Chapter 65
Chapter Sixty-Five
On his best day, Connor would have had trouble with the wall. It was almost completely vertical, close to a ninety degree angle. There weren’t a lot of good grips for fingers and almost none of those were good for toes.
And he was tired—tired and sore and hurt.
But a quick glance over his shoulder told him what he needed to know: The team was making a run for it.
Below him, wicked claws scraped against the reddish-gray rock. Sections peeled away and clattered down on other lizards.
Those lizards still came, rancid breath blowing their foul stench up at him.
At least he was out of the sun, mostly protected from its glare. Strength remained in his fingers and arms, even if his back ached from hauling Martienne’s unconscious form around the night before.
One of the things caught the heel of his boot and tugged.
Connor dragged the creature up with the strength of his arms, then dropped, but the thing held on.
So he scissored his other leg around, cracking the thing in the head with a boot.
The lizard lost its grip and fell, its flailing dragging another down.
How many were down there? A hundred, easily. The ones that fell didn’t even crash to the moss-covered ground. They fell on those waiting for a place to grab and climb up.
A wave of clicking ran through the ones on the wall just below.
It was a hunting cry or maybe a call of encouragement. “We’ve got this guy!”
Except they didn’t, not yet. Not even fifteen meters remained to the top.
He hadn’t managed two more meters when another lizard caught the front of his boot while it searched for a hold.
The thing’s head was down, the claws of its other upper arm was dug in.
That left no option but to pull it up, drag it along.
His radio vibrated, and the text appeared on his visor: We’re ascending now. We’ve got about six on our tail.
“Keep going. Don’t shoot until you absolutely have to.”
He just needed a little longer. Mosiah was old and worn out. Martienne would need to be carried. Gregor and Yemi were past their primes. Even Vicente was drained, and he was hauling so much…
More rocks cracked and claws scraped.
Two more lizards separated from the pack, one climbing on Connor’s right, the other on the left. They were bigger, heavier, possibly older, with maybe slightly different coloration.
Pack alphas, Connor thought. Assuming the creatures had such a position.
The one on the left whipped its tail at Connor and barely missed his leg. Rock shattered and a cloud of dust rained down.
He didn’t want another tail strike.
But that was a distraction. The one on the right had sneaked in closer. Now its upper hands had good grips in the wall, and its torso twisted so that the wicked middle claws were poised to lash out at Connor’s face.
Shifting to the left exposed him to the tail swing.
The lizard that had his boot pulled itself up higher.
This was it—the inevitable moment when numbers and fatigue became insurmountable.
Had he bought the others the time they needed?
He closed his eyes. “I’ll see you when I see you, Toshiko.”
Chittering rose up below him.
Then something burned against his chest, and a sound like rock cracking come from his left and right.
No strike came.
When he opened his eyes, it was barely in time to see the lizard thing to his right falling back, upper torso and face covered in reddish-gray powder, upper arms windmilling.
The one to his left was already falling, tail slapping wildly.
It cracked against the back of the one clutching Connor’s boot.
That lizard’s grip on the boot came free, and it, too fell away, followed by the one on his right.
And the three falling lizards took others with them.
Connor had one option: climb. He grabbed the wall above and pulled himself up.
“Selen! Keep going! Hurry!"
Text scrolled across his helmet visor, but he didn’t have time to read it. Either they were doing what they had to do, or they weren’t.
Gunfire erupted from somewhere above him.
There was his answer: The creatures pursuing them had gotten too close.
That also meant that the team hadn’t reached the Lucky Sevens’s cargo bay yet.
Where were they? What was taking so long?
As he climbed, there was more gunfire, but it stopped abruptly.
That meant the pursuing creatures had been finished off. It had to mean that. Unless the creatures had broken off the attack.
Connor refused to consider the other possibility.
Above him, the wall came to an abrupt end: He was nearing the top!
He risked a glance back down and instantly regretted it, as vertigo hammered him. His stomach shot watery bile up, and the bitter fluid splashed against the back of his tongue.
But he’d seen what he needed to see. He still had a lead on the creatures.
After a deep breath, he pulled himself up the last few meters, slapped a gloved hand against the top of the butte, and dragged himself over the wall.
He stayed on his belly for a second, shivering and shaking as the weakness worked its way out. There were so many of the creatures coming up after him, but they weren’t going to reach the top all at once.
There was still a chance to buy more time.
Connor got up. No one was running toward his position, which meant the team hadn’t reached the top yet.
Push that knowledge out, he told himself. They were coming.
He took a second to check his stopwatch and grunted. Nearly five minutes. That was twice what he had hoped for.
Always have something to work on—a goal, a way to strengthen yourself. His father had said that years ago, when Connor was still a teenager and was getting too full of himself.
It had been a good lesson then, and it was a good lesson now.
He drew his swords and brought them up to a guard stance.
For now, his goal was to stop the lizards from reaching the butte top.
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