‘Bora – answer me!’ he yelled into his radio again.
Chapter 9
The cinema was quiet.
Seconds earlier it roared with the noise of fully automatic gunfire, screaming men, doors crashing and chairs flying.
Now it was quiet.
After a full minute of absolute silence came the first sound.
Footsteps. Boots walking up the aisle.
Bora emerged warily from the cinema. Seven men and four creatures had entered the cinema.
Only Bora came out.
Outside, he drew his father’s hunting knife and started scraping the white jelly off his head. The creature’s abdomen had exploded all over him. He’d almost drowned in the slimy white muck. He ran the razor sharp blade over his scalp, not caring about the chunks of hair that came away. Flicking his wrist dislodged a glob of congealed hair and mucus from the knife. He wiped the weapon carefully on the leg of his fatigues. After checking the clean blade, he returned the knife to its old leather sheath at his hip.
‘Son of a bitch…’ he murmured slowly, looking towards the open communal lounge where his near-victory had been transformed into his near-death in a matter of seconds.
Bora heard a small voice coming from his chest. His radio earpiece still worked apparently. The earpiece had fallen away while he was crawling under the seats. He wiped clean the earpiece and fitted it into his ear.
‘Bora – answer me!’ roared Cameron Cairns.
‘I’m here,’ Bora replied flatly.
‘What’s your status?’ demanded Cairns. ‘What’s happening up there? Have you secured the templates?’
All he cares about are his precious templates, thought Bora. He must have heard the firefight over the radio. He knew we were trapped.
‘My entire team was just wiped out in the cinema,’ tested Bora. ‘I assume you heard it all over the radio.’
‘I heard,’ remarked Cairns stiffly. ‘You’re the only survivor?’
‘Everyone else was torn apart by Gould’s creatures. We lost the Marines in the communal lounge.’
‘Fuck it!’ hissed Cairns.
Bora was unsure if Cairns’s anger stemmed from losing six men or losing the Marines. Probably the latter. We’re all expendable after all.
‘The templates aren’t in the shafts,’ advised Cairns, slightly calmer now. ‘Vanessa Sharp must still have them.’
Bora remembered the direction the Marines were moving before his ambush. They weren’t heading for the nearest surface exit, which Bora would have expected. They had risked remaining in the Complex for some other purpose. A purpose important enough to warrant exposing themselves to more attacks from the creatures.
‘Send everyone to meet me on the habitation level,’ said Bora. ‘I know what the Marines are looking for. I know where to find them.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely positive.’ Bora tugged the radio from his ear. He let the earpiece drop back down to his chest. He’d had enough of listening to Cairns.
Bora walked straight towards the recreational reserve.
#
Meter for meter, the recreational reserve was the most botanically diverse ecosystem in the northern hemisphere.
The reserve sheltered under an enormous plexiglass dome. Three hundred meters long, two hundred meters wide, the dome enclosed the ecosystem from the unforgiving conditions of the surrounding desert. The dome was also a pathogen barrier. It protected the outside world from genetic contamination.
As the reserve expanded northwards under the dome, a continuous succession of habitats blended up a gradual incline. The resulting microclimates allowed vastly different species to flourish in the confined area. At the southernmost end, at the bottom of this incline, the forest floor was level with the pedestrian loop.
The reserve was the only area in the Complex that spanned two entire levels.
Coleman scanned the vegetation with a wary eye. Fifth Unit’s blood trail led here.
The trail had followed the plate glass wall that split the reserve from the pedestrian loop. The two-hundred-meter long wall was formed from twenty-foot-wide panels of interlocking glass. For the staff living on this side of the habitation level - with such a big stretch of the western wall being essentially transparent - it must have been like having a jungle for a back yard.
Coleman just felt dangerously exposed as he reached the reserve’s service entrance. The service entrance provided the only access point for vehicles. Beyond the entrance, a service road penetrated a further hundred meters into the reserve before branching left and right.
Coleman knelt at the entrance and peered into the artificial ecosystem. He stared into the oldest section of the reserve. This part of the reserve looked prehistoric. Ferns and cycad palms carpeted the ground. Tree ferns framed the entrance. Keeping this section lush, fine mist sprays made it impossible to see very far. Light streaming through the overhead canopy formed eerily-glowing columns through the mist. At the perimeter of his vision Coleman could just distinguish thicker trunks where the dominant plant species became tall hardwoods.
The tree trunks could as easily have been a line of Cairns’s gunmen waiting in the mist.
An engraved metal diagram hung eye-level on the glass framing the entrance. It mapped the walking paths crisscrossing the reserve. A suspended walking trail, like a bridge network, also wound through the reserve. Coleman couldn’t see any of it through the mist.
It’s probably higher up, in the canopy somewhere.
A sign hung below the diagram.
This area, the ‘Fern Gully’, according to the sign, represented the lowest point of the reserve. As the reserve climbed away, the trails passed through progressively more evolutionarily-recent plant families.
The fern gully formed the primitive heart of the reserve.
‘I don’t like this,’ complained Forest, peering suspiciously through the mist. ‘We won’t see the creatures coming. This is their natural environment.’
Coleman suspected the same thing. He pivoted to Vanessa. ‘Is he right? Are we walking into a slaughterhouse here?’
Vanessa crouched with her palm pressed on the glass. Her right hand absently dropped to her tablet. ‘I don’t think so. The creatures don’t have a natural environment. They wouldn’t be especially attracted to the reserve unless a strong vibration source started inside. In fact, the reserve is probably one of the safest places in the Complex. All that ground cover acts as a natural vibration dampener.’
‘Is that why they dragged Fifth Unit here?’ guessed King. ‘To avoid the creatures?’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Forest. ‘But what were they doing in there? Why move Fifth Unit anywhere?’
Vanessa nodded into the reserve. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
Coleman scanned the service road for signs of another ambush. Plenty of opportunities existed in this type of environment.
‘We need that satellite radio. We need to get in, find the radio, and then get out again. If we encounter hostiles, either type, we’re going to have to run. No shooting.’
King and Forest nodded gravely as they tightened the quick-release straps that secured their CMAR-17s across their chests.
The gravel service road crackled under Coleman’s boots as, half crouching, he entered the reserve and cut across to where the spongy leaf litter silenced his footsteps.
It’s humid in here. Hot.
Following the service road a little further along uncovered the terrorists’ trail again. They hadn’t been trying to conceal their movements.
Coleman guessed why. They predicted we’d all be dead by now.
Edging around a moss-encrusted boulder, he got a better view of the intersection ahead. At least six terrorists had dragged three bodies by their ankles up the service road. They had turned left at the intersection. That part of the service road ended at a fenced-off compound. Just three structures. Half a dozen vehicles were parked inside the fence. The wide double gates
looked padlocked.
The trail didn’t lead into the compound. It cut up beside the fence and continued behind the compound.
Behind the compound, a steep, fern-carpeted slope climbed up to the western edge of the dome.
‘What are those building?’ Coleman asked.
‘Caretakers’ compound,’ answered Vanessa. ‘Six people work there to -’
Coleman waved her quiet.
He had just spotted the bodies scattered all around the compound.
#
Cairns crouched at the recreational reserve’s service entrance.
He spotted the Marines’ boot prints cutting across the gravel road.
‘Bora, I’m at the service entrance. You were right – the Marines came this way. They entered the reserve at the service entrance. They must be searching for the satellite radio.’
Bora came back over Cairns’s headset. ‘I’m in position now. I don’t have visual yet, but…wait…I got them. I can see the templates. They’re at the edge the compound. They’re cutting up beside the compound single file. Send in the team.’
Cairns’s top lip twitched with annoyance. Who the hell was in charge of this operation – him or Bora?
He ignored the oversight – if it even was an oversight – and waved his men into the reserve. Half his men disappeared wraith-like into the misty foliage. The other half waited at the service entrance, spread out along the wall behind him.
Settling down against the glass wall, he peered into the reserve, thinking about Bora’s behavior.
If there was one thing Cairns hated, it was a trained attack-dog that forgot its place.
#
Stalking through the ferns, Coleman spotted another body just inside the gates.
The caretakers’ compound had come under siege. The disastrous outcome had been inevitable as soon as the creatures sensed the panicking staff. The staff had retreated into the buildings, but it hadn’t saved them. The creatures smashed their way inside. To the creatures, the prefabricated structures were weak as eggshells.
The staff had tried to flee across the compound. Vanessa said six staff worked here. More than six bodies littered the compound.
Others tried to take refuge in there, reasoned Coleman. They thought the fence might protect them.
‘I think it’s clear of hostiles,’ he said. ‘But stay low.’
The body near the gates was sexlessly disfigured. This was probably the brave person who locked the gate.
Coleman imagined their hands fumbling with the chain, straining with the lock, then turning to see the creatures already inside the compound.
Four gaping holes in the side fence showed where the creatures tore their way through. The compound’s back fence appeared completely flattened. Once that came down, the creatures had poured inside.
It happened fast, observed Coleman. No one even reached the vehicles.
Fenced off in a smaller section of the compound sat a fleet of four-wheeled quad bikes. Coleman counted more than a dozen bikes.
He dismissed the rest of the landscaping machinery as his eyes fell on the three largest vehicles. Assembled like oversized toys were the three strangest trucks Coleman had ever seen.
The three trucks looked purpose-built for the Complex. The closest was a tray-back utility heavily loaded with round river stones. It appeared the caretakers were loading the tray for a landscaping project when the evacuation alarm sounded. The vehicle’s raised suspension accommodated oversized knobbly tires. The overall effect resembled something between a utility vehicle and a monster truck.
Parked alongside, the second vehicle was unusual because of its sheer size. It measured three times as long as the tray-back. A big steel A-frame structure was permanently affixed down its length. At first glance, it was just a massive A-frame mounted on a long flatbed truck, but then Coleman saw the extra steering controls housed in a rear cab.
Steering controls like a fire engine.
The huge dual-operated flatbed was designed to maneuver into positions where a truck that size just didn’t belong. More, the truck could be driven from either end, with either steering cab disengaging to allow extra maneuverability.
Both these vehicles were tame compared to the last. Size-wise, the last vehicle fell between the tray-back and the A-frame, but that was where all comparison ended.
There was nothing to compare it to.
This vehicle had legs.
Down both sides of the truck, four sets of pneumatically-driven struts – like huge insects’ legs –could extend down for stability on uneven ground. The legs looked necessary to support the small 360 degree crane mounted on the truck’s rear.
Coleman glanced back at the vehicle. It drew his attention as though he should be noticing something….
As they skirted the compound, the strange vehicle came into profile and Coleman realized why it radiated such a sinister aura.
The truck was a giant metal scorpion.
The cab was the head, the supporting struts the legs, and the crane the stinger. The resemblance was uncanny. Unsurprisingly, the passenger side door sported a big sticker of a black scorpion.
Coleman drew his attention back to the terrorists’ trail, a concave ferny depression skirting the compound’s side fence. The trail continued up the slope behind the compound.
‘What’s up there?’ asked Coleman.
‘Nothing,’ answered Vanessa, swatting away ferns. ‘The slope climbs up to the base of the dome. There’s no exit up there - just a section of the suspended walking platform.’
Coleman couldn’t see over the rise. The fir and pine trees grew denser up there. Off to the right, the slope was split halfway up by a ferny ravine. ‘We have to go up.’
Forest watched the service road from the rear. ‘We’re getting pretty far away from the service entrance. It’s a long way back if we find trouble.’
‘I don’t see any butterflies,’ observed King. ‘That’s a good sign.’
Coleman started up the slope of slippery ferns. It must have been a hell of a job dragging the bodies up here. He grabbed hand-fulls of ferns for support. They climbed a surprisingly long way up before the slope finally flattened out. At the top, breathless, Coleman stared at what was laid out over the ferns.
Like a small crop-circle, an area at the top of the ferny slope was trampled into a bowl-like depression.
King halted beside Coleman, his eyes tracking over everything spread out in the flattened clearing.
‘What the hell is all this?’ he puffed.
Coleman was still trying to fathom what he was seeing, but one thing was certain.
They’d found Fifth Unit.
#
Fifth Unit hung by their wrists from the suspended walking platform.
They were stripped naked.
But this wasn’t the confusing issue for Coleman. Bodies displayed butcher-shop-window-style was nothing new; everything else about the scene was disturbing.
All Fifth Unit’s equipment was very deliberately arranged on the ferns before the bodies.
Fatigues and body armor were unstrapped and unbuttoned. The clothing hadn’t been quickly and efficiently cut away with combat knives, but carefully removed and then laid out over the flattened ferns. The body armor lay beside the owner’s matching fatigues. Helmets were above. Boots were below. CMAR-17s lay to the right. Below each set of boots, the corresponding Marine’s equipment was precisely arranged and separated. Pieces of broken equipment were laid beside each other. Three sets of equipment matched the three suspended bodies.
Erin Stevens was hanging on the right. In the middle hung Cheng. The body on the left no longer had a head, but from its short muscular frame, Coleman guessed it was probably Ramirez. Their bodies had been wiped clean of blood. They resembled pale morgue cadavers more than battlefield casualties.
What the hell caused those wounds?
Like someone had scooped chunks from a snowman with a shovel, the wounds weren’t like any pattern of fle
sh trauma Coleman had ever seen.
‘What could do this?’ asked King, walking around the bodies. ‘It looks like they’ve been hit with explosive rounds, not personal defense weapons.’
Coleman checked the Marines’ equipment. The fatigues and body armor were torn apart around the site of the bullet impact.
Forest picked up the communication pack. It fell apart in his hands, having taken a direct hit from whatever weapon killed the Marines.
Disgusted, Forest dropped the radio. ‘It can’t be repaired. It’s useless. I hope Harrison has more luck with his message, because we’re down to smoke signals.’
Vanessa squatted with her back on the dome, studying her tablet. ‘The answer’s here somewhere. If I just had more time or a faster computer. This analysis is seventy-four percent finished.’
Still searching the site, Coleman found a tiny plastic container in the ferns. The transparent blue container was about the size of a matchbook. It had been discarded under the ferns, or lost and too hard to find. Some kind of protective case for an electronic microchip? He slipped it into his pocket.
‘I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,’ he said.
King and Forest already knew what he meant, but Vanessa looked up from her tablet. ‘Hard way? What have we been doing up to now?’
‘We’ve been running,’ said Coleman. ‘Taking the templates has been our only offensive move since we entered this conflict. It’s time for another offensive move.’
‘How about interrupting the power supply?’ suggested Forest.
Vanessa looked confused. ‘Do you mean the electricity for the admin hub?’
‘No,’ replied Coleman, seeing that she didn’t understand. ‘He means everything. Drop this entire Complex into the dark.’
‘We could sabotage the main power room,’ offered King. ‘Then Harrison’s message will get out.’
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