inspired by “Red Sector A”
DAY 1
His hands raised above his head, Gabriel Ryder stared into the muzzle of the Pug’s massive pulse rifle.
Glowering at him with large, bottomless black eyes set beneath heavy, pronounced brows, the alien shouted something unintelligible before shifting his weapon to aim at Gabriel’s mother. Mirabella Ryder gasped, and Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat as he imagined the invader’s rifle discharging. Only moments ago he had witnessed the weapon’s effects on human flesh, and the smell of death still lingered in the air. The Pug motioned with his rifle and Gabriel stepped in the indicated direction, keeping his hands above his head while his mother mimicked his movements.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” he said. “We’re unarmed, so we’re not a threat.” He hoped the words sounded more convincing to her than to his own ears.
Behind the alien was another Pug, his weapon held at chest level as he searched for targets. Aside from a long dark gray scar running down his face from the top of his hairless head to his jaw and bisecting a patch of puffy tissue that had once been his left eye, the second Pug looked no different from his hulking, gray-skinned companion. Bodysuits and equipment harnesses carried all manner of unfamiliar objects, stretching over their imposing physiques. Their mouths were wide and filled with irregular, jagged teeth. A pair of holes set into the middle of their broad, flat faces acted as their nose, and their ears were merely larger openings on the sides of their heads.
Shots — regular rifles and the Pugs’ own weapons — rang out from somewhere behind his parents’ house, and Gabriel flinched at the sounds of shouting from the backyard. Both One Eye and his companion turned toward the commotion just as two figures appeared from around the house’s far side. David Ryder and his youngest son, Matthew, lurched into view, each wielding what Gabriel recognized as shotguns from the gun cabinet in his father’s den.
“David!” shouted Mirabella before Gabriel grabbed her and pulled her to the grass. The two Pug soldiers were already aiming their pulse rifles at the new threats, but David Ryder was faster. His first shotgun blast took the first Pug in the shoulder and the alien staggered backward, but did not fall. Gabriel saw his brother raising his own shotgun and taking aim, but One Eye beat him to it.
The pulse rifle’s energy bolt ripped through Matthew Ryder’s chest. The man was dead before he collapsed to the ground.
“No!”
The anguish in his mother’s voice and the shock racking her body struck Gabriel to his very core, and it took all his strength to keep her from charging toward the fallen body of her murdered son. Gripping her arms and holding her next to him, he watched as David Ryder turned his shotgun on One Eye just as the Pug fired again, and Gabriel saw his father’s left leg ripped away below the knee. The older man groaned in pain, stumbling and tumbling to the grass. His face a mask of agony as he dropped his shotgun and reached for the stump of his ruined leg, David Ryder was helpless to do anything except watch One Eye advance on him.
“Dad!”
Pushing himself to his feet, Gabriel stopped when the other Pug, bleeding thick yellow fluid from dozens of small holes in his chest and left arm, turned on him and took aim with his pulse rifle. Gabriel held up his hands, furious at his inability to stop what he knew was coming.
Mom. You have to look after Mom.
His body trembling from rage and sorrow, Gabriel Ryder could only watch as One Eye aimed the weapon at his father’s face.
DAY 324
The sirens began wailing, but Gabriel was already awake. Sitting up in his bunk, he used a rock to etch another notch on the metal slat above his head. It was the fourth such mark in this grouping. Tomorrow, he would be able to cross through the four scratches, and that would complete the marks he could make on this bed slat. He would have to start on the next one.
What would today bring?
The barracks compartment’s single heavy metal door slid aside, allowing harsh light from the nearby guard tower to pierce the crowded room’s near-total darkness. Stroking his unkempt beard, Gabriel counted off the five seconds he knew would pass before a hulking figure appeared in the open doorway, issuing the same command uttered each morning without fail.
“Assemble outside. You have sixty seconds to comply.”
Like all Pugs, the guard was tall and muscled. A black form-fitting garment covered his hairless, ash-gray skin from his thick neck to the oversized boots encasing his feet. His large, oval shaped black eyes studied the room’s crowded interior, missing no detail. Over his uniform was a gray bandolier, draped over his left shoulder and running across his chest to the wide belt around his waist. Though some of the Pugs wore helmets inside the compound, most guards charged with direct prisoner oversight tended to eschew the headgear. Gabriel had spent many a quiet morning or evening lying in his bunk and imagining what a larger rock could do to a Pug’s unprotected skull.
The guard was gone even as prisoners reacted to his order. There was no need for him to remain and supervise, as every prisoner knew the penalty for disobedience. Gabriel moved to an adjacent bunk as its occupant pushed herself to a sitting position.
“Mom?” he asked. “You okay?”
“I’ll live,” replied Mirabelle Ryder, punctuating her answer with a wet cough.
As had long ago become the norm, her responses were short and lacking in anything resembling warmth. Once an outgoing, vibrant woman, she had withdrawn into herself following their capture, reeling from the emotional torture of watching her husband and younger son murdered before her eyes. Gabriel carried his own grief for his father and Matthew, but he had learned long ago to compartmentalize such feelings. It was the only way to survive, if one could call this simple, minimal day-to-day existence surviving.
Beats the alternative.
He had to believe that a chance at freedom would present itself sooner or later. A lapse in oversight was inevitable, either here in the camp or the quarry where he and his mother and hundreds of others toiled at extracting rock for use by the Pugs. On the other hand, it would be foolish to discount the prospect of dying from injury or illness, or perhaps radiation poisoning somehow would get him. While Florida itself had escaped the worst of the orbital bombardments, there was still fallout to consider; something he did every time rain fell from the omnipresent clouds. On the other hand, he had lived this long without any apparent debilitating effects, whereas there was the very real possibility that one of the guards would just kill him and it would no longer matter.
The sons of bitches were just going to have to earn that.
His mother coughed again as they proceeded to the door. Gabriel had heard her congested breathing during the night, and decided that what he thought might be a simple cold or perhaps the flu was instead sounding like a possible respiratory infection or worse. If that was the case and if she did not receive treatment, he knew her survival could be measured in days. As far as the Pugs were concerned, sick or injured prisoners were an inconvenience to be discarded.
“Come on,” he said, casting aside the unwelcome thought and extending his arm so she could hold onto it as they exited the barracks. “Let’s get outside.”
It had rained during the night, and the ground was wet. The dirt had turned to mud, making walking treacherous for those with poor footwear. Gabriel could see his breath in the crisp morning air, and the chill was already seeping through his clothing and into his bones. Florida in October should be much warmer, but even the weather seemed to have surrendered to the Pugs.
Gabriel could not remember the last time the sun had done more than peek through the occasional break in the otherwise relentlessly overcast sky. One day during the first weeks of his captivity, clouds rolled in and it rained, but then the clouds stayed. Before the media broadcasts stopped, he had heard weather and climate experts warning that the orbital bombings that had preceded the Pug ground invasion were causing irreparable harm to the planet. Some had even wondered aloud if those who soon would experience Earth’s first artificially induced nuclear winter were less fortunate than those who had perished in the attacks that had set it into motion.
Maybe it’s a toss-up, but I’ll take my chances.
He and the other occupants of his barracks, all dressed in the same dull brown clothes issued to all prisoners, assembled outside the building, shivering in the cold, damp air as they organized themselves into four more or less even rows before the lone Pug guard overseeing them. Once they had gathered, the prisoners would march to the food lines and receive their paltry breakfast before being led to the quarry for the day’s work detail. It was the same routine every day, without fail and regardless of weather or other factors. In this, as in so many other things, the Pugs were unwavering in their consistency and unrelenting in their monotony.
Towers rose above the squat barracks, spaced at regular intervals around the camp’s perimeter as well as scattered in and around the other buildings. Each was fitted with motion sensors and pulse cannons mounted on rails that offered a 360-degree field of fire as well as the ability to angle upward or downward. Gabriel had studied the towers enough to know that their placement ensured the towers covered nearly every centimeter of the compound’s open ground. A few blind spots existed between various buildings, but it was precious little protection when factoring in the guards. Nothing less than a full-scale revolt by the prison population had any chance of succeeding. Even then, there was nowhere to run, thanks to the electrified fences and tall metal walls surrounding the camp.
Now in front of the other barracks, twelve in all, similar prisoner assemblies were taking place. While some few prisoners held up their heads and carried themselves with at least a measure of confidence if not defiance, most of the men and women seemed to move about in a listless, defeated fashion, as though they had given up hope of ever leaving this place alive. Not for the first time, Gabriel cast his gaze in the direction of the camp’s southern enclosure. There, children lived in separate quarters. As far as he knew, they were treated well, assigned to working parties but spared from most of the harsh conditions and even abuses visited upon adult prisoners. No one knew for sure what went on over there, so the lack of information served to fuel all manner of rumors and fears. As he often did, Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief that he had no children of his own.
Small mercies, I suppose.
Mirabella stood next to him in line, and Gabriel felt his mother leaning into him for support. With an anxious glance toward the nearest Pug, he gave her a gentle nudge, helping her to stand up straight. Only when the guard walked away, continuing to glare at other prisoners while searching for some perceived wrongdoing, did Gabriel allow himself to relax. Not for the first time, he eyed the massive sidearm in a holster along the alien’s right hip. He had seen what happened when a prisoner attempted to snatch a guard’s weapon, and he harbored no desire to serve as another example of the foolhardiness of such action.
His mother said in a low voice, “You’d think they’d be bored of this by now.”
Standing on her opposite side, Gabriel’s friend Dylan O’Connor replied, “What else have they got to do?” O’Connor was the first person Gabriel had met upon arriving at the camp, and the two men shared a common bond of prior military service and losing family members during the initial invasion. O’Connor lived in Tampa after leaving the Air Force and had fled with his wife when Pug ground forces swept the city. Though the other man never said anything outright, Gabriel had reasoned that his wife, Angela, had been killed at some point prior to his own capture.
O’Connor stomped his feet on the cold, wet ground. “I just wish they’d hurry up. It’s the standing around that sucks. At least working keeps you warm.”
The morning ritual was nothing new for Gabriel, who had endured similar banality throughout a ten-year career in the Marine Corps. Here, though, it seemed to be little more than another way for the guards to harass their charges, but even they seemed to go about the exercise in half-hearted fashion. It seemed that months of unvarying routine had dulled the Pugs as much as it had their prisoners. No actual head count was necessary, as each prisoner was injected with a subcutaneous monitoring chip at the base of their skull. In addition to acting as a translation device which allowed humans to understand the otherwise indecipherable gibberish that passed for Pug spoken language, the trackers transmitted their current location to a monitoring system located somewhere in the camp’s headquarters. For this above any other reason, any attempt at escape was futile from the outset, at least not without a way to circumvent one’s own chip. A handful of brave souls had tried, but the result was the same: the trackers had released a tampering alert and guards executed the offenders, leaving their bodies for days in the middle of the compound as a warning to anyone else who might consider similar mischief.
It had been almost a year since the Pugs’ arrival, their massive ships taking up equidistant positions in high orbit around the planet. As far as he knew, no one even knew what they called themselves. To most humans they were just the “Pugs,” so named because of their flat faces, and the moniker stuck. The aliens had no apparent interest in communicating their intentions, aside from the obvious, conveyed as that was in the form of orbital bombardments. Major cities had been the initial targets, most of them all but obliterated before people in those locations had any chance at evacuating. Entire populations — hundreds of millions of people, according to rough estimates — were lost on that first day. Those who survived found little quarter as they moved toward more remote areas, since by then Pug foot soldiers were on the ground.
There was no formal declaration of surrender, due in no small part to most of the world’s governments being annihilated during the first wave of attacks, and the Pugs had taken less than a month to assume near-total control of the planet. This much was evident from those television, radio, and internet broadcasts that managed to elude the initial sweeps by Pug soldiers through those population centers that had escaped destruction. Reports abounded of survivors being collected and dropped into camps like this one, along with more disturbing accounts of mass executions when groups of Pugs needed to control the number of humans in their custody. Gabriel had reasoned that only blind luck had seen to it that he and his mother had escaped that fate and ended up here. In fact, following their capture he had no way of knowing how many people had been killed in the months since the initial attacks. Was it possible that the only human beings to survive now lived within these walls?
Lucky us.
“Damn,” said another voice, and Gabriel looked past his mother to see O’Connor staring at something across the compound. “Looks like they’re getting an early start, today.”
Following the other man’s gaze, Gabriel felt his heart rate quicken as he saw a pair of men being escorted from one of the other barracks under the watchful eye of two Pugs. Bulky metal clamps bound both prisoners’ hands, the restraints heavy enough that they hobbled the men. Each of the guards carried pulse rifles aimed at the prisoners’ backs, and the four walked at a brisk pace toward a metal wall standing alone near the compound’s north end.
“These two prisoners were caught with materials stolen during their work detail. They were attempting to manufacture weapons,” said the guard watching over the group from Gabriel’s barracks. “There is but one penalty for such an infraction.” The Pug’s words, processed by his tracking chip’s translator, made the guard’s voice sound to Gabriel like fingernails on a chalkboard. It had taken him months to grow accustomed to the irritating tones whenever one of the aliens spoke.
He did not recognize either of the two men; they were no different from the hundreds of others housed here, dressed in clothing identical to the rest of the camp’s population. One was older, the other far younger. Their clothing was worn and frayed and their hair and beards were as long and disheveled as his own, suggesting their internment here had been of similar duration. Who they were, what they had done before the Pugs or how they had come to be here did not matter. Now they were like him: indistinguishable from the rest of the population and ultimately disposable, as the guards were about to demonstrate.
“Oh no,” Mirabella said, and Gabriel felt her grip loosen and slide down his arm until her hand rested in his. “How old is that one? He looks like . . . like . . .”
Like Matthew.
The pair of Pug guards led the two men to the wall, which bore the marks of weapons fire from previous “demonstrations.” Gabriel had watched this scene play out dozens of times since he and his mother had arrived here. Of course, he had witnessed similar killings even before the camps. The men looked at one another, then around the camp at the hundreds of prisoners assembled around them as though hoping for some reprieve or rescue. None would come, Gabriel knew. There would be no speeches, no calls for last words, no drums or other pomp and circumstance, as executions were performed with cold efficiency. As with everything else the Pugs did, it was all part of the routine.
Then the routine went to hell as the guard tower behind Gabriel exploded.
Gabriel felt the blast before he heard it, the shockwave washing across his head and shoulders. Still holding his mother’s hand, he jerked her with him as he dropped to the wet, cold mud.
“What the hell?” cried O’Connor, who like everyone else dove or scrambled for cover. The Pug guards — most of them, anyway — were reacting to the blast even before alert sirens across the compound began droning. In front of him, Gabriel saw the guard from their group drawing the pulse pistol from his holster and starting to move toward the destroyed tower. He stopped when another explosion rocked the camp and another elevated platform along the perimeter fence disappeared in an expanding circle of fire and shrapnel.
Shouts of alarm and surprise were everywhere as two more blasts took out other guard towers, including one near the camp’s main entrance. While numerous soldiers were running in all directions, some now were directing prisoners back to their barracks. Gabriel saw three men charge one Pug from behind, taking out the alien guard and driving him to the ground. Two of the men were kicking and punching the Pug while the third was trying to pull the alien’s weapon from his grip. Other prisoners were starting to see the opening this new chaos had provided and were turning their attention to other guards, but now the Pugs were beginning to react. The first shots from pulse rifles filled the air, punctuated by cries of terror as prisoners began scattering in all directions.
“Come on,” hissed Gabriel, pushing himself to his feet and pulling his mother with him. “Get back inside.”
“What’s happening?” asked Mirabella, just before yet another explosion echoed across the camp. This one was more distant, near the headquarters building, but it was followed up seconds later by the familiar hiss and whistle of something streaking through the air.
RPG.
Gabriel was just able to register the approach of the rocket-propelled grenade in the instant before the guard platform exploded. He dropped to one knee, covering his head with his arms as the concussion from the blast washed over him.
“It’s an attack,” said O’Connor. “Has to be.”
Gabriel nodded. He now recognized that the explosions were timed and targets selected in a way that would throw the camp and its population into disarray as soldiers and prisoners reacted to what at first appeared to be random assaults. The Pugs were rushing to respond to each successive attack, only to be caught again with the next strike.
“Holy shit. Look!” O’Connor pointed to where Pugs were converging at the main gate. Fire blazed atop the elevated platform where its guard tower had been moments earlier, and Pugs in the remaining tower were firing their weapons at unseen targets outside the compound. The tower’s pulse cannon was moving around to face that direction, but then Gabriel saw a smoke contrail before another RPG struck the side of the tower and the entire structure went up. Pugs were running in all directions, while others were dealing with prisoners who had not yet returned to their barracks or who had taken the bold step of attacking their guards. Looking around the compound, Gabriel saw how that had proved fatal for several people, but he also noticed the bodies of a few Pugs.
“Somebody’s staging a jailbreak,” said O’Connor. “Hot damn. Come on, Gabe.”
Pushing himself to his feet, Gabriel shoved Mirabella toward the doorway of the closest barracks. “Mom, get inside and stay down.” He ducked as weapons fire erupted on the building’s other side. Given the proximity to the center of the compound, the Pugs had to be engaging attackers who had gotten over or through the perimeter walls, or else they were shooting at other prisoners. “We can’t stay here.”
The tower twenty yards from where they stood burst apart, and Gabriel and O’Connor each grabbed one of Mirabella’s arms and continued hustling her toward the barracks. As they approached the door, Gabriel spied the body of a fallen Pug near the building’s corner, and next to the guard was his pulse rifle.
Now we’re talking.
Once Mirabella was at the barracks door, Gabriel retrieved the guard’s weapon. It was heavy, at least twenty or twenty-five pounds, comparable in size to the M60 machine guns he had handled. He had never held a pulse rifle but had seen it in use by the Pugs enough times that he figured he could at least fire the damned thing.
“We’re in the shit now, but good,” O’Connor said, eyeing the pulse rifle as he snatched a pistol from the guard’s belt holster.
He was right, Gabriel knew. Using anything as a weapon, let alone handling a rifle or pistol, was a capital offense for a prisoner. Then again, so was pretty much everything else, including attacking a guard or any other Pug. Assuming any prisoners survived the next few minutes, chances were good that those known or suspected to have taken part in the hostilities would be put to death.
Looks like we’re going to test that theory.
“Where are you going?” asked Mirabella from where she stood near the door, her expression one of fear and worry.
O’Connor replied, “To find a way out of here.”
“Damned straight.” Gabriel turned to his mother. “Stay here. We’ll be back once we figure out what’s going on.” He had to try linking up with their would-be liberators. Would they be at or near the front gate, or trying to get through the wall at some vulnerable point? Gabriel thought both were likely, along with other attempts at breaching the camp’s fortifications if for no other reason than to keep the Pugs occupied and confused.
A cough escaped Mirabella’s lips before she replied, “If you find a way out, you won’t have time to come back for me. I’m going with you.”
“Mom.” Before he could say anything else, Mirabella held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not staying here. Either we get out, or we don’t, but I’m done living day to day and waiting to die. I won’t let them . . .” The words faded, but the look in her eyes was enough to communicate what she did not say.
What else could he do? The Pugs had already taken his father and brother. His mother was all the family he had left, and she was right. If today was the day they were to die, then better to die fighting, on their terms.
“Okay,” he said. “Stick close.” They needed to get away from the open ground of the compound’s center and use the buildings for cover. Hugging the wall of the barracks, Gabriel led the way toward the building’s far end. If there was a way out, it would be somewhere along the perimeter. That much seemed right just based on the exchange of weapons fire taking place at different points along the wall. Trying to keep the pulse rifle’s muzzle level with the ground, he approached the nearest barracks’ far corner and an intersection between four such buildings.
They were halfway there when a Pug soldier stepped into view.
Mirabella’s gasp made the guard, who had not seen them at first, halt just as he walked through the intersection. Backpedaling, he turned in their direction.
Shit.
Gabriel held the pulse rifle against his hip and pressed the weapon’s firing stud. Nothing happened.
Shit!
The Pug was raising his weapon when something howled past Gabriel and a bright red energy bolt struck the soldier’s upper torso, driving him backward and off his feet. Fumbling with the pulse rifle, Gabriel saw O’Connor dart past him, the oversized alien pistol looking enormous in his hands as he trained it on the guard who, despite the ghastly wound in his chest, was trying to push himself from the ground. Still gripping his pistol, the soldier was lifting it when Gabriel found the rifle’s safety and fired. His shot struck just below the Pug’s neck, and this time the alien stayed down.
“Thanks,” said O’Connor, moving to pick up the guard’s pistol. Mirabella joined him and he handed the weapon to her. “Take it. If you have to, just point and shoot. It’s got some kick.”She accepted the weapon and Gabriel watched her handle it with confidence. Along with the rest of her family, his mother knew her way around firearms. Gabriel even thought he saw a flicker of new confidence in her eyes as she hefted the pistol, as though she were reclaiming some small part of her old self.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”
O’Connor was moving to take the guard’s weapon when two more Pugs appeared at the far end of the alley, and Gabriel lifted the pulse rifle to his shoulder and fired. His shot struck the first Pug in the left shoulder, spinning the alien around and off his feet. The Pug lost his grip on his rifle as he fell to the ground, but Gabriel was already moving the rifle’s muzzle to aim at the guard’s companion. He sighted down the weapon’s barrel, getting his first look at the second Pug and seeing the scar running down the left side of the alien’s face.
One Eye.
“Dear god,” Gabriel heard his mother say, from where she stood behind him.
So stunned was he by the unexpected sight that Gabriel froze in mid-motion even as the alien fired his pistol at O’Connor. With nowhere to go or hide, O’Connor had no chance to avoid the energy bolt. It struck him in the face, obliterating it along with his head and a good portion of his upper torso. What remained of his body toppled to the wet ground.
“Dylan!”
Move!
Gabriel’s mind screamed the command, but his body would not obey. Arms remained locked in place, holding the pulse rifle with its muzzle pointed at One Eye. For his part, the Pug also seemed surprised by the odd encounter, but there was no way he would remember Gabriel or his mother, right? How many humans had he killed since arriving on Earth? Were they not all just faceless adversaries deserving of nothing more than incarceration or elimination?
Then One Eye smiled.
“You son of a bitch. You do remember.”
Gabriel fired, and the pulse rifle unleashed a hellish red ball that drilled into One Eye’s chest. The alien dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with shock as he looked down to behold the ghastly wound the weapon had inflicted. When he attempted to lift his pistol, Gabriel fired again and the second shot struck the Pug in the face, tearing away part of his jaw.
“Damn you!” shouted Mirabella Ryder, advancing toward the alien who had dropped his pistol and now was raising his arms in a weak, futile attempt to defend himself.
“Mom!” Gabriel shouted, but she ignored him. Stepping over the body of Dylan O’Connor, Mirabella lowered the pulse pistol until its muzzle was mere inches from One Eye’s head. She said nothing, offering no words of regret or retribution as the Pug stared at her. Instead, she simply pulled the trigger.
One Eye’s head exploded.
In mute horror, Gabriel watched the alien fall backward, yellow blood spraying in all directions from his mutilated body as it collapsed in a bloodied heap into the mud.
Moving to stand next to his mother, Gabriel eyed her. “You okay?”
Without looking away from the corpse of the fallen One Eye, Mirabella nodded. “I’ll be okay.”
Gabriel cast a forlorn glance at what remained of Dylan O’Connor, a decent man who had given his life without hesitation in order to save him and his mother.
Thank you, my friend.
“We need to keep moving,” he said, gesturing ahead of them. He could still hear the reports of Pug weapons and human small arms fire. Numerous voices, many of them the Pugs’ irksome chatter, were shouting somewhere beyond the barracks buildings. Sirens still blared, though they now were more distant.
“This way,” he said, feeling his heart catch in his throat. “We’re not that far from the fence.”
Hefting the pulse rifle, Gabriel led them between the barracks, watching and listening for signs of movement. As they neared the corner of the last building, he flinched at the bark of a shotgun blast, the report followed by several human voices yelling something he could not understand. All of that was punctuated by the sounds of other Pug weapons. Reaching the building’s far end, he risked poking his head around the corner, and saw it.
Freedom.
It was so close — less than twenty yards away — in the form of a gaping hole in the perimeter barrier. Twisted, scorched metal marked where an explosive charge had been used to penetrate the wall and electric fence. The bodies of Pugs and humans were scattered across the wet, muddy ground. From his vantage point, Gabriel saw at least two humans firing from positions outside the wall, doing their best to provide cover as more than a dozen people scrambled for the opening. He flinched as a harsh crimson energy bolt struck one escaping prisoner in the back, driving her to the ground.
“Gabriel,” said Mirabella, and he felt her hand on his arm. “Listen. More of them are coming.”
“They’re pushing back. This is our only chance. If they find us now, they’ll kill us. It’s now or never.”
Stepping around the building’s corner, Gabriel saw the Pug who had shot the fleeing prisoner firing from a position of cover in the doorway of an adjacent barracks. He was raising his pulse rifle when the alien caught sight of him. The Pug was shifting his aim when Gabriel fired. The single bolt struck the Pug in the head and neck, driving him back into the building.
“Go!” he shouted, gesturing toward the gap in the wall, and Mirabella ran in that direction, moving as quickly as she could manage over the rain-slicked ground. The humans outside the fence fired into the compound, and Gabriel did not look back to see what they were shooting, but kept his head down and ran in a zigzag pattern toward the breach.
DAY 1
Gabriel was awake before the sun. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he rested his back against the wall of the abandoned department store their rescuers had chosen to spend the previous night. It was only a temporary shelter, but for now, it would suffice. Dozens of people lay around him, most of them still sleeping. For most if not all of them it was the first decent night’s rest they had enjoyed in months.
What would today bring?
Looking to his left, Gabriel saw his mother sitting up and staring at him. For the first time in almost a year, she smiled. It was a small, weak smile, but it still was more life than Gabriel had seen since the day of their capture.
“Morning,” she said. “You okay?”
He returned her smile. “I’ll live.” It took him a moment to realize he had not even heard her cough this morning. Instead, there was a light in Mirabella Ryder’s eyes he had not seen for far too long. Gone was the air of defeat and resignation that had loomed over her for these many months. Her newfound resolve was palpable, and he drew strength from it.
“You realize we could be back in there before sundown,” he said. “Or dead.”
“And maybe we won’t. What matters is that we’ve got a chance now. A real chance.” She reached up and brushed the side of his face.
It was impossible for Gabriel to believe the Pugs would stand for such rank defiance. They would be coming, he knew, sweeping across the city and the neighboring countryside. He doubted he and his mother would survive to see the inside of another prison camp.
As though reading his thoughts, she said, “I’m not going back, Gabriel, one way or the other.”
“Me neither,” Gabriel replied, patting the pulse rifle that rested in his lap. Despite his own misgivings, there was no denying his mother’s confidence.
“So, what do we do now?” he asked.
Again, Mirabella smiled. “Just survive.”