Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

Although the northern territory farms were devoid of aliens, most of them now dead on the field, the southern farms and those on other continents were still just getting the news of everything that had happened over the last month and were fighting with the aliens in their own way.

Layla helped forward messages to those farms that came online using the inter-facility messaging system that Augustus used from the mother ship. Without the central server, it had taken weeks to hack the system to work on a peer-to-peer basis, but every day they reached more and more facilities, and day by day the humans turned on the aliens, reclaiming the planet once more.

Switching the communicator on with a small thumb button inset into the alien polymer, he brought it up to his ear. “Layla, this is Den. You hear me?”

A few seconds passed, and with zero static, Layla’s voice came to him. “I hear you loud and clear, Den. What’s going on? You find anything?”

Denver filled her in on the situation.

“I’ll bring back a gift. Hold tight, I’ll be there shortly.”

He didn’t expand on it as he clicked the communicator off. Edging forward on his elbows and sighting through the scope, he watched the alien continue to stalk through the field. Occasionally it got distracted by something on a body and stopped to investigate.

This was not the behavior of a trained and lethal hunter.

Bracing the rifle against his shoulder and using a molehill to support the barrel, he waited for the alien to stop and stoop once more before pulling the trigger.

The shot caught the alien in the knee, bending its leg backwards and making it sprawl forward.

It dropped its rifle and clutched its bleeding leg.

The shot, silenced and suppressed with alien technology, made almost no noise. The downed alien looked around in all directions to see where the attack had come from, while letting out a clipped screech.

Definitely not a trained hunter, Denver thought as he crested the hill and in a crouching run, keeping to the side where the trees cast their shadows, headed toward his quarry, rifle up ready to fire if needed.

But he wanted this one alive.

Gregor let Venrick take the lead.

She’d been easy to convince to take point as they slowly made their way through the trees on the eastern side of the field. He really wanted to stop for another shot of root.

The long journey had meant the last dose was already wearing off. He would have preferred to be freshly rooted for this, but he had learned you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and you don’t trust Greeks bearing gifts.

Neither do you let a croatoan walk behind you.

That was Venrick’s mistake. She loped forward, peering into the darkness with her superior eyesight, looking out for more scouts or guards. She had a soft throaty click that at times sounded almost musical.

He supposed it was their version of whistling.

Gregor stepped over a downed log and surprised himself by almost standing on a snake. It was nothing more than a glorified grass snake. Its green head looked up at him, its tongue briefly tasting the air, and deciding it didn’t like the taste of him or the alien, it slithered off into the shadows of the rotting log.

Birds tweeted up in the canopy, warning others about Gregor and the alien as they continued to stalk through the woods.

They eventually came to a bank with a fast-flowing brook. Large boulders provided a way across, but when Venrick stopped and turned to say something to Gregor, he was already lunging forward, knife in hand.

He collided with the alien, sending her collapsing to the bank’s edge.

With a heavy cut he severed her breathing tubes and rolled off while she struggled and gasped for air. Her large hands struggled to deal with the intricate task of rejoining the cut air tubes.

She rolled onto her front so that she could reach to the tanks behind.

Gregor lunged again, driving his knee into the hard scaly area of her lower back. He knew from his ‘experiments’ on the farm that this area protected an important organ of theirs. One he didn’t fully understand the function of, but knew that if it were struck, it would send them into a brief paralysis as some nerve was trapped or overloaded.

Stuck on her front and screeching and clicking, Gregor drove the knife into the back of her neck.

It took three attempts to fully pierce the tough hide, but the last thrust did the job. Severing the brain stem, her body twitched twice before becoming completely still.

Gregor unhooked the two tanks of root-enriched air and strapped them to his back. He pushed her heavy body into the brook and watched as she floated away, banging into rocks and eventually floating out of sight, leaving a trail of blood to dissolve into the water.

“One down,” Gregor said as he cleaned his knife and prepared another shot of root before he headed back.

Charlie caressed his aching wrists. The effects of the root had worn off, his only dose in a month. His knees creaked as he crouched, and he winced after stretching his left arm, feeling a twinge in his elbow. Payback time for his body after all those active years, and cheating his age, assisted by the alien plant.

The heavy ludus gate creaked open. Raised voices echoed down the passage. Charlie moved gingerly to the cell door and looked through its small barred window out into the sunlit courtyard. Aimee and an armed, helmetless croatoan dressed in blue cotton trousers and shirt stood in the center, facing one of Augustus’ guards.

She prodded her finger into the guard’s chest. “You will take me to them, immediately. I give the orders in Unity.”

“But Augustus said I wasn’t to let—”

Aimee gestured to her croatoan sidekick. It raised its rifle. The guard fumbled on his belt and produced a ring of keys. He turned toward Charlie’s cell.

Charlie dove down and rubbed his hand across the dirt surface, erasing markings that he and Baliska had been using as a way of communication. He glanced at the large alien, who turned away. Both prisoners had come to a basic understanding. They shared a common enemy for now: Augustus.

A key clattered in the lock and the cell door swung open. Aimee stood in the gap, peering down with a neutral expression. Her green dress looked faded and tatty on closer inspection. A rifle pointed over her shoulder in the direction of Charlie’s face.

“Augustus told me that you two have previously met. I’m surprised you haven’t torn each other apart,” she said.

“What would be the point of that?” Charlie said. “My enemy’s enemy is my friend. I don’t suppose that job offer’s still open?”

Charlie didn’t expect any favors from Aimee after killing her champion, but she was clearly here for something. He’d grasp any opportunity that meant getting out of Augustus’ clutches and escaping this damned prison.

“You’re a dangerous man, Charlie Jackson. Augustus was right to call you a doom bringer.”

Aimee glanced around the quiet courtyard and stepped inside the cell—close enough for Charlie to attack. The croatoan guard remained out of striking distance, its weapon trained.

“I’m surprised Augustus allows visitors,” Charlie said.

The two aliens started to have a ticking conversation. Aimee knelt opposite him. “Augustus doesn’t know I’m here. He’s been summoned to chamber and will be tied up all morning. Unity holds its weekly committee meetings today. It’s his first one since he decided to live here permanently.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because of you, the wheels have been set in motion to destroy our planet. Did you think about the consequences when you brought down those ships?”