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 fistful of dirt with his free hand, he smeared it across the visor, and, letting go of 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 the chance to re-orient itself, Charlie launched himself onto 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 collided with the ground; 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 a 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 could have it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
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 trailers 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.
He wanted to think of a disaster recovery plan. If Charlie couldn’t get on the shuttle, they needed another play. Something effective. His mind blanked. It seemed like they had a one shot deal.
Cutting through the trees, scrambling over obstacles and surveying the damp ground for fresh croatoan boot marks helped release some of the tension he felt building inside.
Above, he heard the increasing hum of the shuttle descending toward the farm. The others would see it shortly. They’d positioned themselves in woodland between the landing area and warehouses. A trail was cut through the woodland to allow the containers to be transported for loading. As soon as the croatoans appeared on the trail, the plan was to attack the warehouses. Starting with the barracks.
Something moved in the trees ahead.
Gregor ducked behind a moss-covered rock and peered over it.
A figured darted between two redwoods, heading toward him.
Human.
Charlie Jackson.
Gregor looked down the sights of the AR-15. Aimed at Charlie. Followed his movements as he closed in. Fifty yards. Forty. Thirty.
His finger itched on the trigger. Gregor had waited years for this opportunity. Denver would take the bomb if his father didn’t show.
He couldn’t fire. Yesterday, Jackson would’ve been worm food. But not today.
Charlie hadn’t spotted him. He was twenty yards away. Gregor kept the rifle shouldered and stood. “Managed to deal with the alien?”
Charlie abruptly stopped. His hand twitched against the alien rifle. He darted behind a tree. “Waiting to ambush me, Gregor?”
Gregor knelt back behind the rock. “I wasn’t going to shoot. I could’ve easily killed you if I wanted.”
He peered over the moss. Charlie’s head shot back behind the tree.
“We need to finish this, Gregor. Lower your rifle.”
“Both of us come out after I count to three. Leave our rifles on the ground.”
“Why should I trust you? You don’t have to pretend to care. Nobody else can see you out here.”
“You need to get that bomb onto the ship. It’s in all of our interests. I’m arranging a place for you on the shuttle and leading the attack on the farm. Why would I jeopardize the plan?”
“Because you’re a dick who has no respect for life.”
Gregor scowled and bit his fist. “The shuttle’s arrived. There won’t be another run until tomorrow morning. If there is another run. You heard what Layla said.”
A sickly-looking rabbit with greasy fur shuffled between the rock and tree. Time was against all native species. The shuttle would be gone in less than an hour.
Gregor stood, placed his rifle on the rock, and held his arms out.