Trist stepped back, weapon raised…
Nothing. The corridor beyond was empty.
With a curse, Trist fired his blaster into the seemingly empty space.
I winced and wanted to cover my ears, but I dashed to the girls and wrapped my arms about them.
A heavy thump followed and Trist fired again and again, at nothing.
Something rolled toward Trist on the floor.
“Get down!” Trist screamed and threw his chest over the thing.
I doubled over, my ears ringing as a shrill whistle filled the room, followed by a blinding flash.
“Plasma bomb!” Brax cursed and moved into position at Trist’s side, firing at the same nothing as my mate attempted to lift himself off the floor.
What were they firing at? Where had the plasma bomb come from?
Brax fired again, using one hand placed beneath Trist’s arm to help him up. On the floor, just outside the door, a dead body appeared as if out of thin air. It was like magic, one second invisible, the next… there. The creature had a Prillon’s face, except it was half dark copper skin and half a bright, shiny metal that looked like polished chrome. His body was covered by a strange, shimmering armor that I’d never seen before, but it almost looked like glitter. Holographic glitter.
Why was a Prillon firing at us? What was all over him?
I tugged the children and we ducked down behind the table where we’d been baking as Trist bellowed in pain. I winced, then panicked when I smelled burning flesh. His agony blasted me through the collar so that I fell to my knees and gasped with the intensity of it.
“Trist!” I screamed, but Brax bellowed at me before Trist could respond.
“Stay down!”
I tucked the girls’ heads down, but knew Trist had been hurt. No enough to stop him, but he was hurting. Definitely injured by that plasma bomb.
Beside us, the young Prillon, Var, began firing his weapon as well. He shouted a warning. “More back here!”
“Go!” Trist yelled at Brax and the man I’d only ever seen as a lover, or a doctor, leaped across the room to assist the young Prillon with the speed of an Everian Hunter I’d met once on Trion. Brax shot and fired his special gun and one enemy magically appeared dead on the floor. I understood now this was the Hive. This was the enemy I’d heard about but never believed existed when I’d been on Earth. Why were they invisible? Brax didn’t let up, exchanging ion blasts with more attackers. It was odd to see him firing at someone he couldn’t see. Not until they were dead and then they appeared, it seemed.
The little girl watched her brother, still unafraid. She caught me looking, and the faith I saw in her eyes nearly broke my heart all over again. “Var won’t let them hurt me. He’s strong, like our fathers.”
How did someone so small seem so confident, so assured at a time like this? I was the one to be the example, but it seemed she was an example to me. I ran my hand through her hair. “Yes, he is.”
Two more blasts aimed at Brax. It appeared the invisible intruders believed him to be more of a threat than the young Prillon. They were right.
But he couldn’t see them to fire back.
I stared at the flour coating the young girl’s hair and a thought came to me like a plasma bomb explosion.
“Yes!” Elation filled me as I was struck by an ingenious idea. Apparently, Trist felt my excitement, and my determination to help.
“Stay down!” Trist commanded.
Too late. I was on my feet, the bowl filled with unused flour in my hand. Desperate to help, I ran around the edge of the table, throwing flour into the air as I went. First to Brax and Var. Three handfuls of flour caught the air like pixie dust in a Disney movie and the unseen became ghosts coated in white.
“Brilliant, mate!” Brax yelled as he and Var took down the intruders with much more accurate shots.
I turned to see if Trist needed any help finding his invisible opponents, but he had two dead bodies at his feet. The third intruder I could not see, but he grappled with Trist in a physical struggle. It was the strangest thing, as if Trist were possessed, shifting and kicking, punching and firing at… nothing.
Screw that.
I ran as close as I dared and threw more flour into the air where I knew, logically, Trist’s assailant had to be. One handful. Two.