And he hoped his dad would get here soon. He’d been listening out for sounds of gunfire and landmines, but the forest took on a heavy silence. He didn’t like that one bit. It always seemed to be a precursor to something unnatural, something dangerous, like the insects and birds and the few remaining mammals knew before any human. Even the trees seemed too still.
But there was nothing left to do now other than wait.
CHARLIE VAULTED a log and sidestepped the rusted remnants of a water tower stanchion. Serpentine braches had woven through the crisscross metal supports, creating a solid green barrier. Skidding like a kid playing baseball, he dug his foot into the dirt and swung around behind the natural cover.
Sweat clung to his camo shirt, sticking it to his back. His lungs ached with the exertion. Having taken the last of the root compound before the drive back, he was feeling the effects of his old muscles.
Despite that, he’d still managed to outfox the alien hunter. He looked through a gap in the branches and saw birds flutter high above the tree line, indicating something moving below.
The snap of a twig ahead of him confirmed it. He raised the alien rifle and sighted down its aiming groove. He didn’t understand fully how the damn thing’s armor worked, but having shot it in the leg before it seemed that it could be caught off guard.
A rustle of leaves twenty feet away and a darting squirrel made him tense, ready and waiting. But then nothing.
The forest became still, almost as if the hunter had placed a blanket over the place.
It was a trap.
The hair on the back of Charlie’s neck stood on end and his pulse spiked.
He spun round to see the dark shadow dart out from behind a huge redwood. The hunter focused on Charlie, raising its sword.
Even with the injured leg, it sprinted across the ground, eating up the distance.
Charlie tried to spin out of the way but his elbow got caught against a branch, unbalancing him and making him stumble over a root.
The rifle slipped from his hand. He hit the ground on his ribs, winding himself. But with the adrenaline making his reactions faster, and the remnants of the compound still active, he managed to twist in time to avoid the slash of the sword as it struck the ground inches from his head.
The alien’s thick legs, knotted with muscles beneath the form-fitting armor, planted either side of him, pinning him in place.
Looking closely he noticed the amour was actually a mesh. He could see a jagged hole just above its reversed knee. The fabric had torn away to reveal a thick coating of orange geclass="underline" the root as a healing agent.
The alien lifted its sword from the ground.
Its face, visible through a clear visor seemed to smile at him. Its solid black eyes grew small.
It struck out, but Charlie had anticipated the head strike and leaned forward. The sword swung freely over his head, the creature’s arm crashing into Charlie’s right shoulder.
He took the hit with a grunt and reached over with his left hand to pin the alien’s arm. Charlie kicked forward into its left knee, collapsing it to the ground.
Charlie knew he’d never be able to out-power it, but he could outsmart it.
Grabbing a fist full of dirt with his free hand, he smeared it across the visor, and, letting go off its trapped arm, rolled away, coming up on his knees.
From his flanking position he noticed two pipes that connected its breathing apparatus to a slim tank on its bank.
Before the alien had chance to re-orientate, Charlie launched himself on to its back, grabbing the pipes and pulling on them.
They resisted at first and the hunter tried to fling him from his back, but Charlie clung on and screamed with a deep roar as he put everything he had left into breaking those pipes.
He felt the right one give so he let go of the left and with both hands yanked on the right pipe. The alien dropped his sword and reached up and over with his hands, grabbing Charlie by the head.
The damn thing’s strength was incredible.
Charlie thought it’d crush his skull, but as it continued to thrash and buck, it pulled Charlie over its head and flung him away. The pipe came away with a loud hiss as Charlie collapsed into the ground with a thud; his head banged against a rock, making his vision swim.
Through the dizziness he watched as the hunter frantically tried to rejoin the connection to his breathing tank, but Charlie had the broken part in his hand. He dropped it and reached out for the alien rifle in front of him.
Squinting to help combat his fuzzy vision, he pulled the trigger.
The blast hit the alien square in the chest, throwing it back against the ground with a thud. Its arms collapsed by its side. Charlie heaved himself up and approached, holding the rifle in front of him.
The alien was still. Yellow blood dripped from its chest, the wound raw and ugly, exposing its weird biology. Even its face, previously black behind the visor had turned a sickly yellow color, its mouth held open in silent snarl of final anguish.
“You ugly fucker,” Charlie said, kicking at it to make it sure it was dead.
No movement.
“You’re the best they’ve got, eh? Welcome to my world, motherfucker.”
Charlie spat blood from his mouth and turned, leaving the dead alien behind in the dirt for the animals and bugs to feed on. If it wanted Earth so much, it’d have it.
Chapter 34
GREGOR SCANNED THROUGH THE TREES, past his office toward the chocolate factory. Layla had been gone for just over an hour. A hover-bike breezed overhead and lowered into the square. Nothing out of the ordinary. The massive shape in the sky was, and it started to move again, rumbling along, creating a sound like a continuous blast from a distant foghorn. The croatoans on the ground, he observed, seemed oblivious to the new arrival.
In the near vicinity, Layla’s trailer was reduced to a black charred skeleton. Gregor wondered if the croatoans would kill her on sight. Although it was him they were after, and only acted on direct orders or procedures. Alex and Vlad’s caravans were still in place without any noticeable damage. As was Igor’s rotting shed.
Maria shuffled alongside him on her elbows. “They told me you were responsible for the set-up inside the harvester.”
Gregor shrugged. “I didn’t build them. Just passed the idea along to Augustus. He’s the real boss. Besides, you were safe in there. Had hope.”
“Until my retirement,” She slapped him across the face and shuffled out of arm’s reach. “Now I can work with you.”
“You can have that one for free,” Gregor said. “But only that one.”
“Can’t say you didn’t deserve that,” Denver said.
The slap momentarily stung, but it was worth taking if it meant having Maria fully onboard. He needed trust when leading the diversionary assault on the farm. Not a former harvester worker with a grudge, taking him down before they achieved their goal.
Gregor turned to Denver. “There’s a lot of things you and your fake dad deserve too. All good things come to he who waits.”
“Do you know what he once said about you?”
“Fuck this,” Gregor said. “I’m going to sweep the forest. Make sure they’re not sneaking up. You should know all about that.”
Ben was propped against a tree. He’d sat and agreed with everyone for the last hour. Gregor resisted the temptation to kick him in the face as he passed.
“How long you gonna be?” Denver said.
“Not long. Layla should be back soon.”
Gregor needed time to think away from the group. Every few minutes, Denver chipped away at his nerves. Maria was like a parrot on his shoulder.