“And if she doesn’t want rescuing?” He raises a brow.
“Oh no. We’re not rescuing her.” I grin. “We’re rescuing ourselves.”
Chapter 19
Mirelle
* * *
I wake with a jerk. The noise is loud and reverberates into my skull, and I recognize it immediately: An Ocretion craft. Terror and adrenaline surge and I jump to my feet, grabbing my dagger and small phaser.
“Father! It worked. They heard the signal. They’re here.” I glance over, and he’s still, his face pale. A trickle of blood is dried at the corner of his mouth. I race to him, touch his wrist, his neck, but he’s cold. So cold, and his chest is motionless.
Oh no. Please, no. Sweet Mother Earth—I’m not ready for this.
“Father.” I whisper it and grab his hand, but there’s not even time to say goodbye.
I race out of the hut and to the lookout ridge, peering up, and there’s the Ocretion craft, hovering, large and
black, a sick beetle in the sky.
And here I am. Just me. One small human, with a short dagger.
I put my hand to my mouth and wince. “Goodbye,” I whisper to my father in the hut. “I love you.”
Then I stand tall and wait, as the Ocretion transfer craft emerges from a slot in the hull, shining like water in the sun. Like the giant craft is giving birth to something slick and wicked. And wait.
The smell is always what gets me first about the Ocretions, their stink. Then their cold fishy eyes and gray skin. Their darting movements.
They have me in magna cuffs on board their smaller craft, three of them. Backed up against a wall, I stare out at their faces, trying to control my breathing.
“A human.” The one in charge steps closer, then backhands me across the face, knocking me backward so my skull bounces against the metal hull.
“Ugh.” I grunt at the pain, stars flashing in front of my eyes, and my mouth fills with blood. I spit, let it dribble down my chin, the metallic tang and thick texture of it familiar, intimate.
“Red hair. Exotic. Will fetch a fair price at auction.” The second one grabs my breast and squeezes so hard I gasp, terrified he’ll tear my flesh with his rough claw-like nails.
When he lets go, I stumble, blinking, trying to stand. My legs are shaky and I’m terrified, more than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Of course, we’ll need her to tell us where the others are.” The third one kicks me, my knee, and I scream, fall to the floor, trying to grab at my body.
“Because if she wants the privilege of being whole when she goes to auction, she knows that talking is her best option.” He kicks my side and I can’t breathe, and my entire chest is on fire. He’s broken at least one rib, probably two. Maybe three.
I suck in little bits of air, and their voices drift in and out of my ears. Their laughter. Their smell is all around me, suffocating.
I’m hauled to my feet. “Stand,” the Ocretion orders. “Look at me.” He holds up my own dagger, which he’s removed from my waist. “I’ll cut your tongue out if I don’t like your answer. Where are the other humans?”
“The…” I spit out more blood. Sway on my feet. Force out the words. “North. Camp.” I cough and stagger. “Across the planet, a development.”
“Who runs it? How many?”
“Garrett. Main leader.” I pant, my eyes on the dagger.
He presses it to my cheek, flicks his hand and I feel the blood trickle. “And? Don’t stop now.”
“I…I…three…other human men. They have ground-to-air missiles, class 5 Midrian missiles. Radar. Have at least… two women in captivity. If they’re not dead.”
“Very good.” He flicks me again on the other cheek and for a crazy second I wonder if the two wounds match in length. “I’ll cut your neck if I don’t like your answers. Remember.”