Authors: S. A. Lusher
“Lee's dead, the Alpha is in the warehouse and I've set the bombs for three minutes. I'm heading out the back and I need a pickup or I'm probably going to die,” Enzo replied.
“What?! Oh fuck, okay, I'm coming. Just run.”
Enzo ran.
He hit the back door and slapped the access button. Stumbling out into the snowstorm, he kept going. It became hard as he kicked his way through the snow, going as fast as possible. Ahead of him there was nothing, just the snowstorm. No buildings, no rocks, nowhere to hide at all. If Eve didn't come get him, he'd die.
He kept going.
Sixty seconds passed. Behind him, the Alpha let off another roar. Enzo glanced back and saw that it was currently trying to tear it was through the warehouse. He wondered how something that was supposed to be so smart could be so dumb. Why didn't it just go out the front, head around the building and come after him? Or ignore him? He supposed he should just be thankful for all this luck. Enzo looked to the empty skies and kept going.
He heard the roar of engines after another twenty seconds. Eve appeared ahead of him in the transport vessel. He couldn't see her, but he could see the open airlock on the side. Just ten meters. He pushed himself, his muscles screaming in protest. Seven meters away. He was prepared to collapse. Four meters and the Alpha was nearly through the building. One meter, and then he was there. He crawled into the airlock and screamed, “
GO
!”
The ship took off even as he was scrambling to his feet. Enzo smashed his fist on the close button and then listened to the airlock cycle him through. The cycle had just finished when he heard the muffled sound of the explosion. The ship began to rattle violently. Enzo stumbled through the open door into the central corridor. He ran towards the bridge. The ship continued to tremble all around him and for a second he thought they weren't going to make it. Then the trembling subsided as he reached the bridge door.
Enzo opened it and stepped through. He saw Eve at the controls, concentrating fiercely. Ahead of her, through the windows, the clouds were giving way to space. Enzo hurried over to the co-pilot's chair and collapsed heavily into it.
“So did we make it?” he asked after a long moment.
“Yes...I think so,” Eve replied.
Enzo looked over at her. “You
think
so?”
“Well...” Eve fell silent, concentrating.
Enzo turned his attention to the window, which showed nothing but the deep black of space and the twinkling of the stars. Only...something was marring the stars. Enzo frowned and leaned forward, trying to figure out what it was.
Then he had it.
A ship.
“Oh
fuck
,” Eve snapped.
“What?”
“That's Dark Ops backup. Shit, shit...” Her fingers flew across the keyboards around her. “I've got the FTL drive prepped, but where do we go?”
“Anywhere!” Enzo snapped.
“But we need a flight trajectory or we could-”
“Anywhere!
Just fucking go
!” Enzo cried.
“Going,” Eve replied.
They dropped into hyperspace and disappeared.
Epilogue
“So you won't sleep with me?” Enzo asked.
“No! Goddamnit, how many times do I have to say it?!” Eve snapped.
Enzo sighed and sat back in the chair on the bridge. They'd been in transit for two hours now. He'd gone to take a nap in the Captain's Quarters at the back of the ship, which looked like it was a transit module meant to move small groups of people long distances rather quickly. He'd just awoken and come back to the bridge.
“Will you tell me why, at least?” Enzo was genuinely confused. Everything about their encounters so far said that she'd be completely willing to sleep with him. They were both emotionally and physically exhausted, they both just survived two dozen near-death encounters, they were both attractive, consenting adults...
Finally, Eve turned away from the console. “You know why, Enzo? It's because I fucking hate you,” she said.
Enzo frowned, considering this. “Then we could have hate sex,” he said after a moment, shrugging easily.
Eve sighed explosively. “This is exactly why I hate you! From the moment we met you just assumed we were going to sleep together!”
“Well...to be totally fair, that's usually how it goes.”
“You're an arrogant fucking asshole and I do
not
lay assholes, believe it or not. There's enough stupid sluts out there giving assholes like you what they want, I'm
not
going to contribute to it. You don't
deserve
sex because you fucking expect it!”
Enzo opened his mouth, but something chimed. “Shit. Shut up, something's happening,” Eve said, turning away from him.
He had to admit, this wasn't the way he'd expected this to go.
“There's a ship,” Eve murmured, “ahead of us. They're sending out a distress call.”
“Who cares? Keep going. Wait, if I agreed to stop, would that help my case for you having sex with me?” Enzo asked.
Eve turned to stare at him for a moment, deadly silent, then, turned back and hit something on the control pad. The ship was dropped out of hyperspace.
“They're really out in the middle of nowhere,” Eve murmured, more to herself than him, Enzo imagined. “They have a malfunctioning FTL drive, it seems...I'm only showing two life signatures onboard. Okay, bringing them up on comms now.”
“Hello?”
someone asked over the radio.
“Can you help us?”
“Yes...well, maybe. We've just come from a bit of a bad situation. Who are you? What are you doing out here?” Eve asked.
“My name's Greg Bishop and...it's a long story.”
And now, a sneak peek at Book #7
in the Shadow Wars series, Snowblind.
Out Fall 2014.
Snowblind Sneak Peek
Chapter 01
–
Right Back At It
–
The ship.
He was back in the ship. Or had he ever left it? He stumbled through crimson-lit corridors that snaked away from him endlessly. His eyes seemed to be playing tricks on him. Was it the light that was red? Or was there just so much blood that everything was red? Something squished beneath his bare foot and he looked down, terror stealing into his soul. He was stepping on a severed, rotted hand. Blood and pus leaked out of the decayed thing and he cried out, stepping backwards. The floor was too slick, his feet shot out from under him.
Crashing to the ground, he yelled in pain. Naked, he was naked. Everything hurt. He tried to remember why he was here...where
here
was. But his memories seemed to always skitter away from him, lost like tears in the rain.
A hand clapped down on his shoulder then. Hard as steel, cold as space.
It was behind him.
Behind him.
Slowly, he began to turn, terrified of what he might see. Even more terrified of letting the unknown linger for any longer.
He turned, shivering from unabashed terror, and looked up into the face of madness.
He began to scream...
Greg Bishop gasped awake, sitting bolt upright in the dim confines of wherever we was. For a cold-gut second, he knew nothing. He had no idea of where he was or why he was there. Nothing entered his head and for what felt like far too long he sat frozen, trembling with raw edged fear. Then a thought came to him. It was simple:
Not again
. That singular thought exploded like a beacon in the night and it all slipped comfortably back into place. Waking up in that ship, Dis, Dark Ops, the Undead, the Augmented...
Escape.
Greg let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. It came out in a long, soft hiss and he looked around. He was in a cargo ship, floating out in the middle of nowhere, and he'd laid down to have a nap with...Greg glanced over and down. Kyra was still deep asleep. She was curled up on her side, facing him, her face slack and beautiful in slumber. She seemed at peace, which was a real blessing, considering all they'd been through over the past few weeks. Greg let out another, softer sigh, and rubbed at his eyes.
He looked around once more. The only real place to sleep had been the captain's quarters. There was another room meant for the crew, but it was more like a barracks than anything else. The captain's quarters were small but at least serviceable. After making sure they were actually safe, Greg and Kyra had found the bed, stripped down and made love until they were too exhausted to keep going. And now Greg was waking from that.
He had no idea how much time had passed. Kyra shifted. He glanced back down at her, then reached out and tucked a bit of stray brunette hair behind her ear. Her eyes snapped out at the contact and her entire body tensed, but she relaxed after a few seconds. She looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, slowly sitting up and stretching. The blankets fell from her, revealing her pale breasts.
“Yeah, fine, as far as I know. But we should probably actually get up and figure out how we're getting out of this situation,” Greg replied.
Kyra seemed to consider it for a moment, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, all right. Let's go take a shower.”
They both stood up, leaving the warm nest they'd made in the king size bed. Greg stood and stretched, popping his joints, feeling his sore muscles protest. He'd be sore for weeks to come. Following Kyra into the bathroom attached to the bedroom, he knelt and opened up the cabinet beneath the sink. Fishing out the medical kit buried beneath it, he set it on the counter around the sink and followed Kyra into the shower.
* * * * *
They'd been asleep for fourteen hours, as best as Greg had been able to figure. After the shower, (which took longer than it probably needed to, not that he was complaining), the pair of them spent a little while going over each others' body and patching up any wounds, scrapes, burns, cuts or anything else they'd picked up during their adventures. After that they'd dressed in a pair of gray worker's jumpsuits that seemed standard to the ship and raided the mess hall.
Greg found himself ravenous, hungrier than he ever remembered being. Not that that was too impressive, given the fact that his memories extended back less than a month. The food was a bit bland, most of it in freeze-dried packages they sold in bulk, but neither Greg nor Kyra cared. They heated up and tore through three of the packages each, hardly pausing to look at what it was they were eating. Greg drained four cans of Vex, Kyra three. When they were finished, they abandoned the debris of their meals and began to move back towards the bridge.
“So now what?” Greg asked as they settled into their respective seats.
Kyra spent a moment working the console she was at, then she sat back. “I'm not entirely sure there's much we can do beyond sending out a distress beacon and waiting. We don't have long-range comms. I
might
be able to figure out how to repair the FTL drive but...that's a bit of a long shot. We might be fucked.”
“Fantastic, after all the shit we went through, we'll either starve or suffocate,” Greg muttered.
“We'd probably die of thirst before we'd starve. I'm sending out the beacon now. Hopefully someone will pick up on it...someone other than Dark Ops.”
Greg sat up. “Speaking of that...we'd probably better prepare for that contingency.”
“Preparing being...what, exactly?”
“For now? Search the ship for anything useful, I guess. We brought our pistols onboard...I think. Shit, we should at least inventory our supplies. Figure out how long we can drift out here and which resource has the shortest fuse.”
“Just like old times,” Kyra said, standing.
“Yeah,” Greg replied.
They headed out of the bridge.
* * * * *
An hour passed, then two.
They searched the ship, inventorying their supplies and preparing for what Greg felt was the inevitable. He found his hopes sinking by the minute as time dragged on. He managed to locate both their pistols and not much else, beyond a few scant magazines of ammo. Apparently they'd lost or used up everything else during that final conflict on the abandoned space station. All he could find in the way of other weaponry was a loaded pistol and a single spare magazine tucked away in the captain's quarters. There was nothing else.
As for their resource supply, Kyra discerned that they'd be dead in two weeks. That was when the ship would lose power, even with everything else running on minimal and turning off all the non-essential systems.
After receiving that particularly joyous piece of news, Greg drifted towards the bridge, feeling listless. Kyra was taking a look at the FTL drive, but she didn't seem very hopeful either. As he went to the bridge, he thought about all the others who had died along the way. Billings. Campbell. Kauffman. Had their sacrifices all been in vain? An entire system had been killed, millions dead...and there'd be nothing to show for it?