressed herself against the wall. “What if the croatoans kill them? Use grenades in here?
Gregor rubbed his chin and looked around the room. “Stack the mattresses in the corner. Do it.”
Layla grabbed the edge of the closest and dragged it to the end of the room. Its filthy gray blanket slithered off, she kicked it away.
Ben had already placed one in the corner at an angle. Layla stacked hers against it. He slid a third mattress across the floor and said, “This won’t protect us. You saw what—”
“Do you have any better suggestions?” Gregor said.
After Layla completed the barricade, she returned to the gap in the left window. Ben paced around the room, mumbling to himself.
The three hover-bikes still sat in position by the trees. Another cut through the sky; it must’ve been the fourth one, circling their position.
Something moved outside, close to the building. Flicking in and out of Layla’s line of vision.
She sprang on her toes, tried to get a better angle. The position of the hatch wouldn’t allow it. “I think they’re outside the door.”
A shotgun blast and two pistol cracks came from directly below.
Croatoan weapons started snapping.
“Fuck this,” Gregor said. He slammed his shoulder against the boarded up window. It crunched into the plywood, splitting it horizontally across the middle. Gregor kicked the bottom section away and leaned his rifle out.
Ben jumped behind the barricade, holding his revolver over the top of the mattresses.
An alien grenade exploded. Gregor skidded on his backside, clutching one side of his face. Smoke coiled through the window.
Screams of pain came up the stairs, punctuated by the firing of croatoan weapons until both abruptly stopped.
Layla ran over to the makeshift barricade and slide behind it, next to Ben.
Gregor moved to the side of the stairway entrance and crouched with his rifle shouldered.
He put his finger to his lips.
The slap of boots on concrete started to echo up the stairs.
Gregor nodded with every slow deliberate step, as if mentally counting. Blood trickled down the side of his face.
Ben’s hands shook as he held the pistol forward.
A croatoan boot appeared through the entrance.
Gregor dropped to his back and fired five times. He rolled away and covered his ears. Layla ducked behind the mattress. She grabbed Ben’s shoulder and pulled him down.
The building vibrated after a thumping boom. Smoke gushed into the room, leaving a sour taste as the back of Layla’s throat.
Silence followed.
She climbed over the barricade and approached Gregor. He sat up and dusted himself down. Layla went to touch his wound, he jerked his head away.