The Lonely Orphan (The Lost Planet 5)

When he’s again silent for a time, I prompt, “Are you having a hard time breathing now?” I tease. “Need to take a break?”

I don’t know how far we’ve traveled, but we’re nearing the top of the mountain. The prison is but a miniature version of itself to our right and the vast expanse of the sea stretches off into the distance. “Wow,” I say, pausing to look at the view. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“I never knew Mortuus looked like this,” Hadrian says from behind me. “And I’ve traveled for solars beyond the Facility.”

“You’ve never been to the prison before?”

He shakes his head. “Travel can be dangerous, like I said. Beasts and the weather. We’ve never risked it until now.”

“What’s changed?” I ask.

“You’re here,” is all he says before motioning me to continue up the rest of the ridge. I’d estimate we have a couple more hours of daylight left, and it’ll take about that long to get to the tall antenna I see at the top of the mountain.

I turn to say something, but the words lodge in my throat. Thick, tentacle-like protrusions shoot from the ground and wrap around Hadrian’s legs. They’re as thick as his bicep and an opening on one end flashes with shiny, pointed teeth. Armworms. I freeze for a moment, then dart forward, falling to my knees on the ground at his side.

“STAY BACK,” he shouts, trying to shove me away with his free arm.

“Like hell,” I snarl.

I yank the knife I’d stowed on my belt and thrust it deep into the nearest armworm, wincing a little at the sound of the blade squelching through the thick flesh. It shudders in pain and rips away, freeing one of Hadrian’s legs. Hadrian elbows an armworm attempting to ensnare his free hand and manages to get his own knife. He slashes at the armworm, leaving a brilliant red gash in the wake of the blade.

We go to work on the remaining worms, slicing and stabbing until they retreat into the ground. The only thing left of them are the holes in the ground and splatters of blood on the dirt and smears on our suits.

“Are you okay?” I ask, after I’ve made sure the beasts aren’t lying in wait. I scramble forward on my knees and inspect his suit for punctures from those vicious teeth. “Did they get you?”

“No, I don’t think they had the chance.”

I hold out an arm and help him to his feet. Smirking, I say, “I told you we’d be fine.”

Then, the ground shifts under my feet and I have a split second to realize the ledge is giving way underneath me before the world shifts and I begin to fall. A scream rips from my throat. Fear and adrenaline surge to replace the short-lived relief and then there’s a snap at my waist as the rope connecting me to Hadrian stops me short.

Beneath me the valley slopes down, a shower of rock and boulder, until the prison rises up. If I were to fall it would be onto those boulders…and I wouldn’t be getting back up.

My gaze goes to Hadrian, who is pulling on the rope, trying to steady me. He’s the only thing standing between me and those rocks below.

“You were saying?” he says between grunts.

The armworms must have destabilized the soil near the precarious ledge and my weight must have done the rest. I could kick myself for being so stupid.

“Don’t start with me,” I warn, my voice shakier than I’d like. “Just help me up.”

“Hold still,” he says.

I close my eyes and try to imagine hearing Aria’s voice for the first time.

I’m doing well, until I hear the thrashing sound of the armworms winnowing through the earth, coming in our direction. But it’s the loud, guttural sound coming from the skies that has us freezing.

My gaze meets Hadrian’s and for the first time, there’s fear in his eyes.

8

Hadrian

The armworms, I can take. Sure, they’re rekking awful and vicious, but it’s that thing flying above us that changes everything.

Think, Hadrian.

What would Breccan do?

He sure wouldn’t leave her there hanging while that thing could get her. It swoops low, confirming my fears.

Predator.

It makes a loud cawing sound and nearly knocks me over with its powerful yellow, scaly wings that glimmer in the setting sunlight. Its mouth is filled with shiny, sharp teeth that it bares at me as it passes. It flaps its wings and starts swooping back around.

“What the hell was that?” Lyric screeches, dangling from the rope.

I dig my feet in and stab at a nearing armworm, all the while keeping my eyes on that thing.

“Oh no,” Lyric calls out. “Big Bird is coming back!”

When it starts to dive toward her, its mouth open, I make a quick decision. I don’t have time to think about what Breccan would do. All I can do is make a hasty calculation and assessment.