Gregg Hurwitz - The Rains

I barely had time to turn before Sheriff Blanton lifted me off my feet.

Sheriff Blanton had me by the shoulders in a vise lock. It felt as though he might pulverize my bones, turn them to dust. I kicked and twisted uselessly. Then I slammed my head back into his face. I heard his nose break, but his grip didn’t falter.

I’d lost sight of Alex, and for an instant I thought she’d deserted me.

Then I heard a click.

Sheriff Blanton must have heard it, too, because he turned, still holding me up before him.

Alex stood in a shooting stance just outside the tree hollow. She’d crawled in and fished her dad’s revolver from the backpack. One hip was cocked, her bangs sweeping down across an eye. From my perspective it looked like she was aiming the gun right between my eyes. I could find no air to breathe. She flicked her hair from her face and steadied her aim.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

I felt the heat of the bullet-it couldn’t have passed more than an inch from my cheek-and then there was a wet smack. Sheriff Blanton’s head snapped back. The lock on my shoulders released, and I tumbled to the earth.

He toppled back and lay still.

Smoke drifted up from the revolver. Alex hadn’t moved, not since pulling the trigger.

I shot a quick glance down the hill. Through the branches the compound was visible below-the tilelike slabs hovering above the foundation, the Hosts repairing the damage, the Queen waiting in position at the assembly line’s end for her duties to resume. A few Drone helmets were raised, scanning the hillside.

“Alex,” I said. “Alex. We have to go. The noise of the gunshot. Alex.”

At last she snapped into motion, sticking the revolver in her waistband. I grabbed my baling hooks. When I pulled the backpack on, she whipped her hockey stick free and twirled it expertly in her hands, the familiar little move bringing me relief I hadn’t expected and didn’t fully understand.

We ran.

I can’t tell you how long or how far, but eventually we heard no footsteps or crackling branches behind us. By the time we slowed, we were miles away, past the fork in the road and heading down the steep terrain of Ponderosa Pass.

Alex leaned against a tree and then slid to the ground, clutching her left leg. “I’m sorry. I need to rest. I was in that cage for two days…”

I went back to her and gave her some water. Breathing hard, she sipped and sipped again. Then she lowered the bottle.

“You came for me,” she said.

“I did.”

I reached into the backpack, pulled out the black cowboy hat, and put it on. It made me feel closer to my brother. I felt like it might give me some of his strength, too.

Alex studied me, the hat. “Patrick,” she said. “Is he…?”

I realized she was taken before we’d returned from the hospital. “He’s okay. We got the oxygen tanks. He’s waiting for you.”

She tilted her head to the tree trunk and pointed her face at the sky, her eyes closed. “Thank God. And thank God for you.” When she opened her eyes, the relief was gone. “Chance, they were gonna implant me. Use my body as a shell.”

I’d never seen her look so young and lost, not even after her mom up and moved away.

“Why are they doing it?” she asked.

The sun worked through the pine needles, making the back of my neck tingle. I pictured those space suits that sealed up the Queen and the Drones from head to toe. Not an inch of exposed flesh.

“Maybe they can’t breathe on Earth or handle the environment here,” I said. “So they need to birth a new generation that can.”

She gave a faint nod, her eyes glazed. “Like there were two generations of Hosts. First the ones like Hank McCafferty who infected everyone else. Then the Mappers and Chasers.”

“Their plan keeps evolving step by step.”

“And they used our parents-my dad-to help. The people who are supposed to take care of us.” Her voice trembled. “They’re trying to live through us. Turn us into something else.” Anger burned in her green eyes. “Turn us into them.”

“Your dad,” I said. “Alex, listen-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, standing up brusquely.

Even though she was limping, she kept pace by my side as we headed down the pass. It was gonna be a long, hard way to the bottom. After a while we fell into a trance. We came around a bulge of granite, and I heard footsteps crunching fallen leaves up ahead. I stopped and pulled Alex behind a tree trunk. My chest pressed into her shoulders, her head drawn back so our cheeks touched. She started to protest, but I put a hand gently over her mouth. We waited.

A moment later a Mapper emerged from the brush and headed right for us. Alex’s body tensed against mine, but I held her firmly, willing her not to move. I was watching the angle of the Mapper’s eyeholes, a trick I’d picked up in the cemetery, and they were pointed a foot to the side of us. Sure enough, he passed by, his shoulder brushing against the bark inches from Alex’s face.

Once he’d disappeared into the foliage, I released her. When she turned to me, her look held something different in it, though I couldn’t say what.

“We should find somewhere to hide until night,” I said. “Traveling in daylight’s too risky.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I think we’ve pushed our luck enough today.” She raised her arm, pointed past my cheek. “How ’bout there?”

I turned, seeing nothing at first. Then it came into view. A cabin a half mile away, obstructed by trees.

We headed for it. As we neared, it emerged from the forest. Aside from a small barn a stone’s throw away and a generator shed covered with solar panels, there was nothing man-made in sight.

We circled the cabin once, peering through the windows, and paused at the front door. Alex raised her hockey stick, and I firmed my grip on the handles of the baling hooks.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” I said.

She busted in, and we turned, back to back, scanning the place.

No Hosts.

Truth be told, it was sort of cozy. Queen-size bed with a quilt, potbellied stove, kitchenette. A gun cabinet against the wall showed off a hunting rifle and several boxes of rounds. A framed photograph on the side table captured a couple in their sixties sitting at a poolside table somewhere, his arm around her shoulder. Behind them a tropical sun glowed through scattered clouds.

Alex sagged to the bed.

I dumped the backpack from my shoulder and dug through it, tossing her an energy bar. She caught it in front of her face.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m starving.”

Shoving a browning apple into my mouth, I moved over to the gun cabinet and tugged open the glass door. I pulled out the rifle. It was a basic Ruger M77 Hawkeye.308. In my hands it felt like home. It was too big to carry back with us, but I loaded it and leaned it into its slot. Even if we were only staying until sundown, I liked knowing that it was there.

When I glanced at Alex, she was turning the bar over in her hands, looking at it but not peeling the wrapper.

She spoke slowly. “You saw that solar-powered generator outside, right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said around the apple.

She rose and crossed to the refrigerator. When she opened the freezer door, cool air wafted out. Inside, frozen cuts of venison and elk.

“Maybe we can live like humans again,” she said. “At least for a few hours.”

She lifted a finger and swiped it across my cheek, her print coming away dark with grime. “Shower off. You’re filthy.”

“But-”

“I have a hockey stick, a revolver, a hunting rifle, and I just shot my own dad through the head. So I think I’ll be able to protect us for a few minutes while you clean up.”