Garrick woke Foster and Hardy on his way down to the main vehicle hangar. By the time he arrived at the hangar and began loading weapons into one of the armoured vehicles, Violet had appeared. She was pulling a worn, fuzzy grey woollen jumper over her head as she jogged in. Garrick chucked his kit bag into the back of the Coyote, shaking his head.

“Who woke you?”

Violet grimaced. “Foster. Did I tell you he’s mental?”

Loud, masculine screeches echoed down the corridor.

She raised her eyebrows. “See what I mean.”

“You don’t need to do this, V.”

She grabbed his forearm and squeezed it. “No. But I am. Foster filled me in.” Her mouth was set in a resolute line that Garrick knew better than to mess with. Besides, his sister took care of herself. After things had really hit the fan and Tom had died, Garrick had made it back to their parent’s house by the skin of his teeth. He’d found Violet locked in some crazy, killing routine that involved her going out every day and shooting as many aliens as possible. She was a one woman, Chittrix-annihilation team.

“Besides, look what happened the last time I let you out on your own.” Violet’s green eyes never left him. “It’s good to have you back.” She touched the open gash on his forehead. “Want me to dress this?”

“No. Stopped bleeding now.”

He pulled his upper-body armour out of the bag and began to buckle it.

“Anna is wearing my tracker bracelet. Laing picked up the signal.”

“Where?”

“Isle of Dogs, south of the city.”

“Ah. The primary hive?”

Garrick nodded. “Look at it this way: now we kill two birds with one stone.”

Frustration and anger made his jaw ache. He tried to slow his breathing. Anna was out there on her own and unprotected, and it was his fault.

Hardy and Foster stormed into the hangar, arms full of kit. Julia followed, hobbling, her fingers strained white on a green canvas satchel. The Sweeper. She passed it over to Garrick, and then unclasped the activation chip from around her neck.

Foster lobbed the gear he was carrying to the floor beside the Jackal TSV then straightened and gave Garrick a questioning look.

Garrick preempted the inevitable inquisition. “We bring Anna out and leave them the Sweeper Device as a thank-you note.”

Foster glanced at Hardy and then back at Garrick, eyebrows raised. “What about Fox?”

“Screw Fox. He’s spent his entire military career sat behind a desk making decisions based on probability, not experience. I’ve seen how well that works. We have a chance to show the Chittrix we’re not going to lie down and let them wipe out our entire planet without a fight.”

Garrick’s voice was calm and modulated, belying the tension singing through his body, but it was damn good to finally take responsibility for his own fate again. To fight with the men who had fought their way out of a Chittrix-infested building with him only a few days ago. Garrick hadn’t chosen the job, but he accepted right now he was the leader of this checkered group. A job he’d thought he didn’t want.

He’d been wrong.

Adrenalin energised his muscles, sweeping away the last vestiges of plant venom and fatigue.

Foster cracked his knuckles and bounced on the balls of his feet with nervous energy. “I’m in.”

Hardy nodded, his expression serious. “I’m hardly going to let you go out there on your own. Let’s get shit organised.”

Eager anticipation burned in Garrick’s blood. He could make a difference, even in this new, fucked-up world. Anna had shown him. She’d cut through all the crap he’d built and torn it down.

“The Chittrix took Anna. It didn’t kill her. It took her for a reason.”

Foster whistled through his teeth. “Keeps things interesting.”

Julia didn’t miss a beat. “You need to plant the Sweeper, regardless.”

Foster raised his eyebrows and pointed at the satchel. “Your boom box good enough? Isn’t it a bit small?”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Foster. I wouldn’t waste your time with a below-par product.”

Foster smirked and hoisted himself up the gunning tower of the Coyote.

A loud bang made them all turn. Sawyer hurried in through the swinging door, buttoning up his trousers as he jogged across the concrete. His clothes were rumpled, his mohican sticking up in random directions.

“Hey, Sawyer. No one expected you to break up your booty call for pest extermination.” Foster taunted.

Sawyer glowered and yanked his zip closed. “This shit better be good. I don’t tell Fox to fuck off for anyone you know.”

“You told him what?” Violet failed to keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Came and woke me up. Told me he wanted me to talk some sense in to you.” His eyes never left Garrick. “Don’t know what made him think I hold any kind of sway round here.”

Hardy hummed in agreement. “Too much political pussy-footing been going on since day one.”

Violet bit her lip, and then sighed. “Let’s leave the political revolution for when we return.”

“What’s the plan?” Sawyer asked.

“We plant the Sweeper Device in the primary hive while getting Anna the hell out.”

Sawyer frowned. “Do we know if she’s alive?”

Garrick grimaced, his insides clenching in a hard, painful knot. “The tracker is registering some movement. Enough to believe she’s still alive.”

Foster slammed his hand on the dented mustard-yellow metal of the Coyote, startling everyone. “Let’s hurry up then people. Clock’s a ticking. Let’s go get the doctor-chick and blow those leggy fuckers up with the disco box. We need to be out of this place yesterday.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Garrick was rammed into the Coyote, scanning the tracking pad as the Jackal roared up behind them from the exit of the vehicle hangar. Anna’s location was a tiny red pulse. Dead or alive, there she was. His fingers rested lightly on the screen as if by touch he could connect with her and let her know he was coming.

Hold on, Spitfire.