door of the house that just says “Out Back,” scrawled in messy handwriting. So we wander around the house to the big metal building. We walk through the front door and must trip some kind of invisible alarm, because suddenly the door locks behind us and there are four guns mounted on robotic arms trained on us.
“Shit!” I yell as I try to pull the door open.
“Mark,” Sarah says quietly, but I can tell that she’s freaking out.
I start to move forward but the guns stay on me, keeping their aim with every step I take. So instead, I take a few steps to the right and plant myself in front of Sarah. At our feet, BK starts to growl. The edges of hisbody begin to contort, as if he’s just about to transform into a monster.
“I wouldn’t go any farther than that if you don’t want to end up full of holes,” a muffled voice says.
There’s a figure standing in front of us that’s tall—taller than me—and wearing loose-fitting coveralls and a shiny, robotic-looking helmet. Something about it is familiar, but I don’t know why. My head is fuzzy from the fever. A bunch of tools hang from a belt around the person’s waist, but I’m more concerned about what’s in their hands, which, based on what I can remember about the weapons in my dad’s old office, is a semiautomatic combat shotgun.
Dozens of scenarios flash through my mind, none of which end well for us. My loudest thought screams that I’ve been duped again. That I’ve been a huge dumbass and somehow ended up communicating with another fake GUARD. Or maybe GUARD was never on our side to begin with. There’s no mystery grenade to save me this time, though. With all the security stuff everywhere, I’m guessing even if we did make it outside, we’d still be goners.
Behind me, Sarah’s breathing is heavy, and my entire body shudders with regret for bringing her into this.
I’m relieved when the figure lowers the shotgun, but that feeling is quickly replaced by confusion when the weird helmet comes off. The person in front of us is ablack woman with strong, slightly masculine features. Her hair’s shaved on the sides but fades into a short, flat Mohawk on the top of her head. A sheen of sweat shines on her face. She looks like a badass warrior, but she’s also totally hot.
She stares at BK and mutters something in a language I’ve never heard. Her voice is commanding. Suddenly, BK heels.
So much for that line of defense.
“A Chimæra. Wonderful,” she says. She turns her attention to me. “Mark James. You look even worse than the last time I saw you.”
That’s when I realize why the helmet looked familiar. I’ve seen this person before. In New Mexico.
She’s the courier who delivered the first package to me.
“Wait . . . ,” I say. “ You’re GUARD?”
She nods, raising one eyebrow as if she thinks I should have somehow figured this out already. As if I had any reason to guess that the person I’d been in contact with all this time wasn’t a conspiracy-obsessed hacker shut-in but a woman who looks like she’d be equally comfortable on a magazine cover or a battlefield.
“You can call me Lexa. That was my name on Lorien.”
Lorien?
My head pounds as my brain tries to make sense of the fact that GUARD is not only a chick, but an alien.
What the hell is going on?
“Mark,” Sarah says, breathless. Her eyes are wide and staring at something farther back in the giant metal building, behind the woman.
And then I see what’s got her attention.
“Welcome to the hangar,” Lexa says. “It looks like we need to get you fixed up. I hope you’re good with tools. I’m trying to get this thing to run off the primitive fuel systems available on this planet.”
She turns away from us and walks towards the beat-up silver spaceship parked in the back of the hangar.
CHAPTER ONE
THE NIGHTMARE IS OVER. WHEN I OPEN MY EYES , there’s nothing but darkness.
I’m in a bed, that much I can tell, and it’s not my own. The
“Shit!” I yell as I try to pull the door open.
“Mark,” Sarah says quietly, but I can tell that she’s freaking out.
I start to move forward but the guns stay on me, keeping their aim with every step I take. So instead, I take a few steps to the right and plant myself in front of Sarah. At our feet, BK starts to growl. The edges of hisbody begin to contort, as if he’s just about to transform into a monster.
“I wouldn’t go any farther than that if you don’t want to end up full of holes,” a muffled voice says.
There’s a figure standing in front of us that’s tall—taller than me—and wearing loose-fitting coveralls and a shiny, robotic-looking helmet. Something about it is familiar, but I don’t know why. My head is fuzzy from the fever. A bunch of tools hang from a belt around the person’s waist, but I’m more concerned about what’s in their hands, which, based on what I can remember about the weapons in my dad’s old office, is a semiautomatic combat shotgun.
Dozens of scenarios flash through my mind, none of which end well for us. My loudest thought screams that I’ve been duped again. That I’ve been a huge dumbass and somehow ended up communicating with another fake GUARD. Or maybe GUARD was never on our side to begin with. There’s no mystery grenade to save me this time, though. With all the security stuff everywhere, I’m guessing even if we did make it outside, we’d still be goners.
Behind me, Sarah’s breathing is heavy, and my entire body shudders with regret for bringing her into this.
I’m relieved when the figure lowers the shotgun, but that feeling is quickly replaced by confusion when the weird helmet comes off. The person in front of us is ablack woman with strong, slightly masculine features. Her hair’s shaved on the sides but fades into a short, flat Mohawk on the top of her head. A sheen of sweat shines on her face. She looks like a badass warrior, but she’s also totally hot.
She stares at BK and mutters something in a language I’ve never heard. Her voice is commanding. Suddenly, BK heels.
So much for that line of defense.
“A Chimæra. Wonderful,” she says. She turns her attention to me. “Mark James. You look even worse than the last time I saw you.”
That’s when I realize why the helmet looked familiar. I’ve seen this person before. In New Mexico.
She’s the courier who delivered the first package to me.
“Wait . . . ,” I say. “ You’re GUARD?”
She nods, raising one eyebrow as if she thinks I should have somehow figured this out already. As if I had any reason to guess that the person I’d been in contact with all this time wasn’t a conspiracy-obsessed hacker shut-in but a woman who looks like she’d be equally comfortable on a magazine cover or a battlefield.
“You can call me Lexa. That was my name on Lorien.”
Lorien?
My head pounds as my brain tries to make sense of the fact that GUARD is not only a chick, but an alien.
What the hell is going on?
“Mark,” Sarah says, breathless. Her eyes are wide and staring at something farther back in the giant metal building, behind the woman.
And then I see what’s got her attention.
“Welcome to the hangar,” Lexa says. “It looks like we need to get you fixed up. I hope you’re good with tools. I’m trying to get this thing to run off the primitive fuel systems available on this planet.”
She turns away from us and walks towards the beat-up silver spaceship parked in the back of the hangar.
CHAPTER ONE
THE NIGHTMARE IS OVER. WHEN I OPEN MY EYES , there’s nothing but darkness.
I’m in a bed, that much I can tell, and it’s not my own. The
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