Critical Dawn by Colin F. Barnes, Darren Wearmouth Page B

rations.
    A number of square, gray boxes that he guessed were batteries were on the next shelf. Wires travelled up the dirt walls and across the boarded ceiling like the alien’s exposed arteries.
    “I don’t trust them,” Ethan whispered. “We need to find a way to get loose.”
    “I agree,” Maria said. “I think we should give ourselves up, go back with the aliens. Perhaps they’ll understand.”
    Ben scowled and shook his head. With a harsh whisper, he berated his colleagues, unable to understand their reasoning. “Are you forgetting what they,” he pointed to the aliens still patrolling through the forest as shown on the screen, “did to Jimmy and Erika?”
    Maria leaned in closer. “What if they attacked us because of Charlie and Denver?”
    Denver’s dog stood up from her bed: an old box with a blanket hanging over the edges. Pip growled and pointed her nose to the entrance hole.
    “What is it girl?” Denver said, kneeling to the hound and running his hand across the dog’s neck. The dog continued to growl.
    Fragments of dirt fell from the ceiling and the boards that supported it shook.
    “Fuck, they’re here. Must be a second squad out of view,” Denver said in a hushed voice.
    “How are you even seeing all this?” Ben said, also keeping his voice low.
    “We’ve got a number of cameras rigged up outside,” Denver said. “Got to have eyes all over the place in order to stay alive in this world.”
    “Have you always lived like this?” Ethan asked.
    “Shhh,” Charlie said as he apparently moved the cameras to cover different angles.
    Ben counted six of the aliens now. Four wore the gray-mesh armor like the harvester guard while two looked like the smaller ones, wearing thinner material and gold-tinted visors.
    “Shit,” Charlie said, “They’re running radar.”
    Ben saw the two smaller ones put a pair of poles into the ground and then refer to a clear, tablet-like device. It resembled the control tablets they had used back in the harvester.
    The idea that it wasn’t actually a generation ship would take some getting used to, Ben thought. All his life, he’d thought of it as a ship in space—such an elaborate ruse just to use him as nothing more than a worker drone. And now here were Charlie and Denver. Although clearly human, he felt as alien to them as he did the croatoans.
    “It’s time,” Charlie said to Denver. “They’ll find us within minutes if we don’t.”
    “It’s a one-shot deal, Dad. Are you sure?”
    Charlie looked to Ben and the others. “We don’t have any choice.”
    Maria stood and stretched her arms. She looked scared, on edge. “Can you tell us what you’re talking about? I’m scared and just want to return to the ship.” Her eyes welled with tears.
    Ethan got up from the tree trunk and hugged her. “There is no ship, Maria; that was all a lie. We have to stick together, okay?”
    Charlie ignored them and moved through the shelter until he reached the shelf of batteries. He pulled out a metal box, its surface mottled and worn. Old green paint was chipped away to reveal a dull grey beneath. On top of the box was a red dome the size of his palm. It shined glossily in the low light, the crown of the dome polished through what Ben presumed was lots of use.
    A wire trailed from the box to the battery and up into the dirt ceiling.
    “Everyone sit down and place your hands over your ears,” Charlie said.
    Denver ushered Ben, Maria, and Ethan to the far end of the room. “Seriously, do as he says for your own sake.”
    Placing his hands over his ears, Ben nodded to Maria and Ethan to follow. Denver crouched beside his dog, covering her ears and holding her close into his body. She licked his face before facing Charlie.
    Everyone was looking at him now.
    Charlie watched the monitor with the metal box in his hands.
    Ben also watched.
    The two smaller aliens were now just outside of the crumbled wall. Ben could see its edge, rounded with time, and covered in