Marek stood in his filthy white vest and jeans, pulled his fingers along his mousy beard and stretched his back. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to hitch a ride with the croatoans. Two were killed in a booby trap yesterday in a former town nearby. Let’s see if we can find any evidence or survivors, information to crush the little wasp.”
“I thought they were sending a hunter to deal with Jackson?”
Gregor snorted. “We’ll get him first. This time I’m serious.”
“You’ve said that a hundred—” Marked paused after Gregor raised his hand. “And Igor?”
“He’s coming with us,” Gregor said. He smiled, picked up one of Layla’s cucumbers off his desk and snapped it in two. “After we rob any survivors, he’s going to talk.”
He threw both pieces at Marek, who took a bite, chewed and spat vegetable sludge onto the floor. “Is this her latest crop? It’s worse than the last.”
“Which is why we’re going out. Just like the good old days, brother.”
Marek nodded, yawned and headed for the bathroom.
Gregor thought back to them both as young men in Armenia, terrorizing local villages. The villagers, young and old, had no reason to pay protection money, but they wanted to stay on the right side of the gang. Fresh food and the best wine was the price for being left alone. Gregor prided himself on providing the best for his team, as a reward for their work. It was becoming harder during the last few years. The croatoans were the main gang, he had to live off the dwindling scraps of humanity.
Marek called from the bathroom, “Who’s going to feed the livestock this morning?”
“Take Igor after we get back. If he comes back.”
The big operation Gregor took control of was starting to feel smaller, too many other things were starting to happen locally, things he didn’t know about. It was time to get a grip of the situation. He was doing the right thing. Jackson was the trouble causer, and the one putting the remnants of the species at risk.
Marek returned to the office. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“I’m going to wake up Igor. You grab three of the croatoan attachment and make sure they prepare their hover-bikes,” Gregor handed Marek a small folded map, and pointed toward Ridgway. “We’re going here, but not so close that the sound of the bikes puts any inhabitants on alert.”
“Okay, I’ll have them ready in five minutes.”
“They might be a little pissed. Ten of them were killed yesterday.”
IGOR HAD TAKEN a large wooden shed as his place of residence. The whole thing looked on the verge of collapse. Its moldy pine timbers rotted, and the roof wrap was torn and curled away from the structure on both sides.
Gregor carefully trod across the wet grass to its filthy cobwebbed window, and glanced around the edge of it. Igor lay on a mattress, half under a duvet, snoring. He pulled out his gun, and moved to the front entrance.
It creaked as Gregor slowly opened it. Igor flinched in bed, rolled to one side and carried on snoring. He dropped to his knees and placed the barrel of his gun into the two-faced Russian’s mouth.
Igor’s upper teeth clanked against it. He opened his eyes, blinked, jerked backwards, stared up at Gregor and held his hands to one side.
“What are you doing?” Igor said.
Gregor smiled. “Come on. We’re going scavenging.”
He placed the pistol back in his hip holster and looked around the shed. Faded pictures of topless women had been pinned around the walls. A bottle of vodka sat on a workbench, next to Igor’s revolver. His clothes were folded in a scruffy ball by the end of the mattress. Nothing on view smelt of Augustus.
“Why do you need me? I’m on feeding duty in an hour,” Igor said.
“You’ll be back in time, don’t worry. We’re going to a town where two croatoans were killed yesterday. It’s too dangerous for just Marek and me to go, we need someone else.”
Igor grabbed his sweater and shook it, before placing it over his head. “Marek’s free? Why not take Alex?”
“Questions, questions. We need some short-term supplies until we get near a big city again. Are you coming or not?”
“Do I have an option?” Igor said while pulling on his jeans. He slipped on his boots and glanced up at Gregor with his sneaky eyes.
“I’ll throw this one back. Do I have to ask you or tell you?”
He let Igor take the lead past the chocolate factory. The small-time Muscovite was handy with a gun; Gregor had witnessed it early in the ice age when they came together. It took Igor five seconds to kill four armed survivors in a barn, during the early battle for the remaining territory and resources around Vladikavkaz. Gregor’s gang were forced north and regrouped in the southern Russian city. Igor was pushed south, that’s where they met.
Gregor’s guessed he was a petty jewel thief or a lone wolf for hire in his previous life. The more the years went by, the more his claims of running a Moscow operation became exaggerated. Fat lot of good his bullshit did him in their situation. It’s not like the croatoans would give a flying fuck.
To his left, he noticed an anti-gravity platform, being pushed from the paddocks with three humans slumped on top of it. Their orange skin looked like they were coated in fake tan, like the ladies who used to hang around his hideout in Yerevan.
Igor turned. “What the hell is going on over there?”
“No idea. I’ve got Layla on the case. Speaking to her when we get back.”
Gregor liked to delegate and deal with things in bite-sized chunks. Supplies and Igor were his immediate focus. Delegation brought a sense of responsibility and loyalty, people felt involved. That was something else the Russian could have learned, instead of obsessively grooming his ridiculous moustache.
Marek waved across from the hover-bikes, and walked across to meet Gregor. The square was a hive of activity. Three croatoan riders were in position, the engines were already quietly humming. Clusters of aliens milled around the entrances of every building. The whole place crackled with croatoan speak.
“They seem in high spirits this morning,” Marek said. “Is it national croatoan day or something?”
“What’s up with them?” Igor said.
“Who cares? If they’re happy, I’m happy,” Gregor said. “Do they know where we’re going?”
“Yep, all sorted,” Marek said.
Gregor swung his leg over the closest hover-bike, gripped the side handle with one hand, and tapped the rider on the shoulder.
The bike raised above the height of the buildings and thrust forward.
It tore over the paddocks at low level. Gregor looked behind to see the other two bikes following in line. Below, a strange transparent object sat by the gates, a couple of surveyors around it.
As they reached the far end of the paddock, humans scattered away in all directions from the flight path, running for the shelter or bushes that had sprang up since the area had been cleared. It was one of those moments where the feeling of power was magnified.
In the distance, an orange haze covered the vast farmland. A feeling of pride swelled up in Gregor, he hadn’t been up on a bike in months to get a high level view, there’d been too much to sort out on the ground level. The scale of the project came back to him.
He gripped the other supporting handle as speed increased. They roared over the forest for five minutes before the bike gradually reduced to a slow cruise as the alien’s tracking tablet reached the coordinates that Marek supplied. The engine softly purred as they slowly approached a rocky area below. The rider brought the bike around above it and hovered, waiting for the other two bikes to arrive.
Igor waved as he arrived. Gregor nodded.