Critical Path

She walked alongside Charlie and grasped his arm, pulling him away from the thoroughfare. “We need to keep to the back streets and alleys. Remember what I said about protecting Hagellan.”

“How could I forget? You want me to save his ass for the cost of mine. I’ll ask again, did you witness recent history? Because if you did, you should have more understanding.”

Aimee tutted and brushed her long silky brown hair over her shoulder. “I’ve witnessed more history than you’ll ever know. Plantations in the New World, prerevolution France and the Ottoman Empire near the height of its powers. They put me in stasis, then transferred me to the vessel you’ve just seen. Since coming back into the world, I’ve worked hard to form the safe community you see.”

“Very impressive. But I’m more concerned about the future.”

Aimee dug her nails into Charlie’s bicep. “If you are, you’ll help with the plan.”

Charlie sighed. Aimee had no idea about his current mental battle. He knew she spoke the truth, and the right course of action seemed obvious. But she hadn’t spent years fighting aliens or lost loved ones during the attack. He just couldn’t bring himself to agree with their proposal. Not yet.

Aimee dropped back, and the smaller croatoan bounced with a loping gait to his side. Charlie pointed to a painted sign over the entrance of a bar. “No croatoans. Are you living in unity or denial?”

“Fool,” the alien croaked.

The alien prompted Charlie left. They cut down a narrow back alley barely more than a meter wide. Houses backed around the edge, giving the place a dirty claustrophobic feel. A few buckets filled with human waste sat outside rear entrances.

A few animal hides hung across the alley, drying in the sun. Charlie ducked and swiped his way underneath one. Ten meters in front of him, a man with a gray beard sat on the steps outside a property. He glanced at Charlie and straightened.

The man slowly reached by his side. Something about him didn’t seem right. The look in his eye, his cautious movement… Perhaps he wasn’t used to strangers walking down his alley. Behind him, Aimee and Baliska brushed the hide to one side and approached.

Charlie glimpsed movement behind them before the hide dropped. Somebody exited a house and pressed against a wall. He crouched down to get a better look. Two sets of feet coming up the alley.

“What are you doing?” Aimee said.

The croatoan jabbed its rifle into Charlie’s side. “Move.”

“We’re being followed.”

“Now,” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

The hide flew to one side and two men appeared just a few meters away. One with a short sword, the other held a baseball bat with nails hammered through the end.

Footsteps slapped across the dirt behind him. Charlie jumped back against a wall. The man with a gray beard leapt at the smaller croatoan and plunged a hunting knife into its eye before quickly sawing the tubes running from its nose with the serrated edge of his blade.

The alien clutched its throat, wheezed, and sank to its knees.

The man pointed his knife at Charlie. “You. Monk. Run. We only want the woman.”

Charlie had to make a quick decision. He had his chance to escape. Unity would probably hunt him, but he had evaded his enemy for years. He could find Denver, the others. The image of Earth exploding in a huge ball of flames flashed through his mind. Charlie had a responsibility, whether he liked it or not.

He kept focused on the attacker and hunched. The old man stood opposite Charlie in an open-legged stance, rocking from side to side, exchanging his weight from one foot to the other, and circling his knife.

Baliska roared behind him. Charlie heard the swish of the alien’s sword. It thudded against something wooden, like an axe burying into a tree stump.

“You’ve got no dog in this hunt,” the old man said to Charlie. “I’ll give you two seconds to move.”

Aimee scuttled behind Charlie. Baliska forced the other two men back down the alley with looping, rapid swings of his sword.

Charlie reached for a metal bucket of waste by a door and grabbed the handle. “I’ll give you two seconds to run.”

“It’s your funeral,” the old man replied. He lunged forward, thrusting the knife toward Charlie’s chest.

Charlie swerved to his left and threw the contents of the bucket in the man’s face, splattering him with waste.

The old man frantically wiped at his eyes. Charlie backhanded the bucket into the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the side.

Baliska had successfully beaten one man back and hacked in his direction. The other lay in the alley with a deep wound in his neck. Charlie positioned himself between Aimee and the old man again. “Give it up. You’re not going to win this.”

The old man edged back. His hunting knife shook in his hand. Charlie raised the bucket over his head and stepped forward.

“Kill him, Charlie,” Aimee said, her voice cold.

Charlie hesitated.

The old man took the opportunity to run. He stumbled along the alley, banging into walls as he groggily fled. At the end of the alley he turned left and disappeared.