Watching Over Us (2 page)

“I know they're coming for us,” Diamond whispered. “I don't know why they've waited this long.”

Sergio appeared out of the darkness, dropped his blankets next to Diamond. “I tried talking to them.”

Jared raised up on one elbow. “What do you mean?”

“They can read our minds, so I talked to them, kind of like I say my prayers. I asked them please not to kill me.”

“Why don't you ask them for a pony while you're at it?” Diamond said.

“It's a chance, at least.”

Laurel shushed Sergio. “You're going to wake the others.”

In a lower voice, Sergio said, “I'm only telling you because I thought you might want to try it, too. What could it hurt?”

It was nothing but fantasy, but Laurel kept her mouth shut. If it took the edge off Sergio's fear, let him believe Luyten could be bargained with.

No one spoke after that. Laurel wondered if Jared and Diamond were praying to the Luyten for mercy as well.

The line slowed. Laurel caught her foot on a railroad tie, nearly fell. Ahead, the way forward was blocked by a pile of broken machinery. They were on a trestle, thirty feet above a stream, so the platoon was forced to climb over the debris.

When it was her turn, Laurel picked her way carefully over jagged, crushed steel.

“Drones,” Todd said. “They're all drones.”

That's exactly what they were: walking artillery pieces, designed to wander randomly, seeking Luyten through VRE technology. Luyten couldn't read their computer-chip minds, so they couldn't avoid their gunfire the way they did humans' gunfire. The problem was, once the Luyten knew where one of the drones was, it wasn't difficult to take out a machine. They could have more easily pulled up railroad ties to block the route, or simply burned it; the barricade was meant to be a message about the drones' lack of effectiveness, a morale stomper to any soldiers passing through. Beyond the blockade the track veered deeper into pine forest.

A cry of alarm rose from up the line. Laurel swung her rifle off her shoulder and pointed it into the trees, looking for bright colors. Cobalt blue, magenta, emerald, mustard…

A huge figure broke from the trees, clutching a rifle the size of a bazooka. It was manlike, but not a man: deep-set eyes, a ridged brow, skin as white as bone, black uniform. He had three legs, which made him fast. So fast.

The entire platoon gaped, struck dumb by the sight of the creature as it headed north on the tracks, eyes straight ahead, exhaling through its nose like a winded colt.

Three more burst from the trees; then there were six, then ten, as more appeared farther up the track.

Cheers rose in the platoon, growing to a full-throated roar as, one by one, the giants disappeared around a curve in the track.

Lieutenant Carter was squatting, on her walkie-talkie, a finger plugging her free ear. Everyone was talking at once, chattering excitedly, their faces more animated than Laurel had ever seen them.

“I told you,” Sergio said. “Didn't I tell you?”

Standing, Carter waved for silence. She was smiling, almost glowing. “Ladies and gentlemen, we've just met our new allies. They're called the defenders.”

Through her icy shock, Laurel couldn't help wondering how these defenders would turn the tide of the war. As Todd had pointed out, this wasn't wrestling. Weren't they simply larger targets?

At lunchtime they caught up with the defenders, who were leaning up against trees eating processed meat that looked like huge cubes of spam. Laurel's platoon stood at a distance, whispering.

Laurel marveled at their size, the slabs of muscle bulging beneath their skintight uniforms. How on earth had they been created? They were walking miracles, far beyond what Laurel thought humans were capable of engineering. She wondered if people had thought the same about the A-bomb back in 1945. When your survival depended on it, great strides could be made in a short time.

One of the defenders waved them on. “You're giving away our position. Move on.”

“We just want to say, ‘Welcome,'” Lieutenant Carter called. “We're glad to have your help.”

“Just stay out of our way,” the defender said. His uniform sported vertical silver striping on the shoulders, but if it indicated his rank, Laurel couldn't decipher it. He clearly thought he outranked Lieutenant Carter.

“Let's move out,” Carter called, waving them forward.

They walked on, the defender's words echoing in Laurel's head.

You're giving away our position
.

How would saying hello give away these defenders' position to the Luyten? If any Luyten were within eight miles, they'd already know where the defenders were. Unless…

“
That's it
,” Laurel shouted. The Luyten couldn't read the defenders' minds. That, after all, was the Luyten's only advantage. They were outmanned, outgunned, in foreign territory, but they knew their enemy's every move. If that advantage were neutralized…

Laurel's heart thumped wildly as she explained her hunch.

They crossed a backwoods country road, passed a tall peanut-processing machine—four tubes snaking into cylindrical tanks. Past that were open fields on either side.

Although it made no sense, because the Luyten didn't rely on their eyes to detect people, Laurel felt exposed as they walked in the open. She preferred having forest pressing tight on both sides. A mile on they hit a town. The tracks ran behind what passed for the main street—a dozen or so two-story buildings.

“If Laurel's right, the starfish don't stand a chance,” Jared was saying. He was walking up on his toes, head up like he could walk a thousand miles.

Down the crossing street, Laurel caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. She spun, pointed her rifle, was about to sound the alarm when she saw they were people. Two women, hurrying four young children along the sidewalk, each carrying an overstuffed backpack. Laurel was shocked to see people so far into enemy territory.

“Lieutenant?” she called, pointing. “People.”

Lieutenant Carter paused, squinted at the little group. “Why don't you take someone with you and check in with them, make sure they don't need help? We'll wait.”

“Yes, ma'am.

“Jared, come on,” Laurel called. Jared trotted after her.

“Hello,” Laurel said as she approached the group. The women greeted Laurel with cautious smiles. One was youngish, limping on a bad leg. The other was Laurel's age, maybe a little older. The children were hollow-eyed, somewhat malnourished.

“I didn't know anyone was still living this far outside the cities,” Laurel said.

“There are a few of us,” the younger woman said. “Not many.”

“Don't you want to move somewhere safer?” Jared asked.

“There's nowhere safer,” the older woman said. “We heard the starfish don't necessarily go out of their way to kill children. So we keep our heads down, mind our own business. So far it's worked.”

There was a certain logic there. They were taking a risk, but who wasn't?

“No offense, but we'd rather you all just go on your way before you draw their attention,” the older woman said.

That hadn't occurred to Laurel. As soldiers, they had targets on their backs, and here they were getting up close to children. “I'm sorry.” She headed toward her platoon. “We'll be gone before you know it.”

Laurel got the Lieutenant's attention, motioned that they could start walking and that Laurel and Jared would catch up. The Lieutenant lifted her hand to give Laurel a thumbs-up just as her uniform burst into flames. Her helmet melted over her face.

Before the Lieutenant's blackened body dropped to the tracks, the heat gun hit Pete Casing. He'd opened his mouth to shout some order, but was burned before he could get it out.

Troops fled in all directions, clutching their rifles. With Jared at her heels, Laurel took cover in the doorway of a paint store.

The bark of rifle fire and adolescent screams rang out as three, four soldiers dropped, charred to stumps.

Shaking, panting, Laurel scanned the buildings, trying to locate the enemy.

A glimpse of bright emerald flashed in a second-story window across the street. As soon as she saw it, it was gone. The Luyten knew she'd seen it.

Laurel leaped up, pulled a grenade from her belt, intending to toss it in the window before the thing could escape. As she hefted it, she realized there was no way she could reach that window. She pushed the grenade at Jared, pointed.

“I saw one up there. Can you get this in the window?”

Jared grabbed the grenade, ran halfway across the street, then stopped, fumbled with the grenade. “How do I work it?”

Laurel ran out to him, trying to recall the brief tutorial she'd received on activating grenades. She took the grenade from Jared, squeezed the safety lever, thumbed the clip, then twisted the pull pin. Keeping the safety lever tight, she handed it back to Jared.

“Throw.” A good twenty seconds had passed since she'd spotted the Luyten; Laurel knew it must have repositioned long ago.

Jared wound, whipped the grenade at the window. It struck the brick sill, ricocheted up and to the right, dropped to the sidewalk. Laurel dove just before it exploded.

“
Laurel
.”

Laurel looked toward the tracks. Sergio was racing toward them, dragging his rifle by its strap, his too-big helmet bobbing over one eye.

The arm holding the rifle blackened and curled. Sergio howled, dropped to one knee, clutching the charred stump.

“
Sergio
.” Laurel raced toward him. He was screaming, writhing on the asphalt. There were burned bodies everywhere.

Laurel grabbed Sergio under the armpits, the left—the burned one—was red-hot, but she ignored the pain. Laurel meant to drag him, but Jared was there, grabbing Sergio's legs. They trotted back to the doorway of the paint shop, gently set Sergio down on the sidewalk.

His eyes stared sightlessly up at the store's awning.

“No, no, no,” Laurel moaned, pressing her face close to Sergio's. She knew she had to get up, had to keep fighting, but this little boy with a Hulk sticker on his helmet and comic books in his pack was dead, and Laurel wasn't sure she had any fight left in her.

A sharp intake of breath from Jared got Laurel's attention. She lifted her head. A Luyten was rounding the corner across the street. It was red orange, the size of a minivan, moving on four of its six appendages. It held a mushroom-shaped heater in one of its free appendages.

Laurel's rifle was on the sidewalk a few paces away; Jared's was strapped across his back. Of course, the Luyten already knew that, or it wouldn't have moved into the open. It pointed the heater in their direction.

As Laurel tensed, its insides burst out the front of it, an explosion of coal-black entrails and organs. Black blood sprayed halfway across the empty street.

Stunned, Laurel struggled to her feet, tried to decide whether to make a run for it just as a defender jogged into view.

It paused at the same corner the Luyten had recently occupied and looked around, its massive rifle pointed at the sky, deep-set eyes hidden in the shadow of its helmet.

Laurel raised a hand, but it didn't acknowledge her, or even seem to notice her.

Four Luyten came galloping down the middle of the street. Laurel dropped to her stomach as half a dozen defenders appeared in pursuit, firing what might have been grenades from launchers that appeared to be built right into their forearms.

As the Luyten approached, the defender hiding across from Laurel leveled his rifle and fired. Behind her, the façade of the paint store burst inward; in the street the Luyten's thick, jewel-colored skin blossomed with wounds, and they fell.

The defenders set upon them, firing point-blank into their eyes, which were set at spoked intervals around the center of their bodies.

Laurel pressed a hand on Jared's back. “Are you okay?”

Jared lifted his head. “Yeah.”

They trotted back to the tracks. Two of their platoon mates were still alive: Diamond, who was pressed along the steel rail of the track, and a boy named Artey, who'd been hiding in the tobacco field on the far side. If they'd survived, the Luyten would have come back and finished them both off, but it was hard to shake off the primordial instinct to hide when monsters were all around you.

The defenders were gone.

Numb, her ears ringing, Laurel led the three survivors along the track until they reached the forest. She didn't outrank them, but she was an adult, and they were kids, and no one questioned her taking charge of what was left of their platoon.

Before the sun had even set, Artey was asleep, curled against a big elm tree. Laurel and the others sat on a fallen tree and ate MREs.

She'd been right: the Luyten couldn't read the defenders' minds. How confused and disorganized the Luyten had looked without that advantage. For the first time in four years, Laurel felt a green tendril of hope sprouting in her heart. Maybe the human race would survive after all.

It was hard to feel elated. Most of her companions were dead. All those kids left for the vultures, if the vultures would even have them, burned like that.

“Where are the defenders?” Jared asked. His face was red from close contact with heater guns, as if he had a bad sunburn. “They could get us to Cleveland, or Cincinnati. The starfish wouldn't dare attack if we were with the defenders.”

“They lose their advantage when we're around,” Laurel said. It was ironic: The defenders had been created to save humanity, yet humanity was their Kryptonite. If anyone in Laurel's platoon had seen the defenders before the Luyten attacked, the Luyten would have been tipped off, and could have run, or set a trap…

A cold shock ran through Laurel. She set down the slice of pie she'd been working on.