Awakening The Warriors (4 page)

Quain tramped to my side and scowled at our raggedy group, now greatly swollen in numbers. “None look as if they have ever held a weapon,” he said in my ear. His hand resting against my lower back burned like a heated brand.

“I concur,” said Jerrell. “Two males can carry the stretcher, which will give our female some relief. She will need to conserve her strength for later.”

They both looked at me. Quain slipped his hand lower to cup the cheeks of my backside, pulling me closer. Without conscious thought, I instinctively obeyed, stepping into his embrace, allowing his leg to nestle between mine. My muscles evaporated like steam on a hot night when Jerrell rubbed the hardness of his half-aroused sex against both my bottom and Quain's hand. Edgy need pricked over my skin. If we disappeared for a few minutes would anyone notice?

Someone cleared their throat and a couple of women giggled. The sounds brought me to my senses. I planted my hands on Quain's chest, trying not to think about how good his skin felt beneath my touch, and using it as leverage, hopped about until I was no longer entwined with his and Jerrell's bodies. Before they could grab me, I skipped out of their reach, aware by the sparkle in Jerrell's eyes and the tautness of Quain's face that my erratic breathing had portrayed my foolish thoughts.

Quain smiled, a surprisingly sweet and tender smile, and my heart flopped about like a fish out of water. “There will be time for many joinings later.” The heat left his face as he swept his gaze over everyone again. “Once we leave the confines of these walls, there is a large courtyard we need to traverse. The Elites have sniper towers and will be relentless in obstructing our escape, for their punishment will be severe. We will move fast. Should you fall behind, you will be left behind.”

He strode to the centre of the room; his voice, as compelling as any messiah's, continued, “If you wish to live, you must be prepared to fight for your life. Any who can fire a weapon, step forward.”

Four paces and I reached his side. When our eyes met, the grim line of his mouth quirked into a tiny smile. “You surprise me.”

“I've never held a gun in my life but I'm more than prepared to do so now. Give me a weapon,” I said.

Quain gestured with his hand to Jerrell, who led me off to the side and handed me a plitza gun, a smaller and lighter weapon than the fulon. My tutelage was brief and to the point; he was all business now. As soon as those who had volunteered were armed, Quain briefed us again as to the necessity of haste. He also verbalised a rough map of where we were situated in terms of the nearby runway and space-shuttle hangers should anyone become separated.

Then we were filing into a line with Quain at the head, several armed men close behind him and Jerrell at the last. As before I lingered near the end of the line, but this time I held Margaret's hand in my left and a primed gun in my right.

“I'm scared,” Margaret said, gripping me as if I was her only lifeline.

“Me too, but remember whatever happens, don't stop. Don't look back. Keep your eyes fixed on Quain and keep running.”

Her eyes brimming with tears and yet filled with trust as she looked at me, Margaret nodded. I vowed then and there, I'd save her.

The line moved. Down another passageway. With each step we took, our pace increased until we ran, our legs moving as fast as fleeing horses. Ahead the passageways brightened into the yellow gleam of daylight and our flight sent a blur of shadows flashing over the walls. Soon we would enter the processing room. Too late to think of another plan. Too late to wonder whether we should have done anything different.

The next moment, the crack of shots was heard and the noise quickly tangled with return fire. Our armed men must have reached the courtyard. The group surged forward, crying, shouting, some holding hands. The air resounded with the noise of battle, so loud and confused, I could feel the demon of panic demanding to be let loose inside my mind.

Like an out of control stampede, the mob of people continued to pour into the processing room and scuffle outside into the courtyard. Three women and a man in front of Margaret and me stopped just inside the doorway, blocking the exit.

I whacked the closest on her shoulder with the butt of my gun. “What are you doing? Don't stop.”

“Hurry,” Jerrell shouted. I turned round. He was standing to the side, peering down the corridor where we had just travelled.

My spine turned into glue. Were we being followed? If so, we would be trapped in the crossfire from behind and above.

I shrieked, “Stuff this, if you're not going to move, we'll go round you. Come on, Margaret.” Using my elbows like a battering ram, I propelled us forward, tugging the young girl behind me. “Jerrell, move your arse and get over here.”

At the doorway, I cast a swift look outside. A sob strangled my throat as I took in the huddled bodies dotted here and there on the sandy ground. In the centre of the courtyard, Quain crouched, both hands firing weapons and aimed towards the courtyard walls. Doing what he could to protect the people racing for freedom.

Sunlight glowed over his burnished skin and highlighted his rippling muscles as he twisted and turned, laying down a spread of covering fire. He reminded me of a bronzed effigy of a war-time hero and the sight seared into my heart for all time.

I glanced over my shoulder at the four people bunched together, terror staring out of white rimmed eyes and I tried again. “If you stay here you'll die. You must follow us.”

One whimpered, another shook her head.

Jerrell bounded across the room and touched my arm, leaning close. “We leave now.”

Turning away from the group of four, I muttered, “Right, let's do it.” I flexed my fingers and re-positioned my sweaty hand over the gun. Beside me, Margaret trembled and I tightened my grip. I sucked in a breath to steady my shaky nerves and said, “Now.”

We burst out the doorway, running like mad things. Around us, the world exploded into a contortion of sound. Smoke haze obscured my vision; I kept my eyes on where I had last seen Quain and ran, aiming my weapon upwards to where flashes of light signalled the discharge of the enemy's fire. Behind me, Jerrell's voice urged me on.

And I knew without looking he ran backwards, guarding us.

“Keep running,” I shouted to Margaret when she faltered, no doubt terrified out of her mind. I wasn't doing that well myself thinking how easy a target we presented to the guards.

Miraculously, upright, still breathing, we reached Quain's side. My swift glance behind, took in the last of our group still dithering inside the doorway and Jerrell, as I had suspected, charging backwards towards us.

I felt Quain's hard fingers gripping my arm and he jerked me around to meet his gaze. He said, “Move.”

We moved.

The gun in my hand whined, its metallic surface cooled under my vice-like grip. Empty. I tucked the weapon into the waistband of my pants, pulled Margaret in front of me and bent over her shorter body, urging her to run faster. The glare of the sunlight searing back off the rocks beneath our boots softened as we crossed into the shadows cast by the walls. My breath scorched my lungs as I gasped for air and my heart pounded a furious rhythm.

We had crossed the courtyard.

Not waiting for us to catch our breath, Quain planted his hand on my back and pushed me onwards. I stumbled, aware my joints were rapidly turning into jelly but I didn't stop.

Now that the smoke had dissipated, the winding streets of the outpost settlement lay clear before me. All around were grey rock walls, some crumbling from age and weather, some shattered by explosions. A maze of flat roofed buildings of various shapes and sizes with no discernable pattern or plan filled my vision.

I was thankful I didn't have to rely on my memory in order to locate the shuttle port. Quain had ditched one of his weapons and now had his free arm looped about my waist, as ever hurrying us faster than my unfit body wanted to go.

“We're clear of the garrison. Why can't we stop for a minute?” I wheezed then swallowed. I ran my tongue around my dry mouth to dispel the dust and grit sticking to my teeth and gums.

“Twenty beats and the guards will have powered their hover tanks. Fifteen more and they will be within blasting range.”

“Good answer.”

We charged along the street, the three of us bunched so tight together our legs tangled every now and then, lurching us about like a three-legged drunk. I doubted any protestations on my part would be heard. Quain appeared determined to shield us with his body as we staggered on and on. The sound of booted steps and harsh breathing alerted me that Jerrell ran a few paces behind.

The townsfolk, a mixture of humanoids, Jurians and Purkons, clad in tatty flight suits and thin stained cloaks, gave us a wide berth, darting out of our way as soon as they saw us, dipping their heads to avoid eye contact. We passed several of our group looking lost and dazed. Their faces broke into tremulous smiles of relief at the sight of the Darkons and they joined us with little urging.

At last the road widened, the buildings more spaced apart, and I could see the road we were on merged into a smooth runway that stretched into the distance. Off to one side lay a long low building of massive proportions. Sunlight glinted off various flying machines dotted about the open spaces both sides of the runway in no discernable order.

The hangar and shuttle port.

Boom!

With my left foot on the first rung of the ladder, I twisted round to see the roof on the far right-hand-side of the hangar explode. Smoke plumed into the air and debris clattered onto the tarmac.

A man's hand fondled my backside, dipped under my curve and lifted. A touch I now recognised and I scowled as I slapped his hand aside. Jerrell chuckled. Being the last to board, I helped him secure the door and waited while he performed a sequence of commands on a panel set beside the opening.

“Exit secured,” he said. “The Elites bombard the hangar.”

“Power on-line, all systems go,” came Quain's response, sounding tinny through the panel's speakers.

Jerrell led me through another hatch, again locking the door after I had passed through. The harsh overhead lighting illuminated rows of drawn, grimy faces all turned to stare at us. I could see by the way their hands gripped the armrests how close to breaking point they were and yet our fellow prisoners remained quiet. Perhaps the full enormity of what we had experienced had yet to hit home.

“Where are you going?” Jerrell said, stopping me from moving by planting his body in my path.

“Some are injured.” I gestured with my hand. “They need medical attention.”

“Agreed. Once we have cleared the planet's gravitational pull, we will tend them together. Strap yourself in.” He tugged me over to a vacant seat next to where Margaret sat, her eyes staring wide in her white face.

I waved him away when he reached for the straps. “Forget it. Get yourself seated, I'm all good here.”

Jerrell winked and strode down the aisle before ducking his head and entering the cockpit.

Another explosion. This time it sounded close. Too close.

My harness catch snicked into lock mode and I pressed back into my seat as the shuttle surged into motion. Closing my eyes, I re-lived the past few minutes while the shuttle zoomed down the runway and a vibration hummed beneath my feet.

No sooner had we passed the gate and walked into the hangar, then we'd been greeted by the remaining members of our escape team. There'd been no time to assess the injured, some of whom were leaning on others. Quain and Jerrell told us to wait and then disappeared into the hangar's cavernous recesses.

Soon weapon fire was heard and Margaret huddled closer to me, covering her ears with her hands. I longed to do the same.

The Darkons returned quickly enough, grim faced, laboured breathing and none of us had dared to object when we were ordered to follow.

Not that we had any other choice.

It had dawned on me we had nowhere to go. We were as much at the Darkons' mercy now as we'd been at the guards' only moments before; only time would tell whether our decision had been wise or ill-fated.

Now we were trapped on a shuttle heading for a space station orbiting the next closest planet.

Jerrell touched me, sliding a warm finger down the side of my face. I blinked and focussed on the matter at hand.

“We have cleared the planet's atmosphere. Eight rones until we reach the station,” murmured Jerrell, his gaze holding mine. “I will assist you.”

I sighed, shrugged off my misgivings and the fatigue sinking into my bones, making me feel as if anchors were tied to my feet. “Right. Let's get started. Are there any medical supplies on this ship?”

He nodded.

I unlocked my harness and dragged myself upright. Pinning what I hoped was a bright
‘I know exactly what I'm doing'
smile on my face, I addressed the others. “Okay, folks, we've got time to see to everyone's injuries. Anyone here have any medical training, I'd be glad of some help.”

Within a few minutes Jerrell had set up a small examining cabin adjacent to the main passenger cabin. A former paramedic from Boston had raised his hand and worked with us as a trickle of people shuffled in and then, after a while, wandered out again, bandaged, medicated and looking a lot brighter.

The way Jerrell smiled, the calm cadence of his voice, his caring demeanour as he interacted with the injured, impressed me. Such a sharp contrast to the battle face he had worn these past hectic hours. I twitched my shoulders as I recalled the tenderness of his touch each time I was within his reach. What did it matter if this soldier was soft as butter beneath his warrior skin, and I felt this weird mix of pride and protectiveness when he was near? Not to mention the pesky lust that teased my lower belly and tormented my mind with lurid fantasies of exploring his magnificent body with my hands and tongue. It hadn't been easy but somehow I had managed to avoid connecting with his gaze, hoping he couldn't read my confusion in my flushed face.