Critical Dawn (19 page)

Bright white light flooded out.

“Go on, inside,” Charlie said, pushing the others inside while he watched behind him to make sure no one else was watching him. Once Ethan had gone through, Charlie followed inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

A basement room greeted him. Lights strung across the ceiling with looping wires illuminated the room. All around the wide-open space were desks, parts littering every surface. Wires and batteries, mechanical parts, anything and everything that could be salvaged.

Ethan and Maria turned around, taking it all in, their eyes wide with wonder.

A shadow came from behind a screen, then a bright red and blue sweater around a thickset man with a beard that reached to his chest.

“Charlie, Denver, strange new people! You made it. So great to see you.” The man opened his arms wide as he approached Charlie, embracing him with a bear hug. Releasing him but gripping his arms, the man smiled.

“Mike,” Charlie said.

“Charlie.”

“How’s the weapon coming along?”

“Huh! All business as usual. That can wait. Come the fuck in and grab some coffee first, eh? You’re not a damned savage, and you have shiny new people to introduce to me.”

Charlie smiled, enjoying his old colleague’s unflappable personality. But behind the joviality was a keen mind, the very mind that Charlie needed to bring down the croatoans. But before they got to that, he would do as he suggested. A cup of coffee was always welcomed before the destruction of an invading force.

Ten years of cat and mouse would finally be ended in the next few hours. The thought of it made Gregor smile. He checked the working parts of his gun. There would be no mistake with Charlie Jackson if he were close to the shelter.

Ben had told him that Charlie planned to move to another location. He might still be there. So could his supplies.

Marek loaded six grenades into a small backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Ready to do this?”

“Get three hover-bikes ready,” Gregor said. “I’m going to pay Igor a visit.”

Marek left the office. Ben shuffled after him.

Gregor slid a magazine into his pistol grip, put a round in the chamber, and followed. He left the other two heading for the square, turning by the side of his office and striding over to the moldy shed.

The moody morning sky would no doubt soon give the croatoans a treat. A shuttle approached. Its noise grew louder.

He looked through the cobwebbed window. Empty.

The shed gently shook as warm air blasted downwards.

Layla’s trailer door rattled open. Her head appeared around it. “What are you—?”

The descending shuttle, arriving for a morning supply collection, quickly drowned her out. It smoothly dropped toward the landing area, obscured by trees. Gregor pointed toward his ear, shrugged, and headed off to the square.

Marek and Ben were already waiting on two bikes. Igor stood next to them. He licked the edge of a cigarette paper and rolled it in his fingers.

“Still smoking that shit?” Gregor said.

“Morning, Gregor. How are you?”

Gregor grunted. “Shouldn’t you be helping Alex feed the livestock?”

Igor rubbed his hands together. “Just come to wave goodbye. I hear you’re hunting a wasp.”

Wave goodbye. Like Igor ever did that. His time was coming. Not here though. Too many croatoans around. He was priority number two today.

Gregor swung his leg over the hover-bike and tapped the alien on the shoulder. He turned to Igor. “Have a good day, my friend.”

“You too, my friend.”

Igor smiled and raised his hand as Gregor’s vehicle ascended. A horrible false smile. The type he’d seen Igor use when interrogating people with his knife. Igor’s modus operandi was strapping somebody to a chair and playing tic-tac-toe on their face. He’d gone lightly on Ben but left his unmistakable fingerprint.

As the bike lifted above the warehouses, hugging the farmed land, Gregor gazed at the distant, orange haze. Thoughts of Layla’s revelations spun through his mind.

He had too many moving parts to consider. Jackson, Igor, Augustus, the croatoans. Removing two of them would bring more clarity.

They zipped away from the farm. Alex stood by a tractor in the paddock, throwing food to the livestock. She looked up and they passed. Gregor saluted.

The plan was to land half a mile away from the shelter and move quickly along the riverbank. Zero tolerance against anything that shifted. The same policy applied to Ben if he was found to be lying.

Gregor glanced across to the two bikes flying next to his in formation. Marek looked across and returned a nod. Ben’s eyes were shut tight. He hunched behind the croatoan rider, turning his face against the rush of wind.

Ahead, the river came into view like a large brown snake winding through the overgrown land into the distance.

Rain started to fall, tinkling against the bike’s metal as it powered through the sky. A minute later, they reached the river, momentarily hovering above it before lowering onto a thick grass bank. A couple of birds took flight from the undergrowth.

Ben jumped off the back of his bike and unsteadily walked to a tree. He leaned against it and doubled over. A long trail of saliva hung from his mouth as he dry retched a couple of times.

A dead spotted redshank caught Gregor’s eye after he dismounted. He walked closer to inspect it. Its feathers were coated by a stringy paste. The river slowly flowed past like a large, foamy beer. He rubbed a greasy fern between his fingers. The change was becoming more rapid. Gregor just hadn’t been noticing the little things. Now they had his full attention.

The croatoans stood in a circle, tick-tocking away.

Marek patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

***

Igor watched until all three specks disappeared into the distance. This was his chance to cement a place as number one in Augustus’s eyes. To raid Jackson’s den and bring back information, or better still, kill him. He’d do what
the boss
had failed to manage.

Gregor was past it. Ten years was long enough being in the tin-pot Armenian’s
gang
. It was time for Igor to run the show. Augustus had already verbally promised him the job; there’d been too many mistakes. Harvester damage, livestock escapes, and dead croatoans: It all added up, and it was time to pay.

Augustus had informed him yesterday that Gregor would be taken on a one-way trip to the forest. Left for animals to nibble on his stinking corpse. These things were best done in private.

Layla, Vlad, and Alex were still required and would all have to fall in line. The croatoans wouldn’t give a shit.

Igor waved toward the barracks. His croatoan rider exited the door and took its position on the hover-bike. He held a map forwards and pointed to a location. The alien punched in coordinates on its tablet before clicking it into place above the handlebars.

The bike drifted over the warehouses for a couple of minutes. They had to wait for the shuttle to take off. The brilliant blue craft shot into the sky. Its six pink rings glowed against the gray clouds before slipping through them, out of sight.

Below, the little surveyors left their barracks and headed to the chocolate factory. That would be the first thing Igor renamed. Gregor and his stupid nicknames. He should have had more respect for his masters.

They cruised over Gregor’s office. Much better than a shed. Soon, the whole place would be Igor’s. He hadn’t decided on whether to take Alex or Layla first.

He tapped the croatoan’s shoulder.

The alien jabbed its head to one side. He rolled his finger around, trying to signal an increase in pace. “Faster, faster.”

No response.

Sedately traveling over trees gave Igor a better view of their immediate surroundings. If he was going to be boss, it was a good chance to see potential looting spots. Overgrown buildings with trails leading from them or signs of smoke drifting out of the forest. Both signs of habitation.

After spotting two thin streams of smoke curling out of the trees, he looked back to the farm to orientate their positions. Only a few miles away. He’d treat survivors like the hag near the ambush site. They had no value unless young enough to process.

The bike lowered in a clearing not quite at the specified location but close enough. Igor recognized the vague, broken lines of a tennis court. Shrubs and weeds filled the cracks brought on from age and ice. Remains of a rotting net stretched across the middle, raised by bush. A rusty chain link fence surrounded the court, half-smothered in ivy. The bottom of it had mostly broken away and curled upwards. Only two sections remained in place.

Igor slipped a compass out of his pocket and checked his map against the tablet location. Just under a mile north.

“I’ll be back in half an hour,” Igor said.

The croatoan ignored him.

“Whatever,” he whispered to himself as he checked his watch.

He pulled up a section of the fence and ducked underneath. The forest was dark ahead. It suited his approach. Stealthily moving from tree to tree, keeping a close eye on his bearing, Igor made quick progress.

After ten minutes, he sensed he was getting close and slowed to a deliberate creep, placing his feet away from any twigs or branches. Revolver to the front.

Igor crouched behind a large rock and searched the woodland. Ben had directed him to this spot. If this was a wild goose chase, he vowed to beat the little shit’s brains out.

Through the gloom, Igor saw it. A dark slit slightly raised off the forest floor. A manmade entrance. Charlie Jackson wasn’t as clever as he thought. A couple of obvious trails led to the opening.

He waited five minutes. Observing, searching for signs of movement. The place appeared to be deserted. If Jackson or his bastard weren’t around, some of his supplies or any available clues to his whereabouts would have to do.

Igor moved around the side of the shelter and edged forward, aiming at the entrance.

From a distance, it looked like a small hump, blending in with the surrounding forest floor. Up close, steep dirt steps were cut into the ground, leading into what was probably a bunker. Igor thought about shouting a threat but decided against it. If anyone was here, he’d take them by surprise.

He crouched, listened by the entrance. Not a sound from the inside. Trees rustled above in the gentle breeze.

Igor leaned around the corner, peered down. Holding his revolver through the entrance, he started to climb down.

A loud bang filled his ears. He felt searing pain in his right knee. Igor instantly buckled to the ground, dropping his revolver and sliding down the steps.

He desperately fumbled in the dark. A boot stamped on his wrist.

A shotgun barrel pushed against his cheek.

Through the gloom, Gregor’s face appeared. “Say goodnight, you Russian fuck-rat.”

Igor groaned. “Wait. I wasn’t here to kill you. I followed and came to warn you.”

Gregor forced the barrel harder against his check. “Stop lying. It’s over. Your only mistake was thinking you were smarter than me.”

Igor had seen Gregor in this kind of mood a hundred times. There would be no stay of execution. “Get it over with. You’re a dead man anyway. A ship’s coming to complete the process. Augustus told me—”

***

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 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 the entrance. All had weapons drawn.

“Holy shit. They’re attacking,” Gregor said.

“Attacking who?” Ben said.

“Exactly.”

One pulled a tennis-ball-shaped silver object from its belt and threw it into the shelter. An alien grenade. The croatoans stood to one side.

Gregor had seen 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’d 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.