Caveman Alien’s Spear (Caveman Aliens #28)

Chapter 1

- Callie -

I wake up anxious.

It’s not the sharp, clean kind from a bad dream that gradually leaves again as I come awake. This is the fuzzy, creeping dread that slides in sideways, carrying the faint echo of bad decisions and too much frine, that caveman booze that Theodora and I sipped on all day.

My mouth tastes stale. My head is dull and heavy, and my heart is beating like it knows something I don’t. Yep, it’s the old symptoms that have been with me since long before I was abducted by aliens.

I lie still on the metal floor of the flying saucer, staring up at the plasticky ceiling.

The air smells faintly recycled, tinged with smoke from the campfire we kindled outside many hours ago.

The blue light is faint and alien, a constant reminder that we’re not on Earth and likely never will be again.

The saucer took us to this dinosaur-infested planet, but now it’s mostly dead.

Theodora is asleep across from me. Her breathing is slow and even, her back turned. She curls around herself when she sleeps, like she’s holding on to something invisible. I don’t want to wake her. She needs rest. We both do.

But my legs feel twitchy.

The day-drinking was a mistake. We knew it at the time, of course.

We were laughing too loudly, pretending this was just a camping trip gone hilariously wrong, not a stranded-on-an-alien-planet situation where half of our group of interplanetary castaways had just left us for somewhere better.

Now it’s burned off, leaving only the consequences behind.

Morgan and Riley left, and I feel more alone than I should.

I stand up and let the dizziness pass. My heart keeps racing, insisting on movement. It’s not my first time waking up like this. Not at all. But at least on planet Xren I know what I’m scared of: everything.

Fresh air, I tell myself. Just a breath.

I move carefully, barefoot on the cold metal floor, easing the hatch open just enough to slip through. I pull it shut, sealing Theodora inside where she’ll be safe.

Outside, the night is dense and smelly with the ordinary decay of the huge mass of organic material all around us.

The jungle is never completely dark. Some plants have a faint light in them, and the moon, Yrf, sometimes sends a blue beam through the dense canopy of leaves.

The air is cooler at night, heavy with salt and damp earth. Somewhere far off, something shrieks, high and sharp, and then goes quiet.

I draw in a deep breath anyway. “It’s fine,” I mutter to myself. “The more noise, the less danger.”

It helps. A little.

The constant hiss from the waves rolling up on the beach should be reassuring, like a white-noise machine, but it’s just another reminder of how far from home I am.

Cora and Sprisk left hours ago, taking with them Morgan and Riley. They’re heading back toward the Borok tribe. Toward warmth and firelight and people. Toward more Earth girls, a well-ordered village, and something that looks almost like a future.

I can still catch up, maybe. If I run.

The idea sinks its claws into me. There would be safety in numbers. Shelter. A tribe that at least knows how to survive here. More or less.

It also means being at the mercy of those caveman aliens.

The only one I’ve met is Sprisk, and he was so weird and scary that I had to look away from him for the first couple of days to not break into tears of terror.

I’m not sure I can stand having hundreds of those things around me every day—eight-foot-tall giants with voices like subwoofers and hands as big as dinner plates.

There’s no defense against them if they decide there’s something they want from you.

And on this woman-less planet, practically all of them are virgins.

Cora claims that the chief is really good.

But what happens if he decides not to be?

Or if he has a fight with his Earth-woman wife?

Or if he dies? That tribe could easily become a mob.

And who wants to live in a dictatorship, anyway?

Better to stay out of it completely, invisible, not having made a permanent choice.

Because I’m sure Riley and Morgan are never coming back.

I’d be astonished if they’re ever allowed out of that village again. That can’t be my fate.

“No thanks,” I whisper into the darkness. “I’ll stay right here.”

And then there’s Theodora, asleep in the saucer behind me. Stubborn, hopeful, determined to fix the saucer, despite both of us knowing that it can’t be fixed. She’s fraying at the edges. I can see that because I’ve been frayed for years.

I rub my arms, suddenly chilled. The thin jumpsuit the aliens gave me on that space station is sturdy, but it doesn’t keep me warm.

I can’t leave her. Even thinking it feels like betrayal—

My head snaps to the side. There’s a light.

A flicker, low and orange, over by the beach. It’s firelight, reflected in the treetops and the sky.

My stomach tightens. We didn’t leave a fire burning, and we never lit one on the beach. Our own campfire is all embers by now.

Did Cora return? Or is there a brush fire that could wipe out the saucer?

I start through the little patch of jungle between our saucer clearing and the beach, moving slowly.

As I get closer, the smell hits me first—smoke, sharp and real, mixed with something briny and raw. The ocean, the seaweed, the monsters we suspect live in the depths.

The fire is small, barely more than embers licking at a few charred sticks. It sits alone on the sand. There are no figures around it, no voices, no movement.

Weird.

I stop a few yards away, scanning the beach. The surf rolls in and out, as calm as ever. The jungle behind me is silent in a way that feels intentional.

I take another step, then hear the soft sound of feet on dry sand.

Arms close around me from behind. As hard as iron.

A hand clamps over my mouth before I can scream, cutting off the sound and crushing my breath back into my chest. The body pressed against my back is massive. There’s solid heat and muscle, smelling of ocean and wood and something unmistakably male.

Panic explodes through me, and I go wild with thrashing and writhing. But it’s useless. He’s too strong. One arm locks around my ribs, lifting me just enough that my feet scrape helplessly over the sand.

A low sound vibrates against my ear. It’s not a growl and not quite a word, but clearly a warning. Be quiet.

I bite down on his hand. Salty sand between my teeth.

He hisses, more surprised than hurt, and tightens his grip. My vision blurs as fear floods me, sharp and dizzying.

Dragged forward, I watch helplessly as he reaches out with his free foot and kicks sand over the fire. Embers scatter and hiss on the humid sand.

I try to turn, to yell, to alert Theodora. There are no witnesses. She won’t know what happened. I’m not even leaving tracks in the sand.

He hauls me toward the water, moving fast and sure-footed, like this beach belongs to him.

I catch glimpses of bare skin and leather, the rough brush of something like a kilt against my legs.

His chest presses against my back when he shifts his grip, and the contact sends a confusing jolt through me that has nothing to do with fear.

I hate myself for noticing.

The shape of a boat looms ahead, half dragged up on the sand. It’s long and narrow, balanced with an outrigger that cuts a dark line against the waves. It’s shockingly primitive.

He drops me into it with little ceremony. I scramble, but before I can move, rough rope is wrapped around my wrists, tight and efficient. He doesn’t look at my face while he does it, just my hands, his fingers quick and practiced.

I shake my head, a silent plea clawing up my throat.

His gaze finally meets mine.

The firelight is gone, but blue moonlight catches his face. There are sharp lines, luminous eyes set too deep to be human, skin marked with pale scars, and streaks of something purple that might be paint. Or blood. Or something else entirely. There are fangs and a mane of dark hair.

Yep, that’s a caveman.

For a split second, he stiffens. Something like hesitation flickers across his expression.

Then it’s gone.

He shoves the boat into the surf. Water slaps against my ankles and manages to feel cold.

My kidnapper vaults in after me. The vessel rocks dangerously, then steadies as he grabs a pole and pushes us away from shore.

The beach starts to slide backward. The jungle retreats, swallowing the darkness where the saucer stands.

I open my mouth to scream again, but the wind steals the sound as the boat turns toward the open water.

“Don’t worry,” the caveman says in the caveman language that Cora’s taught us over the past couple of weeks. “The Plood will never get you again.”

The boat cuts forward with dull slaps against the water. The shore is already a dark blur behind us, the jungle a jagged shadow against the sky. There’s no sail, no mast, no lantern. Just his huge body moving with steady, relentless purpose as he poles us along the coast.

I test the rope again, carefully. My wrists are numb, but not useless. The fibers scrape against my skin as I shift them lower, closer to the rough beam at the edge of the boat. There’s a sharp ridge there, maybe a stuck shell, maybe a piece of bone. If I can just keep the rope moving…

He grunts and switches from the pole to a paddle. Giant muscles flex in his back and arms, thick as the cables holding up the Brooklyn Bridge.

Yeah. Of course he looks like that.

Sprisk was half dinosaur, but I recognize some of his features in this one.

Laughably broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Skin darkened by the sun.

In the blue light from the alien moon, it’s difficult to tell what color his stripes are, but they look purple.

His hair is pulled back roughly, but loose strands cling to his neck.

He moves with a purpose and a calm confidence that’s raw and alive and infuriatingly intoxicating.