Critical Dawn (21 page)

Crashing through the ferns, Gregor led Marek and Ben along the riverbank. Speed was of the essence. They had to get to the bikes before any more patrols arrived. The aliens had clearly been ordered to kill them and leave them out in the forest.

Ten years of loyal service down the drain.

Gregor wanted Augustus’s mangled face under his boot.

Igor had approached the shelter from the opposite direction. His croatoan rider wouldn’t be too far away but would wait until it received further orders.

Gregor reached the bikes and rested on the closest one to the river. Marek and Ben stood in front of him, both with hands on their knees.

“You’re serious about using these?” Marek said.

“I’m not leaving Layla, Alex, and Vlad to the mercy of those bastards,” Gregor said. “Three of us, three of them. We take the bikes.”

Ben mopped sweat from his brow and looked over the controls. “They look familiar to what I used in the harvester. Have you ridden one before?”

“It’s easy. We used to have a bike for our team,” Marek said. “Until Igor crashed it. After that, we had to request a ride. They’ve been pretty good about it up until now.”

Gregor grunted. “Sit. I’ll show you.”

Ben jumped on the bike and pointed down. “I know that button switches on the engine.”

“That’s right,” Gregor said. He patted each part, explaining, “You push the handlebars forward to rise, back to lower. Twist the right handle to speed up, let go to slow down. The left to hover. Don’t turn them at the same time. Nice and easy.”

“You do know left from right?” Marek said.

Ben frowned. “Of course I do. What about landing?”

“Twist the left and pull the handlebars back. Not too fast.”

Croatoans loved tracking everything. The blue beads in humans, harvester locations, land conversion. Gregor rubbed his chin and looked at the bikes. He leaned over Ben’s controls and ripped the tablet from its fastening and passed it to Marek.

“Good idea,” Marek said and unclipped the other two from the bikes. He spread the tablets around a bush a few yards apart.

Ben’s engine hummed into life. “Where are we going first?”

“Follow me,” Gregor said. “We’ll set down at the landing strip; it’s got partial cover. We’ll round up the others, deal with the threat, and get the hell out of here.”

“To where?” Marek said.

Gregor mounted his bike and slung the AR-15 over his shoulder. “I’ll think about it on the way. Maybe to a city. They tend to avoid those places.”

“It’s dangerous. They’ll see us turn up without the riders. For all we know, the others are already dead.”

“The next shuttle run isn’t for a few hours. Without the pulse cannon, we’re dealing with the surveyors, which a child could kill, and a few jumped-up security guards. If we faced a squad of croatoan soldiers, I’d agree with you.”

“I’ve known you for too long, Gregor. You’re going kill the aliens.”

Gregor smiled and started his engine. “Every fucking last one of them. Augustus is going to regret the day he ordered our execution.”

Ben looked back. “What if the shit hits the fan as soon as we arrive?”

“We split and come up with something else.”

Marek mounted the final bike and started the engine. He shouted above the humming engines, “If we take out the farm, they’ll come after us.”

“There’s thousands of these farms around the world. They won’t care about one.”

***

The bike maintained a steady pace, smoothly powering toward the distant farm buildings. Gregor stood at the handlebars once he was comfortable with the balance of the bike. Wind rushed through his greasy brown hair.

He guessed they were traveling at half the bike’s maximum speed. A sensible pace considering Ben nearly fell off his after a shaky take-off, and both he and Marek were out of practice, although the controls came back easily, like riding a bicycle.

Gregor didn’t feel an urge to punch someone or something. Instead, he felt butterflies of excitement in his stomach and as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Back to gangster Gregor, answering to no man, liberated.

A mile from the farm, he slowed down and descended to a few feet above the canopy. Marek and Ben joined him on either side. The bikes slapped occasional branches, but it took a lot more than that to down one.

The lack of a patrol in the air was a good sign.

Perhaps the alarm hadn’t been raised just yet.

Gregor hovered momentarily over the landing strip, ensuring the vehicle was steady before lowering down, bumping against the ground with a little less grace than a croatoan rider. Marek and Ben quickly followed.

Nothing moved in the immediate area apart from trees rustling in the breeze.

Gregor raised the AR-15 and nodded toward his office. He had a few weapons stashed in his bedroom. Nothing as good as the rifle, but ammo was limited. Anything they could get their hands on would do.

He dashed across the strip in a crouching run. Straight for the tree line. Marek and Ben had their guns drawn, covering each flank.

Pausing behind a thick old oak, Gregor dropped to one knee and observed his office through the last line of trees.

Marek ducked by his side. “What are you waiting for?”

“We don’t want to run straight into a trap. They’re not the toughest croatoans, but they’re not stupid.”

Something moved in Gregor’s peripheral vision.

He swung his rifle left.

Layla stepped out of her trailer with a small pack on her left shoulder.

Gregor whistled, trying to sound like a bird, hoping to attract her attention. She crept toward the forest in the opposite direction.

To sound more distinctive, but not to croatoans, he decided to whistle a tune. For some reason, “Happy Birthday” was the first thing that came into his head.

Layla paused. Turned. She squinted in their direction. Marek waved his arms above his head. Layla took a few steps closer.

“Layla. Layla, it’s us,” Marek said.

His words seemed to give her focus. She leapt into the trees and ran for their location, her panic-stricken face quickly appearing through the gloom.

She knelt between Marek and Gregor. “Jesus. I thought you guys were dead.”

“Why would you think that?” Gregor said.

“Augustus summoned me for a chat. He said you were being terminated.”

“He was here?”

“No. It was on-screen. He wanted to know who was in the chocolate factory this morning. Said they’re going to receive his justice. Igor saw me. He’s with Augustus. I need to—”

Gregor put his hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. You don’t need to worry about Igor. He’s the one that’s been
terminated
.”

“You killed him?”

“He used Ben to try and double-cross us. I did what I had to do.”

Ben began to speak. Gregor held up his hand.

“And then our riders tried to kill us,” Marek said. He pointed back through the woods. “We came back on their hover-bikes. Set them down on the shuttle landing strip.”

Layla rubbed her hand though her hair and puffed her cheeks.

Gregor saw clothing stuffed into her backpack. He nodded toward it. “You were making a run for it?”

She sighed. “What did you expect? We’re not surviving on the farm. We’re creating our own deaths. Mine was just around the corner as soon as Augustus worked out it was me who messed with their computers. I thought you were already dead.”

“So we’re all officially unemployed,” Marek said. “Did you get any info on your theory?”

“It’s not a theory. It’s happening. I just can’t work out how they’ll achieve it in the short-term.”

“So we’ve got time?” Gregor said.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Igor mentioned something about another ship coming to complete the process,” Marek said.

Layla’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. That has to be it. Did he say anything else?”

Gregor looked away, sweeping the immediate area through the rifle sights. Still quiet. Igor’s driver hadn’t returned. They would’ve seen the bike. “Let’s get to more immediate business and talk about this later. We’re getting Vlad and Alex out and leaving. We’ll find a quiet area to regroup, somewhere inconspicuous.”

“What’s the plan?” Ben said.

He tapped the AR-15. “This is the plan.”

“Seriously?”

Gregor cleared leaves and weeds away from the ground with his boot. He picked up a small stick and drew a rough layout of the farm. “Gather round and listen up. This is how we’re going to do this.”

“Seriously, Gregor. Igor’s info, it’s …” Layla said.

Gregor pointed the stick down. “Marek will go through the back window of my office, retrieve guns and ammo from my drawers. I’ll provide cover and keep watch. While you’re in there, Marek, check through the front blind to see if the coast is clear to the chocolate factory.”

Marek nodded. “No problem.”

“We’ll head to the main square. Shoot the barracks windows through; choke the bastards who haven’t got a helmet on. Any alien that comes out is a dead alien.”

“What about us?” Ben said.

“You and Layla move around the other side of the chocolate factory in a right-flanking maneuver to provide covering fire. The surveyors, mechanics, and meat-processing ones are armed. Shoot any that leave their buildings.”

“This sounds like a kamikaze mission. There must be an easier way,” Layla said.

Gregor shook his head. “I thought about it on the way over. If we give them a chance to get armed and organized, we’re done. We take them while they’re not expecting it. There’s not that many croatoans here.”

“Three from today. Igor’s rider and the ones Jackson killed yesterday must leave around six of the bigger croatoans. Unless the shuttle brought replacements this morning?” Marek said.

“Not that I saw,” Layla said.

“The little croatoans are cowards,” Gregor said. “They’ll hide until more of their big boys show up. We do it now or leave Alex and Vlad. Show of hands for who wants to leave them.”

Gregor looked around the group. Nobody moved or said a word.

Three metallic snaps pierced the air in quick succession. Dirt burst from the ground just in front of Gregor.

Gregor dived for cover. Placed his back against a tree. Glanced around it.

Six croatoans were advancing around his office. Three on each side.

Layla’s trailer exploded into flames.

Three croatoans on the right of the office fired again. An alien projectile whistled past Gregor and slammed into a tree behind him.

The odds were stacked against them. The croatoans must have worked out what happened at the shelter. Without the extra weapons and element of surprise, they only had one option. He didn’t like it, but they might just live to fight another day.

“Run for the bikes,” Gregor shouted.

***

Gregor let off four rounds in the aliens’ direction. They scattered for cover.

Layla dropped her backpack and sprinted away.

“Get moving. Now,” Gregor said.

Ben seemed to freeze. He crouched behind a tree, breathing heavily, holding the revolver up in both hands. Marek grabbed him by the collar and yanked him away.

They stumbled to the clearing, weaving between trees. Gregor followed, occasionally turning and firing in the direction of the office.

Branches snapped, and dirt and leaves flew from the ground as the croatoans fired through the woodland.

On open ground, the group would have been cut to pieces. Gregor doubted the aliens intended to stun them and use them for livestock.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing next to the others, turned, and shouldered his rifle. “Get the bikes started. We’re going north. I’ll cover.”

Shots ricocheted around the trees, but there was no sign of an alien advance. Gregor returned fire until he emptied the magazine. He replaced it with one that Marek had given him earlier.

Behind him, three hover-bike engines started to collectively hum.

Gregor turned to see two already rising. Marek and Ben. Layla looked back at him, frantically gesturing him over.

He fired twice more, spun around, and sprinted.

Layla clutched the handlebars. “Come on. Get on.”

“I’ll fly it—”

“Just get the fuck on, Gregor. We haven’t got time to debate it.”

Without thinking further, he grabbed the rear handle and swung himself onto the back seat, keeping his rifle in his right hand. “Go, go, go.”

They thrust vertically into the sky, faster than he’d ever experienced. Gregor clung on tightly with his left hand and squeezed his legs against the seat as if riding a wild horse. He jerked into Layla as she twisted the right handle grip.

The bike quickly progressed to a rapid speed, moaning loudly, bouncing slightly, like taking a powerboat over a lake. Something Gregor used to do in the good old days when entertaining overseas clients, organizing drug deals.

He was impressed with how Layla controlled the beast. They passed the other two bikes in a matter of seconds and cut north through the headwind.

Looking back toward camp, four small dots rose above the main square. Gregor leaned forward. “They’re coming after us.”

Layla reinforced her hands against the bars. There was no detectable speed increase.

Marek and Ben had upped their pace after Layla passed. Gregor signaled to both, pointing to the camp and raising four fingers.

Shuffling around on the seat like a clumsy pommel horse gymnast, he faced backwards. The croatoans closed in, flying in an extended line formation at least a mile behind.

Gregor bent back until his head brushed Layla. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”

She turned momentarily. “What? I can’t hear you.”

“They’re catching up. Can you get more out it?”

“Hang on,” she said.

Gregor slung the rifle and grabbed both handles. The bike banked left and swooped down to a few feet above the trees.

The tactic was safe at a cruise. At this speed, it was dangerous. The reaction time to avoid less obvious things like old overhead power lines or stray lampposts was minimal. He understood her thinking. At least two aliens had crashed at low levels when they were based in Florida.

Ben and Marek followed, plunging down behind them.

Gregor didn’t hear the sound of the alien weapons first. Tiny projectiles hissed past the bike.

One clanked against the rear housing.

He reached over Layla’s shoulder and pointed down. The aliens were faster, and their only protection was his rifle. They were sitting ducks in the sky for the advancing pursuers.

Two more projectiles whizzed past, between the bikes.

Gregor returned fire, trying to take aimed shots. The bump of the bike made it impossible. Something flashed to his immediate left, followed by a metallic rattling sound. He glanced across.

Marek’s bike must have taken a hit in a key area. A jet of red gas sprayed from the side. It began to arc downward. Gregor’s lifelong friend slumped against the handlebars, right arm limply hanging by his side.