Colony

by Benjamin Cross

Koikov turned to Marchenko. “Sergeant, hand me that tracker.”

  Marchenko went to protest, then unstrapped the tracker from around his neck and handed it over.

  “Now fall back and take charge of the others,” Koikov ordered. “Advance them to the mouth of the cave then wait outside until I give the all clear.”

  Marchenko fell back, and seconds later Private Yudina arrived at the mouth of the cave.

  “You smell that?” Koikov asked.

  The towering private took a lungful of air and nodded.

  “You recognise it?”

  Silence.

  “Yudina?”

  “Of course I do. How could I forget it?”

  Koikov grunted in agreement. Though he knew that he was not directly to blame, he had still taken Dolgonosov’s death personally. How dare that creature think that it could fuck with his team! He should have reported the tragedy immediately. He knew full well. But instead he had finished his papirosa, slid Dolgonosov’s eyelids shut and set off in pursuit. It had been a serious error of judgement.

  After repeated tours in the Northern Caucasus, Koikov knew a thing or two about taking things personally. He had witnessed some of the vilest injuries affronted men could inflict on innocent others. The attack on a nursery school in Nazran. The revenge massacre of an entire mujahedeen unit. The merciless show-decapitation of young Russian conscripts. The list went on. Yet he had dealt with it, just as he had dealt with the many other atrocities that he had witnessed in that sorry region.

  But there was something about the attack on Junior Sergeant Sharova that Koikov knew would be altogether harder for him to deal with. It wasn’t the injuries. Sharova had been mauled almost as badly as Dolgonosov, for sure. But all Koikov could think about were the screech, the curled-back lips, the teeth. When he closed his eyes he saw only the hellish pair that had peered back at him out of the cave after he and Private Yudina had responded to Sharova’s screams and opened fire on the thing standing over their comrade’s body. And all the while, the air had been rife with its gut-wrenching stink. He swallowed hard. It was the same stench that was wafting over him now.

  Koikov hung the tracker cord around his neck, and he and Yudina cocked their assault rifles. The crunch and slide of the metal working parts echoed around the cave. Glancing down at the tracker, Koikov could see a blinking red dot approximately thirty metres up ahead. As he watched, it disappeared suddenly, then reappeared several metres to the west.

  “Why’s it doing that?” Yudina asked.

  “The satellite signal’s weak in here,” Koikov replied. “The tracker can’t get a proper fix.”

  “Can’t it pick up the signal direct at this range?”

  Koikov raised his hand to his throat. “Marchenko?”

  “Starshyna?”

  “Is it possible to pick up the locator signal direct?”

  “I already switched it over, Starshyna.”

  Koikov studied the screen. Nothing had changed. The red dot flashed in roughly the location it had before. Then it disappeared and relocated a short distance away.

  His brow furrowed. Something wasn’t right.

  2

  The seal hide stood on a ledge set back from the edge of the cliff. It was a small canvas lean-to, braced against an overhang and camouflaged with dumps of scree. Callum reached out and shook one of the struts. The canvas scrunched between his fingers, but the structure held firm.

  “We have built many of these along this coast because this is where the seals are mating,” Darya said, pulling back the flap. “Let us get inside before it gets colder.”

  The hide’s interior was cosy and mist-free, and the pale grey-green canvas glowed with absorbed light. The overhang recessed steeply where it met the ledge. Darya reached into it, unfurled a roll of material and arranged it as a floor covering. “This will stop the cold from coming up.”

  Callum secured the entrance as best he could, then he turned and slumped back against the rock. Having rummaged around inside her rucksack, Darya sat next to him, mimicking his position.

  Callum looked over at her. She was silhouetted against the canvas. A bluish-white light fell across her face as she turned her camera on and began scrolling through her digital images.

  “It’s a shame,” he said, as her shots of the bear flicked past. “Are you okay?”

  “I just don’t understand how anybody could do this. I told you it was the bears who needed protection.”

  “Perhaps whoever shot it was defending themselves.”

  “This is not likely.” She looked up at him, her eyes focussed. “And do you not think that we would have heard about this? Do you think that if somebody was attacked by bear they would still let us onto this island?”

  “I don’t know,” Callum answered. “I admit they seem big on health and safety, but how much do you know about this Volkov character? It’s him calling the shots, after all.”

  She snorted. “You are right, this man is ignorant pig. He is not interested in the bears or Harmsworth, or even people. He is interested in money and power.”

  “You knew him before?”

  She nodded. “He is one of the richest men in Russia, very high up executive with state-run oil company. I have worked with him before on Sakhalin.”

  “Sakhalin?”

  “It is very beautiful island in the Sea of Okhotsk off east coast of Russia. They find oil and gas there few years ago and build two onshore processing plants, one in the north and one in the south. It is very similar project to Harmsworth. I was part of the assessment team for this also.”

  “So what did he do wrong?”

  She rolled her lips. “It is what he did not do right. He did not listen to what we recommend and now the beautiful nature on Sakhalin suffers. Many of the rivers are polluted, with eroding banks, and the sea life is being driven away from the coast by the seismic testing of the seabed. Can you believe that Mr Volkov tries to pin this on us! He tells the environment minister that our assessment is unprofessional, that we are not doing a good enough job even though we are very thorough while he tries to make it as difficult as possible for us.” She took a deep breath. “I just wait for him to do the same here.”

  The guy had seemed a bit intimidating perhaps, creepy even with his skull-like face. But there had been nothing in his conduct to suggest that he was hostile towards the EIA process. If anything, his attitude was accommodating, more so than Callum had expected from a man in his position. Perhaps Darya’s perception of him was more a reflection of her sensitive nature.

  “I can tell what you are thinking,” she said suddenly, looking deep into his eyes, seeming to read his thoughts. “You are thinking, What is she talking about? You are thinking that Mr Volkov has sympathy with the Harmsworth assessment. But I promise you, this man does not know the meaning of this word. Do not be fooled by him, Callum. He acts this way because of money.”

  “Money?”

  “Friends of mine in the Academy of Sciences made sure that the damage done to Sakhalin is big news in Russia, and in Scandinavia where the partner companies are based. There was then a lot of pressure on the Federal Service for Natural Resources to fine the company and to make sure that they clean up their mess.”

  “You don’t think he’s learnt his lesson then?”

  “Yes, but I think that he is learn the wrong lesson. He does not want to lose more money here on Harmsworth. This is perhaps why you do not see the real Mr Volkov. It is not because he cares.” She paused then added, “He is also very clever man. Before Sakhalin he was in politics, and before this it is thought that he was member of the KGB. It is well known that he still has many friends high up in the State Duma. He is what is wrong with the new Russia. He is old Russia.” She turned off the camera, throwing her face back into shadow. “His eyes are closed and dishonest. They are not like yours, solnishko. You have good, ca
ring eyes and good, caring heart. This is why you try to defend him.”

  “I’m not defending him, Darya. I just don’t know him.”

  She placed a hand on his cheek. He could feel the coolness of her palm against his stubble. Her eyes lightened and a faint smile parted her lips. “You need to shave.”

  He looked into her eyes. Bags had begun to form under them. “You should take a rest,” he said, pulling her rucksack around. “Use this as a pillow.”

  “Maybe just a short time.”

  He moved over so that she could lie down facing the overhang. Then he took the bag and positioned it under her head.

  “Are you not tired also?” she asked. “You have been awake a long time.”

  “I couldn’t sleep just yet,” he replied. “Besides, we should probably take it in turns to stay awake, just to be safe.”

  “Still frightened of the big bad bears?”

  Callum said nothing but stroked the hair from her cheek.

  She closed her eyes. “Wake me when it is my turn on guard.”

  He lay down next to her, hands folded on his chest. Then he took the white pebble from his pocket and flipped it through his fingers as the day’s events churned over in his mind. The hide creaked in the wind. The canvas sucked against his arm, and he couldn’t help imagining that the world outside was feeding on him. He pulled his arm away. No sooner had he done so than he felt something fold over his other wrist, not canvas but skin. Now familiar soft fingers slipped in-between his own.

  He turned his head slowly. Darya was on her back, facing towards him. Her eyes were open wide and looking deep into his. He could feel the press of her knee against his thigh, making the muscle tense.

  “On the canoe, you would say something before—”

  Heart racing, he leant forward and kissed her gently. Her lips tasted sweet and exotic, and the warmth of her skin made him forget all about the island and its cloak of mist, the cold, hard rock beneath his shoulders.

  When he moved his head away he could see that her eyes were closed once more and she was smiling. As her knee rolled from the outside to the inside of his thigh, he kissed her again.

  This time she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

  3

  “There’s something on the ground.”

  “It’s shit.”

  “How do you know?”

  Koikov spat on the floor. “I’ve stepped in enough.”

  The cave was strewn with rocks, and water dripped from the stalactites hanging tooth-like from the ceiling. Up ahead, something lay heaped against the foot of a rock-pile. It wouldn’t have been worth a second thought if it hadn’t been giving off a heat signal.

  As they approached it took on form, until it was clearly identifiable as a jumble of clothing. The relief that Koikov felt at finding clothes rather than a dead doctor was fleeting. By now the temperature on Harmsworth was consistently a degree or two above freezing. But even so, why the hell would anybody shed their clothing like this? Something wasn’t right.

  The two men pushed back their visors and engaged their rifle lamps. At their feet was a blue, fur-lined jacket, torn and covered in dark stains.

  “Blood,” Yudina said.

  Koikov nodded.

  Curving round from the base of the jacket was a pair of shredded trousers. One of the legs ended in a black leather boot, while the other boot and a glove lay propped against each other a short distance away.

  “Do you think these are Semyonov’s things?”

  Koikov brought his hand to his throat. “Marchenko.”

  “Starshyna?”

  “What was Semyonov wearing?”

  “White jacket, blue trousers… brown boots. Have you located him?”

  “No. What about his guide?”

  There was a commotion at the other end of the line. Then, “Starshyna Koikov, this is Lungkaju.”

  “What is it?”

  “Lambie was with the doctor. He was wearing dark clothes. Dark blue jacket with a hood and dark blue—”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Koikov turned to see that Yudina had picked up the glove and was staring into the wrist-hole.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  Slowly Yudina turned the glove.

  What was left of the wrist itself, splinters of bone and rags of gnarled flesh, dribbled out of the opening. Yudina tossed it back to the floor.

  “Starshyna?” came Marchenko’s voice. “Starshyna, what’s your status?”

  Koikov thought about ignoring him then grunted, “Hold your position.”

  He moved past Yudina and peered inside the removed boot. Chunks of ankle bone and shredded tendon flowered up at him, and he backed away again.

  “Is it…”

  Koikov nodded. Beads of sweat forming on his brow, he panned his rifle around the cave. Yudina followed suit. The light from their rifle lamps reflected off the moisture on the rock and caused the walls to glisten. It looked as if a million beady eyes were watching them from the shadows. But there was nothing. No movement. No sound, besides their breathing. Nothing.

  Koikov brought his weapon back to bear on the heap of clothing. His mind was racing, and the more it raced the more certain he became. He swallowed back the bile in his throat, leant forward, poked the muzzle of his rifle into the main body of the jacket and lifted.

  The clothes were arranged around a remnant skeleton. Shattered fingers of rib seemed to burst up out of the chest area, beyond which the partially articulated spinal column curved its way along the back of the jacket and down into the trousers. The pelvis lobes peered up over the belt-line, and the shoulder and collar bones clamoured at the neck area. The internal organs were nowhere to be seen. The bones had been picked entirely clean of flesh.

  There was a sudden shrieking sound at the back of the cave, and neither Koikov nor Yudina hesitated. In an instant, the stale air erupted. The sound of automatic fire, of undirected rounds ricocheting off the walls, created a deafening explosion of sound as both men reacted on reflex. Shoulder to shoulder, they strafed the darkness repeatedly, stopping only to change magazines: one, two, three, four… The muzzle flashes illuminated the interior of the cave like an orange and white strobe, animating every rock and shadow and creating more and more fictive targets to draw their aim.

  As they fired on, something tore past Private Yudina, causing him to stumble backwards. Koikov ceased fire and turned towards him. The cave fell back into silence.

  “Yudina?”

  Yudina’s eyes were racked open with shock. His arms dangled loosely at his sides. His rifle, steaming and toy-like as ever in his enormous grip, slid loose and clattered to the floor.

  “Yudina! What is it?”

  Silence. Yudina stood and stared, a thin line of saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth.

  “Private Yudi—”

  Without warning, Yudina’s stomach opened horizontally. Like a gaping mouth, his body parted just above the hips, and his intestines teetered, swollen, on the lower lip. Then they rushed out onto the floor, a tongue of red, yellow and grey billowing from the massive laceration. His knees began to tremble before he sagged down onto them, gasping with shock.

  Koikov rushed forward to try and catch him. As he did so, Yudina’s expression changed. For a split second, Koikov wondered whether it was because he was kneeling on the man’s guts; at the back of his mind he was conscious of the swollen mass warm against his groin. But Yudina’s gaze no longer met with his. Instead he was staring back across Koikov’s shoulder.

  His eyes opened wider. His entire face began to shake.

  4

  Koikov turned his head.

  The creature was behind him. It was the same impossible, stinking creature that had killed Dolgonosov and Sharova. Silent, still, it had craned its neck down until its face was
within an inch of Koikov’s. The reek of its breath was like nothing he could describe. It vocalised a sequence of alien clicks and gurgles that would not have been audible were its snout not so horrifyingly close. It sniffed gently at his collar. Then it cocked its head and stared at him through enormous empty eyes.

  Koikov froze. He had come face to face with death many times before, but this was an encounter like no other. His mind read like a military training manual. His saving grace had often been his ability to flick straight to the relevant page. But there was no page for this. The closest thing that he could draw on now was his instruction on surviving shark attacks… deliver a hard blow to the nose… attempt to crush the eyes… insert your hand(s) into the gills and damage the internal organs… manoeuvre on top of the shark, hold tight around the body and bear-hug… But punching that nose would be pointless and crushing those eyes would be impossible and it had no gills and a bear-hug was out of the question and anyway it wasn’t a motherfucking shark! It was a… a thing. It was a…

  Still the creature stood motionless, staring. A frenzy of new thoughts crowded Koikov’s mind: Why doesn’t it attack? Why am I still in one piece? Could it be scared as well? Is it waiting for me to make the next move?

  The creature jerked its head downwards suddenly and sniffed at the tracker dangling around Koikov’s neck. Only now did he realise that it was emitting a frantic beep, the red dot reflecting directly in the centre of the creature’s eye.

  It nuzzled at the handset until its breath had fogged up the screen. Then it took a step backwards. It raised its head and threw it forward again as if choking. Strings of thick yellow mucus stretched from its jaws to the floor as it retched, and it chomped its teeth together, breaking them off.

  When it eventually reared back up, Koikov could see that it had regurgitated something, and even through the coating of sputum it was clear what that something was. It was a partially digested hand. Attached to the wrist, still blinking, was Doctor Semyonov’s emergency locator.

  The creature bobbed its head as if satisfied and made a low, rasping sound. In that moment, something frighteningly like a grin emerged on its face. In blind terror, Koikov flung his rifle around and aimed it at the creature. But before he could fire off a shot, it had lashed out with one of its hind legs and knocked him to the ground.