The Pilot

by Michael Cole

  Once the water drained, Hawk quickly started removing the suit. Keeping the gloves on, she worked on small little notches in the shoulders. The helmet loosened, and she let it drop to the floor. She removed the suit bit by bit, ending with the gloved portions.

  The exterior door opened. Dressed only in a t-shirt and underwear, she stepped out. She snatched a towel and started patting herself down.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Seymour said. “Why’d you stop?” Hawk stepped back into her tactical pants.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “But I can’t save him.” Seymour’s initial instinct was to yell, and bombard her with insults for quitting. He tensed, tempted to give into the anger. He reminded himself that they were dealing with something unprecedented, and that he already knew Sutton’s chances were slim.

  “What did you see?” he asked. His voice was calm, his demeanor collected. Hawk got her military gear back on. She clipped her vest together. Her mind replayed the images she saw, and she debated whether to tell the truth.

  “As the scan had suggested, the spore is rooted in too deeply,” she said. “If I were to remove all of it, it would just leave a giant hole in his chest, exposing his heart and lungs, and a portion of his stomach. Infection would set in, and he’d die. It’d be as much torture as what he’s currently going through.”

  She jumped as Seymour turned and kicked one of the lab tables. The table toppled over, spilling electronic equipment onto the floor. Hawk tensed, watching a million dollars-worth of supplies crash down. Seymour walked a few steps away, taking a moment to cool off.

  “So, what the hell is it?” he said.

  Hawk started to sweat. She wiped her face once more with the towel. “When the Pilot stings its victim, it instantly injects a venom which immediately induces paralysis. At the same time, it inserts one of these spores, which are probably microscopic in the beginning. It sprouts inside the host’s body like a weed, first feeding off the living blood. Once the host’s blood is drained, and therefore deceased, the spore begins a different level of feeding, where it gradually breaks down the dead tissue. From what I can see, the process begins immediately.” She tossed the towel to the floor. “Once you’re stung, you’re dead.”

  “Christ,” Seymour said. “I still don’t get it. Why does this thing do this to the victims? What’s its purpose?” Hawk said nothing and looked away. Seymour stared at her. He could tell she felt an obligation to keep the information classified. “Don’t keep anything from me. I watched you dig at that thing. You said something about an inner layer. You dug at it further, then you left in a hurry.” He marched up to her, moving around to stand face-to-face.

  He enunciated each word. “What. Did. You. See?”

  Hawk knew the C.I.A. didn’t want her giving any more information. She was sure to be in hot water for the info. she already released to them. It wasn’t as though she could simply lie, and claim that she told the mercenaries nothing. The debriefing process for Top Secret operations such as this was a process involving many steps. More than one of those steps would involve lie detection.

  On the flip-side, she was stuck here with these mercenaries. Already, they proved they could beat the info. out of her; an experience which still left her humiliated with herself. What clawed at her mentality further, was the knowledge that they would be able to do it again, should they choose.

  And there was no doubt in her mind that they would.

  “I cut away the tunica. Underneath, was organic tissue. Not Sutton’s. The spore appears to be containing some type of sac…”

  “What do you mean, a sac?” Seymour said.

  “Upon dissecting it, and examining the samples in the microscope, I believe it contains three layers. If my theory is right, the sac contains an endoderm layer, a mesoderm layer, and an ectoderm. These layers contain…” she stopped, realizing Seymour didn’t care about the scientific details. “It’s an embryo.”

  His eyes widened, and he took a step back.

  “An embryo?” he said. He looked down at the monitor, focusing on the spore growing from Sutton’s chest. He thought of the two vast graveyards he encountered. The enormous spores growing from the humans and animals. “You mean to tell me it’s making more of itself?”

  “It must be how the species procreates,’ Hawk said. “It goes from planet to planet, forming new nests on each one. Eventually the indigenous population is wiped out, and the Pilot moves on to another planet. I think it’s all instinctive, a natural instinct to preserve its species.”

  “And we’re next,” Seymour said. He listened to the howling of the wind and the crackling of thunder. The chaos and destructive nature of the storm seemed symbolic. “We need to get the hell off this island.”

  CHAPTER

  28

  Ivan tweaked the valve slightly to allow a modest amount of gas flow from the tanks to the shaft. The firing mechanism was shaped like an AR-15, with two handles. The first handle was located at the back of the shaft, containing the valve lever. The second handle, shaped more like a pistol grip, was behind the nozzle. It contained the firing trigger.

  The piezo igniter sparked a flame. Pointing the nozzle into an empty space in the planning room, Ivan twitched the trigger slightly. A ball of flame burst from the nozzle, quickly disappearing into a ball of smoke.

  It works, he thought to himself. He sealed the valve, and unclipped the harness. Holding the flamethrower by the strap, he carried it back into the operations room.

  Rex’s voice grew loud and audible as Ivan turned the corner.

  “What happened? We know what happened. That traitor doctor guy, whom we were supposed to rescue, felt so righteous that he had to open that capsule. The thing woke up, pissed off, and it turned on them.”

  “I know that,” Terrie said. “What I meant was, how did it take them all on by itself?”

  “Did you not SEE its firepower?” Rex said. “The thing packs a punch. Then there’s that crab-claw glove it has. I think that thing can change form, and can be used for many purposes. That’s how it dug in behind those soldiers in the cave. The bastard’s sneaky and cunning, fearless, ugly as hell—I might add.”

  “And has superior weaponry,” Ivan chimed in.

  “I know, but against a whole platoon?” Terrie said. “I’m just astonished it managed to do it singlehandedly.”

  “It heals,” Ivan said. “We saw it ourselves. It molts when it’s injured. It takes time to regenerate, and then it comes back for more.”

  “If that’s the case, if the bastard takes enough damage, it can die,” she said. Ivan held up the flamethrower.

  “Wait ‘til it gets a load of this,” he said. “I’d like to see it regenerate after I toast it.”

  “Hell yes,” Rex said. “Is the other one good to go?”

  “In the other room,” Ivan said. Rex quickly got up and exited through the doorway. Ivan took a seat in one of the chairs, then pulled another one up to rest his feet on. Terrie had disassembled her sniper rifle for cleaning, and was finishing putting it back together. She shivered with each crack of thunder, glancing toward the porthole each time lightning flashed. She was nervous. As was he. Even for hardened combat veterans, it wasn’t unnatural.

  Ivan noticed Nagamine conducting another patrol check of the operation room. Since they arrived, he moved from loophole to loophole, looking out into the jungle. Even he appeared to have angst.

  “If you want, I can take watch?” Ivan said. Nagamine quietly looked back at him and shook his head, declining his offer. He gazed out the loophole, and eventually moved back into the planning room, passing Rex along the way. Holding his flamethrower by the strap, Rex watched him stand to the next loophole and gaze outside.

  It was a sight like no other. Nagamine, the fearless assassin, was nervous. The fear he felt quickly passed on to Rex, who looked away and quietly moved back into the operations room. He slumped in a seat, putting his feet up on the radio panel. He listened to the generator, using it as a
white noise to help him drift to sleep.

  ********

  The lights were out, and the mercenaries all asleep as Seymour came down the stairwell. He debated waking them, wanting to inform them of the new information he acquired. However, he knew they needed the sleep, and the information would only provide further angst. In five hours, he would be waking them up to begin the journey to the harbor; an appropriate time to inform them.

  Seymour closed the door to the Planning Room office. He moved the chair around the desk and positioned it to face the loophole. He sank into the seat, rifle in lap as he stared out at the stormy night.

  His mind fought him as he tried to drift off. Images of the beast flashed in his mind as rapidly as the lightning. He pictured its fangs, clicking together as though keen on impaling him. And of course, there were those horrific graveyards.

  Or should he call them nests? He wasn’t sure. During his many missions, he’d seen his share of mass graves. Villages full of people wiped out by insurgents, or so he was led to believe. Many would be buried in shallow graves, others not buried at all. Until today, he thought he’d seen the worst of it all. Yet, what was occurring on this island was certainly worse. This creature, and what it had done, truly haunted him.

  He thought of Sutton upstairs, and what was happening to him. He was not looking forward to letting the team know Sutton couldn’t be saved. Worse, he worried about the upcoming patrol through the jungle. He thought of the creature stalking them, invisible in the terrain.

  He found himself staring at the loophole. The lightning flickered, casting a bluish light on the two-foot long missing section of cement. Too small for the creature to slip through. Yet, he hated leaving it wide open for it to come around and look in. The darkness in the room didn’t help. All it did was make him feel more vulnerable.

  With each flash of lightning, Seymour envisioned the creature’s face, peering at him through the loophole. As if through unconscious motion, Seymour tilted the rifle until its barrel was pointed toward the opening. Though it wasn’t good arms practice, he rested his finger on the trigger. Never looking away, he kept his gaze on that hole, knowing the beast was somewhere out there, waiting for them.

  He leaned back in the chair, his eyes and gun pointed at that loophole.

  Please take a peek in here. I dare ya, you ugly son of a bitch.

  ********

  Cassie Hawk placed her pack onto a lab table. She unzipped it and sorted through her equipment. Amongst her supplies was her data storage device, shaped like a common flash drive, but far more technologically advanced. She plugged it into a hard drive, linked to the supercomputer below.

  Moving the mouse, she opened the main file, linking her to all of the storage information. She clicked a button, opening another window. A bar appeared on the screen. The words ACCESS CODE flashed in red letters.

  Hawk clicked the buttons on the keyboard. K-3-M-A-9-D-C-L-0-F. Enter. The letters flashed for several more seconds as the computer loaded. The screen went black for a brief moment, before opening to another window. Red letters flashed again. ACCESS CODE 2.

  Hawk quickly typed. H-1-#-Q- L-6-F-X-N-O-8. As before, the computer took a moment to verify the code. It flashed black, then took her to the next screen. It gave her a list of files to download. At the bottom corner of the screen, she clicked the button reading Download All Files.

  Another access code bar emerged on screen. A-B-W-J-D-5-M-O-9-5-F. The computer verified the code, and began the downloading process.

  Hawk stood up from the monitor and returned to her pack. She pulled it open, revealing an internal pouch. She unzipped it, pulling out her issued satellite phone.

  There was only one contact number installed. She opened the stairwell door and peeked down. Nobody appeared to be nearby. She shut the door, and pressed send.

  A voice answered. “Operative code?”

  “Delta-Five-Charlie-One-November-Eight-One,” she said.

  “Give me your status update.”

  “Situation critical,” Hawk said. “Situation is a Code Phoenix. I repeat, Code Phoenix.” There was a small pause.

  “A Code Phoenix? Are you sure?”

  “Damned sure,” she said.

  “Do you have the data files?”

  “Affirmative,” Hawk said. “Downloading now.”

  “Can you extract during the storm?”

  “Negative,” Hawk said. “Not until morning. What is the estimated time of cleanup?”

  “I can postpone it until noon. Be off the island by then.”

  “Copy that.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  For four hours, Nagamine continued his routine of checking each loophole. After he declined all of their offers to take watch, the team had drifted asleep. The winds outside still gusted, though they seemed to have decreased speed. The torrential downpour had decreased to steady rain. The thunder continued grumbling in the night sky, joined by the constant lightning.

  He remained single-minded in his watch. He did not grow bored or restless. Trained from a young age, he knew to maintain constant awareness of his surroundings. He learned to persevere for days without sleep. He could feel the threat lurking beyond those trees. Something in him knew that it was aware of their presence.

  Nagamine walked by the offices and gazed into the operations room. The lights were still dim, and the three mercenaries inside appeared conked out. Ivan’s snoring filled the room. As silent as ever, Nagamine silently moved to the nearest porthole, nearest to Rex. For the hundredth time, he gazed out into the stormy darkness. As usual, even when looking with his night vision, he saw nothing. Nagamine turned his eyes down toward Rex. He was slumped in his chair, perfectly still.

  “I know you’re awake,” he said. Rex opened one eye, and grinned.

  “I’m like you,” he whispered. “I can’t fucking sleep.” He looked at Ivan, who let out another snore. “I envy him.” Nagamine didn’t say anything, and continued gazing out the porthole. Rex rubbed his hand over his eyes. He stood up and looked out the porthole. He nearly offered to take over from Nag, but decided not to, knowing he would be declined.

  Nagamine stared out for several minutes, then finally stepped away, intending to check out the nearby office.

  He stopped and listened. Within the sounds of crackling thunder and the generator’s droning, there was something else. A sound so slight, yet so near. Nagamine closed his eyes and held his breath, focusing solely on the sense of hearing. A series of tapping sounds, with no particular pattern, were coming from the planning room. Nagamine hurried back into the planning room, raising his weapon as he approached the wall.

  The sound stopped as he arrived. He stood off to the side, carefully peeking to inspect the nearest porthole. Gazing through his night vision goggles, he saw nothing moving but thrashing forest. He removed the goggles and looked at the cement opening.

  On the outside corner were chips and scratches, as though someone had taken a hammer and chisel to the frame. He saw bits of gravel on the bottom of the frame, and additional scratches on the top. It appeared as though something tried squeezing through, but couldn’t.

  The sound appeared again, this time outside the storage chamber. Nagamine swiftly moved in to investigate. Standing beside the boxes of MREs, he listened carefully. He touched the walls, feeling the extremely slight vibration. The scraping sound moved upward.

  Another chiseling sound came from the other wall. It was ground level, beneath the nearest portholes. Nagamine moved away from the storage, taking each step as silently as possible. He pressed his back to the wall and took position just out of view of the porthole.

  There was another chiseling sound, barely audible, as though someone was twisting a screwdriver against the cement. Such faint scraping of consistent volume, as though whatever was conducting the noises was being deliberate to keep from being heard.

  Nagamine silently drew his sword, keeping just out of view. He clutched the handle with both hands, pointing the
blade down with a reverse grip. A streak of lightning flashed, sending a brief stream of light through the loophole. He heard the chiseling again, this time further up the wall.

  Lightning creased the sky once more. Nagamine looked into the room, seeing the large shadow flash against the opposite wall.

  He rotated to the right, plunging the blade through the loophole.

  A stream of fluid erupted, and a screeching hiss pierced the air. Nagamine withdrew the sword, its blade coated in an orangish blood.

  The screech echoed throughout the lower level, waking Seymour up from a light sleep. He jumped to his feet and burst from the office. With his rifle pressed against his shoulder, he hurried near Nagamine.

  The other mercenaries quickly followed.

  “Cover the front entrance!” Seymour quickly ordered. Rex and Ivan immediately backtracked, while Terrie remained in the planning room. Seymour stayed close to the wall, carefully peeking through the opening. He noticed the blood on Nagamine’s sword.

  “It climbed,” the tracker said. He shook the blood from the blade and sheathed it.

  “You think it’s dead?” Terrie asked. Seymour shook his head. He noticed Nagamine looking up toward the ceiling.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Shh!” Nagamine held a finger to his mouth. He then pointed up high along the wall. Seymour listened, and heard the chiseling sound.

  “It’s climbing the wall,” he said.

  Rex and Ivan took position in the operations room. Ivan strapped his flamethrower harness over his shoulders, while Rex carefully watched the front entrance. He listened for any unusual sounds, though it was difficult to hear anything over the wind, thunder, and generator.

  Ivan clipped the harness and clutched both handles of the shaft.

  “Wait ‘til that bastard gets a load of this,” he said. Rex said nothing as he continued listening. The generator droned on and on, and another burst of thunder roared.