Two
“What—” Tara breathed. “What are you?”
His eyes widened as if he didn’t quite believe her real either.
“You’re not human.” A glance at the pilot showed the same ridges ran down his brow. She met that glowing gaze again. “None of you are. . .”
His full mouth parted, revealing square human-like white teeth and wickedly sharp fangs—
Oh my god!
His hand shot out, catching her wrist, his fingers hot on her skin. With a cry Tara yanked her arm back, breaking his weak hold.
As she scrambled backward he made a mournful noise, a rumbling growl carrying unmistakable anguish.
It was enough to halt her escape but not to calm her hammering heart.
He’s not human! He’s—
The alien shifted toward her, his face tight, one arm pressed hard to his ribs. He lay still for a moment, panting. With slow, agonized movements, he reached his hand out to her. His fingers trembled, stained with his own blood.
The other two aliens were dead. This one was ashen, his clothing and the deck under him blood-soaked. He wouldn’t outlast his fellows by much longer.
“I’ll get help,” she blurted. “We have doctors, hospitals—”
It was his eyes that silenced her, luminous, intelligent, pleading . . .
If she left him now, alien or no, she’d be leaving him to die alone.
He knows it too.
She edged back toward him.
The alien made a raw, choked sound as she took his hand in hers, his long fingers instantly closing around her own. His skin was hot, but whether this was normal for his kind or if he was burning with fever, she couldn’t say.
He dragged her hand till it rested over his heart. It beat slow and heavy beneath her palm as his hand covered hers. His luminescent gaze softened as if he were trying to burn every curve of her face into memory . . .
“I don’t know what you are.” Tara shifted uneasily at his side. “I don’t know how to help you, how to treat your injuries. I—I would if I knew how.”
She flinched at his growl, transfixed by those sharp fangs. It continued, rising and falling—soft, measured, gentle rumblings.
“You’re talking.” Shock flew through her. “Those growls—that’s your language?”
He gave a tired, affirmative huff.
“You can understand me.”
A cold knot formed in her stomach. If he understood her language when his own was absolutely inhuman, then whoever he was—whatever he was—he hadn’t come here by accident.
Invasion?
“Are there others?” Tara indicated the broken window, the forest beyond. “Are there more of you here?”
He sent a grieved look at the others in the cockpit. They were fiercesome, those two, even in death, but their faces were unlined by age or care, both far too young to die.
So is he.
There was nothing she could do for the other men, nothing to be done for herself but . . .
“Your vessel—” She hardly knew what to call it; ‘spaceship’ sounded ludicrous. “It’s in bad shape. There’s a hole in the side big enough to walk through, that’s how I got in. But the equipment in the infirmary looked okay. The lights are on, so there’s power. There’s got to be something I can bring up, something down there I can use to help you.”
The alien’s grip tightened on her fingers. He turned his head, looking quite deliberately at the far side of the bridge.
“What?” She followed his glance, her brows drawn together. “What is it?”
He was getting weaker. She slid her hand from under his easily, his fingers trailing along her skin as if he couldn’t bear to let go.
“Something over there?” Tara pushed up and stood, skirting the body of the blond one to reach that section. “Am I close to it?”
His bright eyes fluttered as if he were fighting to stay conscious.
“Here?” Her voice was sharp, jolting him to wakefulness. Tara reached as high as she could on the wall, her fingers skipping along the cool surface. “Down here?” She traced over the smashed controls, careful of the sharp edges as she bent down. “Wait, I think I see. . .”
Underneath the control panel was a case. It was gray, about the size of the tool kit Brice always kept in his cars and didn’t know how to use. “Is this it?”
The alien jerked his chin weakly and she took that as a ‘yes’.
She had to use two hands to yank the case free. It was heavy, equipped with a handle for carrying, the front emblazoned with red alien symbols. She brought it to him, kneeling to place the case at his side. The alien rolled toward her, snarling at the movement, and with shaking fingers he unlocked it. Tara lifted the lid and held it up, tilting the case so he could see the contents. There were no bandages, nor anything else she recognized, inside. The metal cylinders within, varying in shape and length, looked more like automobile tools than anything you’d use to treat an injury
Lines of concentration deepened along his brow as he freed one from its casing. His fingers trembled as he manipulated the thing. He huffed a deep breath, bracing himself. He pressed it to his neck, and it made a soft hiss when it touched his skin.
He dropped the tool, its metal clanging against the deck. He sure looked wide freaking awake now.
“I don’t think whatever that was will do it. You’re bleeding pretty badly.”
In fact, if anything he was bleeding worse. The alien drew a raspy breath, twisting his body, slamming his forearm against the floor.
“No, wait—” Tara’s voice rose. “Don’t try to get up!”
He ignored her, getting to his knees by what seemed sheer will alone. His left arm was wrapped protectively around his center, his hand pressed to the wound in his side to stem the bleeding,
“The infirmary?” She touched his shoulder, the muscles hard under her fingertips. “You’re trying to get down to the infirmary?”
He bent his head, his features taut with pain. Tara chewed the inside of her cheek. If those tools represented the aliens’ medical technology, her returning to the infirmary alone would be useless. She didn’t know what to bring back or how to treat him. All she could now do was—“We need to get you there fast.” She stood up. “I’ll help you.”
Balanced on his knees and right hand, his left palm pressed to his wounded side, the alien gave a sharp headshake.
“I can’t pick you up but I can help you get up. And I can help you walk. It’s all in how I support your weight.” He was huge, and that bulk seemed all muscle, but there was something to be said for pure, hardheaded determination. Her gaze darted around, but all the furniture in this room was bolted down. “Can you get to the pilot’s chair? If you can use that to push yourself up, then I can support you.”
Slowly, painfully, using only one hand, he started to crawl.
“Just a little further.” Tara walked beside him, her hand very lightly on his shoulder blade. “You can do this. Keep going.”
With her babbling encouragement—or maybe in spite of it—he made it to the pilot’s chair. There wasn’t much for him to grab onto, not with the pilot’s body still occupying that seat. The alien’s hand slipped trying to get purchase on the shallow handhold between the pilot’s thigh and the chair’s edge.
“Hold on.” Tara hopped over his bent legs. “Let me move him.”
Her fingers fumbled at the pilot’s harness and, more by luck than anything else, got the straps unlatched. She braced her feet against the deck.
“Sorry,” she mumbled to the dead man and pushed.
Pain shot down her shoulder and back as her muscles made a sharp protest. She broke off, gasping. The guy weighed a goddamn ton. Even slumped over the controls and free of the harness, her efforts scarcely budged him.
Tara hardened her jaw, hooking one hand under the pilot’s armpit and laying the other at the side of his head. His arm was already dangling off the control panel, his body slightly sideways, but it took all she had to overbalance him.
She winced at the sick thump when the dead man hit the deck, and felt the impact of his weight through her feet when he landed.
“Okay,” she gasped, stepping back. “Try now.”
With the pilot out of the way, he was able to move closer, to put his forearm across the chair, to steady himself. His fangs bared and his vicious snarl raised the hair on the back of her neck, but with her help he made it to his feet.
Tara pressed her side to his. She got his arm over her shoulder, wrapping her arm around his slim waist, only to discover on their first step together that she’d way overestimated her ability to contribute here. Even at her five-eight he was more than a head taller than she and heavily muscled. The alien bore most of his own weight, but even so she wasn’t sure how long she could help him even this little bit.
Just get to the elevator.
By slow, unsteady steps they crossed the battered bridge together.
She’d learned this trick during some of the more ‘uncomfortable’—why did they never just say ‘painful’? It’s not as if they didn’t know it fucking hurt—medical procedures she’d endured. Sanity lay in keeping one’s focus beyond this poke or prod or hour as the poison du jour worked its way through her body.
It seemed an age before they reached the darkened hallway. He was leaning on her hard, and she prayed his legs wouldn’t give out. He’d take them both to the deck if he fell.
“You okay?” She was out of breath just from getting him this far.
He didn’t answer, his mind occupied just on staying upright.
Tara sent an uneasy glance to the ladder; he’d never make the climb down in his condition. She pressed her hand to the wall panel beside the elevator door. When the lift arrived, the door opened in fitful jerks, the interior lights flickering ominously.
The alien’s gaze met hers. Clearly she wasn’t the only one reluctant to step into that thing.
But it was this or nothing.
“We’ll be fine. It’s just one floor down.” The door was meant to accommodate people his size but was a squeeze for two side by side. “Wait, let’s—”
It would take longer to explain than just to do. She pivoted and with surprising trust, he let her lead. She did her best to support him but his fangs bared as she maneuvered him in, his injured side against her, his blood dampening her silk knit sweater.
There were only two options, and it was safe to assume the lower one was probably alien for ‘down’. She pressed the button and the door slid shut in unnerving fits and starts. After a moment, almost imperceptibly, they began to descend. Once they made it to the next level sickbay wasn’t far. And if this elevator still had power then that room probably—
The lift jerked to a sudden halt. The lights cut out, plunging them into pitch blackness.
Tara stared wide-eyed into the darkness, her breath coming in quick ragged puffs. The alien stirred against her like a terrified beast, and she looked up, her mouth parting.
His golden eyes glowed in the darkness.
The alien growl, low and suffering, kick-started her brain.
“We’ll to be okay.” She tightened her hold to steady him, reaching up to where his hand rested on her shoulder, covering it with her own. “You hear me, Alien? I’ve got this. We just—we just need to—”
Fumbling, she managed to get her phone out and thumbed the flashlight on. Tara directed it at the panel beside the buttoms, but there wasn’t much to see with it closed.
“I uh, I live on the Upper East Side, you ever hear of it?” He gave a weak huff. “Doesn’t matter. But nearly every place you go in the city—I mean there are still a couple walk ups in the Village—has elevators. One time, when I was a kid, they brought me home from the hos—I don’t know why, but out of nowhere I was terrified to ride in the elevator. I screamed and clawed and threw myself on the floor in the lobby, in front of two members of the co-op board too—you should have seen Papa’s face. Anyway, Ricky, the doorman, he said that there’s nothing to be afraid of. That elevators have about six times the number of cables in them that they need. And even if everything goes wrong, at the bottom there’s a heavy-duty shock absorber to save you. Does this lift have anything like that, something to cushion our fall? Something mechanical, something that wouldn’t need power to work?”
He gave another weak chin jerk that seemed to be his kind’s version of a nod.
“Good, because I think right now we’ve got two choices: hope to hell this elevator starts up again on its own, or cut off whatever’s holding us in place and see how good that shock absorber is.”
The alien gave a snarl. He directed a look at a hatch in the ceiling, then her, his luminescent gaze serious, his rumbles soft.
And, while Tara couldn’t understand his words, she sure got the idea.
“If you think I’ll let you boost me up there, that I’d climb up the shaft and leave you behind, the answer is no. Actually it’s hell no.” He started to ease away but Tara held him fast. “Didn’t I just tell you I’ve been known to throw myself on the floor, kicking and screaming?”
He indicated the hatch, his growl sharp.
She narrowed her gaze. “Kicking and screaming.”
He shifted his weight, but before he could shake off her hold he blanched, swaying on his feet. Tara had to brace herself against the wall to steady him. Together they kept upright, but his breathing was quick, shallow.
“If you pass out I won’t know what to do. Unless this thing miraculously starts up again I’ll be stuck in here with you with no way out and no help coming. And I should warn you that my claustrophobia is just about to star in its very own off-Broadway show, so let’s get this done. How do I release the cables?”
His mouth tightened, but his gaze flicked to the wall.
“There? Inside that panel?” Tara helped him to the side of the lift, guiding his hand so he could grip the rail there. She balanced the cell between her chin and her breastbone to shine the flashlight on the panel, freeing up her hands to work on it.
Two shredded fingernails later, the panel still hadn’t budged.
“If I only had a goddamn—” The light of her phone bounced about as Tara yanked her bag around and thrust her hand inside, rummaging around. “Novelty business card!”
Using her thumbnail, Tara pried out the available options from Drane’s little car multi-tool. It was a wonder of kitsch engineering, offering a little screwdriver, a corkscrew, even tiny scissors.
Prada should make these things.
“Pen knife,” she muttered, bringing that one to the forefront.
Maneuvering the tiny blade, she had the panel popped open in a heartbeat.
Oh Drane, I hope you made it in time for Vera’s mother’s cornbread!
It wasn’t tough to figure out which buttons acted as the release. They were smaller than the other controls, the two of them set back and a bit apart, likely proof against being hit accidentally. They were bright red, apparently the universal shade for ‘emergency’.
“Okay, Alien.” She swallowed. “Hold on tight.”
In a swift movment he caught her wrist before she could press the release buttons.
His lips drew back in a short rumble.
“What?”
He tapped his fingers to his chest and repeated the sound.
“What are you saying?”
He growled again, his tap sharper, drawing the rumble out.
“Ki’san?” She mangled the word, unable to mimic his deep, rolling tone. A faint smile curved his full mouth. “What the hell is—” Tara blinked. “It’s your name, isn’t it? Ki’san.”
Somehow, ‘Alien’ was easier to handle. He still wasn’t human, but now he was a person. One with feelings, fears, hopes and—somewhere out there— a home with others of his kind waiting for him, worrying for him . . .
His gaze held hers and he pointed at her.
“Tara.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Tara.”
“Tahrrrrrah.” His rumbling-purr tingled along her skin, sending her pulse racing. “Tahrrrrrahh.”
“I-I need to get you to—” She turned away, fumbling at the panel. “Are you ready?”
He gripped the rail. His nostrils flared and he jerked his chin at her.
“Okay.” She couldn’t hit the controls, hold the rail and the phone. She didn’t want to do this in the dark either, but she put the cell in her trouser pocket, the light peeking out over the top. She grabbed the rail.
It’s not far, half a story maybe.
Tara hit the release.
Her scream was drowned out by the metal shriek as they plummeted. An instant later the hit buckled her knees, the tendons of her wrist wrenched in a painful snap. Her grip on the rail swung her toward the wall and sent pain shooting through her shoulder. Ki’san’s roar of agony sent her ears ringing.
Her phone landed a few feet away. The light pointing upward showed that the lift door hadn’t opened when they stopped. Her shoulder was hurting, her hip and back too. Wincing, Tara released her grip on the rail, the muscles of her right wrist crying out in protest as she flexed her fingers. She ached in a bunch of places but nothing appeared broken. She was okay.
But Ki’san wasn’t.
His face was contorted with pain, his fangs bared. He had both arms wrapped around his middle, his breath short, agonized pants.
“Ki’san?” She touched his cheek. His skin, so fevered before, was cold under her fingertips. “Ki’san, I’m here, I’m right here. We’ll to get you to the infirmary.”
His shimmering eyes were dazed.
“I’ll get the door open and then we just have to make it down the hall. Just hang on for me, okay?” Tara pushed to her feet, wincing. “And I don’t know about you, but from now on I’m taking the stairs.”
Tara grabbed her phone, directing the light into the panel. She wrapped her fingers around the lever inside and pulled it downward.
With a grinding protest, the lift door cracked open and grudgingly yielded to her shove, but it was heavy as hell. From the remembered feel of his back muscles, Ki’san—unhurt—could probably have done this one-handed. When the door was open wide enough she shifted position, wiggling her way into the gap. Bracing her feet and using her body weight, she forced the doors apart.
Tara clutched her throbbing wrist and checked the hallway. Still deserted, the lights along the ceiling and floor were dimmer than before.
“Come on.” She knelt beside him, touching his shoulder. “It’s just down the hall. Come on. You have to get up.” The warm cinnamon of his skin mixed with the coppery scent of blood. Tara shifted him, and the light filtering in from the hall illuminated the spreading stain. “Oh, my god . . .”
The fall had torn his side open.
The drifting shadow made Tara snap her head around. But this was no alien creature. This gloomy figure she knew well. Death walked beside her when she took her first steps, had come to stand at the foot of her hospital bed no matter what the season, her companion for as long as she could recall—
You’ll get me soon enough but you’re not taking him! Her gaze narrowed at the shade. I won’t let you!
“Come on, wake up! You have to wake up.” His lids opened half way at her frantic prodding. She took his square-jawed face in her hands. “You have to get up! Do you hear me? You have to, Ki’san, or you’ll die.”
She couldn’t carry him, finding another way to move him would take too long and shaking him harder would just make the bleeding worse.
His eyes were rolling upward.
I have to do something! Pinch him or shock him or—
Tara brought her mouth to his.
The very air changed, electrified, and Ki’san stirred under her, his lips delicious, his mouth velvet soft as he responded.
She broke away, his candescent gaze burning into hers, her mouth still warm and moist from his kiss . . .
“We need to get to the infirmary.” She busied herself with swinging her bag to her back, bracing herself to support him. She wouldn’t think about whatever that was that had just happened between them, why she’d even dared to kiss an alien in the first place. “I’ll help you up and then we’re going down the hall.”
She winced inwardly, hearing the same strident, no-nonsense tone she knew so well from nursing staff, enunciating her words as if he were a simpleton or a young child.
But whether it was her patronizing tone or her urging pull, it worked. Snarling between his teeth, he yielded to her efforts to get him on his feet.
He was leaning his great weight on her more than he had before as she guided his stumbling steps down the hall. She kept her eyes ahead, propping him up from underneath his arm, using her shoulders, back and legs now to keep him upright. By the time they reached the entrance to the medical bay she was out of breath, not caring if the infirmary door still stood open by design or malfunction; she had all she could manage just keeping Ki’san moving.
His knees started to crumple as she hurried him the last few steps. He fell forward, collapsing onto the still-lit bed. Tara darted forward to catch his legs, gritting her teeth at the pain shooting through her wrist as she swung his lower half onto the bed.
“Okay.” She felt uncannily light without his weight bearing down on her, her clothes and hands sticky with his blood. “Tell me what to do.”
His face was blanched of color, his eyelids shut, his hand loose over his wound.
“Ki’san?” She patted his cheek and his head lolled to the side. “No! No! No! You have to tell me what to do! I don’t know what to—”
With a gasp, Tara jumped back as the bed rose and snap-hissed into place. A narrow beam of bluish light appeared from above. Beginning at his crown, the light moved over Ki’san’s unconscious form, pausing and intensifying when it reached his chest and ribs, then continued over his belly, hips and legs, all the way down to the tips of his feet.
Holographic displays sprang to life over the bed, symbols scrolling across them. From every direction rose a growling, snarling, and decidedly female voice. It was smooth, cool—
Clinical.
Light appeared above Ki’san, coalescing into a three-dimensional rotating hologram of a humanoid form. The scanning blue light continued, parts of the holo image that corresponded to his ribs and chest turning red. The room’s displays’ scrolling symbols started flashing, and the female voice repeated a series of snarls.
Tara took a step closer but some sort of bubble—or force field—around him flashed. Tara yelped as the stinging shock drove her back.
Metallic arms emerged from the sides of the table, each a delicate, finely crafted limb. The arms moved over Ki’san, cutting away his clothing—even his boots—with astonishing precision.
Tara’s gaze traced his form as the arms worked with quick, gentle efficiency: the broadness of his shoulders, his tanned skin, the ghastly wound at his ribs, the bruises, the flat plane of his belly and lower, the very human looking maleness—
She wrenched her attention up to his face but it was slack, his eyes shut. Three of the arms brought cylinders to his throat, rib and thigh, all sounding a soft hiss as they touched his skin.
The displays stuttered, and the arms slackened in their task.
“No—”
The power surged back and the force field’s bite made her snatch her hand away with a curse. The limbs continued their task but the feminine snarls wavered, sounding distorted now. The displays flickered again, and the mechanical arms waved helplessly for a moment, then stilled. Symbols flashed over the rotating holo-figure, the rib and chest area now a light pink.
The hologram fragmented, its light shattering as the room plunged into darkness.