Chapter 4
Colt kept his finger on the trigger as the flashlights mounted to his helmet flared to life. The lobby was a shambles: overturned desks, shattered chairs, a collapsed wall revealing an empty swimming pool wreathed by an iron fence out back.
He took one step and then another as a gust of wind sent dead leaves dancing across the hardwood floor. Something moved in the shadows, and his muscles tensed. “Danielle . . . is that you?” he said into his comlink. “Can you hear me?”
“Sorry, I’m getting a lot of static.”
“Not funny.”
“You’re breaking up.”
“Danielle.”
“See you on the roof.”
The elevator was out of commission, so Colt rushed up the stairwell, hoping to catch her before she ran headlong into a nest of Thule. It was times like this when he most missed Oz Romero, and not because his friend could bench-press four hundred pounds or hit a bull’s-eye with a sniper rifle from three-quarters of a mile away.
Colt missed Oz’s confidence, his quirky humor, and the way he always smiled—even when it felt like the world was crashing down around them. He understood why Abigail Thorne, the new superintendent of the academy, had expelled Oz when she took over, even after it looked like Oz would be able to stay, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Oz wasn’t like his dad, the former director of CHAOS who had hired a Thule assassin to kill a list of US government officials—along with Colt, who he thought had wanted to remove him from his post.
Oz had testified that he didn’t have anything to do with the plot, and he not only passed a series of lie detector tests to prove it, he let them take a recording of his memories. They didn’t find one shred of evidence; still, Superintendent Thorne said she couldn’t risk keeping him even though Colt and more than a dozen instructors had testified on his behalf.
Grandpa even spoke to the man who had assumed control of CHAOS. Ezekiel Watson was not only the Director of the Department of Alien Affairs but also an old friend. It didn’t matter. Their public relations team thought that keeping Oz around would mean bad publicity at a time when the American people needed to know that they could trust their government to protect them.
Thinking about it made Colt angry. I can’t go there, not now, he thought. Look. Listen. Evaluate. Do it all again and then move. He pressed forward but stopped when he heard something heavy shuffle across the floor above him.
“Colt, can you hear me?”
“Where are you?”
“I can see the ship but—” Her voice cut out.
Wood groaned as something big made its way up the stairs from behind. I knew it, Colt thought. We walked right into a trap. He turned off the flashlights as he stepped around the corner and stood with his back against the wall.
The dull thud of footsteps grew closer, and he tried to control his breathing—in through the mouth, out through the nose. He pictured the nerve clusters on a Thule. The throat. Ears. Groin. Armpits. If those didn’t work, there were always the eyes.
His body tensed. The creature was close enough that he could hear it breathing. It’s now or never. He spun around and jabbed at its throat with his rifle, but it deflected the blow. Colt followed up with a knee to the midsection, but it slipped to the side and knocked the rifle from his hands.
“Take it easy, McAlister.”
“Oz?” The person standing there looked like his friend, but something was off. Thule were shapeshifters, which meant that they could take any human form. This Oz was too thin, and his cheeks were too gaunt.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He held up his arms in a show of surrender, but it wasn’t enough.
Colt drew the .45-caliber handgun from his holster and took aim.
“What are you doing?” Oz asked.
“Prove it.”
“What, you think I’m one of them?”
“You have five seconds.”
“Come on, you can’t be—”
“Four . . . three . . .”
“Okay. I met you at Chandler High . . . you stink at video games . . . you’re in love with Lily Westcott . . . and you keep your dad’s Phantom Flyer ring in your sock drawer. You happy?”
“What’s my favorite Phantom Flyer issue?”
Oz rolled his eyes. “You tell people it’s #11 because that’s what it should be, but it’s really #97—the first one your dad gave you.”
“I almost shot you,” Colt said, lowering the gun. “What are you doing here?”
Oz shrugged. “Somebody has to watch your back. Anyway, where’s Danielle?”
“Taking pictures of the wreck.”
“By herself?” Oz started up the last flight of stairs, but Colt grabbed him by the arm.
“Listen, about everything that happened—”
“Forget it,” Oz said, cutting him off. “You didn’t have anything to do with it. Besides, they didn’t have a choice.”
Someone screamed.
“Danielle!”
Oz grabbed Colt’s assault rifle and charged up the stairs with Colt on his heels. They burst through the door and ran down the hall toward the wreck, but stopped when they saw Danielle in the clutches of a Thule.
Should I spare her life or dine on her liver?
The chilling voice was somehow inside Colt’s head, like the creature was using telepathy.
“Let her go,” Colt said, his gun held high.
Danielle gasped as the Thule tore her helmet away.
“I have the shot,” Oz said, the barrel of the weapon pointed at the Thule’s right eye.
Colt felt something like adrenaline surge through him as his thoughts gave way to instinct. He dropped the handgun and sprang forward, his lip curled back as he grabbed the Thule by its wrist and twisted. Bone snapped, and the alien dropped Danielle.
The Thule lashed out, but Colt ducked out of the way. A second strike from the Thule was followed by a third and then a fourth, but somehow Colt was too fast. He stepped to the left and then the right, countering each blow, first to its throat, then its ear, and twice to the cluster of nerves beneath its arms.
I’ll suck the marrow from your bones!
The Thule spoke into his mind as Colt jumped up and brought his elbow down on its skull. Bone shattered and its eyes rolled back in its head as it crumpled to the ground, but Colt wasn’t finished. He jumped on its chest, pinning two of its shoulders beneath his knees. Fury erupted as he rained down blow after blow on the alien’s face. Its jaw went slack, its tongue lolled, and green blood oozed from deep cuts.
“That’s enough,” someone said, but the voice was far away.
Colt’s nostrils flared as the fear of seeing Danielle in its clutches was replaced by hatred for the warmongering Thule who had already taken his parents. He knew they wouldn’t stop until everyone he loved was eradicated.
“It’s over.”
The voice was closer now, but Colt ignored it. He brought his fist against the Thule’s jaw, and it snapped to hang at an odd angle. Another blow, and bone tore through skin as scales and blood sprayed the floor.
“You’re freaking her out.”
Colt turned and saw Danielle standing with her back against the wall, tears streaming down her face, her eyes wide with fear. Oz walked over and brushed the hair from her cheek. His fingers lightly caressed her skin. He smiled gently as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest, sobbing.
“I know,” he said as he stroked her hair. “I know.”
Colt’s hands shook uncontrollably. His knuckles were covered with the same green blood that was splattered on the walls and the floor. He looked over at the Thule’s broken body, and he knew why Danielle was crying. She wasn’t afraid of the Thule. She was afraid of him.