Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

After an hour of relentless trekking, Layla spoke up. “We need a break, guys. We can’t keep this up; we’ll be exhausted.”

She stopped and leaned on her knees. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto her beige cargo pants. They had torn on thorns, and blood beaded in long scratches.

Maria pulled up next her and sat on the ground while she stretched out her calf muscle. Khan extended her leg, bending her foot forward to relieve the cramp. He didn’t look as tired, being used to long extended forays into the woods, but without the root he certainly wasn’t as fresh as Denver and Gregor.

“Okay,” Denver conceded. “You guys take a rest. I’ll scout ahead with Venrick and Gregor. We’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“Update over comms every few minutes,” Khan added, reminding Denver of the alien comm units Mike had given to them.

Before Layla could protest, Denver looked at the alien and nodded before heading off further into the trees.

They passed through a thick canopy of pines.

The sap littered the ground, making their steps sticky and scented as they disturbed the dirt beneath their feet. More than once Denver reached his right arm down to pet his dog only to find his hand dangling in the air.

On excursions like these, Pip made the perfect companion, unlike Gregor and Venrick.

He couldn’t think of a worse pair of travelling partners. What would his dad think? His son allied with a damned alien and Gregor.

These thoughts ran through his head as they came out of a clearing and crested a small grassy hill. Overgrown bushes lined the edge of the trees, making the hill almost perfectly spherical. At the top he looked down and saw it.

Venrick pointed. “Battle there. See pod mark in ground?”

Gregor whistled and put his hands on his hips—clearly his root wasn’t doing as much for him as it was Denver.

Bringing the riflescope to his eye, Denver surveyed the ground below.

A wide expanse of field stretched east to west at least five hundred meters and double that north to south.

Along the sides the tall pines leaned in, their green needles bleeding into the grass and shrubs of the field.

Littered all over the ground were bodies of croatoans and humans—far more of the former than the latter.

The alien bodies were dressed in two distinct styles: those that wore the gray-blue uniforms of the farm-based aliens like Venrick, and then those that wore adapted human dress. Some wore denim while others had suits and track pants and all manner of strangely crafted clothes.

He’d never seen the croatoans fight among themselves like this, and it was clear from the bodies and the video that this other sect was fighting alongside the humans as one group.

“I can see the pod landing spot,” Denver said. “In fact, I see two. With the one Khan found, that makes three. That still leaves another three unaccounted for. Venrick, did you see who or what was in the second pod here?”

With her strange clicking version of English, she said, “No see other pod open.”

“Where were they taken?” Gregor asked as he looked down onto the scene with his hand over his eyes to shield from the low-raking sun on the east side. “The pods are gone too… they must have taken them as well as Charlie and who or whatever was in the other one.”

“I… don’t know,” Venrick clicked and warbled, but then she stepped forward and leaned her turtle-like head forward. Squinting her almost-black eyes, large as crab apples, she stretched out her scaled hand and pointed one of her thick fingers. “There… in sky.”

“What’s that?” Gregor snapped at the alien. “I can’t see anything. What are you playing at?”

“There!” Venrick clicked again.

Denver followed the direction of her arm and finger with his riflescope and zoomed in with the dial on the side, compressing the distance and bringing the background closer.

Above the dark pine green of the tree canopy on the other side of the battleground, he saw faint wisps of smoke curling up into the dawn sky.

It grew thin as it rose up and mixed with the salmon and orange tones of dawn.

These days, without the heavy harvesting, the tint was becoming less pronounced as the weeks went by. Although that was clearly a good thing, it also meant less root for Denver… which also meant he needed Gregor, and that sickened him more than anything.

But perhaps this other group would have stocks if they had a large alien population. The more Denver searched the sky and panned his scopes, the more narrow, swirling columns of smoke he spotted.

The enemy, the pods… Dad! There must be a settlement of some kind over there.

“I see it,” Denver said to Gregor. “Smoke columns. About twenty of them. We should be able to get there within the hour if we move now… shit, wait, what’s that?”

“Hunter,” Venrick said as she stepped back away from the ridge and crouched low to the ground. Gregor and Denver instinctively followed.

Denver recognized this type: it looked similar to the one that had hunted them in Manhattan and followed them to the town hall.

For a brief moment he thought it was the same one, but this one wasn’t wounded and was visibly smaller and wearing an adapted set of army fatigues.

It stepped out of the trees on the far side of the battleground and made its way through the hundreds of bodies, always looking, searching through its visor. It carried a large black rifle very similar to the one Denver carried.

“How many of them patrol this area?” Denver asked Venrick in hushed tones from his prone position.

The alien clicked nonsense in return and blinked a look of confusion.

Holding up his hands and indicating to one finger and then the hunter, he asked again. “More than one?”

“Don’t know. I… stayed not long.”

“Great, so we could be surrounded and we wouldn’t even know until it’s too late. What did I say about trusting these damned things?” Gregor said, getting an intense look from Venrick in response.

“Keep your damned voice down,” Denver whispered. “Here’s the plan. I’ll take out this one; you two flank round through the trees, see if you can spot any other movement. They don’t look like they’re expecting anything by being so out in the open; you’ll likely get the drop on them.”

“Why me?” Gregor said. “You love these aliens so much, you go with it.”

“Her,” Denver said and realized how ridiculous it was that he was defending an alien to Gregor. Clearly the ex-crime lord’s brain wasn’t particularly sharp today.

Denver offered him the perfect opportunity to deal with Venrick.

“Just go with her and deal with the situation in your usual way,” Denver said, giving the other man an obvious wink, knowing the alien wouldn’t likely pick up on it.

Feigning comprehension, Gregor gave Denver a mock salute as he sneered with understanding. “Right you are. I’ll meet you back with the others once we’ve swept round and taken a look. Don’t do anything stupid with that one down there… or do, I don’t really care.”

“I hope you fall into a trap,” Denver said as Gregor and Venrik, still crouching, made their way down the other side of the hill and headed off into the eastern side of the trees.

Gregor flipped him the bird before he disappeared into the forest.

A part of Denver hoped that both of them would kill each other and save him the trouble.

He took out the adapted communicator from his jacket pocket. Mike had done a great job of altering the encryption on these devices.

They had to be careful using the alien tech, as they didn’t want to give away their communications to any croatoans who might be listening in, especially with those from the south posing a threat still.