Cut Off (41 page)

"Stop!" he screamed into the wind. "Hold your fire!"

Tristan drew back from the scope, but the man was alone on the edge of the gully. Beside him, the alien struggled to get its many legs beneath it. The man dropped beside it, reaching for its thorax where Tristan had shot it. His movement wasn't violent or angry. If anything, it was concerned.

Tristan tensed, ready to rise. After landing on the beach, she had followed the alien tracks from the yacht up the gully to the tunnel, found the orange inside, then backed off to put down whatever squirmed out of it. The rightness of this plan had been self-evident.

Up on the hill, the man stood, waving his hands over his head. "Don't shoot! We aren't your enemy!"

Either something was deeply wrong, or she was witnessing the most extreme case of Stockholm Syndrome in the universe. She was situated in the brush not far from the beach, out of reasonable pistol range, but she got no closer. The man bent and helped the alien to its feet. Together, they slogged downhill toward the yacht. Once they were fifty feet from her, Tristan stood.

"Hold it." She aimed her rifle at the man's chest. "Drop your gun and step away from that thing."

The man's eyes blazed. "I advise you to lower that rifle, ma'am."

"Do you want to join your friend?"

"In most things. Do you want to get shorn in half by a laser?" The alien's tentacles flexed around two of the weapons. The man raised his own. "You can drop me, or you can drop him. We both know you won't get that bolt back again before one of us cuts you down."

Wind ruffled her hair and raced through the grass. She kept the rifle steady. "It's already wounded. If I put one in you, and it shoots me, then all three of us die."

The man's face lit with such pure wrath she nearly shot him before he could do the same to her. Teeth clenched, he blinked back his rage, speaking in a voice so soft it was nearly lost in the wind. "There's a second virus, shithead. And we're the only ones who know about it."

Her rifle drooped. "A second virus? What are you talking about?"

"I've already lost one friend trying to knock this place out. Now get the fuck out of my way before I lose another."

She shouldered her rifle. Though there was plenty of room to walk past her, she stepped aside. "Where are you going?"

The man didn't look back as he went by. "My boat."

"You're leaving? What about the virus?"

"First aid kit."

She drifted after them. "That's my canoe down there. I'll row you out."

"How about you do me a bigger favor and leave me alone?"

"That's why they're taking people, isn't it? The orange boxes? They're test subjects."

The man glanced over his shoulder. "How do you know about that?"

"Because I've seen them," Tristan said. "And years ago, they took me, too."

They reached the beach. The man gestured to the alien, who signed back vigorously, two tentacles wound tight around its chest. Yellow fluid gleamed on its carapace, but the blood appeared to be from the initial shot; the thing's tentacles were doing an admirable job as a bandage.

The conversation intensified, hands and claws flashing. The man took a tablet-style computer from the creature, fiddled with its display, and pointed. The thing shook its head, gesturing calmly. The man flung up his hands and turned away, eyes squeezed shut.

"Are we going to the boat?" Tristan said.

"Won't do any good. He's hurt too bad."

"Then what can we do?"

"I don't know. Can you turn back the clock and
not
shoot my best friend?"

"You know that I can't," she said, feeling a pang of annoyance at his whininess. "But I know people here. Maybe one of them can help."

"Any of them do their residency at Rigel General?" The man shook his head and turned to the volcano. "There's only one place they got the equipment to treat an alien. But at this point, the bad guys will have the way in locked down tight."

"There are other ways in."

"Good luck finding one."

"I know two."

The man swung his head her way. "Tell me it's on the east side of the mountain."

"A few miles that way," she said, gesturing northeast up the coast. "What's it matter?"

Resolve cemented his face. "Because they've withdrawn virtually everything to the western tunnels. We come in east, we might be able to get to the surgery uncontested."

"It's a long hike up the tube."

"It's the only chance he's got." The man grinned at his companion. "Anyway, Sebastian's a tough motherfucker."

"Then let's get him in the canoe."

He tipped his head to the side. "I got a yacht right here."

"If you think it'll be faster to rig that thing for sail, then I'll meet you at the tunnel."

The man grumbled a bit, but helped the alien climb inside the outrigger. Once the being was settled across two seats, they pushed the canoe into the water and got underway.

The words felt absurd, yet she needed to say them. "I'm sorry I shot your friend."

Behind her in the boat, the man took a moment to reply. "Know what, I'm surprised it hasn't happened before."

"You're taking this pretty calmly."

"That's because I'm so damn tired that if I raise my voice I might pass out." He slipped his oar through the water. "Are the people on this island worth a damn?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "I only know a few. They seem like good people."

"I don't care if they send Christmas cards and help each other cross the street. Are they worth a damn in a fight?"

"Some. Most of them came here to get away from that."

"If me and Sebastian don't make it, you'll have to lead them."

"If this is about a virus, what's with all the farming? They're growing
coffee
. Past the tunnels, it looks like a botanical garden."

"That's a different leg of the operation."

He proceeded to explain how he and the alien he called Sebastian had been following the trail all the way from China, exposing tendrils of a vast trade network built for the sole purpose of destroying everyone attached to it. It made a wicked kind of sense, but as she was still picking through the implications, he revealed the aliens had already tried to spread the virus earlier that morning—and they would have, if not for a stroke of luck.

"But you're not affiliated with the survivors who destroyed the jet?" she said.

"Whoever they are, they're all the way out in New Jersey or something. Wouldn't recognize one of them if they knocked me down in the street. That's the deal, isn't it? The Swimmers—the aliens—they still got jets, networks, communications. For them, the world's still small; they ain't back in the Middle Ages just yet. The rest of us, though? We don't have the faintest idea what's going on beyond the horizon."

Tristan nodded vaguely, fighting through a sudden patch of swells. "Mighty noble of you to fight a war when the people you save will never know they were in danger."

"I was never too concerned about saving anyone," the man said. "If you want to build statues, start with Sebastian. And his friends who died along the way."

"I have this feeling I've seen you before," Tristan said after a moment. "But I think I would remember if I'd bumped into a guy with an alien sidekick."

Tired though the man who'd introduced himself as Ness claimed to be, he paddled hard. They made good time up the coast. When they arrived, Tristan drove the canoe right up the beach until it crunched into the sand. The alien stood on its own power, walking with the careful stiffness of a creature pained by each motion.

Ness took the tablet from it and used the light to scout the first length of the tube. He returned and exchanged gestures with Sebastian, then turned to Tristan. "We'd like to make the climb without using any light. If one of them happens to be coming our way, we can't afford to let them get the drop on us."

She nodded. "How's he doing?"

"He's not getting any less shot. Let's get a move on."

Before starting up, she stripped a switch from a tree to carry before her in the darkness—it would be obvious enough if she stepped from the spongy path, but she wanted to keep up a good pace, and wasn't keen on bashing her face into a wall if she strayed off course. The tunnel was warm and silent. She soon left all light behind. Ness and the alien scraped along behind her. Even with the switch to wave in front of her, it was beyond unnerving to walk at full speed in pure darkness, but she had no choice. Not if the alien was to live. She didn't blame herself for shooting it—it was an alien, and until that morning, it had been Tristan's experience that the beings were 100% hostile—but having it as a resource would be a tremendous advantage.

Beyond that, she felt touched by Ness' affection for the creature. They had just met, and she felt a certain amount of scorn for her own sentimentality, but she didn't want to be the reason that was taken away from him.

She stiffened her spine, closed her eyes, and let the switch lead the way up the tunnels.

Ness called the first rest after they passed the first fork in the tunnel. She assented and crouched down. She didn't bother to ask how the alien was doing—if it was fine, they wouldn't have to stop. It had done well so far, though, and Ness said he was ready to move not five minutes later.

Tristan breathed shallowly, ears sharp for any sound from ahead. Her sense of time was extremely poor, but they couldn't have been walking for half as long as the first leg when Ness requested the next stop.

"Any idea how much further?" he murmured.

"Tough to say."

"In other words, a long ways."

"Take the time you need," she said. "Is it thirsty?"

"We've got water."

She nodded into the darkness. "One step at a time, right?"

It was some minutes before they were ready to continue. Tristan slowed her pace, but in no time at all, the taps and slaps of the alien's steps were reduced to sloughing. Abruptly, they quit altogether. Light flared behind her. Ness had lit up his tablet and was using its bluish radiance to sign to the alien, which had seated itself on the orange, its limbs poking up like a collapsed tent. Yellow fluid seeped from the tentacles coiled around its chest.

"Everything all right?" she said.

Ness continued his silent conversation, then knelt beside Sebastian. "It's done," he said, voice breaking. "This is as far as he gets."

"What if we helped him walk?"

"What do you think I've been doing?"

She ran her thumb beneath the strap of her rifle, the switch dangling from her other hand. "Can we drag him?"

Ness gestured with the alien, then said, "We can try. He's heavier than he looks."

"We can do this. Tell him to grab my belt."

Ness passed along her message and the alien unrolled a tentacle. She pulled her belt out from her hip and it threaded its limb through. The tentacle was muscular, tongue-like. She repressed a shudder. Ness entwined his arms with the creature's and leaned forward. Tristan bent her legs and strained uphill. The alien was much weightier than she expected, and the rubbery ground resisted every inch they took. They had hardly gotten twenty feet up the tunnel before she and Ness staggered to a stop, chests heaving. He bent forward and planted his palms on his knees, gasping through his clenched teeth.

"Give me the tablet and one of your lasers," she said.

"What for?"

"So I can get inside." She pointed at the ceiling. "I'm going for help."

"Got friends in the alien fortress, do you? Or are you running off before I can think to pay you back for what you've done?"

"You can shoot me and make sure your friend dies here. Or you can trust me and find out if he's got a future."

Ness eyed her, then took a pistol from Sebastian's bandoliers and extended it to her, along with the tablet. "If you run and he dies, I don't give a damn about the virus. I'll be coming straight for you."

"Deal. Now if we're done threatening each other, I've got shit to do."

She turned and ran up the tunnel at the fastest speed she could maintain, the tablet's weak light barely illuminating her next step. Without the wounded alien to slow her, she reached the next fork in a flash and pounded up the spiral ramp. At the top, she pressed her ear against the door, heard nothing, and fired a quick shot into the door. It slumped away from its frame, pouring daylight into the caverns.

The gardens on the other side held nothing more than a welcome breeze. She followed the curve of the perimeter to the room housing the captives and shot open the door. She kicked it to the side and rushed in, pistol ready. Seeing nothing, she swung the door shut and moved down the rows of orange boxes.

The next step hinged on having control from the beginning. Any dissent or cracks in her authority and they would never agree to her commands. She leapt up the side of a box, hauled herself to its top, and moved along the row, counting down. Two boxes past the one that had housed Robi, she fired at the lid and hauled the fleshy material aside. Below, Lewis' pale face blinked up at her.

"Surprise," she said. "I'm here to get you out. There's just one—"

He snarled and grabbed her ankle, yanking her from the ledge. Her butt struck the top edge of the box, jarring her spine; she tumbled down, tucking her chin to her chest to protect her neck. She landed on her back with a heavy but painless thud.

He stomped her wrist, dislodging the pistol she'd hung onto during the fall. "I think it's time we switched places."

She rocked on her back and snapped her heel into his knee. He staggered sideways, taking his foot from her wrist, then kicked his bare toes at her ribs. She tried to roll away and banged into the clammy wall. His foot connected, knocking the breath from her lungs. Between the dimness of the box and the jolt of the fall, she barely saw the heel being driven toward her face. She pulled her head down and to the side and took the kick on her ear instead. She bounced against the wall, pressing herself against it for traction as she popped to her feet. Lewis was already crouched over the pistol. He stood, leveled it at her, and pushed the button.