“See to it that you do, Harris. If those files leave the island, your employment contract will be terminated.”
The line went dead.
Ryan Harris winced. He knew the real meaning behind the threat. If he failed, it wouldn’t be just his contract meeting an abrupt end.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The nylon rope of Gwen’s safety harness slid down the track with the barest of sounds, like the sinuous noise of a snake moving over sand. As the angle of the track increased, so had their speed until Gwen’s hair had whipped behind her in the draft. But now the track levelled out as they approached land, and with the levelling came a reduction in speed. Gwen was praying their momentum would be enough to take them to shore.
The water of the strait separating the island from the mainland had changed. At the centre of the bridge, it had been invisible, hidden by the dark with only the sound of crashing waves to remind Gwen of its hunger. But now, the track had descended to within ten metres of the surface, plenty close enough for her to see white foam and grey surging waves. Not far away, a narrow beach of sand and pebbles met the water. The crash of the breaking swell carried cleanly, each wave charging up the beach before tiring and retreating for another go.
A hump of dull red sat in the shallows, water swirling around its form. Gwen felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck at the sight of the resting Tri-Claw. The creature faced up the beach, two great pincers resting on the sand while the scorpion tail lay out flat behind, moving languidly with each wave. Inert for the moment, she knew it would take only the barest of sounds or smell to set the beast to violence. They’d have to pray there would be clear ground below their final drop point. The last thing Gwen wanted was to finish the crossing with yet another fight against the shelled beasts. She’d gotten lucky twice so far but testing fate a third time would be surely asking for trouble.
A gentle pull at her waist became rapidly stronger, drawing her attention away from the Tri-Claw. It took a split second for her to register it was the pistol in her holster dragging down as it begun to be repelled by the track once again. Her head whipped up to the steel above her head, just as light began to leak from the black track.
Shit. “The Maglev’s coming back!” she yelled out, as her rope came to a dead halt. The pull against her harness by the gun was too much to allow any further movement. The beach mocked her, within calling distance, but it might as well as been a kilometre away.
On either side of her, the boys’ lines had also ground to a halt, Ethan’s backpack standing proud yet again. Jaego turned to her, his face covered with what she guessed was supposed to be a reassuring smile, and yet looked more like a grimace of pain.
“Don’t worry. This won’t be any different to before; it’ll pass straight over our lines and onto the next station.”
Gwen wasn’t so sure. Why retry a tactic that had already failed? She glanced over her shoulder; the Maglev approached, a harsh beam of light jutting ahead of it like a spear into the night. But, something was different to last time. By now, the train should have been hitting top speed, howling past them in a fury of wind and turbulence, but if anything, it was…
“Nah, can’t be,” muttered Ethan, seemingly to himself. “Why the hell’s it slowing down?”
Gwen took a shuddering breath. I knew they weren’t going to do the same goddamned thing again. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, she wished she was occasionally wrong. Ethan didn’t need his question answered; it was damn well obvious why the Maglev was slowing. Three teenagers hanging below a track holding onto stolen corporation files was a pretty safe bet as the reason.
The gun vibrated, a continuous pull at her waist as the track repelled all metal objects in the vicinity. Both Ethan and Jaego were the same as her, their lines pulled taut at odd angles from below the track. Gwen ignored the tug of the gun at her waist, her attention firmly held by the slowing train. She shielded her eyes against the white glow of the track with one hand as the first carriage crossed above at walking pace before coming to a complete stop. The white glow began to bleed away from the steel track as the Maglev lowered, making contact with the steel. As the magnetic repulsion dissipated to nothing, gravity took over and the three teenagers dropped to the lowest point below the track.
Jaego grabbed onto his harness line and gave it a vicious tug that achieved nothing. “Damn it!” he spat. “Our lines are trapped.”
Gwen gave her own line a frustrated tug, muttering a string of obscenities under her breath that would have made her father blush. Crushed between the steel track and a thousand tons of Maglev carriage, their nylon harnesses had slid as far as they would that night. Her head jerked upwards as a sharp tap of metal on glass sounded. Again it sounded, followed by a muffled cry of frustration. Someone was in the carriage and it sounded like they were trying to open one of the doors or shatter a window.
“We need to get out of here,” she said. “If that’s Spec Ops in the carriage, I don’t want to be here once they finally get the door open.”
Ethan pulled his pocket knife from his belt and flicked open a blade. “Doesn’t leave us much choice then, does it?”
“Ah, shit. You got to be kidding me?” muttered Jaego as he watched his mate start sawing at the nylon rope connecting him to the track.
Jaego’s words echoed Gwen’s own thoughts as her eyes flicked towards the Tri-Claw on the beach and the surging waves ten metres below her feet. There was still only one of the monsters on the beach, but God knows how many were in the water out of sight. Sour bile burnt at the back of her throat as fear-driven nausea surged.
“As soon as we hit the water, that Tri-Claw’s going to attack. Make for shore as quickly as you can; better to fight it on land than in the waves,” said Ethan, his voice grim.
Gwen touched a hand to the gun at her waist, glad that it hadn’t slipped free of the holster when pushed by the track’s magnetic repulsion; she’d be needing it soon enough.
“How deep’s the water?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the upcoming fight. “If it’s too shallow we’ll just swap a bullet from Spec Ops for a shattered spine.”
Each of them had done a few high-object jumps as part of their early combat training, so knew the risks that came with such a fall. They were jumping from ten metres. From that height, they’d be travelling at roughly sixty to seventy kilometres per hour on impact. Fast enough to kill if they landed in the wrong position. And then there was depth to consider. Ideally, they’d need five metres to avoid smashing into the bottom hard enough to shatter bones, but this close in to shore, there was no way of knowing.
Ethan stopped sawing at his line for a moment, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His face was deathly pale in the meagre light and he looked about as keen as Gwen felt on the topic of entering the water. “Shit. I didn’t think about that,” he looked down at the water, eyes searching the surface as if it might provide some answers. “It’s got to be a couple of metres deep, surely?”
Jaego had his knife in hand now and started sawing at his own line as well. “Only one way to find out,” he grated from between gritted teeth.
He’s got a point there. There was no reason to delay any further. Gwen reached a hand to her own waist, fingers feeling uncoordinated as she fished out her knife, nearly dropping it as she unfolded the blade.
“See you on shore,” said Ethan, his voice thin. With a last saw of his blade, the nylon rope gave way with a pop and he dropped like a stone, arms windmilling to keep his body upright until he disappeared under water with a mighty splash. Another wave surged, and Gwen lost sight of him. Ahead of her, she heard Jaego’s line give way with the same popping sound, his only sound a sharp intake of breath as he fell. A muted splash sounded a split second later.
She was now on her own, with only two cut lengths of rope shivering in the breeze for company. She bit down on her terror. Don’t think about it, just do it. Gwen forced herself to start sawing at the strap, the material under such te
nsion that each fibre made a slight pinging noise as it separated. If you don’t get down there, you’ll be leaving them to fight on their own. The fear of failing her mates was greater than that of the Tri-Claw or the drop beneath her feet. Her hand moved faster, the knife blade a blur as it sliced through the last of the rope. The material gave a loud snap as the final section tore through.
And suddenly she was falling.
She wanted to scream, but her stomach felt like it was in her throat, chest paralysed, lips drawn backward into a rictus of terror. Gwen crossed her ankles together and arms over her chest, and a split second later hit the water with massive force. She allowed her legs to come up, creating increased resistance to try and dissipate the energy and downward momentum, expecting any second to smash into a rocky bottom.
Gwen came to a stop deep under black water, part of her mind stunned that her feet were still intact, but now she had new troubles to overcome. Her lungs were already burning for air, throat tight. The shock of impact had driven out a full breath leaving her with nothing in reserve. She needed to make it to the surface quickly. Disoriented, Gwen had no idea which direction was up. She tried to look for the direction that bubbles were rising to determine the direction to the surface, but it was near pitch black, and the movement of the water was further complicated by churning waves heading to the shore.
There was nothing for it, she’d have to guess. Gwen stifled the panic that clutched her chest with burning fingernails and kicked out hard, driving forward with five hard strokes.
Something hard crunched into her face, gouging a long strip of skin away from her cheek and bloodying her nose. She hung in the water, momentarily stunned before she realised she’d hit the bottom. Her throat spasmed with the need for air, but with the pain came hope. At least now she knew which way was up.
Gwen drew her legs up under her, feet planted on the pebble base, then launched upwards with every muscle fibre straining. She had no idea how deep she was but pushed the thought aside and tried to focus only on each stroke and kick that drove her upwards. It was becoming harder to think though, harder to stop herself from opening her mouth and taking a convulsive lungful of water.
Just as she couldn’t take it any longer, lips parting to let the first mouthful of water in—her head breached the surface into clear air. Gwen sucked in a deep breath while she treaded water, muscles feeling like jelly. A wave smashed into the side of her face, tumbling her over in a tangle of limbs until she managed to right herself and get her head back above water. She emerged, coughing wretchedly and vomited a gutful of water. A second wave caught her, and this time she swam hard with it, managing to body surf closer to the beach.
The toes of her left foot caught upon the gravel base of the steep rising shore and she tripped forward onto her hands, head and shoulders going under water until she regained her footing and straightened. Her thighs trembled, every muscle buzzing with adrenaline and fatigue. Another wave surged around her thighs, forcing Gwen to take a fitful step forward to avoid being knocked down once again.
Gunfire buffeted her eardrums. Automatically, Gwen dropped into a crouch in the water, head flicking towards the sound. Her heart stuttered as she saw the bulking shape of a Tri-Claw advancing on her two mates farther up the beach, the scene cast in lurid yellow by the train carriage above. Ethan was on his knees, trying to fit the parts of the bang stick together while Jaego stood guard before him, gun raised. The Tri-Claw gave a demonic scream and continued to advance, stinger arched over its back with venom dripping off the razor tip. One claw shot forwards, clamping around Jaego’s lower leg. Gwen gasped with horror as he screamed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Find a way to open that door, or by God, I’ll feed you to the Tri-Claw myself!”
Spit flew in goblets of white from Harris’s mouth as he screamed at his two remaining officers. The taller officer hunched his shoulders to fit under the low roof, his vast, hulking frame making the carriage look like it belonged in a children’s amusement park. He pushed his colleague out of the way, drew back his rifle and smashed the butt against the cabin window.
Nothing.
With an animalistic snarl, the officer smashed his stock against the window of the door another five times, and it still held fast, not even a crack marring the re-enforced glass. He turned the rifle around, chambered a round and tightened his finger on the trigger.
“Don’t—”
The officer fired the rifle, the shot stunning Harris’s eardrums in the enclosed space. He ducked, covering his head with his arms as the bullet ricocheted off the glass, pinging off three surfaces before lodging in the back of a chair.
“Don’t shoot at the glass, you bloody idiot!” muttered Harris, slowly standing again. “Every window in the Maglev is bulletproof. Shooting at the damn glass will just end up with one of us getting shot.”
The officer dropped his weapon to hang from a slack arm and glowered back. “It’s you who wants the door open, sir,” disdain and frustration dripping from every word. “If you know so much about this train, how about you come up with a better way to get the job done.”
Harris clenched the pistol in his right hand, knuckles white against the black grip as he considered firing a round straight into the brute’s face. Normally he’d put the man back in his place with nothing but a facial expression, but he was struggling to think, let alone maintain an iron grip on command. The pain from his head wound had deteriorated, ringing his skull in a band of agony that made it near impossible to function. Every heartbeat lanced his brain with a sadistic fluctuating intensity that made him want to curl up in a foetal position on the ground. The trauma to his head had caused black bruises to form beneath both his eyes like a raccoon’s mask, the eyelids swelling until his was forced to squint through slits at the world. Harris was beginning to seriously worry that one of the kids had caused him more damage than a torn scalp.
Harris growled, stepped forward and drove the end of his pistol into the officer’s cheek, shoving his head hard up against the carriage wall.
“Are you challenging me?” asked Harris, voice hard as flint. “Because I can guarantee your steroid-addled brain won’t live out the next five minutes unless you change your bloody tune!”
The officer flinched backward.
“Well? What’s your goddamned answer!” screamed Harris, his face now only inches away.
“Ok. We’re good, sir,” he said, gaze locked to the ground, all challenge melting away. “I just don’t know how you want us to get the doors open. As far as I knew, they’re all controlled from the stations. I don’t think they can be manually opened from inside a cabin.”
Harris held the pistol against the officer’s face for a moment longer before letting it drop as he stepped back again, his head swimming from the effort of the exchange. He needed to think for a second, find a way forward. Harris staggered across to the window, stared down at the beach and felt the first flicker of a smile reach his lips.
A massive Tri-Claw, red shell the size of a car, gleamed wetly in the carriage’s light as it reared over the boys. The girl was just now emerging from the waves to the left. Against the remorseless violence encompassed within the twin claws and stinger, the children had maybe minutes left to live. Still, he preferred to leave nothing to chance.
“Get that manager back on the line,” muttered Harris, his voice the texture of ground glass. “Tell him if refuses to open the doors again, it won’t just be him dead; I’ll kill every member of his family.”
The smaller officer nodded and fumbled the emergency phone off the wall to initiate the call.
Harris stepped closer to the glass to watch the fight. He wanted to see every grimace of agony. Needed to hear each scream as they were pierced repeatedly by the stinger, then clipped into pieces. Harris had a harsh smile on his face that didn’t come close to reaching his swollen eyes. Even if it couldn’t be his own hand that inflicted the punishment, he would see the job completed.
C
hapter Thirty-Seven
Ethan stumbled out of the surf and took a knee on the beach, muscles trembling, chest heaving as he tried to get his breath back. Ten metres above his head, the Maglev track crossed the beach like an arrow, at complete odds with the otherwise natural surrounds. Windows of the parked carriages streamed light, casting the beach in purulent tones of yellow, causing long shadows to stretch from outcrops of pockmarked rock.
Cool water swirled around Ethan’s legs as the dissipating force of the wave pulled back. He scooped a fistful of sand, the sensation of wet, gritty shell and rock fragments between his fingers proving he’d made it back to land. Ethan had landed poorly after cutting his harness, getting winded badly on impact with the water. Disoriented and hurting, he’d plunged under the maelstrom of swirling water to ear-popping depth. By chance, Ethan guessed the right direction to swim, and breached the surface before a choking a lungful of saltwater. The swim to shore had been powered by adrenaline-filled terror, fear at being torn back under the surface by a clawed monster lending each stroke energy as he fought his way to land.
Relief at his own survival lasted only a few moments, quickly replaced by concern for his mates. Ethan flicked the handful of grit back onto the beach and stood. Sodden clothes hung heavy off his frame, backpack streaming water from every seam like a haemorrhaging carcass. He might have made it to land, but one out of three wasn’t enough. Ignoring the silent scream of lactic muscles, Ethan jogged a few paces up the beach to a higher point to search the waves for Gwen and Jaego.
A rhythmic splashing sound caught his ear amongst the crashing waves. He flicked his head towards it and was rewarded with the sight of a white hand arching above the water in a freestyle stroke. Ethan ran back into the shallows, meeting Jaego just as he got his feet under him. He wrapped an arm around his mate’s shoulders and helped him make the last distance onto dry land, then scoured the waves a second time.
The Viperob Files Page 21
