Critical Path

After Denver had shot the alien, he lashed its hands and legs together and, using a branch system, dragged his quarry back to camp for interrogation.

Throughout the two hours of questioning, it had remained quiet, just clicking softly in response.

Layla had dressed its leg wound, hoping that it would realize it wasn’t in any direct danger and would open up, but after endless attempts at connecting with it, it remained obstinately quiet.

It didn’t even have any means of communications to its tribe or whatever group it was from. From its adapted army fatigues, it was clear to Denver and the others that at some point in its time it had mixed with humans.

“Croatoan hunters, soldiers, or engineers have shown no ability to craft clothes or adapt human materials,” Layla had said when Denver first brought it back.

Finishing his tea, Denver patted Khan on the shoulder. “Thanks for the brew. That hit the spot.”

Khan winked at him. The kid had a very small stash of wild root that he had kept for emergencies and put a little into Denver’s tea after seeing how tired he was after dragging the alien a few K’s back to camp.

“I’m just going to the ladies’ restroom,” Layla said to Denver as he approached. “Could you finish up for me?” She pointed to an unskinned rabbit on the boulder.

“Sure.”

Layla lingered her gaze on him for a moment, words forming on her lips but then melting into a quick smile as she left the camp and headed into the trees.

Denver watched her go, wondering what was on her mind.

Probably concerned about Gregor and Venrick.

They hadn’t been in touch via the comms and still hadn’t returned. Denver hoped they had killed each other.

They didn’t need Venrick to know there was a settlement up ahead, and it was likely that’s where Charlie was.

All this waiting around made him anxious to get on, but with catching the hunter, it made Denver cautious. He wanted some intel first. If he was to save his dad, he needed to know what he was up against.

It stood nearly a foot taller than Denver, but wasn’t as imposing as the one he fought in Manhattan.

This one didn’t have the same kind of musculature. Considering how easy it was for Denver to take down, he knew it wasn’t as well trained either.

“You’re no hunter, are you? I saw your kind on a video, fighting with humans. I know you understand what I’m saying. I see the recognition in your eyes. Your body language gives you away. You think we’ll just let you go? I know you know where those pods are and where the person in the pod went.”

The hunter clicked in response and did that thing with its eyes that Denver recognized from Venrick. The damn thing was amused. Cocky. Arrogant. All very human of it, Denver thought.

“Is he still alive? The one that escaped from the pod?”

No response. Not even a click.

That at least told Denver something: that the thing was withholding.

“I know he is. I saw the smoke in the sky. You’ve got a settlement a few kilometers north of here, haven’t you?”

No response.

“You have others like you waiting for you to return, don’t you? What will they do when they find you dead, eh? Will they care? We’re going regardless of what you tell us, and when I find your family, I won’t spare them like I have with you.”

The creature’s eyes narrowed this time, and a deep rumbling click came from deep in its throat.

Denver smiled. “You understand that, at least. Tell me what I want to know. Tell me about the pod survivor and we’ll take you back home personally. Keep you safe. We can be reasonable about this.”

No response.

Denver thought about the blade on his belt. One cut of the air tubes would encourage the bastard, but Layla had pleaded with Denver not to do anything drastic, convinced that there could be another way to handle this.

Heeding her advice, Denver kept this questioning cat and mouse up for another ten minutes when he decided he had had enough and was going to go get Charlie regardless of what awaited him. That’s when he heard a commotion from the camp.

He dashed back to Khan, Maria and Layla.

They had already gathered behind the trunks, pistols and rifles at the ready. Denver pulled his rifle from behind his back and crouched down with the barrel pointed in the direction of the footsteps.

Through the trees he saw the silhouette of Gregor.

He placed his finger on the trigger, feeling the tension, wondering if he could justify his killing as a mistake.

Before he made up his mind, the crime lord burst through the trees, Venrick’s tanks in one hand, a smoking cigar made from leaves and root paste in the other.

His eyes were wide and dilated. A stupid grin stretched across his face. He threw the root tanks to the ground, knocking over a pot of boiling water.

“For God’s sake, Gregor, what the hell?” Layla said.

“You wanna shoot me, eh, kid?” Gregor said to Denver. “Go for it. You won’t hit me anyway. Go on, I fucking dare you. One shot free.”