Rush (6 page)

“Here’s what you need to know right now. The things that are in there—”

“The Drau.” That’s what both he and Tyrone called them.

He nods. “They’re day walkers. The planet they come from is in an S-type binary star system. Their planet has two suns. That means that they live in daylight almost all the time. And that means that at night, they’re groggy and slower.”

“Like bears hibernating in winter,” Luka supplies.

Jackson doesn’t acknowledge the interruption. “By going in at night,” he continues, “we stand a better chance that all of us will walk out of here.”

“With our health still green,” I say, holding up my wrist.

“That’s the plan.” He pauses, and it’s clear that he’s battling over whether or not to say more. “I heard what you said earlier, about not being a team player—”

“I—”

“No.” He cuts off my attempt to cut him off. “Listen to me. Not being a team player is good. I don’t want you to be one. This
isn’t
a team thing, Miki. Not really. If push comes to shove, you need to be all about you. You need to make sure
your
health stays green. Forget about everyone else. Take care of you, because no one else can do it for you.”

And here I’d just started feeling a little warm and fuzzy toward him.

But he’s just voiced aloud my darkest suspicion, the belief that started the day Mom died: You can’t really count on anyone but yourself. Everyone leaves. “Is that what you do? Take care of
you
?” My cynicism leaks into the words.

“In the end, it’s what we all do.”

My mouth goes dry. “So despite what you said before, you’re not actually going to watch out for this recruit.” Why does that bother me? I’ve been relying on myself for a long time.

He huffs a short laugh, but it has a hard, ugly edge. “See, that’s the thing. I shouldn’t. But I’m going to. I just hope it doesn’t get me killed.”

I narrow my eyes. “Eight years of kendo,” I toss back the reminder that he tossed at me earlier. “I won’t let you get killed.” I think we’re both startled by my vehemence.

“You ought to just take my advice and watch your own ass.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” For a second, I think I’ve done it, that I’ve had the last word.

“You do that,” he says, and grins. White teeth and that killer dimple carved in his cheek. He’s not afraid to go in there, to face the Drau, and that makes me a tiny bit less afraid.

As he walks around me, back toward the door, I catch Richelle watching me with a frown.

Everyone gets back in formation, Richelle reaching for the door while the others cover her. She pushes it open. The feeling of wrongness oozes out from the dark interior, weaving through my cells. Everything inside me screams for me to run. But I force myself to step forward. This is just a game of some sort. Richelle and Luka said we get to go back when we’re done. And if their word isn’t enough, I’ve already seen it in action: I got hit by a truck and survived that. Whatever happens in here can’t be any worse.

RICHELLE GOES IN FIRST. HER HAND SHOOTS BACK AND SHE gives a little
come on
curl of her fingers. Tyrone follows, then Luka. Jackson points to me, then to the open door. In I go, forcing my feet to move one in front of the other. With each step I feel colder, more desperate to get away. A rush of terror crashes over me. It’s like I’m underwater and my lungs are screaming and I have to hold myself back from the surface, from the air.

Nearly choking on my fear, I fight it back and follow the others deeper inside, which only makes it worse. I need to run, hide—

Richelle reaches over and closes her hand on mine, just for a second, but it’s enough. Her touch reminds me that I’m not alone, and that offers a weird sort of comfort.

It’s dark. After a minute, my eyes adjust, and I realize there’s a little light leaking through thin cracks in the boards covering the windows set high in the wall. Even so, I can’t see much more than vague, shadowy outlines. There are some huge cardboard boxes in the corner, and some more stacked in a towering pyramid against the far wall.

Jackson prowls forward. I don’t hear him move, and I can barely see him; he’s just a shadow among shadows. I follow, trying to keep my movements as silent as his. He stops. I stop. After a second, I make out the shape of another door, directly ahead.

The terror that grabbed me outside digs deeper, grows bigger, and I feel like it’s going to burst outward like a bomb.

Richelle’s beside me. Shoulder to shoulder, we edge toward the door.

“Close your eyes,” Jackson barks.

Confused, I freeze.

There’s a flash of light, blindingly bright. I blink, wishing I had done as Jackson said as colored halos obscure my vision. They dance and flicker and then disappear, leaving only a rectangle of light boxed in by the dark doorframe.

I see then that the door’s gone and in front of me are people. No . . . they aren’t people. They have limbs, hair, faces, but they aren’t human. After the first glance, they don’t look even remotely human. They’re pure, painful white, so bright they throw off a glare. They look like they’ve been dipped in glass, smooth and polished, but fluid. And their eyes . . . they’re a silvery color, like the mercury in the antique thermometer that my mom used to have at the side of the front porch.

When I was ten, I knocked that thermometer off with my wooden kendo sword, shattering the glass. The little blobs of mercury went all over the porch. I was a kid. I didn’t know better. I touched them, prodding the little balls until they joined the bigger blob. My mom swooped down on me and snatched me away, telling me it was poison. It could kill me.

I stare at the things in front of me: the Drau. I can’t look away.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Jackson talking about Medusa.
Don’t look at their eyes
.

Their mercury eyes.

They’re poison.

They will kill me.

I want to move. I want to blink. But my will is not my own. I’m drowning in a silver lake. Drowning . . .

Something tangles in my hair and yanks my head so my face turns to the side. I gasp. Jackson lets go, his fingers sliding through my hair.

“Don’t. Look,” he snarls, and I realize that he just saved my ass and that what had felt like hours had been only seconds.

The aliens pour through the open doorway, fluid and terrifying. I can’t tell how many there are. They’re everywhere, moving wraithlike and impossibly fast between us: divide and conquer. My pulse races. I spin, and spin again, backpedaling, tripping, almost falling, trying to keep them in sight. I point my weapon, but have no clue what to do with it.

Jackson leaps in front of me, the metal cylinder in one hand, a long-bladed, black knife in the other. Why don’t I have a knife? At least
that
I might be able to use. Light streaks toward us. Jackson slashes down and misses as the light retreats. Then it comes at us again. He slashes at it again. Misses.

I know nothing about the Drau, but instinct tells me they’re toying with us.

My chest moves with shallow, panting breaths. I want to help. I want to fight. I have no idea what to do. Tiny bursts of blinding light come at us. Jackson jumps in front of me again, spinning in midair, taking the brunt of those lights full on his back. Taking the hit for me. His face twists with pain.

I grab the front of his shirt and yank him aside. I’m still pointing my weapon. I’m still wishing it would work.

A weird, high-pitched hum hits my ears. Something surges from Jackson’s weapon like black oil forced out under immense pressure. Time seems to slow as I watch. I know the battle is unfolding in fractions of seconds, but I feel like I can see everything in freeze-frame clarity. As I watch, that darkness becomes a black mass that swells and contracts, oily and slick, moving with speed and power that defies my understanding.

The mass exerts an incredible pull. I feel drawn to it, sucked toward it, like matter to a black hole.

The streak of light stops abruptly and flickers in and out of human form so fast I can barely see the transitions. It cringes back, away from the dark surge, even as it is dragged inexorably along the floor. Then the light is snuffed out; the human form is gone, just gone, and the darkness retracts into Jackson’s metal cylinder. The whole thing makes me think of a frog flicking out its tongue to snatch a fly and drag it into its waiting maw.

For an instant, I can’t breathe. And then I can. A sharp inhalation that inflates my lungs and sends my blood zipping through my veins.

Jackson killed it.

And I stood beside him and watched.

I don’t get the chance to figure out how that makes me feel. All around me, there’s chaos. These things—the Drau—are fast, like blurs of light zipping throughout the room. Behind me, beside me, there are sounds and movements and surges of darkness that tell me the others are shooting. Hunting.

Something comes at me, light and speed, and then it’s solid, taking the shape of a man directly in front of me. I can’t help it. I look at it, right in its eyes, mercury smooth and silvery and bright. Terrifying and beautiful.

Pain explodes, eating my organs, my limbs, my brain. I feel like my insides are being ripped away, pulled out through my eyes. My legs turn to rubber. I fall to my knees.

The Drau’s lips peel back, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Not human at all.

In my terror, I can’t force myself to look away.

The need to fight, to defend myself, is overwhelming, stronger even than the magnetism of those eyes.

I raise my hand, the one holding my weapon.

Fire. Shoot. Do something
.

Please
.

My hand shakes. My pulse races. But my will isn’t strong enough to get the stupid cylinder to spray out a black acid cloud. There’s a sick feeling of helplessness and terror sitting like lead in the pit of my gut.

Again I will the weapon to fire.

Nothing happens.

The Drau lifts his hand. He’s holding something metallic and smooth. It doesn’t look solid. It appears fluid, jellylike. It’s some sort of weapon. A million lights come at me, like the lights that made Jackson snarl in pain. Then all I know is agony, bright and deep.

I’m locked in the horrific compulsion of the alien’s stare. I need to look away. I can’t look away.

More shards of light disgorge from its shimmering weapon. As they hit, pain bursts on my skin, piercing me like the stingers of a hundred hornets. An invisible band tightens around my torso, constricting my ribs.
Crack
. The sensation of my rib snapping is sharp and pure and agonizing. I can’t catch my breath. My vision goes gray at the edges. The bitter taste of my fear scrapes my tongue.

I think I cry out. Then I think that maybe my scream is locked in my mind. It takes me a second to realize that the sound I hear is actually coming from behind me, an inhuman cry followed by a human one, desperate and terrified.

“Tyrone!” Richelle’s voice. There’s a beat of silence, then a high, tortured scream.

Someone’s hit. Someone’s hurt. I want to look. I want to help. I can’t. The alien holds my gaze, a predator mesmerizing its prey.

Miki!
Jackson’s voice is inside my head, shooting past the pain, both sharpening and shredding my focus.

From the corner of my eye I catch a flash of movement: a black-booted foot at the end of a khaki-clad leg. Then the alien’s weapon flies up in an arc, spinning end over end, and the devastating pressure on my lungs eases. Dragging in a breath, I wrench my gaze away.

I’m shaking. My teeth are chattering. My fingers feel numb and prickly, like I’ve been out in a blizzard without gloves. It takes enormous effort to stay up on my knees and keep my grip on my weapon cylinder. I still haven’t figured out how to use it, but I’m not willing to let it go.

The alien in front of me takes a step closer. Just one. It doesn’t dart in for the kill . . . because it’s
toying
with me.

Predator. Prey. It likes this game.

I will the cylinder to fire, but it sits smooth and inert in my grasp. So I chase the only option left to me and dive for the jellylike gun that Jackson kicked from the Drau’s hand.

The alien’s a beat faster. It has its weapon. I have mine—which is a boatload of useless because I still haven’t figured out how to make it work. My heart gives an ugly lurch in my chest.

To my left there’s another cry, high and short, even more disturbing than the one I heard before. The sound chills me. I don’t dare look around to try to see who’s been hit. I don’t dare look anywhere but at the creature stalking me. We’re separated by only a few feet now.

Sofu taught me to mask any fear and uncertainty because seeing it would give my opponent the edge.
Aim to intimidate, Miki, even when you don’t feel it
. I remember his words as I huddle here facing an impossible foe, and I snarl, “You’re going down,” mostly because I can’t dredge up anything better. Maybe if I say it, I’ll actually believe it.

The Drau moves closer. Its face—almost human—looms larger and larger, filling my vision and my thoughts. I try to avoid its eyes, but in the end, I fail. Pain sears me, stronger than before. Unbearable.