Page 56 of Alien Desire
Icy fear sweeps through my body.
This is wrong, something is wrong.
The Gryton halt in front of Tor and knock him across the crown of his head without warning. A fight breaks out, Tor lashing and striking at them like he did the monster under the ice. But he is weaponless and outnumbered. Soon, they force him to his knees.
I gasp as they twist his arms, and force a blade to his throat
The Gryton in charge has a grip on Tor’s hair and yells down into his face as Tor glares up at him resolutely. Their voices are loud but although I know more Gryton words now, it is hard for me to make out their conversation.
Are they arresting him? Had he lied to me? Is he a fugitive? And if he is, what does that mean for me?
No, I force away the wild thoughts in my head. Whatever the disagreement between us, I know deep down in my soul that he is a good soul. Like Sheila said. My imagination is a temptress enticing me away from what I know solidly in my heart to be the truth.
This isn’t an arrest.
This is an assassination.
I sprint across the room, to the cupboard at the far side. Here I’d hidden a selection of weapons from the store when Tor had arrived. Just in case.
I grab at the long-range rifle, praying this ancient relic still works, and click through the settings so that it hums to life in my hands. Thank God.
Then I dash back to the window.
They’re taunting him now, the chief Gryton smacking Tor across the face as he jeers at him and he sways on his knees struggling to stay in place.
My hands are shaking as I whisper at Sheila to open the window and creep up to the gap, peering out at the aliens.
It’s been months since I fired a weapon. But the weeks and weeks of training years ago, mean the actions come back to me instinctually, and my brain barely engages as I bring the rifle up to my eye and line up the shot. My fingers still on the trigger and my panting breath calms. I look down the barrel of the gun, my sights on my prize and I squeeze, my eyes clamping shut at the same moment.
The force of the shot flings me backward.
There’s a bang and a yell. My heart thuds in my chest. Noise screams in my ears.
I can’t breathe. I can’t open my eyes to look.
Please be ok. Please be ok. Please say I made the shot!
When my eyes fly open, I see the chief Gryton has fallen backward into a heap, a smouldering hole in his head, and Tor has used the opportunity to clobber the guard who had hold of him. But the others are rushing towards him with their spears outstretched and he’s still outnumbered, his hands still bound.
I rock forward and tug the rifle back into position. My heart has been kicked into beat now and it thumps violently in my chest, making my hands shake again with the force.
I don’t have time to line up the shot the way I want. I just fire towards the guards, this time bolstering my shoulder so I’m not rocketed backward.
The blast streaks through the air and hits one of the guards in the chest, sending him flying to the ground.
But I’m too late for the others. They’re on Tor already and in the tangle of bodies, I can’t get a clean shot.
He’s freed his hands and is on his feet, but it’s three to one and though he’s fighting with everything he has, he’s taking blow after blow to his chin and his temple, his ribs and his gut. I flinch at every impact and then I can’t hold back.
I jump through the window and sprint towards them, screaming in fury as I do. Fluffy bounds behind me howling.
“Get off him. Get off him. Leave him alone.”
One of the guards takes a step back from the fight and his eyes round on me. Confusion passes over his face as he takes me in and then an obvious look of smugness as he runs to meet me.
He thinks I’m small, insignificant and easily beaten. And he is large and broad — just like Tor — at least a foot and a half bigger than me. But everyone’s always been bigger than me. Every other cadet I trained with towered above me. They under-estimated me then and so will the guard with jet black hair and eyes dark like coal, snarling as he comes towards me.
I fire the rifle in his direction, but he swerves and it shoots past his shoulder. He goes to ground, sliding forcefully towards me in an attempt to take out my legs. But I’m quick — small and nimble has its advantages — and I spring over him, rolling and landing up on my feet.
