The Rains (Untitled #1)(93)

I plucked it up.

Thumbed it into the chamber.

Worked the bolt.

Eye to scope.

The Queen was still reeled back, gazing to her side, that unreadable mask giving up nothing more than a slight air of confusion.

She swung her head back and looked, it seemed, directly at me.

Her head cocked to one side.

I put a bullet through the mask.

Her head jerked back, a stream of black smoke hissing through the bullet hole. Her knees went wobbly, and she seemed to deflate as if punctured. The rush of expelled air grew stronger, pressure blowing out the chink in her mask, shards flying. The hiss turned to a scream. It seemed her whole being was shooting through the widening hole in her helmet. It reached whale-spout velocity, and then, all at once, it stopped.

She crumpled to the ground, limp.

From way up above me and a good distance around the rim of the valley came the sound of a construction truck’s engine turning over, then roaring to life. A thunderous crash followed almost immediately, several treetops shuddering conspicuously.

Patrick and Alex, purposefully botching their “getaway.”

I turned my gaze back to the factory. All around the assembly line, the Hosts stopped their work and stood in place, as if awaiting orders. On the foundation the young floating bodies looked even more ready to hatch, if that were possible. Stretch marks fissured their flesh, widening even as I watched.

Crashing sounds drew my focus to the bigger scene. From every direction the Drones bounded toward the Queen, a swarm of bees narrowing to enter a hive. More and more black space suits leached into view from the surrounding landscape, drawn to their dead leader. In their quest to reach her, they took giant leaps, smashing through fences, bushes, and even Hosts, destroying everything in their paths.

They formed a protective mass around her. Those at the perimeter faced outward, their helmets pointing at the hillside, masks aglow with blueprint-like renderings.

Assessing the hillsides.

I had forgotten to breathe, but seeing those black helmets aimed in my direction got me moving.

Jerking back from the edge of the knoll, I slid on my stomach across the sleek moss, bringing the rifle with me. I scrambled for the dark mouth of the hollowed-out tree, then crawled inside, brushing away spiderwebs, shoving the backpack and rifle ahead of me. The ancient tree was several yards across. The moist air of the tree’s core clung to my skin, the sound of my ragged breaths echoing up the shaft through the darkness.

I leaned against the inner wall, not even caring if I was squashing bugs beneath my back, and tried to calm myself down. Aside from the fall of light from the narrow hole I’d squeezed through, the heart of the tree was pitch-black. The darkness cooled the sweat on my face.

I thought about how the Queen had crumpled to the dirt, dead. All the kids she’d never hurt now. The master plan would go on, that seemed certain, but we’d managed to throw a wrench into the works. For that I allowed myself a flicker of pride.

My brother and Alex were high in the woods above me, running for their lives, and I took a moment to send all my hope to them across the distance.

I also said good-bye.

No matter what happened to us now, we’d done it. We’d killed the Queen, fired the first shot in the revolution. Maybe after we were gone, that would inspire other kids to take other measures.

I inhaled deeply and held my breath, listening for any sounds from outside.

A furious insectoid screeching carried up the hillside.

It compounded, rolling across the valley in stereo. I’d never heard such rage. Or such menace. I was glad to be hidden here inside the dark core of the giant tree.

Moving of its own volition, my hand dug in the backpack for another round. I wanted the rifle loaded in case they closed in on me. If I had to take myself out, I’d be ready.

Another series of screeches split the air, and I started, the round slipping through my sweaty fingers. Setting the rifle aside, I leaned forward, groping around in the dirt.

Across from me something glowed bluish white in the darkness.

A mask.

Belonging to a space-suit helmet just like those worn by the Drones.

An arm sheathed with metal flew out at me, a hand clamping over my mouth before I could scream.





ENTRY 43

The mirrored glass of the Drone’s helmet threw back my terrified reflection. The glow from the mask illuminated him sitting just like me, directly across the tree’s hollowed core.

A computerized rendering of his view blipped up on his mask, which appeared to me in reverse. It was similar to the one I’d seen in Ezekiel’s eye membrane. Except now the thing being outlined was me. Strands of my hair. The contours of my face. My cells pulled apart and analyzed.

“We have found you, Chance Rain,” a digitized masculine voice said. The mask flickered with the words, a blue fizzle for each consonant, like amplitude waves. “We finally found you.”

My brain whirred into overdrive, but unlike whatever program ran in his mask, it was offering no analysis. I was stunned, my body awash in adrenaline.

The figure spoke again. “Do not cry out,” he said. “You will give away our position.”

Beneath his armored glove, my mouth remained open in terror, the scream sealed in my throat. I managed to clamp my jaw shut. Then I gave a nod.

The hand released me.

He came clearer now in the bluish light. I blinked a few times, my night vision kicking in, helping the picture resolve.