Overton grunted. Pain from his shoulder raced down his arm as he pushed the dead alien off of him. He didn’t need to see the wound to know it was deep. He was in trouble.

He forced himself off the ground and jammed another magazine into his pulse rifle. With a deep breath, he gritted his teeth and sprinted toward the Dumpster where the girl was still cowering in the darkness.

As his lips moved to form words, he realized it was pointless. He didn’t have time for formalities, or to convince the girl to come with him. With a swift motion he threw the strap of his rifle over his back and reached down to pick her up with his good arm.

She stared back at him blankly. The girl was clearly in shock. He attached her arms around his neck, put his hand under her butt, and took off in a sprint toward the highway.

“Start that engine, Bouma,” he whispered into his com. His chest heaved in and out, his labored breath filling the open channel with short bursts of static.

“Roger, Sergeant. We are tracking your location now. Over.”

Overton risked a glance over his shoulder to ensure none of the spiders were tailing him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the motionless pile of luminous gore. Once killed, they stayed dead. Which meant humanity might have a fighting chance after all.

He took a sharp right down the highway toward the hill. With a blink, his display flickered back to life, and he could make out three heat signatures about a half a mile away.

Almost there—almost safe.

He ignored the whimpering girl, refusing to comfort her. His objective was to get her back to the Biosphere safely, not to console her. But as the child’s tiny arms tightened around his neck, he couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of empathy.

He ignored it and continued to run, his pace slowly diminishing as the lactic acid filled his muscles. His labored breathing became more intense. He could feel his heart thumping inside its bone prison. A few steps farther and it was going to attempt a jail break.

He slowed to a stop, panting to catch his breath.

A short burst of static broke over the com. “Sir, we have contact on your six,” Finley said.

Overton shot a glance over his shoulder to see a drone hovering over the skyline of downtown Colorado Springs. He was already running before the high-frequency pitch of the craft could penetrate his ears. His legs were screaming, the muscles enflamed with pain. But he pushed himself, ignoring it all.

Back at the semi-trailer, Sophie watched two heat signatures slowly creep across her display. Her eyes darted back up to the horizon, where the drone was gliding through the night.

“They aren’t going to make it,” she said, rising to her feet. “We need to go to them.”