viii.

Two right turns, a straight shot across Park Avenue… Finch calculated they were about five blocks from his safe house. Granted, the direct route lay through the areas of major contest; perhaps a few more detours would be in order. He led them down another alley and checked the block, grimacing at the overhead buzzing of the strange planes.

In the time it had taken him to collect Carlton, the concentration of aliens had dramatically increased in the heart of Midtown. The streets were almost devoid of people and Finch was glad that most civilians were out of danger. But part of him cursed that it made himself and Carlton more visible targets.

He had to give these alien creatures credit for enthusiasm at the very least. What they lacked in organization and efficiency they made up for with speed and sheer numbers.

The effect of which, Finch noted with frustration and cold horror, was that he and Carlton were being herded deeper into Manhattan. Toward the site of invasion and the increasing presence of alien ground troops.

As if the flurry of airborne hostiles wasn't bad enough. Finch jerked to a halt and yanked Carlton back against a shallow doorway as yet another blast of energy struck the street before them. Heat washed over the back of Finch's neck, the thrum of the receding ship adding to the ringing in his ears.

The moment he felt it was safe—what a painfully relative term—he buried his fingers in Carlton's jacket and pulled the man down the street. If they made it around the next corner there should be an alley that, hoping against hope, would take them to the nearest subway entrance. The safe house was becoming a fantasy at this point; their best hope was for shelter from the direct line of fire until the attack waned. If it waned.

So of course the next street was crawling with alien ground troops.

Finch came to abrupt halt. Carlton crashed into his back and it sent a spike of pain up his spine. Finch staggered but Carlton pulled him back up, face white. They pivoted and scrambled back the way they'd come, tripping over each other in their haste. They cleared the corner's edge before Carlton stopped dead in his tracks and it was Finch's turn to run into him. He caught himself on Carlton's jacket sleeve, too breathless to ask. Assuming more ground troops, he peered over the taller man's shoulder and froze.

Coming up the street with deadly, focused intent was Rick Whalen. He stalked toward them with predatory confidence and his gaze never wavered from Carlton.

An impossible choice: to go back through the aliens or to go forward and take their chances.

Or perhaps…

Finch put his hand on Carlton's elbow, holding positon just behind his shoulder. As Whalen drew closer Carlton grew tenser but otherwise seemed utterly frozen. Finch thought with absent relief he was glad he couldn't see the man's face. He was somehow sure it would haunt him. If he lived through this catastrophe.

Whalen began to slow his approach. His lips curved into a wolfish grin and his eyes lit up with clear pleasure. Finch could feel Carlton trembling; his jacket shivered against his fingertips.

He'd expected to be panicking himself by now. Instead he was filled with a strange calm as he watched the perpetrator come closer, stop no more than fifteen feet away. He pictured the street they'd just vacated with perfect clarity.

Let Whalen enjoy his moment. It wouldn't last long.

"Why, Larry Carlton," Whalen shouted over the echoing booms from the adjacent streets. "I've been looking all over for you."

Carlton shook himself, made an abortive step backward. "You won't walk away from this. ASI will make you pay for that ambush."

Whalen cocked his head, one eyebrow rising. "I think I'll walk away just fine. And you with me, as a matter of fact. Don't you want to live? I can get you out of here."

"You can promise nothing of the sort," Finch snapped but Whalen ignored him.

"What do you mean live? Aren't you here to kill me?" Carlton's voice barely carried over the tumult.

Whalen laughed. "Nope. I can save you, get you out of here. All you have to do is answer a few questions for my friends. Least you can do for us after McCorrick blew the package before they could grab it."

"The package—" Carlton choked. Finch tightened his fingers around his elbow but Carlton shook him off. "Of course, you wanted it. Who do you really work for?"

"Carlton," Finch tried again. "He won't save you, you must know that. We need to move now."

"Where can we go?" Carlton's eyes were fixed on Whelan. The man was slowly rolling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on the inside of his forearm. A ring of interconnected circles.

Carlton's jaw slackened; Whalen's grin spread a little more.

"What is that?" Finch frowned. He pulled at Carlton's arm once more and he followed a step this time, stumbling a little.

"Ten rings," Carlton said.

The name didn't strike Finch as familiar but it hardly mattered now. He could hear the scuffle and screeches of the aliens approaching from the next street. As he'd suspected, a few must have caught sight of them as they'd made their ill-timed retreat. They were running out of time.

Whelan began moving forward again, hands outstretched in a parody of a soothing gesture. "Don't worry, we'll be good to you if you return the favor. It doesn't have to be hard at all." But despite his words, his chilling smile indicated he wouldn't be too upset it is was.

It was now or never. Finch tensed, listening intently to the sounds from around the corner. The aliens were almost upon them. "Carlton, run!" He took off in a sprint and pulled on Carlton's arm with all his might.

Carlton lumbered into motion behind him, stiff lurches giving way to long strides.

Whalen pounded after them, almost catching up as Finch dragged Carlton around the corner—straight into the teeth of three alien monsters.

It was clear the creatures had not expected them to come barreling back around. They looked startled, strange guns slack and odd eyes blinking in quick succession. But they must've had some kind of discipline after all and brought their weapons to bear even as Finch and Carlton darted past. Finch knew the scant cover they found behind an overturned car wouldn't last long. He didn't need it to.

A second later Whalen rounded the corner and bowled one of the creatures over, knocking a second off balance. The third swung around to face the immediate threat and Finch lunged away from the scene, Carlton right on his heels.

Finch risked a glance back as they made for another alley and scowled. Whalen made short work of the third alien, having launched himself at its knees and bludgeoning it with its own weapon. He swung it around to slice at the second as Finch took another look. Carlton hadn't bothered and was now a full stride ahead. But as good an idea as that seemed, Finch's third glance made his breath catch in his burning lungs. Whalen had taken a solid stance and raised his stolen staff as if to fire it—aiming straight at Carlton's back.

"Look out," Finch tried to gasp as he threw himself at Carlton, sending them both to the ground. A bolt seared just over their backs and Finch knew this was it. There was no escaping a second shot. He rolled off Carlton and tried to push the shaking man upright and away, futile though it was.

But no second bolt came forth. Instead, the sounds of a scuffle reached Finch's ears and he contorted his rigid neck as far as he could—Reese!

His partner was locked in combat with Whalen, smoothly ducking a swing to strike up close. He absorbed a punch so he could twist and throw Whalen over his shoulder, separating him from the weapon as he went. Reese looked far worse for wear but alive. He even gave Finch a satisfied smirk before turning back to Whalen.

Finch tried to scramble to his feet but needed Carlton's help to rise, each of them clinging to the other's shoulder as they watched the fight. "Who is…" Carlton breathed as Reese got in two good kicks and blocked a rapid punch.

"A friend," Finch said, wincing as Whalen landed a kick and twisted his leg behind Reese's knee to send him to the ground. But Reese dragged him down and they grappled again, surprisingly well-matched. For a moment, the chaos of the invasion was lost on Finch as he focused on the personal struggle right before his eyes.

But then reality returned as the first alien roused and hauled itself upright, just beyond the fight. Whalen must not have killed it like he had the other two. And now its attention fell on the men before it.

Reese had just gained the upper hand. The impulse not to distract him flared in Finch's brain before he overrode it and shouted, "John, behind you!"

Reese and Whalen both jerked their heads around, clearly spotting the alien at the same time. But Reese was between it and Whalen and the young man wrenched himself from Reese's grip, running straight toward Finch and Carlton. Careful to keep Reese's body between himself and the alien. Finch could read his livid expression in a heartbeat—there was nothing but murder in his eyes now.

Reese stumbled but recovered in a flash, scooping up the discarded weapon. His expression was torn. Whalen was almost upon Finch and Carlton—but the alien was almost upon him. He had two targets and time for one shot. And he clearly knew it.

Finch held his breath as Reese raised the staff and fired.

Reese knew it was luck he'd caught up with Whalen at all. He also knew luck tended to run out fast. Had the fight stayed hand to hand, he could have subdued the kid. So of course that was the perfect cue for one unexpected alien—he hadn't had time to check the bodies. He hated having a hostile he'd thought was down bite him in the ass.

He'd watched Whalen fire the alien staff once. His fingers slid around and found what must be the trigger with ease. The whole weapon was lined with a blue glow, warm against his calloused fingers with a high-pitch whine that teased his ears. Here's hoping the damn thing worked. Now Reese just had to pick his target.

He could eliminate the alien threat and hope Whalen wasn't as fast this time as Reese knew he could be. Or he could fire on Whalen instead and hope the weapon worked before the alien killed him.

He took hasty aim and exhaled sharply. It was an easy choice.

See you soon, Jess.

He squeezed the strange trigger and burst of blue-white light erupted from the staff's end. It was almost beautiful in the split second it traveled—before hitting Whalen squarely between the shoulders.