“A bit,” Felix says. “Next trailer?” His calmness disturbs me, but I remind myself he served in the military. He’s seen all kinds of death before. Maybe a baked baby is nothing new to him.
Felix steps down from the trailer before me, collecting the pack he left by the door. He turns to look at me where I stand in the top of the doorway when I hear a loud whine and then a thunk. Felix’s eyes bug out and he staggers forward. His rifle clunks to the ground and tumbles down the stairs and outside the trailer.
“Sawyer!” he manages to yell before falling, splayed on the floor of the trailer at my feet. There’s a dart in the back of his head. He twitches painfully as I fall to my knees, pull the dart out, and throw it away. I try to turn him over, but he’s wedged in the doorway, and it’s too narrow for me to move him. Finally, I lie on the floor so I can see into his face. It is already filling with the dart toxin, the veins turning black, his eyes filling with dark blood.
“Hide,” he chokes out, clutching at my arm. “Hide . . .” Then oily blood bubbles from his mouth, his eyes fix on me, and he stops breathing. The light leaves his eyes as I watch him die.
Outside the trailer, I hear shouting and gunfire. I edge back inside, past the kitchen. My choice is the bedroom with the corpses or the tiny toilet. I can’t think. I hear Topher call Sawyer’s name. And gunfire. And someone screaming “No! NO!” I climb into the toilet closet and pull the door closed after me. It’s then I realize I’ve pissed myself.
Run. Run. Run, I think. I’m trapped, but the others can run. Above the toilet is a tiny window. In the sky outside I can see a hovering transport. Somehow this one is more menacing than the ones we faced yesterday. It looks like an awful organic machine. The sound of the engine is terrifying. Not loud so much as deep and throbbing. My teeth chatter uncontrollably. And I taste bile in the back of my throat again. The yelling outside stops for a moment. Are they all dead? Is Topher dead? I think of Felix outside on the floor and the tiny baby in the crib. They blur together. My hate is all that keeps me from fainting of fear.
Then I hear a voice. It’s Sawyer.
“RETREAT! Back down the hill!” he shouts. I don’t hear anyone looking for me. Someone says, “Help me carry him!” in a desperate voice, and I think they must mean Felix, but I don’t hear any movement in the trailer. Someone else got hit. A him.
Not Topher. Please, not Topher. I pull my other knife from its holster and try to focus on remaining silent while my thoughts scream at me. Not Topher. Not Topher. He’s all I have left of Tucker.
Seconds go past, minutes. Silence.
Have they left me? I look up through the small window and can still see the transport in the sky. It moves and dips out of sight. I hear its engines rumble low and the sound of metallic footsteps. Then it roars away.
I hold my breath, straining to hear anything. There are footsteps outside the trailer. No voices, just footsteps, heavy-sounding and a whining noise, then another thunk, very close by. The trailer vibrates a bit.
Have they shot Felix’s body? That means they’ve spotted him in the trailer doorway. This trailer. The one I’m in. I don’t dare open the bathroom door when I feel the trailer rock as someone comes up the stairs. I know it can’t be one of us. They’ve left me. They’ve left me here to die with a dart in my forehead. I prepare myself. There is no way I am going to die sitting on the toilet. I clench one knife in each fist and coil up, ready to attack whatever comes through the door.
I feel the trailer rock.
Oh please, oh please. I’m not sure if I want them to leave or to open the door so at least I have a chance to kill one before I die myself. The weakness under their chin, I think, tightening my grip on the knives. A minute goes past, then another. I’m still trembling when I feel the trailer rock once more and hear heavy footfalls. I haven’t locked the bathroom door! I look up at the latch hanging uselessly. I could reach up and attach it, but I would have to put down a knife. And move. And maybe breathe. I don’t dare. My last hope now is that the Nahx won’t open it.
A second later that hope fades, as I watch the door handle turn. I think of my parents, and Tucker, and Topher as I transfer that last dreg of hope to him. I hope he survives this, because I know I won’t.
The door opens. A Nahx stands there with a dart gun pointed right at me.
I leap at it, both knives aiming for the throat. The armor blurs as in one movement it drops the gun and grabs both my wrists, one in each hand, stopping my knives an inch from its neck. I try not to scream as it squeezes my wrists and lifts me up. An instant before I’m sure my bones will be crushed like dainty porcelain teacups, I let go of the knives and they clatter to the floor.
I hang for a moment, suspended by my wrists. I try kicking out, landing several good shots on its torso and at least one that would leave a human man writhing on the floor. It barely flinches. I bend my elbows and pull myself up until I’m level with its black glass eyes.
This is the closest I’m ever likely to get to a Nahx. The armor is a thick dull gray that seems to absorb the light around it. It is segmented, like a beetle or a spider, and has valves and wires and reinforced panels all over it. The plates over its face seem to move slightly, revealing sharp-looking spines in thin strips. Some kind of extra defense? Or is this anger, fear? Can it feel fear, as I do? I wonder if they are just machines or if there is something inside there. There’s a faint pulsating buzzing noise coming from the armor and a peculiar smell, almost like coal or burnt wood.
This Nahx is very tall, probably nearly two feet taller than me, and broad shouldered. It stands with knees slightly bent and feet apart. I hang there, biceps burning with the effort of holding myself up. Finally, with cramping muscles, I drop down. It doesn’t let go of my wrists, and pain shoots through them as I realize they are burning. Its hands are burning me.