Page 65 of Them

“What’re you gonna do by yourself? Let me help!”

“It’s hard enough sneaking up on a six-eyed bastard… damn near impossible with your smell sticking to me. How do you think it found us?” With his free hand, the old man reached into his pack and pulled out a small round object, which he quickly stuffed into his pocket. He tossed the knapsack to Tim. “Take care of that for me. I’m gonna want it back later.”

“I can’t just leave you.”

“God, you’re stubborn!” He lowered the gun and took Tim’s arm. “Listen, friends have a way of finding one another again. Just trust me.”

Tim opened his mouth to respond, but made no sound.

“Grab your gear and get out of here. I’ll catch up. Make sure you take your radio.”

Lane started to turn away, readying himself for the coming storm, but hesitated. “Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Find your fire tower. And when you get there, make sure to save some room for an old friend.”

And then Lane was gone, swallowed by the darkness and rain.

Lane, alone again, crouched behind what remained of a stone wall a hundred-some yards from the White House’s porch. He prayed that the kid had listened to him and would soon be on his way to the Metro. He prayed that the rain was enough to conceal Tim’s presence, just long enough to give him some time to slip away.

Oughtta save a few prayers for myself, he thought. I’ll need them.

He knew it was the Nightwalker approaching. Even from a distance, he could see that the glow of its eyes was asymmetrical. As if one side had been blinded.

“Come and get it,” he whispered to the rain. The Scorpion was only a few blocks away now. Before long, he’d be able to see it. And vice versa. Then he could set his trap.

“KRRRRRAAAAARRRRRK!!!”

The iridescent blue light suddenly exploded above the skyline. Flickering wisps of its navy-black body appeared and disappeared into the stormy turmoil above. The whirlpool glow dispersed, glinting like a shower of coins between the clouds as the unseen beast hurtled through the storm, a hell-metal reindeer guiding the Reaper’s midnight sleigh. Lane watched as the ocean-dark rage pounded from one rooftop to the next, illuminating the gray heavens above in a thrumming alien ire, until finally it launched itself from the tempest with such meteoric fury that the earth itself trembled upon impact.

At the intersection of Pennsylvania Avenue and Fifteenth Street, in a crater of its own making, stood a Scorpion stripped of all beauty and pride and peace. The right side of its head was draped in a jewellike scab, as if the blood that had spewed from its eyes then clotted, coagulated, and crystallized. A similar growth covered the clipped end of its shortened tail, which possessed no stinger. The looming tower reared back onto a single powerful leg, stretching over two stories tall, and let out another reverb of grudge and hate.

“K’ORK KURRAA!”

It was the Nightwalker, come to finish what it had started.

Its remaining three eyes scanned the White House lawn as it lumbered forth, drowning Lane and the meager ground between them in that deep ocean blue. The light seemed to permeate the rainwater, illuminating the stretches of trampled security fencing and fallen watchtowers. The creature kicked aside the husk of a burned-out helicopter, sending the scrap-metal hunk skidding over wet grass. Another step. Thirty yards away now. Another. Twenty. Any closer and Lane would be in range.

Yet he stood his ground, weapon at the ready.

What remained of the beast’s tail hovered between the gun and its eyes. It was a familiar defensive technique, one that most Scorpions had adopted by the end of humanity’s futile struggle, but guarding three eyes was a much simpler task than the full six. I’ll have to get close, Lane thought. Inside its legs. Make it swing with the tail, open itself up. Blam. Blam. Kaboom.

The Scorpion tasted the air for a moment, sampling Lane’s scent. Raindrops sluiced down its curved leg blades, which reflected the lightning strikes so that the whole of the Nightwalker lit up in a golden explosion each time. The thunder bellowed, and the living weapon replied, “KKKRRRAAARRRRKKKK!!!” drowning out everything save its own iridescent vibrations. Dominating the sky itself.

It’s time, Lane thought, and he made his move. In one swift motion, he stood and stepped up onto what was left of the stone wall, exposing himself to the killer.

The rigid illithid cocked its head and gazed at him from behind its weaving cover, sizing him up.

Lane lifted the pistol, squeezed off two shots, both on target—

—but the Nightwalker easily deflected them, same as ever. With a gravelly growl, it leapt at the old man.

He flung himself into the overgrown grass, rolling onto his back. The Nightwalker’s scythes whipped out just shy of his ankle, mowing down a patch of weeds. Lane scrambled to his feet and sprinted for the gap between the creature’s legs. The Scorpion lunged with its skull before he could get there, the crystalline scars grazing his shoulder as he barely dodged the alien’s headbutt. Lane feinted an escape, then pivoted and dove directly beneath the monster’s neck stalk, his teeth rattling on impact.

The three navy eyes above him widened in surprise. Its tail lashed to strike, and—

Lane ripped off three shots in quick succession. The first ruptured the middle eyeball, a spray of dazzling blue blood jettisoning into the rain, liquid fireworks lighting up the sky. The second ricocheted off its temple, while the third traced off into the blustery night.