wasn’t kind, or genuine, for that matter. It was the kind of smile that a salesman offers when he knows he has tricked you into buying something you don’t need or want.
“Just relax,” the man had said. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
The cry of the wounded broke into his memories. Deep in his blood, the alien DNA had hold of him. The temptation to enjoy the sound of suffering was immense and sickening. The bile in his stomach threatened to crawl up his throat and out his mouth.
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Was Colt meant to be the strength of his people, and of all the good and peaceful aliens who wanted to resist the Thule? What if all the hope the military had placed in him was for nothing? What if he failed, and all the people he cared about were lost?
What if he lost his soul in the stew of fury and rage that marked the Thule?
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
A sensation like fire burned through his veins, starting in his shoulder and traveling across his body. His fingers and toes went numb and his tongue started to swell, filling his mouth and making it impossible to swallow, much less breathe.
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Images flashed in Colt’s head. His mom kissing him good night. The first time his dad took him surfing. Sitting in his grandfather’s lap as he read stories from the Bible. Fishing with Danielle when they were eleven. Playing Zombie Exterminator with Oz. Listening to Lily sing and play the guitar. Walking Stacy home the other night.
A feral scream exploded from Colt’s lips. He sat up, arms flexed and head thrown back as he suffered pain unlike anything he had experienced in his life. Fire blazed through his body and heat radiated through his skin. All he could do was cry out, though the bellow sounded foreign to his ears. It was like a wild beast gone mad. His muscles shrieked and flesh burned as shadowy figures rushed toward him.
Chaos. Pain. Hopelessness. Death had to be near. Humans weren’t made to suffer like this.
Colt wanted to apologize for failing them—for failing mankind. He was a fraud, not some savior. He’d known that all along. Why would God have chosen someone like him—someone so frail? Oz. He was the right choice. Or Grey or Stacy.
Colt felt his body go stiff and he fell back, struggling—gasping for each breath. He clutched the fabric of the thin sheet atop the table in his balled fists.
“What’s going on?” Was that his father? No, his father was dead. His grandfather was saying, “Get that medication into him before we lose him.”
Paddles were slammed against his chest. The steel felt cold against his burning skin as muddled thoughts gave way to clarity. Colt knew that he was going to die, and strange as it seemed, that was fine. No, it was wonderful. He knew that he had never belonged—that his time on earth was nothing more than a layover—a precursor to an eternity that promised a peace that this world could never know. There were no regrets. No longings. Only quiet contentment.
Electricity burst across the paddles and into his chest. His back arched and his body shook.
“Again! Get the antiviral ready.”
Another burst of pain. Colt’s eyes shot open and he gasped for breath.
“See there,” Dr. Roth said. “I knew the good Lord wasn’t ready to take you—not yet anyway. This war isn’t over.”
: :
CHAPTER 25 : :
Senator Bowen lay on a table, unconscious. The stump of his left leg was wrapped in bloody bandages where it was missing from the knee down.
“He’s going to make it,” Stacy said. She was sitting across the room, plastic tubing running from the crook of her elbow into a plastic bag that was rapidly filling with blood. “He just needs some blood before they can transport him out of here.”
“What kind?” Colt asked.
“Not yours.”
He frowned.
“Look, even if the needles could puncture your skin—which they can’t—your blood is . . . well, you know.”
“Contaminated?”
“Different.”
In other words, I’m a freak, Colt thought to himself. “Have you seen Pierce?”
Stacy frowned and looked away, her eyes focused squarely on the linoleum floor.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just that . . . well, he’s out looking for the rest of his dad’s leg.”
“Where?”
“The stadium.”
Colt started to walk out