Darren Wearmouth - Critical Dawn

Gregor twisted around to face him. “Did you see where Alex and Vlad went?”

Denver looked into the distance. “Dead. Aliens must have got them early.”

“If I find their bodies with wounds inflicted by your rifle, I’ll rip off your arm, ram it through your head, and ride you around like a croatoan hover-bike. Do you understand?”

The thought of Denver enacting swift revenge on Gregor’s team as soon as he had the opportunity sent a shiver down Layla’s spine. Although not completely implausible, his story for Alex and Vlad’s end didn’t seem to fit with how the aliens on the farm operated. They would’ve assumed that both were still part of the team.

“Cut the empty threats,” Denver said. “We still need to clear these buildings”

“I’ll take the chocolate factory with Maria. You take the breeding lab with Layla.”

“Can’t I go with Denver?” Maria said.

“No. This isn’t a family game,” Gregor said, asserting his control. “You don’t get to pick your favorite player. You’re coming with me. Now.”

Layla understood Gregor’s logic. She’d grown more appreciative since seeing him more up close, how he reacted in dangerous situations. If they were going to be part of a team, start to forge bonds, this was a way to achieve it. The main issue was it left her with Denver.

“Which one’s the breeding lab?” Denver said.

“Over there,” Layla pointed. “You lead the way. Aliens don’t go in there that often.”

She didn’t want to lead the way herself in case Denver took her out as soon as she got through the door. If he raised his weapon in her direction, Layla was going to fire first.

He moved quickly to the entrance in a crouching run while Layla remained a few yards behind with her finger on the trigger. Just in case.

Green lights blinked on a panel outside the door. The first time she’d seen them activated. The building had been pressurized to a conducive environment to keep human livestock post-change.

Denver kicked open the door. A flood of cool air rushed out. He glanced back as the control panel started to beep, lights turning red after five seconds. “You know the layout. I’ll cover you.”

Rifle fire crackled from inside the chocolate factory. Layla was confident that Gregor would sweep the place clean. They were on the brink of securing the farm, and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to finish the remaining aliens. He was like a pit bull once he got something into his head.

While Denver was looking ahead, his attention away from her, she raised the rifle to the back of his head. “Did you kill Alex and Vlad?”

Denver looked around slowly, staring at the barrel of the rifle. He frowned and shook his head. “You really think that? How little you think of people outside of this place. From where I come from, we don’t kill other humans. You ought to look closer to home for that behavior. Besides, this is our chance. My dad isn’t sacrificing himself so we can squabble like petty criminals. So no, I didn’t fucking kill Vlad or Alex. You got it?”

Layla felt the sincerity in his voice, the conviction, but Gregor would take some convincing. She could tell from Gregor’s earlier reaction that he didn’t believe Denver in the slightest and would carry out his own style of crime scene investigation to establish events. That was one situation she’d really like to avoid.

“It’s one long corridor,” she said, pointing into the lab. “You take the doors on the right, I’ll take the left. We’ll do it together,” Layla said.

Denver nodded and spun through the door, pointing his rifle at the first window. He took a couple of steps back and breathed, “Holy shit.” He glanced back at her, his eyes wide with surprise. “How are we going to get all of those women out safely?”

Layla checked the first room on the left. “We’ll free them once the farm’s secured. I’ve got it worked out. Don’t worry, they’ll be safe.”

While moving from door to door, Layla kept Denver in her peripheral vision. They glanced into each cell before moving along.

She flinched as a croatoan rifle snapped. The glass on a cell door shattered next to her head, spraying fragments into the corridor.

She crouched and felt a sting on her cheek and a warm dribble down her neck.

Denver ducked next to her, holding his rifle to his chest. “It’s only a nick. Do any of these rooms have external windows?”

Layla took a deep breath. Tried to compose herself. “No. One must’ve been hiding.”

Another alien projectile whistled above them, slamming into the opposite door.

The weapons shook in her hands. She glanced at Denver.

He firmly nodded, stood, and fired twice.

Two quiet clicks came from the cell.

“Clear,” Denver said. “Let’s finish this and get out of here.”

They proceeded to check the rest of the cells with more caution, creeping along the corridor, peering in with weapons pointed until reaching the end of the building. Layla immediately turned and headed for the entrance.

Denver walked alongside her. “You must have a sick or strong mind to have put up with this.”

“I did what I needed to survive. I don’t expect you to understand my choice.”

A hollow pop sounded outside. An alien grenade.

Layla sprinted to the door and pushed it open. She knelt in the gap and scanned across the square with her rifle. Denver ran past her and took up a firing position a couple of yards away.

Gregor had a small pile of alien grenades next to him. He tossed one into a shattered window of a barrack building and ducked. Smoke belched out after an explosion. Maria huddled behind a hover-bike, her hands over her head. She looked pale, scared—the opposite of Gregor, who seemed to be enjoying this far too much.

“He’s a fast mover,” Denver said.

“You should consider that if we want to take the fight further. Destroy more farms. Start wiping out their crops. We need effective people.”

“Whoa. You think I want to team up with that piece of shit?”

Gregor tossed another grenade into a barrack building as Denver jogged across to Maria. Layla looked around the square, taking in the devastation and the pile of dead croatoans. It’d been quite easy. A coordinated effort around the world could wipe out the farms. The problem was communications. The aliens had effectively cut all long-range comms when they screwed the ionosphere. Humans were sparse. Spread far and wide as individuals and small groups, avoiding rather than confronting the croatoans after their initial show of strength.

If Charlie managed to take out the mother ship, they might just have a window of opportunity to destroy the remaining colonists, but they needed to pull in the same direction. A level of organization was required.

Denver swung his rifle in Gregor’s direction.

A barrack building door slowly opened, and an alien crawled out. Gregor kicked the croatoan in the chest. It collapsed to the ground. He stamped on its helmet visor, crushing it with the sole of his boot.

Layla looked up. The shuttle had disappeared from view.

Charlie took in a deep breath as the shuttle finished its docking procedure with the mother ship. The whole thing rattled violently, crushing him against the liquidized human food and root compound packages.

Sweat poured from his face and his leg muscles were starting to cramp. The container smelled of blood, but he knew it was just the foil coming loose on the silver trays.

Even that knowledge wouldn’t get the terrible images of the meat-processing unit out of his mind. How terrified those people must have felt, standing in line, and one-by-one going into the machine to come out the other end a convenient meal.