Earth Fathers Are Weird (Earth Fathers #1) - Lyn Gala Page 0,45

It might be a seedy version of an alien barracks. But none of these cubbies had access to water. Without water, the children wouldn't survive long. Even James, as adventurous as he was, never stayed out of the pool for more than thirty minutes, and they were already coming up on that deadline. Max's wet shirt would not protect them for long.

“Offspring need water. Pool. Fluid.” Max tried every synonym he knew in the hopes that something would get through to his captor. Tentacles tightened around Max’s waist, and Xander started a steady stream of burps that came out so soft that the translator didn’t pick them up. He knew something was wrong; Max was starting to regret that Xander knew so much English.

“Move.”

“Offspring.” Max planted his feet, but the next thing he knew, the flunky had struck out with one of his leg tentacles, kicking Max low in the abdomen.

Max collapsed to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. The blow had driven the air from him, and he gasped and retched as the pain ripped through him. Xander's belches turned into something louder and wilder, and infinitely more distressed, but Max couldn't focus on that. If this asshole locked them in one of those bunks, Max would have to watch the children suffer and bleed and die in his arms. The only reason Max was cooperating was to save the children, so if he had to choose another path to give them even a small chance of survival, he was okay with that.

“Move,” the alien repeated. He didn’t even bother raising his gun, but then again, Max figured writhing in pain undermined any machismo he might have had going for him, not that Max was a Rambo to start with. And he knew from Rick that aliens thought the human form looked frail and a little unbalanced.

After crawling to the wall, Max rested his hand against it a moment before he started climbing back to his feet. Fuck, he hurt. If that asshole had caused internal damage, Max's timeline would be even shorter. If he was bleeding internally, he had a limited amount of time to deal with this before his own injuries would make that impossible.

Max started heading down the corridor in the direction the flunky had indicated. The whole time, he kept his hands against the wall to steady himself. He stumbled several times, falling to his knees as he clung to the rail that lined most of these corridors. But each time, before the invader could strike out again, Max pulled himself to his feet and continued. Max had never been particularly religious, but now he prayed. He prayed to God or the universe or karma or whatever force controlled luck, because he needed to get to the next juncture.

If the invader was going to lock them into one of the nearest cubbies, Max would need to make a desperate move. But if he could get to the junction with the next corridor, he had options. Max continued to stumble along. Under his shirt, tentacles twitched against his skin, and Max had never felt so desperate in all his life. Even during that near-fatal training exercise, he had never felt such cold, raw terror. Back then, the only thing he faced was his own death, and now he had more to lose.

With each step, Max felt the tiny ember of hope grow brighter. As they approached the corridor that intersected their own, Max stumbled again, and fell to the floor. The guard didn't even react, most likely distracted by Max’s feigned clumsiness.

He was taking a page from Xander, the original Xander. That Xander had shown up for a fight with a master vampire, rock in hand. Max could damn well show up to a gunfight with a maintenance rod. He wrapped his fingers around the rod-shaped hook tool hidden where the floor and wall met, and when he started to get up, the flunky moved closer to prod him into action.

Max spun around and darted forward. He aimed between the center leg tentacle that faced him and the one to the right, and he shoved that hooked rod straight up into the diamond shaped underside. The gun clattered to the lightly-padded decking, but Max ignored the temptation. He didn’t know alien weaponry well enough to turn it against the invader, and Max needed to end this before reinforcements could arrive.

The rod sunk into the alien’s flesh two or three inches, and the creature gave