No, scratch that. It was holding the top half of a body. Because its poor victim, whoever he had been, had been severed, or pulled apart, or twisted off, at the waist. Blood and other weightier things were now sliding and pouring out of the massive rent and splatting on the basement floor. But if the sight of this alone wasn’t bad enough, Emily now saw the demon take hold of the corpse’s dangling, exposed spine in its left hand, and with one practiced tug, rip it from the body as casually as a child might rip a Band-Aid from a wound.
She almost passed out. She almost threw up. It was only a fierce sense of self-preservation that prevented her from doing either. Her entire focus since turning around had been on the demon and its victim, but now she realized that the second tech, the one who had thrown aside the T-rex she was still clutching in her hand, was still standing over by Rory’s now dust-shrouded Control Area, much closer to the demon than she was.
His face was ghost-white—though whether through fear or simply plaster dust it was impossible to tell—and he was whimpering, cowering, like a beaten dog that didn’t want to be beaten anymore. Not that the demon was prepared to show even a shred of pity. With a lightning-quick spin, it flicked out its wrist, and the spinal column lashed toward the man, like a striking cobra made of bones, and wound tightly around his neck, garroting him.
Emily had seen enough—more than enough. This latest atrocity galvanized her to spin round and race toward the basement stairs. With every step she took, she expected to hear the clattering crack of the demon’s bone-whip, expected to feel herself lifted off her feet. As she scrambled up the stairs, she had only one thought in her mind: If I’m going to die, please God, let it be quick.
The Upgrade watches the human creature scuttling to safety with dispassion, even disgust, and considers crushing the life from it—it is a worthless thing, after all. But in the end, it is the sheer insignificance of the creature’s life that saves it; the Upgrade has more important concerns.
Looking around, it focuses on a bank of screens and other devices. Lights are blinking and flickering, and images swirl on the screens themselves. To the Upgrade this technology seems primitive, basic, and yet there is such a wide range of equipment here, all of it operative, and all of it contained within a small, domestic space, that it is suggestive of an acute intelligence, of a mind that is both enquiring and forever striving to better itself—and that the Upgrade can admire.
Turning in a slow circle, the alien scans a series of framed photographic images on the walls. Here is one of a young male human and a mature male human, both wearing identical garments, the older human with his arm around the younger one’s shoulders. Here is another image of the older human, and this time he is wearing garments and carrying a weapon, which the Upgrade knows identifies him as a warrior, a soldier.
Tramping through human offal, the Upgrade moves across to a seating area and picks up a receptacle made of a pliable synthetic material. The contents of the receptacle do not interest the Upgrade, but the label attached to it does. Scanning the human markings, it translates them as ‘ R. McKenna’. A label of identification, which may at some point prove useful.
Moving from surface to surface, the Upgrade now spies something infinitely more interesting. It knows the young human has had access to some of its species’ equipment, and even that it may have deciphered some of the readings on that equipment—certainly enough, whether intentionally or unintentionally, to affect the systems on the Upgrade’s own ship. But this document here—primitive, fashioned by hand—suggests an even greater understanding and intelligence than the Upgrade had previously given the young human credit for. Picking up the flimsy sheet of what its sensors inform it is mostly plant-based pulp and chemicals, its analyzing and translation systems identify the strange markings as a map, on which interstates and landmarks, all of which have been meticulously labeled, surround a tiny shape—a shape that the Upgrade recognizes instantly.
It is the ship. The ship that it has been searching for.
Nettles wandered down to the privacy of a small clump of trees to relieve himself. It wasn’t that he was shy, it was just that with Casey and the boy around he wanted to display a little decorum.
After zipping himself up, he stood for a moment, enjoying the coolness of the night air on his face, the gurgling of a brook close by and the soft chirrup of insects.
Then he frowned. Along with the chirruping, he could hear a weird clicking sound, as if something were purring, or growling, deep in its throat. He peered into the darkness of the trees… only to realize, when the sound came again, that it was behind him.
He whipped around, raising his weapon.
But by the time he saw the Predator dog’s gleaming eyes and the flash of its clacking mandibles, the opportunity to pull the trigger had passed.
The tread of a boot caught his attention, and Rory turned to see his father appear. Stashing his phone in a pocket, he crouched down.
“Talked to your Mom. She’s fine.”
Rory let an awkward silence grow even more awkward before he replied.
“Mom says you’re a killer.”
His father’s brow furrowed. “I’m a soldier.”
“What’s the difference?”
Nebraska seemed not to be listening. He shifted away from them. Over in the RV, Casey stood by the window. Rory could see her, and they were close enough that she could probably hear as well, but like Nebraska she acted as if she couldn’t hear a thing.
“When you like it,” his dad said. “That’s when you’re a killer.”
He looked suddenly at a loss, as if he didn’t know quite where to go from here, as if he didn’t know how to talk to his own son. He glanced up at the stars, and then pointed. “Which one do you suppose they’re from?”
“The one on the left,” Rory replied confidently. A joke. His father never really got his jokes.
This time, though, Quinn McKenna nodded. “That’s the one I was gonna say.”
Silence between them again, but now it was almost companionable. Rory shifted a little, tapping his stick on the ground. Then abruptly he said, “Sorry I never grew up. Y’know, the way you wanted.”
His father sighed and ran his hands over his face as if scrubbing it clean. “Yeah, well. Truth is… I never grew up the way I wanted either.”
Rory liked that. He watched as his father stood up and stretched his back.
“Are we gonna get killed?” he asked.
His father seemed to really think about it for a moment. Then he shook his head.
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
McKenna shifted uncomfortably. He’d never been good at communicating with Rory, but he was trying. The kid went back to drawing in the dirt, and McKenna took stock of his unit again. He spotted Nebraska standing guard. Casey remained in the RV—it occurred to him that she’d become just as much a part of the unit as any of them, for as long as she wanted to be. Of course, given that some black box spookshow division of the federal government was after them, she might not have another choice.
He was just wondering whether he could risk getting a couple of hours sleep when he saw Nebraska tense up and spin round, taking aim at the brush at the edge of the field.
“Company’s coming!” Nebraska snapped.
McKenna heard it, then—they all did. Something crashing through the brush, moving fast in the dark. Gun barrels came up, everyone taking aim… and a second later Nettles burst from the brush into the moonlight, and he wasn’t alone. On his tail, bounding and crashing, mandibles clicking, was a Predator dog.