Chapter 10
"What do you think it's for?"
Tom looked from his eldest son to the structure before them. In his hands, he held a camera, and it allowed him to get a better look at what they were dealing with. A massive structure – so large that it surpassed the height of what remained of the skyscrapers in the dilapidated city. It almost looked like it was reaching back up into space. Even from the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the city, the scale of the thing took Grace's breath away. It stood above the ruins, four metal legs holding it up and four girder-like steel arms sticking out in each direction. It looked like steel, at least, or some kind of metal Grace thought as she peered through the scope of a sniper rifle to see closer. She couldn't begin to understand how the aliens had put this together, but then, that's why Weaver was here instead of Dai.
"Whatever it is, it's not impenetrable," murmured the captain, looking through his binoculars. "They're using basic construction techniques. Earth materials. Steel rebar, concrete, copper wire."
"It's like what the harnessed kids were going after, that scrap metal," said Hal.
Grace felt her muscles tense, thinking about all those child-slaves harvesting all those materials for the aliens to use against them. Children like her brother. He helped make this against his will.
"Bastards might be from outer space, but their engineering is strictly architecture 101," said Weaver.
"Get close enough, we can kill 'em."
"The sooner, the better," muttered Grace, above the creaks and groans of the metal structure in the distance.
"Hey, dad." Hal nudged his father and pointed out towards a bridge where some skitters were working. "Look at that south base right there. See where the Skitters are?"
Tom looked through his camera. Grace brought the scope back up to her eye. Three skitters. At first, she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but then the skitters seemed distracted by something.
"I think I see somebody with them," explained Hal. "To the right."
Grace almost dropped the scope from her fingers, a gasp caught in her throat. Two very tall, slender creatures emerged into view, surprising all of them.
"What is that?" asked Tom.
The new aliens appeared more human-like than the skitters. Two legs. Two arms. However, the arms were much longer than a human's, reaching down past the knee. Their skin appeared a greeny silver, and when they turned around, Grace could just make out small, frowning features on their long, curved heads.
"What the hell?" she heard Weaver try to contain his shock.
Grace's lips parted as the skitters appeared to be bowing to the other aliens. "I don't understand," she said. "Are they...in charge of the skitters?"
"I don't know," admitted Tom. He began taking photographs with his camera.
Her heart began pounding when she heard airships swooping above them. They all ducked. But the ships seemed to pass at great speed without noticing them, leaving the blue sky at peace again.
"That was close," breathed Weaver, a hand on his cap. "Let's get back to the bikes."
They walked through the city, grey even though the sun was out. Grace trudged through bits of wet newspaper and garbage, kicking away empty cans whilst staring at abandoned vehicles left in the road. One, a bus, stood right in the centre. She wondered where it had been going when its passengers left it, what their destination was before the aliens came down and ruined whatever plans they had. She barely heard Weaver reminiscing, something about Allston and knowing the neighbourhood from before the invasion.
"First these Skitters and Mechs, and now these humanoid things," said Hal, walking beside his father. "Do you think they're anything like us?"
"No, not like us," replied Tom. "Within any military hierarchy, you've got troops in the field, and then you've got command. And up until this point, we've assumed that the Skitters were command.
Maybe we were wrong."
Grace swallowed hard. These new aliens scared her. She thought she had finally made sense of what was going on, of who their enemies were. Now there was this new threat. Where did it end? "Where have they been all this time? Why haven't they shown their faces before?" she asked, her rifle swinging by her hip.
Tom glanced at her. "They could have been hanging back, waiting until it was safe before showing themselves...They think that they've already won."
Already won? A surge of anger ran through her. She didn't know arrogance was an alien trait until now. This war wasn't over. They were fighting. She would fight, until the bitter end.
They passed a subway and Grace thought she heard a scuttle in the distance. Instinctively, she put a hand on her rifle and pulled the strap over her head. "You hear that?"
The four of them came to a halt. Hal pointed to something through the subway.
"Dad..."
Through the darkness, on the other side, Grace thought she could see a figure running past.
"I see it," said Tom, taking hold of his weapon. "If they're following us, we're gonna take them right back to the 2nd Mass."
Weaver took the lead. "On me," and the rest of them followed him through the tunnel and towards whatever was on the other side.
They ran to an alley. It smelt like damp wood and old garbage. Grace whipped her head around for skitters, mechs, humans, anything that may be after them. She almost keeled over when a bullet soared right past her father. Weaver pulled her over to a wall where Hal had taken cover. Tom was across from them, shielding himself behind a fence.
"Go on, get out of here, before I blow your damn heads off!" yelled a female voice. Grace looked around for the owner, her weapon poised. It took a moment for her to realise it was coming from behind a door, where the muzzle of a rifle was poking out in their direction.
"We're not gonna hurt you!" Tom called back.
"Yeah, well, that's what they all say."
The door she was hiding behind was covered in graffiti and made of thick metal. She was well protected and well prepared for unwanted visitors. Grace wondered what kind of people this woman had come across to make her this paranoid.
"You know, it's not spacemen that bother me," the woman continued angrily. "It's the human trash that are tearing up this city, stealing everything that's not nailed down!"
Grace looked over at her father. He appeared to be coming out of his hiding spot, indicating to them that they should put down their weapons. She was hesitant. She didn't know how crazy or paranoid this woman was, what lengths she would go to to protect herself. But she did as her dad said. She lowered her rifle.
Tom came out into the alley, holding out his rifle and handgun in surrender. "We're with the resistance! We could help you."
The woman came out from behind the door, her gun still aimed at them. But she seemed less threatening out here. She was a short woman – older, tired-looking, and she had some kind of large cloak on that made her look sort of vulnerable. "Help, I don't need," she snapped. "You want to talk? Let's talk."
"I am sorry that I don't have any milk," the woman said, handing them a teacup each. She had told them her name was Sonya and she had invited them in for tea of all things. Tom, Hal and Grace had decided to go up and find out what she knew. Weaver had stayed downstairs to stand guard. Grace brought the teacup to her lips. She had never much been fond of tea, but now it was kind of comforting.
"That's okay. It's actually a lot better than we're used to," said Tom, smiling a little.
Sonya had completely changed inside. She didn't seem frightened or angry. Rather, she seemed more demure in her own surroundings. She had a beautiful apartment, practically untouched from the invasion. She had marble statues, and paintings mounted on the walls. It was all very decorative. And then there was the tea, the food, the fact that she had survived here all this time without any hassle. She was obviously well-off, well-fed in the middle of a city that had been picked clean months ago.
Tom was already onto this, masking his suspicion with a polite curiosity. "So you found all these supplies yourself?" he asked, in between sips of his tea.
"Uh, yes. Over time. Why?"
"Oh, it's just that a lot of the food stores that we passed on the way in looked a little picked over."
"Well, some. Uh, not all."
The three of them looked at her, unsure.
"Does anyone else live her?" asked Grace, sitting opposite Sonya.
Something clouded Sonya's expression. Something grim and painful. "No, not anymore. It's just me." Then she smiled wistfully, and it made her look smaller for some reason. "We used to have so much fun here," she said. "Joel and Amy, my children, used to play in that courtyard." She pointed over to a window, and in the process managed to knock over her teacup that was sitting on the table. Hot liquid spilled all over the table cloth and onto the floor. "Oh, no. I've made such a mess."
"I'll get something for that," Grace offered. She felt sorry for the woman. Something about her still roused her suspicions, but it was clear she had suffered as much pain as the rest of them. Being cooped up alone here had obviously got to her. Grace got up and headed towards the kitchen as Sonya started babbling about her old life, her neighbours and how things used to be.
On the way, she passed a small room that looked like a study. In it were packed up boxes, back packs, random books and toys and photographs. Bits and pieces of junk that seemed out of place with the rest of the house. A smile tugged at her lips. An old teddy bear sat on one of the boxes with an eye missing. And next to it, a picture. She couldn't help it. She picked up the photo. It was of a young, smiling boy. Maybe not even ten years old. He was sat in a garden amongst some long strands of grass, happy, peaceful. Sonya had said something about a son. Joel? This must have been him.
She put down the picture and started looking for a cloth in the kitchen when she heard a bike engine start from outside.
"Grace!" her father called. "Let's go."
She followed him down the stairs and outside towards where they had left the bikes. Confused, she just saw the back of Weaver as he sped off on one of the bikes, Tom calling after him. She turned her head towards the dumpsters, where they had stashed the other bikes. Something was wrong.
"Dad."
"He pulled the sparkplugs," said Tom, defeated.
"Where is he going?" Hal asked, throwing up his hands.
Tom stared in the direction Weaver had left, confusion etched all over his face. He didn't reply, but later, while they were reconnecting the spark plugs, he started to explain something had been troubling their captain.
"I knew something was wrong."
Grace was knelt beside her bike, fixing the sparkplug back in its socket, oil and dirt covering the tips of her fingers. She looked over at her father who was doing the same. "There's nothing you could have done. He's stubborn. He expects you to follow orders."
"Yeah, well I'm used to dealing with stubbornness," said Tom, looking over at his oldest children. Hal and Grace exchanged a short-lived smirk. "I should have stopped him back at the school, whether he liked it or not," added Tom. He stood, putting the strap of his rifle over his head.
"Always listen to your commanding officer," Hal said. "I think you taught us that."
"Where do you think he's gone?" asked Grace.
"I don't know," replied Tom. "He did say that he had family in Allston."
Grace remembered. Vaguely. She also thought that his family were dead. Tom said they ought to check it out anyway. It was unlikely any of Weaver's family had survived, but then again, Sonya was still here, alive and kicking.
The woman emerged from her building, looking worried, placing strands of her short red hair behind her ear. "A-are you leaving?"
"Just to go look for our friend, yeah," said Tom.
Grace put her rifle over her shoulder and mounted her bike, followed by Hal.
Sonya bit her lip. "You'll be coming back, though, won't you?"
"Just as soon as we can," Tom said over the bike engines as they roared back to life.
"Still think she's got a few screws loose," Grace mumbled to Hal as they set off after Weaver.
The neighbourhood looked like something out of a horror movie at night. The sun had set fast whilst they were looking for Royal Street, and it was obvious this area had been hit hard during the invasion. Cars were overturned in the road, trees were uprooted, their broken branches casting eerie shadows in the moonlight. There was still soot and debris from the initial explosions.
Hal, Grace and Tom rode up to one of the houses.
"There's his bike out front," Hal pointed out before coming to a halt. "He must have figured we wouldn't find him."
"Or he didn't care," suggested Tom.
They dismounted their bikes, Tom looking up at the house. "I'll go in and check this out."
"I'll go with you," said Grace. "Hal can guard the bikes."
"What?" Hal said, offended. "Why am I staying behind?"
"I don't get distracted as easily as you."
Hal rolled his eyes. "You always do this."
"There's no point arguing because I don't want either of you coming in," said Tom sharply.
Grace looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. "You can't go in there alone."
Hal nodded in agreement. "You don't know what's in there. One of us should back you up."
"You are. Stay here and guard the house. Keep a look out for me. If things go South, get back to the 2nd Mass."
"No," Grace refused, features screwed up as if she'd tasted something disgusting. "We can't leave you here."
"Listen, Weaver and I don't agree on much, but we agree on this. The mission's got to come first. You've got to get back to Porter, give him the recon photos and the route."
Grace was shaking her head.
"Grace, I know you haven't listened to me much lately, but now you have to. If Weaver's in there, I have to talk to him. Alone. Now, I don't know how he's going to react, so no matter what happens, it's vital that you and your brother stay out here and make sure those photographs get back to the resistance. Understand?"
Hal had already stepped back in defeat. "He's made up his mind, Grace."
She sighed. "Fine. I'll be right here. But at the first sign of trouble, I'm coming in there. Hal can take the pictures to Porter."
Tom released a heavy sigh through his nose. "Alright. I'll try not to be long."
He turned and put his foot on the step, and they all noticed the words drawn into the concrete. Sophia Weaver. 8.
She had never really thought about Weaver's family that much before, about how much pain he must have suffered to get where he was now. She couldn't even imagine him as a family man. But here was the proof. Proof of a life that got left behind. If he was in there, she hoped her father could pull him back from whatever darkness had grabbed hold of him. They needed him now.
"You know if you get any closer to that door, you and it will become one,"said Hal, reclining backwards on his bike. It couldn't be a comfortable way to sit, with the handlebars poking into his back, but he made it look like it was.
Grace pulled back from the front door self-consciously. She didn't realise how close she was to it - practically inside, listening out for any signs that Tom might be in trouble."Shut up," she mumbled.
Hal smirked. "I never got a chance to thank you."
"Thank me for what?" She sat on the step, tracing a finger over the Sophia indent in the concrete, wondering what happened to her and if she looked anything at all like her father.
"For saving my butt back there with Clayton," he said.
They were both quiet a moment. Grace saw the man in her memory, the flash of horror in his expression as he realised Grace had shot him, the weakness in his body as his knees buckled beneath him and he died right in front of her. She remembered. She killed him. She did it for Hal.
"You would have done the same for me," she said under her breath.
Hal's gaze drifted. Thinking. "I just didn't see it coming. It happened so fast." He paused and sat up, looking over at her, a grave look in his eye. "But you can't keep trying to sideline me. I know I've messed up a few times, but I'm just as good a fighter as you."
Grace stopped staring at the step and raised her head to look at her brother, brows furrowed. "Hal..I know."
"Good. Then quit trying to compete with me. I don't like it when you make it sound like I'll fail before I've even had a chance to try."
Grace was getting defensive now. She leant forward. "When did I do that?"
"Just now," Hal almost snapped. "I'm easily distracted?" he said, repeating her words.
"Hal, I wasn't serious."
"Back when we went to save Ben at the hospital then, you didn't want to let me go in there because you thought I'd get caught."
She dropped her graze. She did say something to that effect. She wanted to be the one to take his place, and even though she did in the end, it was for reasons beyond Hal's control. She felt like she kept making the same mistakes with her brothers. Underestimating them. But only because she cared for them.
"I just wanted to protect you." The words sounded strange out loud. She would have never pictured saying something like that to her brother before all this happened.
"I don't need protecting, Grace. We're all in the same boat. You're not invulnerable. I don't want you to get hurt any more than you want me to."
She stared down at her boots, at the mud slowly drying on them. "Alright. I'm sorry."
"As long as we understand each other," Hal said. He was about to go back to his leaning position when the ground began shaking and an eerie blue light illuminated them.
They were here.
"We gotta go."
Grace jumped up and ran to the door. She called inside for Tom but there was no sign of anyone in the dim hallway.
"Grace, we gotta go now." Hal was standing by the bikes, looking like he was ready to run a marathon.
"I have to get dad," she said in a hushed voice. "You go." She looked back at him and his face was filled with horror. She followed his gaze, looking down, and on her chest were several orange beams. The mech. It had seen her.
She didn't freeze often. But now she was holding her breath and her mind was screaming at her to do something, but it was like her body had already given up. She couldn't move. She raised her head, seeing the mech staring right at her, firing up its weapons.
And then she felt Hal grab her arm and practically throw her down the steps. For some reason she thought she could feel the heat of the flames before she heard the sound of the rocket colliding with Weaver's house. She tumbled to the ground, pain exploding through her body, her side scraping the sharp gravel. Hal had landed next to her. She slowly pulled herself up, staring with dread at the ruins, hot smoke filling her nostrils. The front of the house had been completely destroyed.
"Oh God," she whispered. Dad...
Hal had taken her hand again, pulling her away as the mech groaned and stomped towards them. "Let's go."
They ran around the house, the drone firing bullets at them. Luckily for them, mechs weren't fast machines. They had time to give it the slip and hide before it followed them round the corner. Hal dragged her to a small playground and they concealed themselves underneath a climbing frame.
They crouched behind the slides, Hal's arm around her as if he was afraid any part of her might be sticking out for the mech to see. But it stomped past them, and they both held their breaths until it had completely gone.
He gave her a look, as if to say 'See, I can protect you too'.
"Fine. Now we're even," Grace replied, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
They stayed there for a few minutes, waiting until it was completely safe to come out. The drone was still nearby, its heavy footsteps and mechanical movements still very much in earshot. Grace was worried about her father, whether he had been caught up in the explosion. But the fact that she couldn't see him when she called out to him gave her hope that he wasn't nearby when the rocket hit. She began to get to her feet when there was firing in the distance, and she quickly ducked down again.
"What is that?" It certainly wasn't from a mech, so it must have been a human weapon.
Hal shook his head. "Dad or Weaver, maybe?"
There was another explosion, and a heavy clang that sounded like the mech had collapsed. They both looked at each other, and then wordlessly began to come out from their hiding place. They saw Tom running towards them.
Grace sighed with relief. "Dad!" She immediately ran into his arms. He hugged her back, kissed her head.
"You two alright?"
"We're fine, dad," said Hal. Tom lightly slapped Hal's shoulder with relief. "Where's Weaver?"
"He's still inside."
"What? Is he alright?" asked Grace worriedly.
"He's fine." They followed Tom back to the bikes.
"He's not coming?"
Tom didn't answer. He got to his bike, put his weapon over his shoulder. "That was no passing patrol. That Mech came straight to Weaver's house."
Grace looked back at Weaver's ruined home, the flames still burning, turning the bricks to black, Sophia's name buried underneath the debris.
"The only person who knew we were here was that woman Sonja," said Tom.
"That woman gave us up." They turned and suddenly Captain Weaver was behind them, staring up at what remained of his house.
"You ready to go?" Tom asked him.
Weaver looked at them, his expression cold, angry. Determined, maybe. "Damn right."
TBC