“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Layla said.
“Where you going?” Gregor said.
“Do you really want to know?” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Oh. Fine. I want to have a little chat with Ben anyway,” Gregor said.
Layla hopped over a partially collapsed internal wall, its chipped plaster surface covered with dark green mold spores, and disappeared to another part of the building.
Gregor grabbed Ben’s shoulder and squeezed with enough force to make it unfriendly. Ben returned his stare with a nervous smile. “Gregor?”
Back in Yerevan, they’d used Marek’s basement for extracting information from unreliable people. A thumbscrew was usually the best way to make people talk, usually after the first crunch of bone. Sometimes even the mere fitting of the medieval-looking torture instrument was enough to prize out information. It depended on the backbone of the person and what they had to lose. It was certainly a cleaner approach than Igor’s amateurish knife-related strategy.
A verbal thumbscrew would be enough for Ben.
“Treachery will always come home to the traitor,” Gregor said.
Ben tried to edge away and winced as Gregor tightened his grip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gregor drew his rifle from between the ivy and jabbed the muzzle under Ben’s chin. “It’s an old proverb meaning if you betray me, bad things will happen to you.”
“I’m not. I swear. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Do you want to know my own proverb? I’ve made it up especially for you.” Ben didn’t reply. “If you’ve betrayed me, I’ll rip off your arm and beat you to death with the soggy end. Have I made myself clear?”
Ben rapidly nodded. “Crystal.”
A foot crunched over broken glass in an adjacent room. Layla coming back. Gregor let go of Ben and aimed his rifle back between the ivy.
“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to find you here,” a voice said.
A voice that Gregor hadn’t heard for years. That he’d dreamed of hearing scream with agony while strapped to his garage chair as Gregor slowly pulled out his individual fingernails with snipe-nose pliers. Reminding him about his cousin.
He tensed. Didn’t want to turn. Didn’t want to give Jackson a moment’s satisfaction before the bastard pulled the trigger.
Ten years of his shit. Ten years of survival. He’d been led into a trap. It was all so simple. It made his life seem trivial. Too much effort for such a stupid end.
“Get it over with, Jackson,” Gregor said.
Ben scrambled to his feet.
“Stay right where you are,” another voice called out.
Footsteps approached. Gregor glanced to his side.
A red-haired, rangy-looking man strode through the rubble, peering down his sights. Denver Jackson. Last time he’d seen him, he was Charlie’s feral pet, learning tricks from his master. A dog scampered behind his legs and barked.
Gregor snorted. “Look at you, all grown up.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” Denver said. “Hold out your weapon. Nice and slow.”
He held out the AR-15 by its grip and placed it on the ground.
“Did you get the information I asked for?” Charlie said.
Ben thrust up his hands and took a couple of steps away from Gregor. “I didn’t have time. Gregor knows. We’re not with the croatoans.”
Charlie chuckled in his distinctive, sarcastic way. Gregor hated it. To Jackson, everything was black or white. He should have guessed that Ben wouldn’t have been allowed to just stroll back into the farm. Jackson’s necklace and the opportunity to get him had a blinding effect.
Gregor looked up at Ben and scowled. The turncoat backed away another couple of steps.
“We’ve tried to get information from them before. They won’t help—” Charlie said.
“Drop your weapon,” Layla shouted.
Keeping his hands spread above his shoulders, Gregor rolled onto his back. Layla must’ve heard the Jacksons. She’d rounded the building and stood behind Charlie, pointing the croatoan rifle at the back of his head.
Charlie’s hands were raised. He didn’t look much different from ten years ago. Gregor had caught glimpses of him through the last decade but never close up like now. Bearded, piercing blue eyes, miserable.
A woman stood next to Charlie wearing a harvester uniform. Another lie from Ben about the fate of their crew. Gregor reached across for his rifle.
“Pick that up and I put a bullet through your forehead,” Denver said.
Gregor withdrew his hand. “If you shoot me, your plastic father gets it in the head.”
Denver hadn’t even glanced back to Charlie. He focused down on Gregor with an intense expression and twitched his head to his left. “Then I kill your helper.”
A distant overhead noise like an ongoing extended roll of thunder echoed from the clear blue sky.
“Leave us with Gregor,” Charlie said. “You go back to the farm. We won’t hurt you.”
“We want the same thing as you. To bring down the croatoans,” Layla said.
Charlie shook his head and groaned. “You’ve sure got a funny way of showing it.”
The rumble grew into a roar. Everyone looked up. A large, white cloud formed in sky. Eight huge bright rings appeared through it. A blast of lukewarm air rushed down, spreading dust around the building. Pieces of plaster dropped from the decaying internal wall as the ground shook. Denver’s dog repeatedly barked.
A massive object in the shape of a key moved in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the area. The mother ship had lowered, but something larger was attached. A rectangular vessel with four large funnels protruding from its side. The circular mother ship appeared to be connected to the bottom of it.
“What the hell?” Ben said.
“This is it,” Layla said. “The data, behavior, experiments, and Igor. It was leading to this. They needed more than the root to terraform.”
“What are you saying?” Charlie said.
“I’m saying we haven’t got time for disagreements,” Layla said. “You and Gregor sort out your differences later. We’ve all got bigger things to worry about.”
Charlie looked at Gregor and slowly shook his head. Gregor glared back. The woman in front of Layla turned and said, “What do you know?”
She seemed non-aggressive, unlike Charlie and Denver. Layla had only ever known Charlie as a vague acquaintance during her first year in North America. She’d found him a little abrupt. It all changed after they moved to the farm. Gregor and Charlie became equally as obsessed over one another. Sabotaging anything around each of their respective operations, employed in a dangerous game of one-upmanship.
Layla jabbed the alien rifle into the back of Charlie’s head. He shuffled forward a few inches. She said earnestly, “You need to listen to me. I’ve observed what they’re planning to do. Croatoans testing with an atmosphere box. A timeline near completion. Igor mentioning a ship to complete the process. You only need to look around you to see the place is primed for it. The ship up there is the final part. We need to figure out a way to stop this. Together.”
Charlie shrugged. “I’ve already got a plan. Been working on it for years while you’ve been sucking up to the croatoans and butchering the population.”
“And you can hatch it in a day?” Layla said. “Because I reckon that’s all we’ve have. Maximum.”
“What’s your plan, Jackson?” Gregor said.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“He wants to put a bomb on the mother ship,” the woman said. “Blow it out of the sky. Ben was supposed to get information about the shuttle runs.”
“Shut up, Maria,” Charlie said.
Layla moved around to Charlie’s side in order to get eye contact. “Trust me. It’s do or die for all of us.”