27 Hours Page 2

  An explosion flared along the western edge of the wall, followed by a domino of smaller ones that studded the entire length. Metal wall panels screamed as they tore like paper and fell.

  “Dad, what’s happening?” Rumor gripped his blades tighter, his wound forgotten as the gargoyles poured into HUB2. The beasts moved in unison, their clawed hands wrapped around shiny weapons Rumor recognized. They moved inward, circling the city like predators stalking their prey.

  “Those are our guns. Dad, those are our guns.” He couldn’t breathe.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Eric’s voice shook. “Oh, gods. We need to warn the colonies.”

  Rumor shoved his dad out of the way as another gargoyle noticed them and charged. He ducked under the initial swipe and drove his blade upward into the gargoyle’s jaw. The beast collapsed instantly. He yanked his weapon from the creature’s skull and spun around to yell at his dad.

  One of the giant wall cannons finally fired, drowning out Rumor’s yell and sending large-bore ammunition into the dragon’s middle legs. It howled in rage and swatted the gun off its mooring like a tiny bug. The gargoyle standing on the dragon’s back wielded a giant curved blade that resembled a reaper’s scythe. It pointed the weapon at the rest of the wall cannons. The dragon’s long neck swiveled in the same direction, and it swatted at the next cannon in line. That cannon managed to get off a shot but missed as the dragon’s jaws clamped around it. They were close enough to the training grounds that Rumor heard every crunch of the dying cannons, his bones vibrating with the aftershock of each one that managed to fire.

  Organized.

  This couldn’t be right.

  “Come on.” Eric grabbed Rumor’s arm and tugged him back to the training building. Inside, they ran through the open space for indoor sparring. “What’s the closest colony?”

  Rumor stared at the big room. With the door shut, the sounds from the city fell to a muted hum. Sparring gloves hung on the wall in neat pairs. Towels lay folded in stacks. Training dummies stood along the back wall, waiting for the next session. He shivered.

  “Rumor,” his dad said sharply. “What’s the closest colony?”

  “You already know that,” Rumor said.

  “I need to make sure you’re with me here. What’s the closest—”

  “Epsilon.” Of the four colonies that surrounded HUB2 like notches on a compass, Epsilon was the nearest. It was exactly twenty kilometers away, closer to Lake Llyn. He only knew that because that’s where Dahlia had moved when her mom had taken the chief medical officer position there.

  “Okay, we need to get to Epsilon.”

  “What?” No. No way was he going to run. “I can fight. We can fight. We’ve been training—”

  “We can fight, but not here.”

  “Are you kidding me? We have marines!”

  His dad pointed to the large front windows overlooking the bowl of HUB2. “Do we?”

  Rumor stared as his dad headed for the far door to the vehicle lot. “Where are the squads?”

  “We can worry about that later,” his dad snapped. “Rumor, come on. We should get out of here. They’re coming.”

  Rumor sheathed his blades and jogged after his dad, slowing as the pain burned up his side. Red seeped through his shirt. He peeled it up and grimaced at the blood running in long streaks down his side and into the waistband of his pants. “Hold up, I need a bandage or something.”

  “First aid kit under the counter. Should be a few tubes of knitting gel. We can find medical at Epsilon.”

  Rumor paused by the side counter, half his attention on the still-open door his dad had just disappeared through. He could spare ten seconds to find something to staunch this bleeding. It’d be super horrible if he passed out from blood loss on the ride to Epsilon.

  He found the medical kit and opened it with a swipe of his hand across the sensor. He grabbed one of the slim silver tubes. The gel was so cold he bit back a curse as he smeared it messily across the cuts.

  “Dad!” he yelled as he headed for the side door, wiping his hand on his pants.

  Low, rumbling growls answered him.

  Rumor froze in the doorway, his veins turning to ice at the sight of three of the most fearsome gargoyles circling his dad. Hellhounds. It was the name he’d given them during his research on monsters from the myths back on Earth. The painted depictions of the giant canines from the depths of hell summed up exactly what Rumor saw in his nightmares. Four legs; hunched back; long, whiplike tail. They almost resembled wolves from Earth, but their shape was exaggerated, with large talons on their massive feet and elongated jaws with oversized teeth.

  “Dad,” he croaked. One hellhound turned at the sound of his voice. It snarled at him, then turned its attention back to Eric.

  “Rumor, go to the lot to your left and get a rider,” his dad said in that same overly calm voice he’d used before. He watched the largest of the hellhounds pace. His hand rested on his holstered gun, but there was no way he could draw it in time. They both knew it. “You have to go.”

  “Dad,” Rumor whispered, completely ignoring the sailboard lot. He couldn’t take his eyes off his dad. “Don’t make me leave you, too.”

  Eric’s gaze flicked to Rumor’s. “Run, Rumor. Warn Epsilon. Tell them to warn the others.”

  He pulled his gun.

  The hellhounds leaped.

  Rumor ran.

  He raced past several large trucks and armored transports to the sleek sailboard wind riders. They floated a few feet above the ground, ready to soak up solar energy with their broad orange sails.

  Gunfire exploded in rapid shots, several skimming the sailboard to Rumor’s left.

  He ignored the gunfire and snarling behind him as he slid his feet into the anchors along the polished black board. The boom was cold under his grip. He pressed his thumb to the plate along the shaft. It hummed to life when it recognized his thumbprint, and he jerked back on the boom, recklessly pulling it from its mooring and flipping around to face the fight.

  A hellhound’s body lay mere meters from the transports, bullet holes in its head. It was facing Rumor as if it’d run after him, but his dad had shot it in time. He swallowed bile and searched for his father, but all he saw was the trail of blood leading out of the lot.

  “Nononono…” He lurched forward. The shift of his weight sent the sailboard along the blood trail that wrapped down the hill. The copper tang burned his nostrils. He coughed and gagged. Yanked the sailboard to a stop.

  The blood led into the military barracks. Glass was scattered across the ground like snow. Several bodies in colony-issue recruit clothing lay jumbled together, many of them not much older than Rumor. One bloodied and detached hand clutched a tablet, mangled music still playing.

  In another year, this would have been him. In his barracks for the night. No weapons. No way out other than the front door as the monsters poured in through the windows and peeled open the roof. It was nothing but a teeming mass of sharp horns and sharper claws, flayed limbs and pools of blood gathering in the scuffed mud.

  Get to Epsilon. Get help.

  He stared past the mangled limbs, down the main avenue, and in the direction of his home. Chills ran over him, his stomach twisting at the horde of gargoyles swarming the once-pristine throughway bisecting the city. He couldn’t get back there. He couldn’t find his dad, and he couldn’t get to his home. His own home.

  Rumor inhaled sharply and slapped at his chest in search of—there it was. His fingers curled around the familiar warped shape of the coin necklace his mother had given him.

  Three humanoid gargoyles fighting over human body parts at the other end of the barracks noticed him and roared. They threw their fresh kills on the ground and raced up the hill, long legs pumping in loping strides and too-small wings giving them speed but no flight. Rumor gunned the rider, turned, and raced away.

  The wall. He could get through the breaks in the wall. Go wide around to the north and hit the main road into Epsilon that way.

  Get help.

  No, go back for your father.

  He’s dead. Get help.

  Nononono, he’s not dead. Go back. Don’t leave him.

  He tightened his grip on the boom, his eyes burning with tears as he sailed faster. The rider whined as he pushed it to its limit, zigzagging down streets and between buildings. His side pulsed with pain, and his entire body trembled as he sped past gargoyles and humans fighting. Part of him wanted to jump off the board and throw himself into the fray. Take as many of the monsters down with him as he could.

  A gargoyle leaped at the rider, slamming into the back and sending Rumor into a spin. He crouched and leaned into the spin, drawing a knife from his boot as he did. He slashed at the creature, catching it across the face. It screeched at him and let go, tumbling to the ground in a heap of thrashing limbs and grating noises.

  Rumor stood and pulled the boom back, straightening the sailboard. His heart pounded in his ears as he neared what was left of the towering wall that protected HUB2. It was maybe ten meters away. It lay in ruins, torn and scorched all over. Curled in on itself like burned paper.

  Seven meters.

  The dragon roared, and over the cacophony of screeches and screams, Rumor heard a noise that felt like it came from everywhere at once. It echoed off buildings and blended with the roars around him. It sounded like a rockslide—a grating, cutting voice impossibly forming human words.

  WHERE IS SHE

  FIND VALA

  The gargoyles couldn’t speak. They didn’t speak. They didn’t speak.

  Three meters.

  They couldn’t speak.

  He pulled the sailboard up higher. Two buildings loomed ahead of him, their plant blankets torn and hanging.
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  Two gargoyles, something with horns and something with two tails, climbed each building using ravaged ivy. He couldn’t pull high enough to clear it in time and avoid them.

  Rumor gunned it.

  The gargoyles clicked at him and leaped into the air. He yanked the board to the side, tilting dangerously. One gargoyle fell past him with a shriek. The other scraped its claws down the board itself, swiping at his ankles. Rumor slashed at it with his blade.

  Its talons raked across the rear engine with a squeal that set Rumor’s teeth on edge. He gritted his molars and pulled the board up hard, spinning it almost perpendicular to the moon. Then he hit the accelerator and yanked hard to the left and down, spinning them in a flip that threw the gargoyle forward.

  He slashed his blade, catching the thing on the neck as it fell past him. His pulse pounded in his fingertips.

  Something about the howls changed. They tilted up at the end. They synchronized. They almost…almost sounded like celebration. Without even turning back to see the city, he knew why.

  One meter.

  He shot through a gap torn in the wall, gripping the boom with sweaty palms, his nerves on fire while his city—his home—fell.

  Nightside 1000

  Hours to Dayside: 27

  NYX

  Nyx Llorca kept two secrets: the moon spoke to her, and she was in love with her best friend.

  The first secret was why she shoved more clothes into her worn messenger bag, which was already bulging with clothing, two knives, a small pistol, spare ammo, her hearing aids, an extra pair of boots, and a few keepsakes so she wouldn’t forget Epsilon.

  The second secret was why her stomach rolled with guilt and uncertainty.

  But she wasn’t going to find answers here. It was time to leave, and she finally had it all planned out. She’d spent several days watching the guard shifts and the routes in and out of Epsilon colony. Even though the main gate and the two side gates closed during nightside, the intake gate allowing water in from Lake Llyn stayed open unless there was a lockdown. And lockdown only happened in case of a direct assault—something that had only happened a handful of times that she could remember. The odds were with her.

  Granted, leaving during dayside would be safer, but she wouldn’t have enough time before she was missed at her job. She needed as much time as possible, and twenty-seven hours until dayside would be just enough.

  It had to be.

  She tied the bright pink laces on her black boots, then slipped a small knife into a hidden sheath on the outside of the left one.

  Nyx chewed on the inside of her cheek as she stared at her computer tablet on the desk. She needed to leave it here. The colony could track her via its location.

  But it was one of her only ties to Braeden and Dahlia. She might never see them again. Bile crept up her throat. She swallowed it back and pressed her fingers underneath her eyes to keep from crying. She’d made this decision. She had to follow through. Answers meant sacrifice.

  Unless they came with her.

  The thought crept up again. She’d batted it away before, because it was foolish to hope. Dahlia was happy here with her mom and her medical studies. She even had a new boyfriend. Colt. She wouldn’t leave him. Dahlia was loyal to the end.

  Nyx’s lip curled. Maybe it was good she was leaving, so she didn’t have to see him get to hold Dahlia’s hand anymore. See him drop a kiss on her cheek as he was leaving for drills. See him grab her hips and pull her close as she smiled that blinding, beautiful smile up at him.

  Or maybe just Braeden could come with her. She sighed as quickly as the thought appeared. Braeden was the colony commander’s son, and on track for great things in the military. Or maybe in science. He was a genius. Something close to pride swelled in her chest.

  It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?

  Her fingers hovered over the messenger application on her tablet.

  No.

  They’d try to stop her. Maybe even tell her abuela or Braeden’s moms. Then she’d lose her chance. Her fingertips tingled, and she curled her hands into fists, her nails digging into the soft material of her fingerless gloves. She just had to get to the forests, which were a little over two kilometers from Lake Llyn. Plus, it’d been a quiet nightside so far. Ten hours in, and there were zero reports on any of the news broadcasts of gargoyle attacks on humans, or even rebel attacks on colony transports. She could get to the forests in one piece. Surely the rebels who lived there would have answers. They lived among the beasts of the moon with no walls or gates or webbing.

  They had to know why.

  Why the ground under her boots vibrated and hummed in a language she couldn’t decipher. Why it poked and tugged at her insides like a small child tapping on her arm. It was a different sort of buzz than the one she heard when her ears were tired of straining all day, even with the hearing aids. It was different from the numbness when her legs went to sleep after she sat too long with them curled underneath her. It was different from the vibrations of passing transport trucks or animals. It was a deep thrum that traveled through the ground, and it knew she could feel it. It was alive, and it frightened her.

  Tonight, it felt especially chaotic. Almost…angry.

  Ten hours into nightside, and everything ran as usual. Those who’d worked during dayside slept. People who’d slept during dayside worked. Swing shifts in the medical center chugged onward, overlapping with both sides. Marines patrolled the wall. Automata loped through the streets, their glistening eyes recording everything. Everyone and everything moved around outside her window as if she hadn’t made an irreversible decision.

  Even though her gut churned with foreboding to the cadence of the vibrations, life moved on as normal on the tiny moon orbiting a gas giant.

  Nyx blew out a breath and pulled on one of Braeden’s sweaters she’d appropriated. It hung off his bony frame, but it fit her curves perfectly and actually covered her hips without hiking up. She held the ends of the sleeves while she pulled on her coat. The hood covered her short blue hair. She wiped her sweaty hands on her stomach and tried to swallow past the dryness in her throat.

  Finally, she unsnapped her wrist communicator and left it next to her tablet. Her vision blurred as she stared at the paler strip of skin around her forearm, and she sniffled as she pulled her sleeve down to hide what was missing.

  On her way out, she paused by her abuela’s room, angling herself against the doorframe so her abuela couldn’t see the bag.

  Reni Llorca sat in her puffy chair with a blanket that she’d been crocheting for the past month thrown over her lap. Nyx smiled at the swirl of color across the yarn. Each blanket Reni made told a story—usually something from her Hispanic ancestors back on Earth.

  Nyx touched the panel on the wall to make the lights dim for a moment. Her abuela turned from her wall screen, her heavily lined, dark brown face worried. Nyx had always loved that her skin matched her abuela’s exactly, even down to the almost coral undertones. They had the same hair, which they kept short. They had the same stubby fingernails that refused to grow. They had the same eyebrows, which would take over the moon if not kept tamed. One day, Nyx would sit in a puffy chair with a blanket on her lap and tell stories to anyone who would patiently listen.

  Her chest tightened.

  “I’m leaving for a while,” Nyx signed, guilt and the tiny lie slicing across her heart like a paper cut. It was best not to worry her abuela. She was independent, and her mind was sound. She’d be able to take care of herself without Nyx.

  “You going to Braeden’s?” Her abuela’s long fingers moved quickly, and her dark eyes narrowed.

  Nyx nodded.

  “You wearing your hearing aids?”

  Nyx licked her lips and shook her head as she signed. “They make my ears sore. I’m fine.”

  Her abuela frowned, but didn’t press her. “Stay alert, m’hija. When you come home, I’ll tell you a story.” She patted the nearly finished blanket on her legs.

  Nyx smiled and blew her abuela a kiss. Her fingers formed a sign that was theirs alone, a product of shorthand developed between the only two Deaf people in a household.

  Her abuela returned the gesture and faced her wall screen again.

  She’d been born Deaf, but Nyx’s abuelo (gods rest him) had been hearing just like Nyx’s parents. When Nyx’s hearing began to fade, she and her abuela had developed a method of communicating that included mostly ASL, but also the occasional made-up shorthand only the two of them knew. When her parents had transferred to HUB3 for promotions, they’d left her with her grandmother so her schooling wouldn’t be interrupted.