He’d set them free, but what they did with that freedom was now their choice.
Charlie turned his attentions back to the east road, what used to be Highway 219. A twisting vine that looked like a serpent choked the white sign on the side of the road. The numbers were fading, but remained.
Five minutes on their journey out of the town and he heard footsteps racing up behind him. Pip growled by Denver’s side, but they didn’t stop. Just kept on walking. Eventually, it was Maria who spoke first, as Charlie expected. Ben wasn’t the type to admit his mistakes. He and Ethan were still trying to find where they fit into the world.
Maria already knew. “I’m sorry,” she said. “About back there. It’s all so confusing.”
“Forget about it,” Charlie said. “No need to say anything else.” He spared her the humiliation of asking to rejoin them. They had nowhere else to go. This would be a good lesson for them. They’d now discovered an important lesson in trust.
Trust no one.
Chapter 14
LAYLA GRIPPED the silver handles on either side of the hover-bike, turning her head against the wind chill. The feeling of weightlessness contrasted the aching in her fingers as they shot through the air over the densely vegetated land. Each trip helped her get a better idea of how the machines operated.
The controls were quite simple. Moving the handlebars forwards raised the bike. A twist grip on the right handle increased speed. The alien rider would twist the left grip when they wanted to hover. All gentle movements. It was like being on a huge hair dryer, and sounded a little like one too.
She looked over her shoulder at the disappearing camp, and farmed area beyond. From this height it looked like the world had been split in two. One side, a brown cloak with an orange tinge, the other a sea of green with occasional smashed ruins peeping above the canopy. The derelict remnants of her former world.
Layla wondered if Gregor and his gang were nearing their expiry date. Manual labor and resource management was good, but it was nothing the croatoans couldn’t do themselves once they picked up on the implemented systems. She felt a little safer, as long as the improvements and tweaks kept yielding results, based on her scientific knowledge of the species.
She’d actually found it easier than she originally thought. It was pointless fighting a superior force, so improving conditions of the captured survivors provided a justification in her own mind.
Augustus appreciated Layla and told her she was the brains of the outfit, although he’d disparagingly called her Doctor Mengele, when he was in one of his melancholic moods, and cackled at her reaction from behind his weird mask.
Layla peered over the croatoan’s shoulder at the tablet. The green ‘v’ indicated the bike’s position neared the group of red dots. The alien twisted the left grip to hover. The bike pulled around above a small clearing.
Surrounding branches and leaves rocked and rustled in the downdraft created by the three descending vehicles. A rabbit ran from the clearing, followed by loose twigs, blown away by the force of the hover-bike’s thrust.
The croatoans dismounted after the bikes settled, and drew their brain pistols. That was Gregor’s nickname for them. He could always be relied upon for his subtlety.
They each keyed in something on their wrist devices. They weren’t checking the time; croatoans had no concept of the human way of measuring it. The wrist devices controlled appearance. All three suits and helmets took on a disruptive camouflage pattern of brown, green and cream.
An alien clicked free a tablet from the front of a bike and held it toward Layla. She took it, holding the screen away from the sunlight, now poking through the clouds, giving the mossy clearing a slight luminous feel.
A blue arrow marked their position, and as she turned, it did the same, like a spinning compass, pointing in the direction of the dim red spots.
“Right guys, follow me.”
She led the way into the dark forest, picking her way through the damp undergrowth. After a hundred yards, the gap on the tablet closed to half. At least they hadn’t landed right next to their intended targets, although the hover-bikes would’ve been spotted or heard by anyone above ground.
Layla glanced ahead for any clues, a fresh broken twig, footprints on the wet, soft forest surface, a scrap of clothing on a thorn bush, anything to indicate a recent presence. The unfarmed landscape was increasingly turning into rainforest associated with the southern hemisphere. She wondered what conditions would be like in the Amazon.
A group of noisy birds fled from close proximity with a chorus of exotic squawks. Layla crouched and turned. The three croatoans ducked behind individual trees. Hover-bikes hummed overhead, she caught a glimpse of two between a gap in the trees, powering through the air high above, alongside each other.
She waved the croatoans alongside, and pointed at the tablet, then toward a lighter area in the distance. “Over there. Might be the remains of a small town, highway or something like that.”
One of the aliens nodded and gently pushed her forwards.
Proceeding with caution, with croatoans either side, Layla picked up a beaten track, worn into the ground, running toward the target area. It wasn’t surprising that humans would be taking similar routes. Land, or at least cover, was becoming less and less available as the continent transformed into a vast area of alien agriculture.
The places left alone were the concrete jungles. The last she saw was Nashville, now transformed into a slimy green outcrop. Layla felt like Juan Crisóstomo Nieto discovering the lost city of Kuelap. The conducive climate of thick moist air had made conditions perfect for a quick colonization of plants and trees. Whatever the harvesters didn’t chew up and spit out, nature took advantage, regaining its stronghold.
At the edge of the tree line, Layla paused. The forest floor gradually turned into slippery concrete. Ahead was a main street of a small town. Thick vines climbed the buildings, ivy sprawled over the walls. Most shop front windows were smashed, probably during the mini ice age. Wooden doors had rotted from the top and bottom, a couple creaking in the breeze. PVC ones were covered in black and green speckled mold, their windows dulled and dirty. Several vehicles dotted along the street, all at various stages of decay, rusting away to become dark red shells.
The road was still visible through the weeds and ferns that popped and spread through the fractured surface. It led a hundred yards back into a forested area.
Layla checked the tablet. The signals came from dead ahead. At the far end of the street, by one of the larger buildings, a dumpster, which resembled a large plant-pot stuffed with weeds marked the likely signal source.
“Okay. It’s right along there. How do you want to play this?” She said.
One of the croatoans pointed to himself and another, then slowly started advancing. Layla and the other alien waited.
They moved from rusted vehicle, to doorway, to plant. Moving a few yards at a time, covering each other as they headed along the street. When they reached half way, the alien next to Layla clicked a few times and followed the others.
As she wasn’t armed, Layla followed behind, using the alien’s body as cover. She let out a small yelp after falling to one knee, her foot slid on a clump of loose moss. The croatoan span around, aimed at her, its helmet almost blinding as a ray of sun reflected toward her. After a short moment, it held out an arm and Layla pulled herself up. They continued forwards.
It wasn’t quite as bad as her college field trips. Layla was always treated like the ugly duckling. Teased for being a geek and marginalized by her peers because her theories went against the conventional wisdom of the lecturers. The more she studied human behavior and became a victim of their spite, the more she hated humanity and realized it was on the wrong path. Her parents were an exception but the ice age took them quickly. At least the croatoans didn’t judge, tease or bully her.