This Green Hell - [Alex Hunter 03]

by Greig Beck

  A sound that could have been a grating laugh preceded the deep voice that replied. What are we? Or what is the shell you see? But of course, unlike others of your kind, you perceive more, don’t you? We should ask, what are you, Alex Hunter, child of science? Are you a man, or simply a creation of man?

  Alex was stunned. How could the creature know these things about him?

  The harsh voice ground out once more. This shell, this being, was once like you: afflicted by mortality. It believed in a god — something all powerful, all knowing and immortal. We are far older than your entire race, and have the power to consume your world. Are we not then those very gods?

  We? That tiny word unsettled Alex more than anything else he had seen or heard. Are there more like you? he sent. Where are they?

  The dry rasp came again. ‘More than you could count in a thousand lifetimes, Alex Hunter. The seed has waited patiently to rise up, and now it grows. It will be your extinction.

  Alex frowned; Aimee had suggested that the bacteria that had devastated the men at the camp seemed to have been waiting for them to dig it up — waiting to rise up, the thing had said. Was the thing that used to be González somehow linked to the Hades Bug?

  The idea reminded him of something he’d learned back in his earliest days in the Special Forces: they’d been warned not to build jungle shelters or bivouacs near certain types of trees as they were favoured by army ants. The thing Alex had found fascinating about the ants was the way they always sent out scouts, or advance guards, before invading a territory. The scouts were the heralds of a ravenous tide of destruction. Was the priest the herald of the Hades Bug’s army of cells? Or was he a product of them?

  Suddenly, Alex thought the nuke was looking like a brilliant idea.

  The voice leaked into his mind again, and he cleared his thoughts in case it was able to pick images from his brain.

  We need all of you. Join me willingly; or flee now, before you become no more than a few scraps of new tissue on this rotting frame.

  Alex closed his eyes, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. He had just learned two things: first, the creature had an ego and craved an audience; second, and more importantly, it didn’t want to confront him. For all its incredible strength, it had limitations; it knew fear.

  He studied the edges of the slab; he wouldn’t be able to shift it while another force, one possibly stronger than he was, pushed back from the other side. He needed more leverage.

  He lifted his hands from the stone. I’m coming in . . . to talk further.

  There was a pause. Like the lamb may talk with the lion . . . Come, then.

  Alex guessed the creature knew what he planned, but if it bought him one extra second, then good. He wedged his fingers into the small space where the hewn block didn’t quite sit flush with the stone doorframe, and heaved. There was a begrudging movement of the stone.

  ‘Sam. Shoulder to it,’ Alex ordered.

  Sam’s contribution would only give him an extra few hundred pounds of thrust, but it should be enough to gain the advantage he needed. Alex thought again of Aimee’s scream, and heaved. Six inches of dark space opened up. Now he could set both hands to work. He sucked in a deep breath and ground his teeth together as he moved his arms apart - like Samson between the two pillars of the Philistine temple. Slowly, the massive stone block, and the creature holding it, gave way to the greater force.

  ‘Alex!’ came Aimee’s cry from within the darkened space.

  The gap was little more than a foot wide but it was enough. Before Sam could stop him, Alex leapt through.

  * * * *

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  E

  ven with the small gap open to the night, the inside of the stone room was impossibly black. Alex, with his enhanced vision, could make out the warm body glow of Aimee and Saqueo. She stood, her back to a wall, facing out into the darkness. Saqueo was cowering behind her, his face pressed into her back.

  Close to her, there was a colder image; as still as a pillar of stone, and even darker than the surrounding blackness. Alex knew the priest could easily see him — clearly, the darkness was his preferred element. A smile parted a mouth that was far too wide for a human face.

  Alex held out one arm and feigned a slight stumble, not wanting the priest to realise he also had excellent vision in darkness.

  González reached up to stroke Aimee’s face, evidently wanting her to scream to draw Alex towards him. Aimee flinched but didn’t make a noise.

  Alex needed the creature to move away from her so he could use his ice gun; at this close range, and with a double stream, the creature would be cut in half in a matter of seconds. He continued to play his part, moving to the left and holding one hand up to the wall, his other arm out in front, like a blind man who had lost his cane.

  González smiled again, perhaps confident that he alone could see in the darkness. He moved around behind Alex, silent as he came up from behind. Alex could almost feel the wide smile looming towards him, revelling in the trap it thought it was about to spring.

  Just a little closer, he thought.

  * * * *

  Sam had given up trying to widen the gap between stone and doorframe. Instead, he removed some of his equipment to slim down his frame; if the stone wouldn’t give for him, he’d give for the stone. He pulled a battered silver cigarette lighter from his pocket and looked briefly at the bald eagle engraved on its side. Long time between cigars, he thought, then sucked in his breath, flattened his body and started squeezing through the gap.

  * * * *

  Alex kept his senses open to the priest’s presence, while keeping his back turned to his approach. In a few more paces he would have moved to a position farthest from the door . . . and the priest would be closest to it — dangerous for Alex, and giving the priest access to the only exit. But it meant González was farthest from Aimee and Saqueo, and a clear target.

  Keep coming, just keep coming, Alex prayed.

  Then he saw Sam was forcing his way into the dark room — almost right in front of the priest. Alex wouldn’t be able to use his guns. No! Not yet, he silently screamed.

  González stopped and waited.

  Sam’s head and shoulders came through the gap; there was a click and a small orange flame sparked into life. The game was up: no more hiding; no more pretending in the dark.

  González’s roar reverberated around the room and he turned towards Sam.

  Alex charged — his own roar of anger barely audible above the priest’s unearthly howl.

  * * * *

  In the flickering orange glow of the tiny flame, Sam saw a vision that made him gasp and throw his arm up. Just as he was about to fire, González changed course to meet Alex’s attack.

  Sam yelled his frustration and tried to force more of his body through the narrow gap. In the weak light, he saw González and Alex crash together, the expression on his leader’s face matching the ferocity of his enemy. The impact in the small room was thunderous, and dust rained down around them. The flickering shadows from the lighter flame gave the battle the quality of an old Lumiere stop-motion film.

  Sam grinned humourlessly. This time, González wasn’t just dealing with the weak flesh of a man. The priest would find this world had its own monsters.

  * * * *

  González flew at Alex, his black robes flapping like a pair of large, dark wings. His mouth hung open in anticipation of sinking those dozens of rows of teeth into Alex’s flesh.

  Alex met the thing mid-flight, the impact loud in the small room. This wasn’t a human he faced and he didn’t pull any blows. His first strike was into the priest’s face, and he was satisfied with the resulting crack of bone and the indentation in the side of his skull.

  The blow should have killed González instantly, but he wasn’t even slowed.

  Alex briefly caught sight of Aimee, who was screaming something to him as she edged towards the door. Good, they’ll be safe now, he thought, and then the priest was on him a
gain. In only a few seconds, Alex’s face was a battered and bloody mask. A blow in his midsection felt as though it had come from a steel battering ram.

  He swung his arm once more, putting all his strength into the punch. Instead of connecting with the dead flesh, he found only air. The creature moved faster than Alex could strike. He spun, preparing to launch a volley of ice spikes at the darting form, but it was now a mere shadow within shadows.

  The next attack was the priest’s — the side of Alex’s head exploded with pain, and he went down. Bloodied pieces of his shattered communication pellet fell from his ear.

  He heard Aimee scream, and saw Sam leap over his fallen form with his sidearm in his hand. Bullets thwacked into the priest, every one hitting its target, but his flesh absorbed them without any sign of the impact.

  Sam’s full clip had emptied. He raised the empty gun over his head and swung his arm down hard. It never found its intended target. González spun and swatted Sam down like he was an annoying insect. Then he bent, grabbed the HAWCs large body and raised it above his head in two hands. A yell of excruciating pain escaped Sam’s lips as González brought his hands together and snapped his back with a crack like a rifle report.

  González launched the HAWCs loose frame at the stone block in front of the door. Sam was a big man, and his body struck the rock with such force that the mighty block ground almost closed. Even in his dazed state, Alex knew his friend was either dead or crippled, and they were all trapped.

  González stood unnaturally still in the centre of the room, smiling again. Behind him, Aimee and Saqueo stood blindly in the darkness.

  Alex felt like he was at the bottom of a deep pit where sounds and images were indistinct. Voices began to scream at him, cutting through the fog, furious vapours that swirled round him. It wasn’t Aimee; she and the boy were mute with terror. He grunted with pain as the voices increased in volume and ferocity, abusing him for his weakness, his cowardice, his dishonour. His second-in-command had been crushed before his eyes; the woman he loved was frightened and vulnerable in the darkness; and all he could do was grovel in the dirt.

  Get up, the voices roared at him.

  Alex punched his fist into the ground, and shook his head to clear it — of the voices and the fog of concussion.

  Aimee and Saqueo were too close to the priest to use his gauntlets, so he pulled both his short- and long-bladed Ka-Bars from their sheaths. He shook his head again, this time to clear blood from his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and got to his feet. Summoning his last reserves of strength, he launched himself at González.

  The priest caught him in midair and held both his forearms fast, the smile never leaving his bearded face. In his mind, Alex heard the dry, grating laugh again. González forced him backwards, exerting enormous pressure on his arms, trying to wrench them apart. It would have torn a lesser man down the middle, but Alex resisted. For a few seconds, it seemed they were in balance locked in their deadly embrace.

  González surged forward and slammed Alex back so hard, his head bounced off the heavy stone wall. His vision swam again. The priest seized the opportunity to lean in towards him and opened his mouth, bringing it close to Alex’s face. Even in the dark, Alex could see the small grey thing rise in the back of the priest’s throat. Hair-like tendrils fluttered in anticipation of its feast and it mewled softly. As Alex watched, the priest’s right eye shrank in its socket then vanished, reappearing in his mouth on the end of a grey stalk. Something living inside the priest was emerging to feed.

  Alex strained against the priest’s grip, and the creature slammed him into the wall again and again. Alex screamed his defiance and strained even harder. He brought his knee up into the priest’s groin with a force that should have exploded his testicles. There was no response, other than the inexorable forward movement of that hellish face towards his own.

  Alex roared in rage, frustration and revulsion. All he could think of was Aimee; how she was trapped in this dark room. How, if he died, she would be doomed.

  The small, questing tendril unfurled towards his eye. He couldn’t move; couldn’t do anything but wait for it to latch onto his face.

  He heard the click of Sam’s lighter, then hundreds of spikes punctured one side of the priest’s face, exiting his skull on the other side. González roared in pain and turned, and another stream took off the top of his head. He shrieked and disappeared down a small hole in the centre of the room, his dark robes swirling behind him.

  Alex fell to his hands and knees, sucking in enormous breaths. ’Oh God, that was a close one, buddy.’

  He turned in the direction the ice spikes had come from, expecting to see his second-in-command’s lopsided, aw-shucks, ain’t-nothing-type grin. Instead, he saw Aimee sitting on the floor holding Sam’s arm up like a cannon; she had one arm wrapped around the gauntlet for aim and the other was curling his hand into a fist. Behind her sat Saqueo, holding the lighter.

  She gave him an exhausted grin. ‘Anything else you need... buddy?’

  * * * *

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  C

  asey Franks crashed into a tree, and wrapped her arms around it to stay upright. The heat and humidity were exhausting her despite her physical capabilities. She wiped her face; it was wet with perspiration and blood, and crisscrossed with scratches from her charge through the dense green jungle.

  With hands shaking from fatigue, she pulled the small GPS device from her pocket. She checked her positioning. Not far now: two of the dots had grown closer — hers and the chopper’s. But the third ...

  ‘Ah, what? Fuck!’

  Alex was still way too far west, and hadn’t moved much since she’d last checked over an hour ago. A moment of indecision washed over her as she considered changing course.

  ‘Fuck, fuck!’ she yelled into the dark, momentarily silencing the surrounding wildlife.

  She took a swing at a large leaf, and looked again at the GPS. It was too far to make it to Alex and then get back to the rendezvous site — her heart would simply explode.

  She pulled the last foil-covered pellet from her pouch, broke it under her nose and shuddered as the chemicals punched her up another level.

  ‘Orders, fucking, unchanged.’

  She ran on.

  * * * *

  Hammerson sat in his office watching his computer screen. Arcadian had been en route to the rendezvous but had diverted — something had changed. A short while ago his communication device had ceased working. Sam Reid and Franks were still in go mode, but their signals were a long way apart.

  What the hell is going on?

  He pinched his lower lip and looked at a small timer in the corner of his screen — just a little more under-the-table information courtesy of MUSE. The timer ticked down in hundredths of a second; he checked it against his watch — sixty minutes to detonation, and just forty-five minutes until rendezvous. Franks should make it, but Alex and Sam? They needed to leave now.

  He sent another pulse to Sam’s comm pellet and waited. In the field, even in the thick of combat, HAWCs were able to acknowledge a message with a single returned pulse... but nothing.

  Hammerson sucked at his teeth, then slammed his hand down on the large desk. ‘Come on, boys, going to be a red hot dawn today.’

  He ran both hands up through his cropped hair, then tried Sam again. Still nothing. Now all he could do was wait. And, God, how he hated waiting.

  There was a commotion outside his door; the next instant, it flew open and he saw Adira Senesh standing there. His assistant, Margaret, was right next to her, her hand on the captain’s arm. Senesh looked down at the hand and Margaret took a step back from the ferocity of the woman’s glare. She gave Hammerson a look that said both I’m sorry and she frightens me.

  Hammerson nodded to his assistant, who backed out of the office and pulled the door closed.

  ‘Not a good time, Captain,’ Hammerson said.

  Adira strode towards him, pointing a finger like a gun directly a
t his face. Hammerson noticed the knuckles on her hand were abraded. He’d read the report on the two HAWC recruits she’d injured: one left severely incapacitated, the other still on life support. Both out-thought and out-fought; he’d be rejecting both of them as HAWCs following that performance. He sat back and folded his arms, keeping his face expressionless. Senesh was becoming a problem — a clever, highly trained and explosive one. He needed to be smart and careful.

  ‘Will Arcadian be free from the blast radius?’ she spat.

  Hammerson groaned inwardly. Damn Mossad’s information networks — probably better than our own. He didn’t respond, just looked slightly bored.

  Adira’s hand curled into a fist and she leaned forward on it over his desk. ’If the best soldier your country has ever produced is vaporised in the next few minutes, will you be rewarded for that? I think not.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Billions of dollars spent on the so-called Arcadian Project, all for it to be destroyed in minutes.’