The Chittrix plunged within inches of Garrick, the force of its dive raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It swooped low, blasting through the plate-glass window of the showroom, shattering the glass in a storm of icicles that exploded as they hit the road. The Chittrix screamed, circling in the enclosed space, demolishing brickwork as it attempted to crash its way back out.

Garrick yanked Anna’s arm, jerking her to her hands and knees. Seconds later, a damp sweep of air thrummed against his back as an entire swarm of Chittrix soared overhead calling for their companion.

The Chittrix in the showroom reacted in piercing alarm, staggering sideways out of the building in a drunken lurch. It collided with an LPG gas tank, the squeal of wrenching metal outlined in a crystalline second before everything was engulfed in an orange wall of fire.

The ferocity of the explosion knocked them both backwards. Sharp grit rammed into the heels of Garrick’s hands, tearing his flesh. Scalding air engulfed them, swiftly followed by a swirling curtain of acrid black smoke.

Garrick grasped Anna’s hand, the delicate bones vulnerable and small in his grip. She was barely visible through the soot and dust as he hauled her to her feet. He ran, ignoring the agony that jolted his wounded arm, guiding her to safety.

He hustled Anna, her face bleached with shock, up a narrow passageway between two decaying car showrooms. Its slimness, afforded them some protection as he urged her forwards. Anger boiled in his blood. The Chittrix had been waiting. They were being hunted and he hadn’t seen it. He’d put Anna’s life at risk, thinking he knew what he was doing. His gut lurched with nausea at the thought of anything harming to her. It’s not happening.

“How did they find us?” Anna yelled as they sprinted to the end of the alley, before skidding to a halt. Garrick jerked his head around the corner and swiftly withdrew as a dark wave of Scutters swamped the street beyond.

Where now?

“We ran past a fire door.” He turned on his heel without explanation, dragging Anna back with him. Her eyes widened with fear as she glanced up to the barrage of shrieks and howls from the rooftop. Garrick had lived rough long enough to know the sound of Chittrix hunting cries.

The fire door was locked with a rusty padlock. He shouldered Anna away from the door and unhooked his machete.

“Back!”

The padlock fell from the door in one fierce blow. Rusty metal shards peppered the air, and the security chain fell as Garrick kicked the door open. He yanked Anna inside. “Quick.” He risked a glance back out to the alley and spotted more Scutters before slamming the fire door shut.

Inside was dark, a black abyss that swallowed up all definition. The effect was disorientating, and he tripped and stumbled while guiding Anna through a ramshackle storage area. Large, metallic hanging-rails blocked their path at every step. Garrick edged through them with his shoulders, never letting go of Anna’s hand.

I am getting her out of this.

No Chittrix was going to touch her as long as he was breathing. He’d deal with the rest once they were safe. He cursed as he pushed through more rails, their wheels screeching in protest.

They burst through heavy swing-doors at the end of the stockroom, almost falling onto the main floor. Large picture windows surrounded them on two sides, giving them a clear view, but also making them sitting ducks for whatever lurked beyond.

Garrick led the way, a glance at Anna’s determined face reassuring him. He stopped a few feet from the glass, his pulse raging in his ears as he checked the street outside. It heaved with Scutters flowing over each other, a black sea scrabbling in desperation to find easy human prey.

Think. His mind raced as he considered their options. There was always a way forward. This is not where we’re going to die. There was always a plan.

He turned to Anna.

“We need to go outside.”

“Yes, but not here, right?” she hissed, pointing at the writhing mass outside on the pavement.

“Yes. We’ve a better chance of staying alive if we go through the Scutters than we do of trying to fight an army of Chittrix.”

Anna glanced out into the street, hugging her arms tightly to her body. Garrick tracked her horrified gaze. Scutters were ramming up against the window, their barbed claws a dark blur of motion, the armoured undulations of their underbellies scraping the glass.

He pointed across the street. “There’s a lot less on the other side.”

“You’re insane.”

“Yes. But planning on remaining alive, regardless.”

Anna chucked her backpack on the floor, knelt and rummaged, muttering to herself. He squeezed her shoulder, the bones delicate and fragile under his grip. “We don’t have time for this, Anna. We need to go now.”

He gave a harried glance in the direction of the stock room. Nothing yet.

“Yes.” She stood, her skin washed out in the insipid light that filtered through the window. She handed him a small jar. “This will help.”

Garrick took the jar and held it up. As he turned it, the black substance inside shifted lazily against the glass.

“Pyrethrin. It leads to a loss of motor coordination and paralysis in insects. For a time, anyway. I’ve tweaked it, juiced it up a bit and it worked on injured Scutters I found near the lab.”

Garrick tried to disguise the disbelief on his face. “They tried this at the time of the initial invasion. It sucked.”

She huffed a breath of impatience. “Yeah. That was then. This is the new and improved super-Ward version. It’s amazing what you can do in six months with no TV.”

He sniffed the contents, his nose wrinkling.

Anna took the jar out of his hands and unscrewed it. “Stop being such a girl.” She rolled up her sleeves then stuck her fingers in and scooped out a handful, slapping it on her arms. Golden freckles disappeared under a greenish-black substance.

“Jesus. Here give me some.” He tucked his MP5 between his thighs and scooped some out and rubbed it onto his arms and face. Like camouflage paint, but worse. It stung his skin and his nostrils were filled with grass and bitter metallic overtones. He reached down and smeared it across the armour plates on his thighs, then his trousers and boots.

Anna grinned at him, her teeth white against the black sludge on her skin.

“You look hot in battle-paint,” he said.

She pointedly didn’t look at the seething street outside. “Remind me of that later.”

His Spitfire.

“C’mon.” His hand slipped possessively into hers. “I’m not letting you go.” He squeezed her fingers, enjoying the warmth of her hand. He inhaled a deep breath as they approached the exit. Then he popped the inner lock and yanked the door wide open before either of them changed their mind.