There was no new information on the truck or its owner. The license plate was too dirty to read from space and the angle too extreme to look into the diner where the alien had gone, presumably to feed its host body. It didn’t matter. They had its location and in nine minutes they’d get a real good look at the poor bastard carrying the creature. Maybe he’d fight hard enough to justify the use of lethal force. For the cowboy’s sake, Young certainly hoped so. He knew he would’ve preferred death to being used and abused by an alien.
TWENTY-FIVE
BREATHE, McClane barked, thoroughly freaked out. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you, but I thought it wasn’t relevant. Would you… please… inhale, damn you!
Riley took a deep breath, primarily so he could hiss, “You thought it wasn’t fucking relevant? Are you a fucking moron?”
McClane was clinging again, nervous little claws stinging and burning under Riley’s skin as they burrowed into his bones, raking against nerve endings as they went. For once, Riley was too distracted to complain about it. He was so mad he hardly noticed the discomfort.
We’re out of the area, miles outside any feasible search grid, the alien argued. There’s no technology here advanced enough to trace my molecular signature, so they can’t find me. He shifted along Riley’s back, causing the muscles along his spine to twitch uneasily. Also, in my defense, I was distracted.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Riley whispered harshly, “was that my fault?” The waitress glanced over at him with a tiny frown. Riley pretended not to notice, but he did slide deeper into the booth. He lowered his head and put a hand to his ear. Just talking on the phone, see? Bluetooth headset, really tiny. Nothing funny going on here at all. No crazy guy talking to himself.
Walk along, walk along.
Actually, yes, it was, McClane snapped. I didn’t expect you to be…. He hesitated, losing his momentum a little as he grasped for words, then finally settled on a frustrated… to be you. You’re distracting.
Riley clenched his jaw and swallowed down the first couple of comebacks itching to slip out. The distracting thing went both ways. He should’ve asked; should’ve made McClane tell him how he’d ended up on Riley’s engine block. In retrospect, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t. It seemed like a natural line of inquiry when confronted with an alien body snatcher.
He’d been every bit as thrown as McClane, but that was no excuse. Time to step on the brake and do this properly.
“Okay. Stop perforating my bones and fill me in,” he ordered quietly.
McClane mumbled an apology, loosened his hold, and did as Riley had asked. He started with the crash, recounted the ill-fated first encounter with the US military. He described how the human soldiers had fired the first shot, but admitted that the resultant fight might’ve been avoided if the crew of the Widowmaker hadn’t panicked just as much.