Critical Dawn (15 page)

If Gregor’s people or the croatoans went there instead of coming back here, he would know Ben had stuck to the plan. Regardless, Charlie was prepared for either eventuality.

It took an hour to cut south around Ridgway. They came to the edge of the forest, through which they could make out the rising smoke of a distant burner. The farm.

“This is it, Ben. Be confident; stick with the plan, and you’ll be fine,” Denver said.

Ben stepped into the forest before looking back. “I’ll miss all of you. Hopefully, it won’t be long before we’ll meet again. And thanks, Charlie, Denver, for everything. I may not have shown my gratitude, but I can see now that setting us free from that lie was the right thing to do.”

He waved as he turned and disappeared into the forest.

“I can’t believe he’s actually gone,” Ethan said.

Maria stared ahead, quiet.

Charlie gave them a few minutes of respect and reflection before putting his hands on their shoulders. “We should go; we’ve got a plan to enact.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Maria said. “I get that you didn’t want to say in front of Ben, but if we’re to come with you, I’d like to know where it is we are going and why.”

“We’re going to Manhattan,” Charlie said. “As for why … This is the start of the fight back. Today marks the day we bring a war to the croatoans.”

A low-level mist hung around the damp forest floor outside camp. Gregor flinched after dew dripped from the canopy above and splashed against the back of his neck. He peered down, searching the shrouded ground for one of his first rabbit traps placed along a prominent run two weeks ago. Nothing.

He hoped for a sunny day and a rabbit in a noose. Anything but to eat a silver tray of slop. Supplies were running out. A few cans of out-of-date Spam, some cake mix, and Layla’s revolting vegetables. It was time for a trip to an urban area, a town, or a city where survivors could be robbed.

Footsteps thudded across the wet ground in close proximity. Gregor darted behind a tree, crouched on one knee, and peered around the trunk toward camp. Layla stumbled through a clearing with her hands on her head, and went around the back of his house to her trailer, slamming the door shut after entering. She’d have some explaining to do later.

Too many people seemed to be acting unilaterally nowadays. Igor would be the first to answer questions today.

As he approached his office, a croatoan fighter shot through the distant sky, blazing a light pink vapor trail. From this distance, it looked like the outline of a cruising swallow. The hunter was searching the immediate area for a sighting of Jackson, his bastard, and the traitors from the harvester.

Marek groaned, turning on the couch as Gregor entered his office.

“What time is it?” Marek said.

“Early in the morning. Get washed; we’ve got work to do.”

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 troublemaker 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 attachments 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. Gregor pulled out his gun and moved to the front entrance.

It creaked as he slowly opened it. Igor flinched in bed, rolled to one side, and carried on snoring. Gregor 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?” he 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 in 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’d met.

Gregor 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 set,” 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 rose above the height of the buildings and thrust forward.

It tore over the paddocks at a 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 sprung 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 had 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.

All three bikes lowered simultaneously. Gregor’s came to rest at a slight angle. He hopped off. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

The alien didn’t acknowledge him. It sat silently, looking straight forward.

Marek pulled a map from inside his jacket. “It’s a five-minute walk from here. Follow me.”

Gregor checked his gun and held it up. He followed Marek and Igor into the forest, occasionally pointing his gun at the back of Igor’s head and pulling away. The wet night chill had already left the woodland, and humidity was building. Gregor wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

Sporadic rays of sun seeped through gaps in the trees, highlighting thousands of midges, busily hovering in clusters. Gregor felt an itch and slapped his neck. Igor spun around and faced him.

“Paranoid about something?” Gregor said.

Igor frowned. “Anything could happen out here. I’m staying alert.”

Leading the way, Marek crunched along the forest floor. He crouched by a fallen, rotting tree and checked his laminated map.

“Are we here?” Gregor said.

Marek pointed his gun over the dark brown, lice-infested trunk. “It’s just over there; we’re two-hundred yards away.”

Two people moved in the distant clearing. Gregor gripped Igor’s shoulder. “Get down.”

They observed the area for five minutes, creeping closer from tree to tree until the three were fifty yards away. Two people stood on a former street, heating a large metal pot on a fire.

Rubble was spread around the road, probably from yesterday’s explosion. Not that it mattered. The place was slowly dying. The fifth harvester, once repaired, would put it out of its misery. Gregor remembered watching in awe when he first saw one plow through a small town. Chewing up buildings, gouging out foundations, and spitting them behind in minute pieces mixed with surrounding soils.

“We’ll take them head on. Don’t do anything unless I say,” Gregor said.

Igor spun the wheel of his revolver and clicked it back in place. Marek held his gun in both hands.

Gregor moved from behind the tree and quickly broke from the forest. A man and woman turned, wide-eyed. She dropped a ladle. He attempted to say something, then turned to run.

“Stop right there,” Gregor shouted. “We mean you no harm.”

Both put their hands up. The man shuffled round to face him, his bottom lip quivering on his dirt-smeared face. They were in filthy clothes stained with years of grime. If Augustus had a problem with Gregor’s sweater, he couldn’t have met many of the population. These two were throwbacks from a bygone era, peasant-looking types he’d only seen on period dramas before the shit hit the fan.

Marek moved around the right-hand side, covering the flank. “Are there any others we need to know about?”

“It’s only us. Please, we’ve got nothing,” the woman said.

Igor moved ahead of Gregor, looked into the pot, and pointed down. “Nothing, you say? What’s bubbling away here?”

Gregor clenched his teeth and felt his left eye twitch. He bit his lip to keep the appearance of a team.

“It’s just a simple stew. You can have some,” the woman said.

“Mallard and root. We call it
duck a l’orange
,” the man said. He nervously laughed, abruptly stopping when it was clear that Gregor didn’t find it remotely amusing.

“Give us your supplies, and we’ll go,” Gregor said. “You have time to loot some more. I don’t.”

Igor wrapped his sweater around his hand and grabbed a handle on the side of the pot. “We’ll start by taking this.”

“No,” the woman said. She reached for the other handle. The pot flipped over, and the contents splashed over Igor’s ankles and feet. He jumped back and yelped.

Gregor tried to stifle his laugh. The woman edged backwards.

Igor thrust out his revolver and fired twice into her chest. She collapsed backwards, her right hand flopping onto her chest over the wounds.

The man held out his arms and momentarily froze before kneeling by her side. He clutched her left hand and shook it. “Ellie … Ellie …”

The shots echoed in the distance. Igor picked up a piece of boiled duck by his feet and tossed it into his mouth. Gregor glanced at Marek and nodded.

The man looked up with tears in his eyes. “What have you done? What have you done? This is all we have. You’ve … you’ve killed her.”

Igor stepped forward and fired again. The blood sprayed from the back of the man’s head as the round exited. Igor turned to Gregor. “Whiney pieces of—”

Gregor aimed his weapon at Igor’s face. “Drop it, now.”

Marek quickly moved to Igor’s side and took aim. “He said drop it.”

The revolver twitched in Igor’s hand. He ducked slightly before holding his left palm toward Gregor, crouching, and placing his revolver on the ground. “Steady, old friend. They meant nothing to us.”

Gregor wanted to shoot him. But the years they’d spent together since the invasion had a freezing effect on his trigger finger. “I said don’t do anything unless I said so.”

“She was just a hag,” Igor shrugged. He spat out a piece of duck. “The food tasted like shit anyway.”

“We’ll never know if they had supplies,” Marek said. “We can’t search this whole town. You’ve made this a wasted trip.”

“And you’ve fucked our chances of getting info on Jackson. You’re an idiot,” Gregor said.

Igor smoothed his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. He stared at Gregor with his piercing, light blue eyes. “What’s this really about? She was just a hag, an old witch with a cauldron.”

“What’s going on between you and Augustus?” Gregor said.

“Me and Augustus?” Igor said. He shrugged and pursed his lips.

“I heard you talking to him while I was in the garage,” Marek said.

Igor’s eyes half closed as he shot a glance at Marek. “He’s the one you shouldn’t trust. I wasn’t captured by the little wasp.”