Chapter One

"Shake Up Masonville"

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"So this is the new order... the Mason administration. Friends to all," growled John Pope under his breath. He turned to watch as Tom Mason returned to camp with his two elder sons and a few of the Second Massachusetts. Some teenage razor-backs and many-legged "rebel" skitters accompanied them, and Pope saw Ben Mason approach the aliens after leaving the Mason huddle.

Pope watched as the middle Mason boy greeted his alien friends. There was a smile on the boy's face as one of the skitters appeared to joke around, and the other razor-backs laughed together. Pope looked far from amused... his dark expression left neither of his companions in any doubt about his feelings for aliens. He didn't like them - that much was clear, and judging by the sour looks on Lee's and Lyle's faces, they felt just about the same.

Another alien - a frog-headed "Volm" - got out of Mason's truck nearby. His flat, amphibian face was only visible for a moment before he turned and walked away, disappearing behind the caravan of vehicles.

"Any old alien that just happens to blow into our camp..." continued Pope. "The Volm... what a joke, what a... what a huge fucking mistake." His gaze was cold when he looked back over at Ben Mason's group of skitters and razor-backs.

"You say the word, boss," said Lyle from beside Pope. "Mexico is looking better and better to me every day."

Crazy Lee grinned crookedly on Pope's other side, showing off her stained teeth. "I need to work on my tan."

But Pope was having none of it. "No, it's not gonna be any better down there..."

With one last unreadable glance in Ben Mason's direction, he turned on his heel and walked away, with Crazy Lee and Lyle following closely behind him.

"Look," said Pope as they walked, "We got alien battalions trying to fry our ass... to hell with this." Suddenly he stopped walking and turned to face them. He tossed his bulky saddlebag at Crazy Lee, who barely caught it, and then shoved his rifle against Lyle's broad chest. He had relieved himself of almost everything he carried. "I'm gonna go begin my beer therapy a little early," he informed them with a flourish of a bow. "I'll be in the nest."

There was a makeshift alleyway to their right, hung with tattered canvas overhangs and dirty blankets. Pope strode away and disappeared through it without another word.

Lyle looked down at the rifle, then over at Crazy Lee.

She was looking back at him. "He's closer to blowing a gasket than he usually is," she said worriedly.

Lyle looked more frustrated than worried. His drawn face gave him a heavy, shadowed appearance, and it was a dangerous look on him.

"What are you thinking?" Said Crazy Lee gently, nudging Lyle with her elbow.

Lyle shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Pope doesn't want to go against the Masons," he answered quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was near enough to hear him. "He doesn't want to rattle the bars."

"Yeah... well none of us do. Not really a great for it, don't you think?"

Lyle snorted and shrugged one shoulder, looking back at Crazy Lee. "Something's gotta change around here... and fuck me if I just stand around till it's too goddamn late, Craze."

Crazy Lee's wild hair bounced around her face as she nodded. "But what can you do? People love them. Not our people, but, you know..."

"Theirs," supplied Lyle in a low voice. "But that ain't no excuse to sit around and wait for them damn aliens to pull a Judas on us."

Lyle looked over at Ben Mason across the street. At this distance, the kid's boyish features were clearly visible. He wore a tentative smile, as if the skitter had told another joke. One of the other razor-back kids clapped Ben on the back, laughing, and an easier grin lit Ben Mason's face.

Lyle scowled. "They're downright... congenial. The Masons are getting too close to the enemy and we can all see it, clear as day. Accepting them, working with 'em... and you never hear anyone talking about those spikes, do you?"... It was enough to drive Lyle straight off the nearest cliff.

"Naw... I see what you're saying, Lyle. It's like those spikes don't matter no more, but we still don't know nothing about them."

Lyle looked down at Crazy Lee and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I'm not saying Pope is chicken shit, but I sure as hell ain't scared." A gleam shone in his eyes. "Maybe it's high-time to shake up Masonville a little, Craze... For Pope's sake."

"What are you going to do?" Asked Crazy Lee. There was a touch of apprehension in her eyes.

Lyle squeezed the outside of her shoulder. "Find Billy and Mike, and Nathan. Mike will know where Tony and Lenny are, so find them, too. Bring as many as you can find to hack shack before nightfall."

"Why?" Asked Crazy Lee with a frown.

Lyle unwrapped his arm from Crazy Lee's shoulders and gave her a gentle shove. "Just do it, sweet cheeks." He patted her rear-end. "Get that pretty little ass on the move, and I'll explain when we're all together."

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Ben Mason leaned over a tall basin of water and splashed some cold liquid on his face.

"You coming, Benji?" Called Denny, a few yards away.

Ben Mason rolled his eyes, fighting a grin that Denny wouldn't be able to see. "I'll be right there," he said as he scrubbed his hands in the basin. "And... it's Ben."

Denny smiled widely, pausing where she stood to watch Ben from behind. "Don't be too long," she said after a moment, and she turned to join the others in the mess tent down the street.

Ben washed his hands thoroughly in the cool water. He rinsed water up his bare forearms, and bent forward to splash his face again.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached his ears, and he straightened up. With his face dripping, he turned around to look behind him, but no one was there.

Someone was probably worried all the food would be gone at this late hour, Ben decided. Probably rushing to get to the mess tent...

He turned back to the basin and rinsed his hands again, then bent forward and splashed his face one more time. The water revitalized him as it banished his fatigue into the far corners of his mind.

More footsteps sounded from behind him. Ben shook water out of his eyes as the footsteps approached and slowed. He wrung water off his hands and shook it out of his hair, then turned around again to see.

A man stood behind him, a few meters away. He was about a head taller than Ben, wearing a heavy jacket and carrying a rifle on his shoulder. Ben thought he recognized the man's scruffy face - one of Pope's berserkers, unless he was wrong - but he couldn't remember his name.

"Sorry..." said Ben, a little taken aback. He wiped his shirtsleeve across his wet face. "Did you say something?"

"Hey, it's no problem," said the man. He smiled widely and stepped closer. "You're Benji, right?"

Ben reacted well to the man's friendliness. "Ben. Denny's the only one who calls me Benji," he explained with a half-smile of his own.

"Denny?" Repeated the berserker. There was an air of friendly curiosity about him, and his manner was easy and calm. "He's the tall ginger, right?"

"No, Denny's a girl," said Ben. He wiped a drip of water from the bottom of his chin. "The captain sends us out together because of the, you know... the..." he gestured toward the back of his neck. "The spikes."

"Oh, yeah..." said the man with a slow nod of his head. Something had gleamed in his eyes for a fleeting moment, but it was gone as soon as Ben noticed it. "One of them raz- one of the de-harnessed kids. Like you."

Ben had heard a strange tone in the man's voice. He returned the man's smile slightly with a nod of his head.

"Name's Lyle, good to finally meet you," said the man abruptly. He strode closer and held out his hand to shake Ben's.

When Ben grasped Lyle's hand, he felt the man's fingers tighten painfully around his own.

Then Lyle released his hand and Ben withdrew it, rubbing his knuckles. "You too," he said, his voice a little subdued. He was tired... A little too tired to stand around and chat, and square up to anybody. He moved slightly but Lyle took a step, blocking his way.

"Oh, sorry," said Lyle with a chuckle. "I was just trying to get a look at those spikes. Been wondering about those a lot."

Ben gave half a low chuckle, feeling awkward. "There's... there's not much to see," he said, and turned his head slightly to give Lyle an unobstructed view. "It's all that's left of the harness... everything Dr. Glass couldn't take off."

Lyle seemed fascinated. He took a step closer, staring intently at the small, metallic spikes protruding from the base of the kid's neck. His eyes traveled down the small bumps in Ben's shirt, where other spikes were barely hidden along Ben's spine.

Ben was starting to feel uncomfortable. He straightened his posture, cutting off the man's view as he shifted his weight. "Well... I have to meet Denny in the mess tent. See you," he told Lyle, still friendly, and tried to side-step the much larger man.

But once again, Lyle blocked Ben's path. "Just a second," he said, clapping Ben briskly on the shoulder. "Why don't you come with me to the nest? I know a few people who would love to meet you face to face. Son of the esteemed Tom Mason?" A friendly grin curled the man's lips. "I'll let you have a beer, if you want."

Ben frowned a little. "The nest? You mean Pope's palace?"

"Well, hell yeah," chuckled Lyle. He still had Ben's shoulder in a gentle grip.

"Not tonight," said Ben after a moment. He didn't want to be rude, but he had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Sorry... I have to get going."

"C'mon... What's your hurry?"

"Nothing, I'm hungry." Ben didn't want to seem flustered. "I have to meet up with Denny and Hal before the good stuff is gone."

"We have all the good stuff in the nest, kid. Trust me."

Ben was beginning to lose his patience. "Sorry," he said with a shake of his head, and he stepped sideways to pass Lyle. His shoulder brushed Lyle's side as he tried to skirt around the much larger man.

But a hand closed around his upper arm, yanking him back around.

"Hey - !" said Ben quickly as he spun around. "What - ?"

But something cut off the word in his throat. Something had jabbed painfully into his side, and suddenly white-hot currents of electricity jolted through his body.

Ben choked on his own breath as his body seized up. His knees collapsed and he dropped to the ground on his side, rigid and stiff.

Lyle's boot nudged his shoulder and shoved him gently onto his back.

"You have other plans now," said Lyle in a much different voice. The man stood over Ben with one boot on either side of his ribs, holding him down by his chest. Ben locked eye contact, but he couldn't seem to speak. His throat muscles still contracted from the force of the electric charge.

Before Ben could recover his voice, Lyle removed his hand from the boy's chest and shoved a thick, black prod against his shoulder.

More waves of electricity coursed through Ben, throwing him into seizures. He couldn't think, see, or hear through the deafening roar in his ears. He couldn't draw a breath and small veins stood out on his neck as his eyes rolled and his muscles shook.

The next thing he knew, he was being lifted. He was thrown over Lyle's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He bumped up, and down, and up, and down with Lyle's steps. He could only see blurred shapes and foggy edges as they passed through camp, but he was unable to make them out. There was a paralyzing screeching in his head, in his spikes, in every part of him - it was as if his spikes were being jammed on every possible frequency. Ben could barely move.

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When Ben returned to consciousness, it was very slowly. His eyelids felt heavier than rocks, and his breath was slow and labored. Without opening his eyes, he discerned that he was lying forward on his side against a cold surface. His forehead rested on damp cement.

There were sharp pains in his head and a low buzzing sound, like residual energy after a guitar string gets plucked too roughly.

He tried to draw a deeper breath, but his chest was sore. Everything was sore. His arms ached so badly...

That was when he realized that his arms were bound behind his back by cold metal handcuffs.

A dull burst of adrenaline helped him open his heavy eyelids. He blinked a few times. With every blink he felt a little less tired, and a little more clearheaded.

He raised his head off the cement.

He was in a candle-lit building with cavernous walls and a very high ceiling. It must have been some kind of factory floor before the invasion, but now glass littered the floor, and shards of splintery wood made some of the floor impassable.

"Hey," said Ben in a raspy voice, and coughed. "Hey, what's going... what's going on?"

He heard the loud scraping of several chair legs.

"He's awake."

"I know he's awake, you dumb shit. Shut up. Someone get Lyle."

There were hurried footsteps that receded in the opposite direction.

Ben tried to sit up. There was a wall behind him and he used it, propping himself backward as he tried to get his knees under him. "Hey, what the hell is going on?" He repeated and coughed again. His head swam and his vision darkened, and he fumbled backward against the wall, landing on his rear on the floor again.

There were peals of laughter. There must have been at least a handful of people in the room, but Ben couldn't see them. It was too dark and the candlelight only extended so far. His normally supernatural eyesight and hearing seemed muffled, and so did his head. He couldn't make them out in the darkness except their blurry shapes. He couldn't see them, but they could definitely see him.

To be continued...

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