The Street Survivors (The Guild Wars Book 12) Ian Malone (the false prince series txt) 📖

“As an aside, I take back everything I said earlier about Hemming’s snow gear. Remind me to contact their sales rep when we get home to see if they need endorsements.”

The duo settled in for what proved to be about a five-minute ride to the base. In Taylor’s case, most of that time was spent wondering if their fellow team members had gotten hooked up to their trucks without issue. When the caravan didn’t stop, Taylor decided they had—or at the very least, they hadn’t been noticed. After that, he went on counting the myriad ways Jack’s plan could go wrong.

The truck’s tattered brakes let out an eerie whine as the massive vehicle rolled to a stop in the snow.

“Sounds like we’ve arrived,” Frank whispered over the idling engine.

“Yeah, sounds like,” Taylor said, risking a glance at his companion. The Buma was shivering out of control. Hang in there, brother.

A loud squeak sounded when the driver’s door swung open. After that, the snow in front of Taylor’s face crunched when two sets of feet dropped into view. From this vantage point, not much could be seen of the alien’s anatomy, save for its lower third. Still, that alone was enough to give Taylor pause. KzSha. Gotta be. He’d known coming in that the KzSha were an insectoid race, so he’d imagined them as being relatively small in stature. By contrast, the legs before him were anything but small.

Taylor cringed when a nasty stinger tail like that of a scorpion swung down into the snow mere inches from his nose. Yeah, I officially want no part of that.

Another door squeaked open and two more sets of alien legs wandered over, although none of the KzSha spoke. They just stood there in a huddle, observing a complete and total silence.

Are they talkin’ via text on a slate? Taylor’s mind scrambled for an explanation. If so, what are they sayin’? Have they figured out we’re down here? What about the others? Do the KzSha know about them?

Unsure of the answer, Taylor pulled his pistol in preparation for whatever came next.

The two extra pairs of legs walked back in the direction from which they’d come, while the driver climbed back into the cab of his own truck…still without saying a word.

It’s now or never. Taylor craned his neck to look back at the dome, fully expecting an assault. Instead, the driver put the truck in gear and eased forward on the throttle, taking the vehicle and its clandestine passengers into the dome, where temperatures spiked by at least 50 degrees.

“Oh, thank the gods.” Frank exhaled with clear relief.

As had been the case outside, Taylor couldn’t see much of his surroundings inside the dome on account of his low proximity to the ground. There were buildings, obviously, and other beings moving about. However, the latter seemed fairly sparse in number, based on the tiny bit of space Taylor could observe.

Eventually the truck came to a stop, where it was met by the industrial sounds of clinking chains and groaning metal.

Taylor shifted in his sling to look forward. They were stopped outside a large warehouse with two KzSha pushing open a large door. Once the entrance had cleared, the vehicle started forward again before coming to rest for good beside truck two of the convoy.

“Mornin’,” House mouthed with a wave as truck two’s engines quieted.

Taylor nodded, then looked away, only to do a double take. Where the hell is Genovese?

The River Hawks’ captain was supposed to be paired up with House under truck two, yet he was nowhere to be found.

Taylor raised his hands to pantomime the question, but a KzSha walked between the trucks before he could finish. A moment later, trucks three and four entered the warehouse, then halted beside the rest of the convoy. As before, each driver exited its vehicle and formed a close-knit huddle without speaking a word.

Taylor and Frank traded looks, then drew their pistols again. Obviously the Eagles had been brought to the warehouse so the KzSha could deal with them in a secure environment the humans couldn’t escape from.

Taylor, for one, wasn’t about to let that happen without a fight, and if Frank’s fierce expression was any indication, neither was the Buma. Both beings found the release button on their respective slings and waited for the inevitable.

Come on, you wiry-haired freaks. Make your move already, and let’s do this.

The KzSha huddle broke, at which time each alien driver moved to the rear of its respective truck. A series of clacks and slams ensued as the vehicles’ tailgates fell, then a voice sounded, which was clearly synthesized.

“Everyone out of the trucks,” one of the KzSha said. “Follow the guide. If you speak, you will be shot. If you get out of line, you will be shot. If you do anything whatsoever to upset this operation, you will be shot. Do as you’re told, and you will not die today. Is that understood?”

Silence followed, ostensibly while someone acknowledged.

“Excellent,” the KzSha said. “Move.”

Ten beings from a variety of races climbed down from each truck, with each group daisy-chained together by a set of manacles…or pawacles…for whatever type of limbs they had. There were several elSha, four Caroons, a few Sumatozou, three Humans, and ones and twos of various other races.

Taylor watched from his sling under truck one as the final batch of captives dismounted from the vehicle beside his. One of them—a Goka with speckled skin and a rugged exoskeleton marred by laser marks—flopped to the terracrete floor sporting a chain that someone had attached to a hole drilled through his carapace. Visibly annoyed with his circumstances, the roach-like alien struggled to its feet and sneered at its masters, only to be snatched back down to the pavement by one of the KzSha.

The Goka’s eyes locked on Taylor.

Oh, shit.