The mass exerts an incredible pull. I feel drawn to it, sucked toward it, like matter to a black hole.
The streak of light stops abruptly and flickers in and out of human form so fast I can barely see the transitions. It cringes back, away from the dark surge, even as it is dragged inexorably along the floor. Then the light is snuffed out; the human form is gone, just gone, and the darkness retracts into Jackson’s metal cylinder. The whole thing makes me think of a frog flicking out its tongue to snatch a fly and drag it into its waiting maw.
For an instant, I can’t breathe. And then I can. A sharp inhalation that inflates my lungs and sends my blood zipping through my veins.
Jackson killed it.
And I stood beside him and watched.
I don’t get the chance to figure out how that makes me feel. All around me, there’s chaos. These things—the Drau—are fast, like blurs of light zipping throughout the room. Behind me, beside me, there are sounds and movements and surges of darkness that tell me the others are shooting. Hunting.
Something comes at me, light and speed, and then it’s solid, taking the shape of a man directly in front of me. I can’t help it. I look at it, right in its eyes, mercury smooth and silvery and bright. Terrifying and beautiful.
Pain explodes, eating my organs, my limbs, my brain. I feel like my insides are being ripped away, pulled out through my eyes. My legs turn to rubber. I fall to my knees.
The Drau’s lips peel back, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Not human at all.
In my terror, I can’t force myself to look away.
The need to fight, to defend myself, is overwhelming, stronger even than the magnetism of those eyes.
I raise my hand, the one holding my weapon.
Fire. Shoot. Do something.
Please.
My hand shakes. My pulse races. But my will isn’t strong enough to get the stupid cylinder to spray out a black acid cloud. There’s a sick feeling of helplessness and terror sitting like lead in the pit of my gut.
Again I will the weapon to fire.
Nothing happens.
The Drau lifts his hand. He’s holding something metallic and smooth. It doesn’t look solid. It appears fluid, jellylike. It’s some sort of weapon. A million lights come at me, like the lights that made Jackson snarl in pain. Then all I know is agony, bright and deep.
I’m locked in the horrific compulsion of the alien’s stare. I need to look away. I can’t look away.
More shards of light disgorge from its shimmering weapon. As they hit, pain bursts on my skin, piercing me like the stingers of a hundred hornets. An invisible band tightens around my torso, constricting my ribs. Crack. The sensation of my rib snapping is sharp and pure and agonizing. I can’t catch my breath. My vision goes gray at the edges. The bitter taste of my fear scrapes my tongue.
I think I cry out. Then I think that maybe my scream is locked in my mind. It takes me a second to realize that the sound I hear is actually coming from behind me, an inhuman cry followed by a human one, desperate and terrified.
“Tyrone!” Richelle’s voice. There’s a beat of silence, then a high, tortured scream.
Someone’s hit. Someone’s hurt. I want to look. I want to help. I can’t. The alien holds my gaze, a predator mesmerizing its prey.
Miki! Jackson’s voice is inside my head, shooting past the pain, both sharpening and shredding my focus.
From the corner of my eye I catch a flash of movement: a black-booted foot at the end of a khaki-clad leg. Then the alien’s weapon flies up in an arc, spinning end over end, and the devastating pressure on my lungs eases. Dragging in a breath, I wrench my gaze away.
I’m shaking. My teeth are chattering. My fingers feel numb and prickly, like I’ve been out in a blizzard without gloves. It takes enormous effort to stay up on my knees and keep my grip on my weapon cylinder. I still haven’t figured out how to use it, but I’m not willing to let it go.
The alien in front of me takes a step closer. Just one. It doesn’t dart in for the kill . . . because it’s toying with me.
Predator. Prey. It likes this game.
I will the cylinder to fire, but it sits smooth and inert in my grasp. So I chase the only option left to me and dive for the jellylike gun that Jackson kicked from the Drau’s hand.
The alien’s a beat faster. It has its weapon. I have mine—which is a boatload of useless because I still haven’t figured out how to make it work. My heart gives an ugly lurch in my chest.
To my left there’s another cry, high and short, even more disturbing than the one I heard before. The sound chills me. I don’t dare look around to try to see who’s been hit. I don’t dare look anywhere but at the creature stalking me. We’re separated by only a few feet now.