Warhead

by Andy Remic

  ‘Well, guys, we better be quick.’ Mongrel gestured, and they glanced down the steep mountainside to where the swarm of choppers had gathered and was hovering. ‘Look like we might have some bad company on its way.’

  Even as the words flowed from Mongrel’s mouth, the choppers powered ahead and then swept up like a huge black swarm, engines screaming, rotors thumping.

  Carter, Mongrel and Constanza shouldered their packs and sprinted towards the huge buckled gates of Spiral_R as the Nex helicopters screamed up from the valley and opened fire. The three hunted people dived for cover under a protective but precariously leaning archway.

  Carter growled, ‘Where is this Manta? Which way do we go?’

  Constanza pointed. ‘There, towards the bunkers ...’

  But then three choppers swarmed overhead and squads of Nex threw themselves from the howling machines on wildly swaying fast-ropes, Steyr TMPs yammering. Carter took a deep breath and led the group in a pounding charge towards the underground bunker and the promise of escape.

  CHAPTER 15

  SYNTHESIS

  Jam watched impassively as the Sleeper Nex poured into the reactor chamber of the K-Lab. He turned: Sonia looked alien to him with her pale flesh, parted red lips, fear like a bloodstain on her strange human features—

  The trapped insects chattered in Jam’s mind, desperately urging him to return to the ways of the Nex, to relinquish all emotion ...

  And then Nicky was there, her face close. He could smell the musk of her skin. Feel the soft velvet of her hands. Taste the caress of her lips, brushing his as he fell and tumbled into another world, another time, another existence—and he knew then. Knew she was dead, murdered by the Nex. She was dead, and had returned to warn him. To help him. ‘No,’ said Nicky, and Jam’s copper eyes blinked—

  ‘No,’ said Sonia, her arms resting gently against his black armour.

  Jam nodded, breathing deeply as the chittering of the trapped insect souls in his shell receded. Then he was calm again, whole again, one again. He stared calmly at the charging Sleeper Nex, then looked down at Sonia. He could read her panic. Her fear. Her despair.

  ‘Call Fenny. Tell him to pick us up from the roof. Now.’

  ‘The roof?’

  ‘Just do it!’ snapped Jam. Spikes sprang up along his armoured forearms and he leapt forward, limbs smashing out to rake a great hole in the thick panel before him, dragging it free so that it fell, tumbling end over end until it splashed into the thick green reactor coolant far below.

  Jam moved to the edge of the level and glanced up. There was a huge tube, some form of ventilation system; it had a ladder riveted to its internal wall. But the distance to it was at least fifteen metres—too far for Sonia J to jump.

  ‘Fenny’s on his way,’ Sonia reported.

  ‘Come here.’

  Sonia glanced up. ‘Oh no, no way, Jam—I cannot possibly make that jump!’

  ‘You’re not going to jump.’

  The Sleeper Nex were pounding up the ramp. Jam swept low, lifting Sonia in his armoured claws—then he whirled and with a powerful thrust of his awesomely muscled arms he launched her across the gap without giving her time to think. Sonia flew, slammed into the wall and scrabbled frantically for the ladder. She dropped her Uzi, which fell into the green coolant. Grunting and cursing, legs kicking frantically and sweat-slippery hands grasping and sliding, she finally managed to get a secure handhold and glanced back to Jam—

  As the first of the Sleeper Nex arrived. Two pounded towards him, snarling, long trails of saliva drooling from their bloodstained jaws. Jam leapt forward, ducking a slashing claw and grabbing the first Sleeper’s head. It struggled, snarling, and Jam launched it across the chamber where its flailing body crashed through a tall rack of delicate glass tubes. Then more claws slammed against Jam’s armoured flank and Jam’s own talons hammered down, breaking one of the second Sleeper’s limbs—a crack that made Sonia cringe. Jam’s left armoured forearm smashed forward, claw slicing into his assailant’s belly and grabbing a mass of internal organs, wrenching them free in a gore-splattering shower of offal. The Sleeper Nex slumped to the ground, blood gushing from its disembowelled gut cavity, flooding through the mesh of the buckled alloy and falling into the old reactor’s coolant pool far below. A third Sleeper charged up the ramp—followed by another two, and then two more.

  Jam crouched to avoid twin blows, then straightened and slammed one Sleeper sideways. It teetered for a moment on the edge of the walkway before toppling into the green coolant. It went under in a huge splash of glutinous green and did not reappear.

  Sonia shuffled nervously up a couple of rungs of the ladder. It was a long way to fall. She felt incredibly vulnerable, hanging there, with no floor beneath her to break any such tumble.

  Jam’s head snapped right. He snarled, ‘Fucking climb, woman!’

  Sonia started up the ladder, chilled by the look on Jam’s face—frightened to her very core by the visible hatred and hint of insanity. He was, right now, most definitely more ScorpNex than human.

  Jam leapt and fought, slashing left and right with his claws as the Sleeper Nex flooded up into the chamber and towards him across the K-Lab’s mesh alloy floor. Jam slipped and slid on the blood-and meat-strewn surface, ducking blows, dodging snapping, rending jaws, powering vicious thrusts into abdomens and heads, splitting armour, cracking skulls like brittle eggs, gouging bellies and ripping pumping, glistening organs free in a blur of unstoppable powerhouse violence.

  Then Jam suddenly turned, ran and leapt, sailing out over the disused reactor and slamming into the vertical cylinder, which shook alarmingly under his weight. His claws grasped at the internal ladder and he swung himself up into the dark interior. The ladder rattled, shaking violently, and several rivets popped free with squeals of stressed steel. Below, the stunned Sleeper Nex stood for a moment, eyes focused on Jam’s disappearing figure. They snarled as one, a loud and terrible sound: a sharing of the Hive mind. Then, whirling, one Sleeper Nex ran, its claws gouging the mesh floor, and made the leap. But it bounced from the ladder and tumbled into the old reactor below. Another leapt, claws gaining purchase with clumsy movements, and it started to climb. Jam’s armoured foot cannoned down, five times, breaking its face and sending it, too, tumbling towards destruction and a horrible death by drowning in the highly toxic mix of glutinous nuke coolant.

  The Sleeper Nex spread out. Then, as if receiving the same instantaneous command, they turned and sprinted away, searching for another way to reach Jam—and the incredibly valuable data cube that Sonia carried in hands that shook with mortal fear.

  They moved along wide shafts. Several times Jam stopped and smashed holes through thick alloy panels with his armoured claws, bending back huge sheets of metal and urging Sonia to follow him quickly.

  They climbed upwards, and along several more girders that were part of the building’s internal roof structure. They emerged onto a platform high within the roof space, a series of long narrow beams with thick tensioning cables bolted at stress points and supporting the whole structure. Jam led Sonia, like a tightrope walker, across the beams and she quivered, filled with terror as she inched her way across, never once daring to look down.

  They reached a wall. Jam punched a hole through the concrete blocks, giving himself a foothold to clamber higher where he tore a gaping wound in the roof alloy. Daylight spilled in and Jam levered himself through the gap. Then he reached down and hauled Sonia up.

  The fresh breeze slapped her cheeks. Sonia breathed deeply, panting, aware of her thundering heart in the huge echoing cavity of her chest. Then she heard a sound, and down below a Sleeper Nex sprinted across a narrow girder without any sign of fear or vertigo.

  Jam aimed his sub-machine gun through the hole in the roof and drilled the Sleeper Nex with bullets as it ran. It skittered on blood-slick steel and fell away from the beams, toppling fifty feet and slamming into several metal beams on its downward trajectory until it smashed into a metal
panel which crumpled under the heavy impact. Sonia peered into the gloom.

  The Sleeper Nex was thrashing around.

  It was hurt, but it was far from dead.

  The sounds of thumping rotors echoed from the distance, and the twin-rotor Chinook powered over the horizon like a lumbering monster, its Honeywell turboshafts whining. Sonia waved towards the aircraft as it flew towards them and Jam pointed across the roof, towards the massive panelled dome of the cooling system some hundred metres away.

  More Sleeper Nex had emerged. They glanced up at the Chinook, then saw Jam and Sonia and began to sprint towards them. The Chinook swept low, trailing a cable from its loading doors, and Fenny’s skilled piloting ensured that the aircraft steadied, cable swaying slightly.

  Sonia started to climb up the cable. Jam wound the end around his armoured forearm and signalled to Fenny who lifted them swiftly from the roof of the disused plant—scant seconds before the Sleeper Nex arrived. One leapt, and from his swaying vantage point Jam emptied a full magazine into its snarling face. Bullets crashed into its visage and split its armour, and, trailing a spray of crimson, it fell and slammed hard onto the concrete surface four storeys below. The Chinook lifted high into the clear Norwegian sky.

  And slowly, like fish on a line, Sonia and Jam were reeled in.

  Sonia lay on her back, panting, on the cargo-deck floor. Jam squatted beside her, reloading his weapon and glancing out at the rolling landscape beyond.

  ‘We need to refuel,’ came Fenny’s voce. ‘Where we heading?’

  Jam rolled shut the cargo doors, and the cold buffeting wind was shut out. Then he moved to the cockpit and checked the latest uploaded coordinates—in encrypted format—from Carter. ‘He’s in Tibet,’ said Jam, slowly.

  ‘Yeah. But where is the EC Warhead?’

  ‘Let’s head east, see if we can rendezvous with him. When he moves, he’s going to move fast. Try and call up Carter or Mongrel on their ECubes; see if we can establish a destination for the ECW,’ he rumbled.

  ‘I can refuel in Finland, then we plot a course through Russia, see if we can intercept him there. You get what you needed, Jam?’

  ‘Yes. We got the data for the EDEN depots strewn across the globe. Now we just have to upload the data into the Warhead—and then, with luck, this weapon of mass detonation will do its job. Take out the biological shit.’

  Fenny banked and headed east towards the Swedish border. ‘Shall I inform The Priest of our route?’

  ‘Yeah. Ask him for some DemolSquad back-up; I think we are going to need every bit of help we can get.’

  ‘Won’t Carter be expecting you to ECube the data?’

  ‘We can’t; because of the encryption, and because of how the shit is stored. We have to deliver it by hand. And that’s going to take time.’

  Fenny thought for a moment. ‘Are we likely to see combat?’

  ‘I’d be surprised if we didn’t.’

  ‘Then we won’t just refuel. We can dump this Chinook and pick ourselves up something a little more, shall we say, exotic.’

  ‘You fucking pilots. Why’ve you all got hard-ons for Comanche war machines?’

  Fenny shrugged. ‘It’s just the way we’re made,’ he said, his curled hair bobbing.

  Jam moved back to Sonia, who had sat up and was rubbing wearily at her eyes. She crawled to her feet, and glanced around at the equipment left by the dead members of their group. Baze had left behind his heavy overcoat, Haggis a satchel filled with HighJ explosives, Oz a long soft case for his sniper rifle, and Rekalavich a faded, corner-curled photograph that he’d tacked to the wall with tape Sonia moved over to the photograph and pulled it free. It showed a woman, young and pretty with a cascade of dark curls and deep red lipstick. Sonia turned the photograph over. On the back somebody had written With all my eternal love, Tanya. Sonia fond that there were tears on her cheeks.

  ‘Are you OK?’ rumbled Jam.

  ‘They are all dead.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This data better be fucking important.’

  ‘It is,’ said Jam smoothly. ‘It is the information that will save the world. You have done well, Sonia. You have showed bravery and determination—you have shown courage greater than I could ever have anticipated.’

  Sonia merely nodded, her face grey and exhausted. She moved to the wall, strapping herself into her harness. She pulled free the small silver data cube and stared into its faceted depths, then her head fell back with a thud and she closed her eyes. I hope you were worth it, she thought bitterly. I just hope you were worth it.

  The Comanche soared through the rain-filled heavens, armoured rotors thumping, missiles gleaming eerily in the gloomy half-light. Within the insect-like HIDSS, Heneghan, combat pilot and generously bosomed mother of three, hummed to herself and glanced over her shoulder at the snoring figure of The Priest. A large man, he wore grey robes, open to show his hairy chest, and his hand was curled around his rosary beads in sleep—a comfort toy.

  It’s a shame to wake him, she thought. But they were nearing the Number 45 TacSquad sweep destination and Heneghan had a bad feeling that they had found another Dreadnought site. ‘Priest?’

  The Priest continued to snore, barrel chest rising and heaving. He made a snuffling catarrhal noise, gurgling on phlegm before turning over a little and settling back down against the leather of the co-pilot’s seat.

  ‘PRIEST!’

  ‘Hnnh! Hnnh? What? Oh, yes, Heneghan.’ He coughed, shuffling himself up in the seat a little. ‘Are we here, then? That was quick. Seems like only two minutes ago ...’

  ‘It’s been three hours, Priest. And you’ve been snoring like a bloody warthog.’

  ‘Yes, a terrible chest infection, Heneghan. But the Lord sends these trials to test us, does He not? Now then.’ He pulled down a scanner, his eyes sweeping the screen before him. ‘You see the SAM protection?’

  ‘Very heavy,’ said Heneghan, slowing their speed and banking the combat chopper once more. ‘Down there; we’re just out of range. I can make out thirty sites.’

  The Priest caressed his ECube, which unfolded in his broad flat hand. His skin was quite soft, for The Priest used a lot of skin ointment. ‘Hmm. Yes, a lot of highly expensive and terminally efficient firepower—just to protect a sardine-canning factory? And look there, you can see the huge central funnel used for launches. This, I think, is where they make the FreightTugs.’

  ‘Shall we lock the coordinates?’

  ‘Yes, add them to the data bank.’

  Heneghan slowed the Comanche until it was hovering, and she jostled the combat vehicle, fighting the elements of the rising storm. ‘Taking a snapshot—now.’ The Priest watched digits flicker up the monitor before him; he gestured with his ECube, and navigated through various screens which gave read-outs on Dreadnought Sites, WarFacs and other aspects of Durell’s star-spanning empire.

  The Priest had organised the remaining men and women of Spiral into teams, newly formed DemolSquads, TacSquads and TankSquads. Each had been given goals, missions, and final destinations for the coming battle. Now The Priest and thirty other TacSquads were in the process of sweeping known locations, sites, weapons depots, Dreadnought construction centres, gathering a data bank of coordinates that could, The Priest hoped, be used by the EC Warhead and the DemolSquads themselves when it came to the final, ultimate battle—the Big Push that they all knew was imminent. The Priest looked weary, and his faith was being tested to its very limits. Sometimes he found it hard to believe. Sometimes he wondered if mankind was, ultimately, doomed.

  By his own hand, sighed The Priest.

  ‘You OK?’ Heneghan’s voice was filled with compassion. She was staring back at him. He gave another great sigh, nodding. ‘You look wiped out, Holy Man,’ she said.

  ‘I am exhausted. But then, so is every man and woman of Spiral. So is every REB who has joined our cause. We are stretched to our limits, our GRID is broken, we are relying on a Warhead which may not exist.’

>   ‘Carter will find it,’ said Heneghan softly.

  The Priest’s eyes gleamed in the cockpit gloom. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that he will.’

  The streets of Johannesburg in the Gauteng Province of South Africa were alive with activity. People were celebrating the imminent arrival of EDEN and the freedom it would bring outside the city sprawls. TV adverts fielded by HIVE Media Productions had been running in heavy rotation, promising an end to the city-wide population restrictions. The land outside the cities would once more be available to the global population without them having to ingest dangerous chemical tablets and suffering the uncertainty of whether or not they were walking through tox-filled zones.

  9mm flowed with the crowd, her high cheeks flushed with the humid heat and the close proximity of so many people. Her dark eyes were scanning as she moved with the human current, her athletic frame merging with the mob. Laughter echoed through the streets and there was a distinctly carnival atmosphere hanging like smoke in the air.

  9mm noted the Nex stationed at every street corner. They wore their masks, copper eyes impassive, Steyr TMPs and Kalashnikov JK49s and JK51s pointing at the ground.

  The Nex were sanctioning freedom. And 9mm couldn’t help wondering why.

  The crowd surged, huge groups of people dancing in the roads. 9mm pushed her way to one side and stood on the pavement, body held casual but eyes still alert. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks roared into the sky and green and white stars sparkled.

  A figure moved slowly along the opposite pavement. AnneMarie was tall, a little over six feet, and very slim. Her hair was golden, and tied back in a loose ponytail. Her head sat atop a smooth, slender neck and turned as her eyes sought out her—

  Companion. Their gazes met, and both moved to rendezvous on one corner just behind a group of Nex soldiers. The Nex, despite appearing calm, seemed subtly twitchy. They scanned the crowd constantly, conspicuously enough to make both 9mm and AnneMarie smile viciously. To the Nex, a crowd was something to be put down—not actively encouraged.