The Rains (Untitled #1)(95)

“Why don’t you just stay with me?”

He tried to lift the hand from his stomach, but his arm slid limply to the dirt. “I am going to expire soon. My landing was not successful. I was injured in the crash.” A glitch appeared in the rendering lines in his mask, then intensified. “We are not well suited for this environment.”

“Then why did you come? Why did you all come?”

He reached his other hand forward weakly and set it on top of mine. “To find you.”

Again I gazed at my own stunned reflection floating in the digitized lines of his mask.

The sound of footfalls grew even closer. Then there came a loud whirring noise and a thunderous cracking from downslope. I shot a nervous glance through the hole in the trunk and saw a few treetops vanish abruptly from view as if sucked into the earth.

“You have to go,” he said.

“I need to hide here—”

“They are taking down the trees and anything in their path.”

“How?”

“Listen to me.” The glow flared, the digitized voice even louder now.

Outside, more trees vanished. The screeches of Drones echoed through the valley, cries of rage.

His grip on my hand tightened. “No matter what, they must never find out who you are. Do not let them take you. We will contact you when we can and tell you of your mission. Until then you have one job: Stay alive. At any cost, stay—”

The glow vanished, the mask turned instantly to a lifeless black sheet. His fingers released their grip on my hand. He remained in exactly the same position.

Through the narrow hole in the trunk, I watched another row of trees below shudder and topple. The Drones were literally clearing the hillside. And the tree I was hiding in was right in their path.

I reached for the rifle, then remembered the Rebel’s words. I couldn’t take myself out, not now. I had to stay free and stay alive. I started for the hole, then paused.

Gathering my courage, I reached for the helmet. And twisted it off.

It was empty.

A wisp of smoke curled lazily from the space suit’s neckhole, floating up the hollow core of the tree. Grabbing the rim of the collar, I tilted the semi-rigid suit forward and peered into the torso. Nothing inside.

Like the Queen, he’d turned to gas.

I didn’t wait around to contemplate this impossibility. Charging through the hole in the tree, I yanked on my backpack and shot to my feet. Through the netting of the branches, I saw the nearest pair of Drones hurtling upslope.

Between them they carried a massive whirring blade. It took a moment for me to recognize it as a backhoe undercutter that had been removed and retrofitted to be carried at either end. It was basically a giant chain saw designed for cutting rock and ballast. The armored carbide plates moved in continuous 360-degree rotation. I watched with amazement as the Drones came straight at a tree, the blade held between them. The teeth buzz-sawed through the trunk, and the massive pine slid away. The Drones barely even had to slow their pace.

Bursts of mist shot out of valves around the necks of their helmets, producing the ear-rending screeches. Were they caused by gas expanding with the heat of rage?

Several more screeches cut through the leaves all around me, leaving me disoriented. I turned in a full circle, assessing my options. Up at the ridgeline where Patrick and Alex had crashed the truck, trees nodded furiously, then dropped from view. Another Drone team must have moved ahead of the vanguard to pursue them. That left me a course to the west.

I ran.

Pine needles whipped across my body. My boots slid through mud, and several times I went down. I ran until my breath fired through my lungs, until my legs almost gave out. Eventually the sounds of crashing trees receded, but I could still hear the Drones among the trees, pursuing me. Several times I thought I’d gotten clear of them only to have a screech fly out of the foliage right beside me, nearly stopping my heart.

I braced myself for the sound of a gunshot signaling Patrick’s or Alex’s death but heard none. They might have been cornered and taken their own lives already. The screeches would easily have drowned out the noise of a bullet or two.

Somehow I got out of the valley.

Running blindly, I kept to the woods. I didn’t stop, didn’t slow. Trunks flickered past me, the landscape strobing by. I made it to the fork in the road, barreling into that ring of Rocky Mountain Douglas firs where we’d camped so many nights ago. Leaning over, I vomited twice, then dry-heaved more times than I could count.

I couldn’t catch my breath.

I didn’t have time.

Wiping my mouth, I kept on, winding my way down toward the cabin. Just before nightfall I saw the straight line of the roof appear through the brush. It took everything I had not to collapse with relief.

Dead on my feet, I staggered through the front door.

“Patrick? Alex?”

A sweeping glance told me that no one was there.

Were they dead? Captured?

I remembered the Rebel’s words: You have one job: Stay alive.

We’d thought it was a one-way mission, but there was so much more at stake now. I closed the door behind me, then drew all the blinds.

I drank down three glasses of water, then kicked off my boots, sat on the bed, and stared blankly at my toes. I stayed that way for a long time, fighting back tears. Patrick could be dead. Alex could be dead.

I could do nothing but wait and wait some more.