Before the Dawn

The acrid taste of bile rose in my throat. It took me several seconds to remember how to breathe. I braced myself against the glass. The smallest bump it made the prisoner on the other side look.

A loud voice in my head was panicking, making everything else fade away as I let my imagination run wild.

Was it Wolf?

Had they gotten him somehow?

Head swimming, I barely heard Devon ask Dixon a question. They seemed so far away, so inconsequential to what was going on right in front of me as my vision tunneled.

My stomach churned, and I wrapped an arm around my torso, trying to hold myself together. I turned around, eyes unable to focus, and searched for either my boss or Devon.

I realized too late that my breathing was more than audible.

With my other hand, I groped the air, looking for something to brace against or grab. Bees filled my skull, buzzing with static.

Devon found me, holding my outstretched arm with one hand and setting the other at my lower back.

"Nichole, are you okay?" he asked. It sounded like he was speaking through water.

I shook my head. I was too hot, I couldn't breathe, I needed to throw up. The panic attack was overwhelming me.

How? How did they get him? How dare they lock him down like some kind of animal?

My fingers balled into fists and I searched until I found the fuzzy outline of Dixon. I stumbled toward him with malicious intent. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out toward me, misinterpreting my intentions.

"Ms. Shain what's wrong?"

Somehow, I found my voice. "How dare—"

It was the catalyst my stomach needed. Cotton filled my head and I reeled, lunging across the room for the trash bin. I emptied the volatile cocktail of fries, water, and liquor from my stomach, making it to the trash by mere inches.

Devon swept up and pulled my ponytail away grin my shoulder.

"Jesus Christ, Hart! Why'd you let her drink that much?" Dixon demanded from where he was standing.

"I didn't!" Devon's voice was right behind me. "I deliberately tried to avoid this."

I shut my eyes tight and coughed into the trash can, tried to wrap my mind around the fact that they had managed to capture Wolf—

No.

Not Wolf.

I knew better than that. I'd let my better judgement run away, but my head was clearer now.

"I didn't think she'd react this way. What's wrong with her?" Dixon asked.

Devon shifted next to me. "I don't know—I . . . it must just be overwhelming? She's having a panic attack so maybe we triggered her. Nichole what's wrong? Talk to us."

/No, no, no./ I shook my head and sat back on my haunches, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. They weren't getting a peep out of me, not about what I was really thinking, anyway.

How appalled I was that they were successful in their endeavors.

That I was insulted by their success.

"It's fine," I said, my voice thick and wet. "I just—everything . . . I wasn't ready and . . . I feel better now, really."

When I tried to stand, Devon held his arm out and let me use him as a ladder to my feet. The contents of my stomach were replaced with a hate-fueled fire.

I was quickly running through escape plans to make something happen, but I knew it would be worthless.

The predator in there was drugged up. He wouldn't have been any help in his own rescue. We wouldn't have gotten far. Devon would have stopped us, and I didn't have the heart to hurt him, even if I didn't mind doing it to Dixon.

I moved over to the window and took a hard look at whoever was in there. He was the wrong color and was a little more stocky than Wolf.

It didn't matter who was in there, though, I wanted to help. Needed to help. Wolf would want me to help, right?

There had to be a way.

/He came here to murder humans,/ a tiny voice in the back of my head pointed out.

I should have been disgusted. I should have been sick by the idea of this alien coming to our planet to kill us.

So why wasn't I?

The important thing here was that we had one of Wolf's people and that meant we had their tech, something they didn't want. I had to get it back or find the means to destroy it.

"How did you do it?" I said at last, still hoarse in the throat.

Dixon shook his head and stepped up next to me, turning me by force with his hands on my shoulders. I refused to look at him, my gaze still drawn to the predator.

He said, "None of that matters. What happened to you? Do you need some water?"

My mouth did taste awful. I sighed and touched my fingers to my forehead. A sheen of sweat had formed on my brow. "Yes, please. Water would be fantastic."

"Devon, go get her some water," Dixon ordered.

Devon didn't immediately move, and I turned my head away from the window to stare directly at our director.

"Let me in there with him," I said, my tone calm despite the squall inside me.

/What are you doing?/

Silence met my request, but my resolve didn't falter. I kept my gaze even and my expression set.

After we stared each other down for a spell, Dixon shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's not happening," he said, trying to match my defiant stare. When I parted my lips to speak, he cut me off with a swift gesture. "You just had a full-blown panic attack at the mere sight of that thing! You really want to be close to it?"

"I'm fine!" I ripped my arm free of his grasp when he tried to drag me off and I backed away. "It was just the alcohol!"

"You didn't look fine," Devon said, his voice soft and face contorted with concern.

Our gazes met, and my shoulders slumped. Devon was looking at me like I was an apparition. I imagined how I looked to him—tense, frazzled, aggressive.

Here I was, the woman who had survived a night inside a closed ship with those vicious alien parasites . . . torn to shreds at the first sign of meeting with the kind of alien that had saved my life.

This wasn't me. I'd been caught off-guard, flat-footed. I'd allowed myself to be rattled and I had to calm down.

I put a hand to my head and glanced out toward the predator. His wounds were many and I felt heat flood my veins—why wouldn't they treat his wounds? At least attempt to bandage him?

And his breathing was labored . . . he was going to slowly suffocate to death.

My fingers flexed in and out of a fist. Demands halted at the tip of my tongue—/help him, give him his mask, let him go, you'll all be sorry . . ./

"Well, regardless," Dixon began, "You're going to be helping with the interrogation come next week. We're waiting for a doctor to come in and look at him, but it's a bit of a commute for him."

/Thank god for small miracles./

"How do you plan to interrogate him when he doesn't speak English?" I asked.

"That's where you'll come in," Dixon replied

That didn't make sense. "I don't speak their language, either."

Dixon shook his head. "But you've had extended contact with one and found some way to communicate, yes? You're far more familiar with their body language and mannerisms so communicating with him will be easier for you."

Since I couldn't really argue with him about that, I stayed quiet.

He continued. "Plus, he'll trust you, right? The one you met gave you a mark, right? I read the reports. He might be more willing to cooperate with you."

I grabbed my wrist and averted my gaze. "I guess so, maybe . . ."

Yes. He would trust me. That would make it easier when we tried to escape.

"So, can we count on you?" Dixon asked.

"I need some air." I rubbed my face and inhaled deeply.

"Of course," Dixon said, watching me carefully.

Devon was at my side instantly, leading me out of the room. Dixon followed behind us to lock the door. I brushed Devon away each time he offered a helping hand or moved too close.

"When exactly will I be able to talk to him?" I asked once inside the elevator.

Dixon sighed. "It depends. We need the doctor to look him over to make sure he's going to live. We want to start interrogations as soon as we figure out how to keep him lucid while also ensuring everyone's safety."

"He'll need his mask," I remarked.

"For what?"

"To breathe. I also believe it acts as a translator, and that's how I was able to communicate with Wolf," i explained.

"Wolf?" Devon repeated.

I blushed, feeling strangely embarrassed. "Oh, that's what I named the one I was with. I couldn't exactly pronounce his name and keep saying 'hey you, alien'."

The two men looked at each other, and then the elevator doors opened. I followed Dixon out, Devon still by my side.

"I can probably get him his mask, then, or at least a respirator maybe," Dixon stated. "There are some tests that need to be done and expedited."

Not quite satisfied, I pursed my lips and made a non-committal sound. It was a start, at least. They weren't going to just let him die.

"The medical team and lab techs will work through the weekend," Dixon said, stopping at his office. "When you come into work on Monday, we'll know for sure if we can start interrogations."

I nodded absently, lost in thought. While being involved in the interrogations was all well and good, I would have to find a way to speak with him alone.

Waiting until Monday seemed too far away, but if that was what it took, then I'd have to deal with it. That would give me time to plot and calm down. I was too keyed up.

"Alright, you two go home for now," Dixon ordered. "Get some sleep and enjoy the rest of your weekend. I hope you feel better in the morning, Nichole."

"I'm fine," I said through clenched teeth. "It's just because I don't drink."

/Yes, blame the alcohol./

It hadn't been the gut-wrenching belief that my friend was going to be experimented on and tortured for science. Even the mere thought made my insides flop.

"All the more reason for you to go home, get some rest, and take the weekend to cool off," Dixon said with finality.

"Yes, sir," Devon muttered.

"I'll see you guys bright and early Monday morning."

Before he could make his leave, I called out to him. "Oh, sir, one more thing."

"What is it, Shain?"

"Can I see the case files? I want to read everything you guys have on the predators."

Devon spoke up. "Me too, please."

He glanced at us, then nodded. "That's fine. I'll pul everything and make copies for you."

We waited for Dixon to disappear into his office before talking the elevator down to the main floor. Both of us said nothing, and then I marched outside.

I came to stand at the edge of the sidewalk, bent over at the waist and hands on my face. I took several deep breaths, letting the crisp air fill my lungs and clear my head.

My entire body trembled with the suppressed emotions. I waited for Devon to speak, acutely aware that he was hovering close by.

He didn't, and I wasn't sure if I liked it: all I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the sound of my own breathing.

"So . . . do you want a ride home?" he asked gently, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I stood upright and turned to face him. Something on his face made me want to flee. The concern? The pity? Whatever it was, I spun on my heel and started down the sidewalk.

"It's fine, I'll walk."

However, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop while saying, "Nichole, what are you doing? Where are you going?"

Hissing, I wrenched my arm free of his grasp and whirled on him, ready to lash out. However, those same expressions that made me want to escape extinguished the flame inside me and I lowered my gaze.

"Nothing," I muttered. "I'm going home."

"You live miles from here."

"So?"

"What happened in there?" he asked after a moment's hesitation. "I've never seen you so shaken like that, not even when went down to see those parasite things. I thought that predator thing helped you?"

"Yes, that's true," I murmured.

"So then why . . . ?"

When I couldn't find the right words, I tossed my hands in defeat and huffed. "I don't know, Devon. I just—I saw him on that table and I . . . I panicked, okay? The alcohol certainly didn't help but I was just . . . scared."

"Why? He can't get out."

"Not for me. For him."

He stared at me like I was speaking in tongues. I shook my head and turned away, marching in the direction of my apartment.

"You wouldn't understand," I said more to myself than to him.

Fuck, I barely understood.

Once again, he stopped me by the arm. "Then help me understand," he pleaded.

We locked eyes, and then I shook my head and pulled away. "I can't right now, Devon. I need to go home. I need to walk. Just . . . I need to be alone for a little bit, please?"

For a moment he stood there, looking torn. I silently pleaded for him to drop it and let me go. When he did, he looked so crestfallen I almost took it back.

It was almost the same look my old dog Atlas had given me if I ever accidentally stepped on him.

"Alright," he said with a shrug. "Well, I'll see you on Monday, then, Nichole. Though, are you sure you'll be okay walking home from here? I don't mind driving you closer."

My resolve faltered, but I held it together with imaginary safety pins and nodded, forcing a smile. "I'll be alright, I promise."

It wouldn't have been the first time I'd walked home from work.

He nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets and backed up to stand under a street light. I glanced over my shoulder a couple times to watch him as I walked away, shot him a reassuring wave, then hurried onward without looking back again.

I never did get my water, and I hadn't dressed for a walk home in the middle of the night. Not even the brisk pace would stave off the cold and I huddled against myself, pulling my thin jacket as tightly around me as I could.

It didn't help.

What it did do, though, was chase away the last dregs of inebriation. I could think. I could walk straight. I wasn't in the right shoes for jogging, but I jogged home anyway.

As always, it was a great distraction. I hardly ever hoofed it home from work, so I was forced to focus on which road I was on, where I needed to turn, and how far away I was.

Losing my way wasn't a concern: I had made sure to keep my phone on me after Devon and I had driven over from the bar. If I ever felt like I didn't know where I was, I could pop that out and check the GPS.

But, I was pretty good at landmarks and street names.

Even jogging, it took forever to make it home. I was breathless, dying of thirst, and my feet and knee were killing me.

None of it mattered.

The second I was inside my apartment and the door closed behind me, I had one thing on my mind. The one solution I could think of to fix the problem I had run into.

Call Wolf.

I tripped over myself to get to my room, dropping my wallet and coat somewhere along the way. Knowing I'd be home late, I'd left the hall light on so I could find my way without fumbling through the dark.

Once in my room, I yanked out the top drawer of my dresser and dropped it on my bed, rifling through it. The contents were strewn all over the floor before I found it: the beacon.

I stared at it in my hands for a heartbeat, then I sat down and put it on my lap.

My mouth still tasted of bile, pulling me out of my thoughts. I had been in such a rush to call Wolf, but now that I was staring at the brain, my hands refused to work.

/It'll still be here after I brush my teeth and get something to drink./

I set the little device aside and fled to my bathroom to clean out my mouth. Afterwards, I poured myself a tall glass of water and chugged the whole thing down.

Then, I was right back on the bed, Wolf's device in hand.

It was the only thing—save for the trophy draped over the corner of my vanity mirror and the scar on my wrist—tying me to him.

I ran my fingers over the smooth surface and hovered on the small button. One press and he'd be in his way.

Maybe.

We would save that other predator together, then kill the xenomorphs in the lab. Their technology would be in safe hands. Then we would leave together.

Maybe.

Just had to push it and wait for him to show up.

Maybe.

How long would it take? Would he come to my apartment, or wherever the beacon went? If I brought it to work with me, would he show up there? And if he did show up at headquarters . . .

I swallowed the image of him cutting down the other agents, the lab techs. I clenched my eyes shut against the brutal scene of my coworkers' limp bodies on the ground and headquarters in shambles.

Broken and burning down.

Me, flanked by two violent aliens, at the forefront.

The cause of it all.

It was easy to think about how I would free the predator, or how I would go about killing the xenos when it would be me doing most of the work. I would know my way around, how to get in without hurting a lot of people.

With Wolf there, I knew it in my heart of hearts that there would be a ton of collateral damage. One or two people on my conscience I could cope with . . . the destruction of my entire workplace?

No. Not that.

Most of all, my will faltered when I realized Devon would be caught up in the crossfire. He would likely be killed during the raid. Obnoxious, aggravating, always following me around . . .

Sweet, attentive, and caring Devon.

The thought of him lying dead, the look of betrayal stuck permanently to his face—I sucked in my breath and set the device back down.

I knew I had to do something; I couldn't just leave the predator there. I could . . . go at night or tell Devon to stay away. Somehow, I would find a way to convince him.

Once again, my fingers hovered over the button. One simple press and Wolf would be on his way to my side.

Maybe.

I still couldn't bring myself to think that he was absolutely needed. Not right away, at least.

Though I was confident I could destroy the xenos on my own, I wasn't sure if I could rescue the predator by myself. That was an endeavor I might need Wolf for, but I wouldn't know if I didn't try.

He could be a last-ditch effort.

If he came when I called.

A brief thought crossed my mind—would the predator help me kill those bugs off if I freed him? That was unlikely. He'd be too doped up.

So, I was stuck wondering what I should prioritize. Saving him or eradicating the xenomorphs. Despite how I felt about leaving my home planet, they were a menace and they were about to be moved across the country.

There was so much that could go wrong.

And if anything did go wrong, I needed to be able to call for backup. As it was, the only back up I knew of was Wolf. I could send the predator home, not go with him, destroy the xenos . . .

Whatever. One step at a time. I could figure everything else out as it came up.

The night's events had me wound up. I set the beacon down and moved to my kitchen to fix another drink. More water.

I paced the apartment, changed my clothes, washed my face, then leaned over the sink in my bathroom. Eyes shut tight, I focused on keeping my breathing even.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up at myself in the mirror. My usually pale face was reddened, eyes sunken in from exhaustion. It was almost two in the morning and I felt like I'd been up for days.

I returned to my room and cleaned up my mess, stowing the beacon away for later. I didn't need to call Wolf.

Not yet, anyway. Not until I knew for sure I couldn't handle this on my own. The last thing I wanted was to level my entire building and cause the death of everyone in it just because I was unsure.

A last resort.

I was still too wound up to sleep, though I knew I needed to. The best thing I could do was watch a couple movies to calm down.

I didn't have anything going on in the morning. My trip to the gym could be put off if I needed the sleep.

Firing up Netflix, I put on whatever the first popular movie appeared in the queue. I then popped my sleep aids and a single Xanax to keep me level-headed.

It had been years since I'd felt the need to take anti-anxiety meds, but now seemed like a good time.

By the time the movie ended, I felt relaxed enough to crawl into bed and attempt sleep. Maybe I shouldn't have mixed the residual alcohol and the narcotics, but whatever.

If I didn't wake up, that meant I wouldn't have to worry about aliens anymore.