“Cap?” Hynd shouted. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, lad,” he said, hearing his words echo in the chasm that seemed to fill his head. “The prof’s had his chips though.”
The corridor stank, of death and pish and shite, but Banks wasn’t about to step outside in search of fresher air. Instead, he moved back and let the team take the doorway. McCally and Wiggins stood guard while Hynd checked on the prof. He turned and gave a thumb down, then bent to investigate the dead beast, heaving it over onto its back, and needing both hands to move its weight.
“Nice shooting, Tex,” Hynd said, without a smile when he looked down at the tight cluster of shots. The ringing in Bank’s ears was starting to subside, slowly. He heard the sarge’s words, and also the wail of misery that carried in with the wind from somewhere among the domes outside.
Banks looked past the sarge but saw no movement outside, but when he looked back, he noticed that the Alma’s belly moved, as if it still breathed.
“What the fuck is this now?” Wiggins said.
Hynd bent back to the beast.
“Careful, Sarge,” Wiggins said.
“I can see its brains, lad. I’m pretty sure it’s dead. This is something else.”
He put his hand on the hairy belly. Banks saw something move again, twice, then go still. When Hynd looked back up again at him, his face was solemn.
“I think she was pregnant, Cap. And I think we didn’t just kill her, we killed the bairn too.”
Banks didn’t answer, but another wail of misery and sorrow from outside echoed his own thoughts almost exactly.
*
Banks got lucky. He happened to be looking directly out of the cave doorway, just at the right time to see something soar, a darker shadow in the black of the night, coming from somewhere inside the lab. It crashed through the glass of the dome and came directly for them.
“Incoming,” he shouted, and trusted his squad to move as he threw himself backwards into the corridor. A metal tabletop, almost as large as the door itself, crashed against the outside of the doorframe, the clang and clatter as loud as any gunshot.
Banks lay on his back, feet pointing at the open doorway, and was looking down the length of his body to the door when he saw what looked like half a tree come flying out of the shadows, not from the lab dome, but from beyond that, from the aviary.
There’s more than one of them left out there.
The tree trunk fell short, but hit the ground with a splintering crash that rocked the corridor.
“Fall back,” Banks shouted. “Move away from the door.”
He shuffled backwards as Wiggins, McCally, and Hynd retreated to his position. It was a tight squeeze, but seconds later, he knelt beside Wiggins, with Hynd and McCally standing upright above them.
He shoved his rubber earplugs deep into both ears.
“Ears in, lads. This is going to get noisy.”
An aerial bombardment got underway. Rocks the size of footballs, three, four, and sometimes five at once, crashed out of the domes and smashed like cannonballs around the doorway. If one ever made a direct hit and pierced the entrance, the team was going to have to move fast to avoid being felled like skittles. For now, the narrowness of the target was saving them from the worst of the attack, although it sounded as loud and life-threatening as any battlefield. One thrown stone came close, coming in flatter and harder than the others, but it smacked hard into poor dead Waterston, causing his body to jerk, a puppet whose strings had just been tugged hard.
“Steady, lads,” Banks shouted, straining to be heard above the din, “they’ll be coming mob-handed any minute now.”
His gut proved to be right again. After a barrage of several dozen rocks and more large branches, a howl of anger rang in the domes, taken up by a chorus of voices until it rang in defiance all through the cave.
A group of Alma, ten at least that Banks could see, and all as large as the male they’d seen already, came out of the dome complex at a run, scattering glass and metal before them as if it was no more than paper to be torn. The squad’s sight-lights lit them up, giving the orange hair a ghostly pallor, pale shadows, stout as weightlifters, fluid as any big cat as they loped forward.
Still roaring, they made straight for the cave doorway.
*
If they’d been caught in the open by such an attack, Banks knew that they might not have the firepower at hand to hold back the onslaught. But here in the narrow confines of the cave, there was only room for one beast to come at them at a time, no matter how many were coming forward in the attack.
The squad knew it too, Banks sensed tension in them, but it was the normal readiness for action he knew they all felt. There was no fear on the faces of the team, and each man held their weapon steady, the light straight ahead as the beasts reached the doorway and the largest of them forced its way past the others to be first inside.
Banks knew the team was waiting for his order, and he was about to give it, thinking that the beast might barrel straight at them, but instead it stopped and bent over the body of the dead one. It ran a huge hand over the dead face, then down, to caress the now-still belly. It let out a wail, a whine of pain, and Banks saw tears glisten in its eyes. It turned towards the team, its pain evident on its features, pain that just as evidently turned to rage.
Its muscles tensed, ready to leap, and that was all the excuse Banks needed.
“Fire!” he shouted.
A volley of shots rang and echoed in the corridor, the cramped space filled with the smell of burning, the rattle of spent ammo and the howls of a raging beast that kept coming even as they put round after round in it. It only fell when Banks raised his sight and, like he had with its mate, put three into its head. It slumped to the floor, tried to come forward, then finally realized it had a bullet in its brain and fell, a huge hairy hand only feet from Banks’ toes.
There was already another standing behind it, coming forward.
- 20 -
The next minute felt like an age. The beasts kept coming, climbing over the bodies of their fallen, and the squad kept pumping rounds into them. Even with the plugs in, Banks’ head felt like a series of bombs were going off in it, his wrists hurt from the weapon’s recoil, and all he tasted was death and burning in a throat that felt like it was being worn down by sandpaper.
But finally the field of fire proved too much, and the remainder of the beasts retreated before it. Banks tried for one last shot on the largest male left standing, but the beast was moving away fast. He only grazed it, raising a bloody furrow along the left side of the huge skull that was the last thing Banks saw before the Alma were once again lost in the shadows of the domed complex.
They left four of their number dead alongside the pregnant female and poor, crushed, Waterston, lying with his head almost in her lap, his guts decorating the front of his shirt.
Banks sensed movement, behind not in front, and turned, weapon raised instinctively. Galloway, his face white, eyes wide, put his hands up as if fearing he too would be shot and left with the other dead.
*
Banks wondered if the Alma were howling outside. It would be minutes yet before he heard anything but the ringing and memory of the gunfire in his head. Galloway spoke to him, but Banks had to use mime and too-loud shouting to make the scientist understand.
Wiggins and McCally walked along the corridor, checking that the fallen beasts were as dead as they looked. The place stank of burnt ammo, blood, and pish; a stench of death that was all too familiar. Banks took Galloway’s arm and led him back into the central chamber of the cave system, looking for clearer air.
“The prof?” Galloway shouted, and Banks heard it, like a far-off whisper in the wind.
“Dead,” he said. “The stupid fucker tried to reason with it.”
“I would have done the same,” Galloway replied, and now Banks heard him much more clearly, although the ringing was still there as an accompaniment. He pulled the plugs from his ears, and
when he spoke, he only heard a slight echo and fading memory of the bell ringers.
“Then you would be lying on the floor with your insides on the outside too,” he said. “I’m doing a grand job of looking after you lot so far. Do me a favor and don’t fuck up. I’d like to get one of you home in one piece.”
Galloway was about to reply when a shimmer of dry earth fell from the roof above them. Banks heard two things, one straight after the other; a chorus of enraged howls, muffled as if coming through rock, and the rasp and tumble as stone and earth moved above them.
They couldn’t get in the door, so they’re coming down the fucking chimney.
Galloway looked up.
“They can’t reach us that way, surely? It must be six feet thick up there.”
“I’ve seen the movies,” Banks replied. “In situations like this, they always get in. Fetch anything you need to take with you. And make it quick. We’re leaving, and we won’t be hanging about.”
*
A minute later, the two of them joined the squad in the corridor. Hynd had an eye on the doorway.
“I haven’t seen any movement, Cap,” he said.
Banks laughed bitterly.
“That’s because they’re up on the fucking roof. Are we ready to move?”
Hynd nodded.
“But where, Cap? We thought this was the safest place.”
“Aye, and I was as guilty of that as anyone. Back through into the main buildings, that’s our first port of call. We need to find a place to hide, hole up until daylight, and if that’s a locked larder or fridge, then so be it. We’ll head for the stores under the guestrooms and see what’s what. Cally, Wiggo, you’re on point. Hynd and I will watch Galloway here. And if any big orange fucker turns up, blow its nuts off.”
“What about the prof?” Galloway said. “Can we take him?”
“Nope. We’re running, and we might be too slow even without him. I promise we’ll be back, if we get a chance. That’s all I can do for you right now.”
Galloway didn’t argue. He bent, retrieved the bone flute from the dead Alma’s grasp, and put it away in an inside pocket before turning to Banks.
“Running it is then. Try to keep up with me.”
There was a rumble inside the cavern, and a cloud of dust and dirt came out of the central chamber. The roar of the Alma followed it.
“Leg it,” Banks shouted.
*
They emerged into the open, expecting at any moment to be subject to a fresh barrage of rocks, but they reached the door to the lab without anything getting in their way, and went through quickly into the lab itself. Banks almost fired blindly when a huge black shadow rose up directly in front of him, but a frightened caw, and a flutter of wings showed that the thunderbird they’d come across was as surprised to see them as they to see it. It rose up and, flapping ungainly, went through a huge hole in the side of the dome, leaving its feast, the bodies of the dead wolves from earlier. They didn’t stop to examine the wolves any closer, but kept moving, and only stopped when they reached the corridor that linked the lab and the aviary.
Galloway was already out of breath, but Banks saw his teeth, white in the dim light, as he smiled when asked if he was okay.
“The ankle’s holding up, and nothing’s eaten me,” the scientist replied.
“The night is young yet,” Wiggins replied.
McCally shone his light around the darkness in the aviary.
“What do you think, Cap?” he said.
“Well, we’re not going back, that’s for sure. So it looks fine to me, son. Lead on.”
*
It was darker in the aviary than it had been in the lab; the tall redwoods seemed to suck up all available light, their towering blackness dominating the area. The sky outside had darkened too, the aurora faded to merely a faint green glow, not nearly bright enough to light their way. Shadows lurked and capered around the dome, but there was no sound save their own breathing then the pad of their footsteps as McCally and Wiggins led them out. Banks wondered if the birds had perhaps been at Volkov’s body in the same way they had been at the wolves, but he wasn’t about to slow down enough to stop for a look. They ran, full pelt, around the inner walkway of the aviary.
Something moved, swift in the shadows, and Wiggins fired instinctively, three rounds right at it, and would have kept shooting if Hynd hadn’t put a hand on his shoulder.
“Holster it, cowboy.”
“Did I get it?” Wiggins said.
Hynd stepped over and shone his light at a dead thing on the ground.
“Aye. Congratulations, lad. You fucking killed Bugs Bunny.”
The shots had torn the snow hare to bits, blasting its head and chest asunder and leaving only a bloody mess on the floor.
“Well, at least that’s breakfast sorted,” Wiggins said. McCally and Hynd laughed.
*
The big male wolf chose that moment to launch its attack. It came out of the dark like a sleek gray torpedo, silent running in the shadows, and threw itself straight at Wiggins, who went down under its weight. Its back legs raked at his thighs, front legs at his chest and slavering jaws lunged for his neck. He got his weapon up just in time, and teeth cracked against metal. The wolf growled deep in its throat and launched another frenzied attack, but by now, Hynd had stepped forward. He put his rifle to the beast’s head and fired, twice.
The wolf collapsed on top of Wiggins in a dead weight.
“Fuck me,” Wiggins said.
*
It took two of them to lift the wolf away. Wiggins rolled aside and stood, unsteadily.
“You okay, Wiggo?”
The private was patting himself down.
“My balls are still there, I think I’ve pished myself, and I’m going to need a new pair of troosers. But apart from that, I’m fine.”
Banks checked the man out under the beam of his sight light. The material of Wiggins’ trousers was torn, rent in huge tears, but his legs had been saved serious injury, and had sustained only minor cuts. His flak jacket saved his chest and his rifle his neck, although the weapon was scratched and dented where the wolf had bitten into it.
Wiggins kicked the wolf’s dead body.
“The sneaky fucker knew when we’d be off guard.”
“Aye,” Banks replied. “And the big orange fuckers are sneakier still, so if you’ve finished playing with the dog, we need to get a move on.”
As if to confirm it, a wild howl of rage came from the lab behind them.
It was answered by rising howls high in the huge conifers above, and a snorting whuff of laughter from ahead of them in the pens at the end of the walkway.
The Alma were more than just sneaky; they were already in the dome.
The squad was surrounded.
*
“Leg it,” Banks shouted. “And if anything tries to stop you, put it down hard.”
They moved out, faster than before, Wiggins and McCally in front, Galloway trying to keep up with them, and Banks and Hynd at the rear, trying not to think what might even now be loping at their back and reaching out for them. Their sight-lights flashed and bounced with their running steps, illuminating floor and cage, dome, and vegetation.
“Contact rear!” Hynd shouted, and Banks came to a stop, and whirled, his light joining that of Hynd in lighting up an Alma coming headlong for them in the enclosed walkway. It took six shots to put it down, and by the time the two of them turned back, the other three men were twenty yards away along the walkway, almost at the exit into the enclosures beyond. Two Alma dropped out of the trees into the space between them.
We’re being outflanked.
Hynd and Banks looked at each other, nodded, and headed straight for the Alma at a run, firing as they went, aiming high enough that they wouldn’t miss and hit their own men. One of the two Alma took fright and leapt away, a prodigious jump that took it immediately up and away into the darkness in the trees above. The other one wasn’t so easily swayed, and stood
its ground even as bullets whistled around it. Finally, Banks got lucky and a shot hit the beast on the left shoulder, spinning it around and exposing its belly. Hynd didn’t need to be told; he put two bullets in it and by the time they reached it, the Alma had sunk to its knees, holding the wounds as if trying to stem the gush of blood.
Banks barely slowed. He put a bullet between its eyes and kept running.
*
McCally and Wiggins waited at the opening into the domes beyond just long enough for Banks and Hynd to catch up, then they were off again, and now Banks was keenly aware of the empty space around them. They might be safe here from any Alma falling out of trees, but as they ran down the center of the wide concrete walk area, he felt naked and exposed, fearing a fresh barrage of thrown rocks that would tumble them all away like skittled pins in a bowling alley.
Now the only noise was the slap of their feet on the floor, and a soft whistle of a breeze coming through the broken glass of the domes. A fog was rolling in again, cast green by the curtain of aurora and throwing the whole complex under a soft, almost luminescent glow. They sped past the pen that had kept the big cat, and, for the first time in a while, Banks wondered what had become of it; the wolves were dealt with and, he hoped, the Alma would now be wary of mounting any new attacks for a while. But the lion was still an unknown quantity, and he’d be happier if he knew it too wasn’t lurking nearby, waiting for its moment to strike.
Let’s just get to safety. No sense in worrying about something that might never happen.
The snow hare pen was still quiet and empty, and they ran, unimpeded, straight past it and out the double doors, into the main reception area.
And that’s where Banks found his lion.
- 21 -
They surprised it at a meal. It sat, hunched over another of the snow hares, its snout and front paws looking blood-black in the light of Wiggins’ sight light as it played across the beast’s head and flanks. In the gloom, and with the faint green glow hanging everywhere, it looked even larger than before, and almost spectral. When it turned its gaze on them, Banks felt it in his soul, and felt his knees go weak again.
Operation Siberia Page 10
