Rush (18 page)

I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG I SLEPT CRADLED IN JACKSON’S arms. I only know that when I wake up, I feel much better than when I fell asleep, and Jackson is back to his usual self. He walks. I follow. I try to ask him more questions about the Drau and our ancestors, about the game. But I guess he’s used up all his words for the day.

I remember the way he cupped my cheeks and leaned close, his mouth a breath from mine. I can’t believe that for a second I actually wanted to kiss him. I’m back to wanting to punch him. Hard.

Eventually we see Luka and Tyrone coming toward us.

“We hit three of them in the tunnels, and then Tyrone’s con led us back to you,” Luka says after I tell them about our Drau encounter.

“Huh. Seems like there should have been more of them.”

“I don’t trust the lack of defense,” Tyrone mutters.

Neither do I.

“Maybe they figure they don’t need much security because they can’t imagine anyone being able to find this place,” Luka offers, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

I shake my head. “Even if that’s so, it was still too easy. Plus, I thought that they can sense us when we’re dropped in, even if they can’t precisely pinpoint our location.”

I glance at Jackson for confirmation and he says, “True enough.”

“Back to being all chatty-chat,” I mutter, stealing Tyrone’s description.

Tyrone snorts. Jackson says nothing.

“The Drau . . . ,” Luka prods.

“The ones we encountered didn’t even seem like they were trained properly,” I muse as I think back on the two Jackson and I came up against. “They almost seemed like new recruits.” I glance at Jackson again, waiting for him to throw his opinion out there, but he seems content just to listen. No . . . more than content; I have the feeling he wants me to reason this out on my own. But . . . why?

“Does it matter?” Jackson asks, and for a second, I think he’s answering my silent questions. Then I realize he’s referring to the Drau level of training. He glances at his con. “Move out,” he says, and heads off down the tunnel, Tyrone behind him.

The tunnel’s just wide enough for two, and Luka falls into step beside me.

“They were like new recruits?” he asks, picking up where I left off. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, remember in Vegas . . . I thought the Drau were so fast, and I asked about that because you guys said they’re slower at night?”

“Yeah . . .”

“You said that
was
slow for them. But the Drau we went up against here were really slow in comparison. It just seems . . . off.”

“Maybe because we’re in these caves and it’s way dark down here. Maybe that slowed them down.”

“Maybe. But then why would they set up a facility here if it slows them down and makes it hard to defend?” I’m not convinced. “I feel like it’s more than that. There’s too few of them, and they don’t seem well trained. It’s like the place is almost deserted and all that’s been left behind to guard it is a disposable group.”

I take a few quick steps and catch up to Jackson. “If you know something, now would be a good time to share.”

“Know something?” He doesn’t even glance at me, just keeps walking.

“Why did they set up here?”

“Can’t say for certain, but my guess is that it’s isolated, no chance for humans to stumble on them since these caves aren’t on the spelunker radar, and because the space is large enough for what they have in mind.”

“So why’s the security so light?”

He shrugs.

I grab his arm and stop walking, which in turn makes him stop walking. Actually, no. I can’t
make
him do anything. He let me drag him to a stop, so maybe he’s willing to offer up a few answers. With him, it’s hard to know for sure.

“Are we walking into an ambush?”

“No,” he says, then turns his head toward Luka and Tyrone. “It’s like the situation in Arizona.”

They both nod. I’m the only one in the dark.

“Situation in Arizona?” I look back and forth between them, and they look at Jackson.

His mouth tenses, and after a few seconds he says, “It’s easier to believe if you see it.” His tone is flat.

I figure he’ll just stalk off like he usually does. Instead, he stands there for a long minute, and then he stalks off. Which makes me give a dark huff of laughter.

“Predictable,” I call after him softly.

He doesn’t give the slightest indication that he’s heard. But after a few steps his voice carries back to me. “And proud of it.”

Tyrone follows, with Luka and me taking the rear again.

“Tell me about Arizona.”

“It was a poorly guarded facility. The Drau left only a skeleton staff because they clearly weren’t expecting us to hit. They thought they were too well concealed. We were in and out pretty quick.”

His explanation makes me nervous, not because of what he said, but what he didn’t say. There’s something in his tone that tells me Arizona wasn’t quite as easy as he’s making it sound. His expression is closed, his fists clenched. Whatever happened in Arizona, Luka didn’t like it.

“And you don’t think they’ll have learned from that? You don’t think this might be a trap?” I ask.

“No,” Tyrone says, surprising me with how certain he sounds. “One weird thing about the Drau . . . they don’t seem to learn from their mistakes. It’s as if one group doesn’t communicate with the others very well.”

“They don’t,” Jackson says, stopping and turning to face us. “The Drau are violent. Predatory. Think of a pride of lions with rage issues. They have a degree of community within the pride, but they fight with rivals. It’s a predator thing. The Drau are like that, and it’s one of the few things working in our favor. Whatever organization they have in regard to attack, there’s infighting and aggression within their ranks. Groups are only loosely affiliated, and half the time they’ll as soon kill each other as work together. They’re poor communicators, and the right hand doesn’t always know what the left hand is doing.”

I consider—and decide against—pointing out that he’s not exactly the king of communication either. Instead, I ask, “If they’re so bad at communication and organization, how have they managed to conquer so many worlds?”

“Tenacity, brutality, viciousness, and sheer numbers,” Jackson says, his tone hard and ugly.

Last word, as usual.

We walk on, and after a bit Luka says, “I think their predatory nature must make them competitive to an astronomical degree.”

“Makes sense.” Tyrone glances back. “And that would just drive them to conquer more and more worlds, even if they aren’t exactly working together.”

“Like the space race,” I say. They all look at me. Even Jackson stops and waits to hear what else I have to say. I’m more than surprised. It isn’t like I’ve offered up anything brilliant. Maybe they don’t know what I’m talking about. “The space race in the 1950s. You know . . . the Soviets launched Sputnik, and that drove the race to the moon. . . .”

“Are you saying the Drau are like humans?” Jackson asks, and there’s something in his voice that makes me think my answer is enormously important.

“I don’t know. I don’t know much about the Drau.” I give him a look that says,
And whose fault is that?
“I think some people are predatory. Some people are competitive.” I pause. “And some people are just secretive, uninformative, reticent—”

“—assholes,” Jackson finishes for me with a tight smile. “Got it. Let’s go.” He heads off down the tunnel.

Tyrone’s brows shoot up. Luka looks back and forth between Jackson and me, his jaw slack. I shrug and start walking. I can’t explain Jackson’s actions any better than they can, and trying to figure him out just makes my brain hurt. On the one hand, I feel like he’s trying to let me get to know him a little. On the other, I feel like he’s put up this solid metal wall between us that even a tank couldn’t break through.

Tyrone moves ahead, with Luka and me bringing up the rear.

“Luka, what happens to the Drau after we fire our weapons? I mean, they’re there and then they’re gone, and I have this horrible thought that it’s like the amoebas we learned about in bio. That the Drau get engulfed and digested by the black stuff.”

He glances at me, his expression somber. “I’m sorry, Miki. I don’t know what happens to them. But I’ve had similar thoughts to yours.” He pauses, looking faintly ill. “So I try not to think about it.”

Before I can say anything else, Jackson holds up a hand to halt our progress. “Weapons.”

I pull mine out, my adrenaline rush so forceful it actually makes my head spin. I would have thought it would start to get easier. But it doesn’t; it isn’t. I’m still terrified. Jackson grabs my arm and hauls me back so we’re side by side against the tunnel’s wall. Tyrone and Luka fall back on the opposite side. My entire body feels like it’s a spring compressed until it’s ready to explode. We wait in tense silence, each second an eternity.

I get this weird feeling in my gut, telling me to close my eyes a millisecond before Jackson orders, “Close your eyes.”

The light that explodes in front of me is so bright it pierces my closed lids and feels like it’s burning clear through my eyelids and pupils to my retinas.

My gut clenches and I’m already dropping to the ground when Jackson barks, “Down.” His hand is on my shoulder, a light pressure silently telling me to stay down.

“Now,” Jackson says.

Cracking my lids, I squint and see the shapes of two aliens coming at me from far down the now-bright tunnel. They’re fast and fluid, bright white, their skin like glass, their features almost human. Jackson’s already on his feet, in front of me and a little to my right. I come up on my knees and aim. Inhale. On the exhale, I force my will into the cylinder and feel gratified when it releases its greasy, powerful surge.

But life’s not that easy. The two aliens veer apart, and my shot misses completely. They’re faster than the last two. Not so easy to take down.

Luka said there were sentinels, specialists, leaders, commanders. What are these? What were the ones we encountered earlier? How can I tell?

I push to my feet, familiar kendo patterns taking hold.
Okuri-ashi
: basic stance.
Zenshin kotai
: forward backward.
Hiraki-ashi
: pivot. I need to make sure I’m not where I was a second ago, because if I am, their shots will get me. I’m quick and sure as I evade them because I’ve defended myself in practice and competition so many times I don’t even need to think. Terror only makes me faster.

Two more come at us, and from an offshoot tunnel, at least three more. I lose count. All I know is pivot, aim, shoot. The metal of my weapon cylinder is icy cold in my hand. My arm jerks from each recoil, but I force it to hold steady. Kendo’s trained me to bear up under the strain. There’s no time to think, to plan. There’s only me, or them.

I don’t look in their eyes. But that doesn’t keep me safe from their weapons. More than once, I feel the acid burn of thousands of needle points of light digging deep. I drop, roll, fire, evade, push to my feet and fire again. I don’t allow myself to process my fear. I just move. But on some level, I sense something off. They’re definitely faster than the two we encountered earlier, more organized in their attack, but still not as quick as the Drau we encountered in Vegas.

Tyrone gets one. I think Luka gets another. I spin, and there’s one directly in front of me. My instincts scream for me to retreat. I force myself to go on the attack, and all the while, I keep telling myself not to look at its eyes. I shoot. I score. The thing makes a sound, high and eerie. My head jerks up, and for a split second, I
do
look in its eyes, mercury gray, swirling like storm clouds around long, slitted pupils. Terrifying. Deadly. Beautiful.

A predator’s eyes.

Do I see fear mirrored there? Pain?

Doubts wing at me like a colony of bats. What if this is all wrong? How do I know these aliens are evil? How do I know I’m justified in taking their lives? Yes, they’ve attacked us every time, but we were the ones who invaded their turf. What if they’re like the dudes in that old show
Star Trek
who just want to observe life on other planets?

But if that’s the case, why attack us? Why not just try to communicate somehow?

I have no chance to know because the alien’s gone, sucked into the black oblivion that spews from my weapon.

Panting, shaking, I look around. Jackson’s watching me, his expression unreadable, his weapon pointing at the spot where the alien was standing only a moment ago.

“Watching my back?” I ask.

“I need you safe,” he says.

Unexpected words spoken in an indecipherable tone. He needs me safe because I’m part of his team, or he needs me safe because I mean something to him? Given the way he’s always insisting there is no team, it’s every man for himself, I have a hard time picking option one. But going with option two means asking myself why I want to mean something to him, and thinking about things that I just can’t face right now.

“Don’t feel pity for it. Don’t feel anything,” he says, his tone rough, angry. “Trust me, it wouldn’t feel pity or empathy for you.”

“How do you know that? How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Because I thought the same things when I was fresh and naive. Give them the chance, and they will kill you. If they happen to be hungry, they’ll eat you alive. They like their prey fresh and bloody.” He yanks up the left sleeve of his running shirt, all the way to the shoulder. The scars there are horrible. It looks like chunks of Jackson’s flesh were torn clean off the upper part of his arm, then tossed back in place by a careless hand.

I gasp and rear back, remembering the Drau in Vegas and how it bared its jagged teeth.

“But we heal. When we go back, we heal.”

“Do we now?” Jackson asks, whisper soft. “This didn’t happen in the game.”

I think that might be the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard, the fact that the Drau aren’t confined to this alternate reality, the fact that somehow one got at Jackson in the real world and savaged him. At the park, he told me they could be listening. But I thought he just meant through satellites, not that they really might be there, close enough to touch. Close enough to hurt us.