by Greig Beck
Hertzog looked up and hiked his shoulders. “The queen?”
“Give me your theories, Doc, as this thing is nothing but bat-shit crazy. I need answers … guesses even,” Hammerson said.
“Okay.” Hertzog nodded. “Theory one: it’s the spores that might be forcing an evolutionary leap in organisms that come into contact with it. The primitive gas is just there for environmental support – their lungs are adapted to it.”
“Evolutionary leap?” Hammerson straightened. “Tell me how that big bug-eyed thing is some type of new and improved human being?” Hammerson’s brows came together. “And another question: I know some creatures, and now people, turn into these monstrosities, and others into the gray sludge – why?”
Hertzog looked back down at the body and sighed. “Jack, there’s a lot more we don’t know than we do know, right now.”
“Then give me your best guess. We’re running out of time.” Hammerson was also running out of patience.
“Okay, okay,” Hertzog said. “Well, the glutinous material is an aggressive, mutated form of a normal slime mold that is really only acting as a vector for the spores. The spores’ only job is to embed itself in an organism, the host, and then work their way into its DNA.”
Hertzog raised a finger. “Then, massive changes are triggered. For some, the spores trigger catastrophic alterations, totally breaking down the host’s cellular structure and thus converting it into nothing more than the viscous biological material – the spore carrier. But …” he waggled his finger, turning to the HAWC commander, “… just like the sperm knows to fight its way to the center of the ova, these spores know to seek out something in the host’s DNA strand that tells it that one being is suitable for total breakdown to spore sludge, and another is designated to a type of warrior class … or breeding class.”
“Breeding?” Hammerson felt his gorge rise.
“Sure.” Hertzog pointed back to the flayed cadaver. “This biped had functioning reproductive organs.”
“A breeding population … to start an invasion.” Hammerson began to grind his teeth. “And we’re the raw material.”
“Maybe.” Hertzog flipped up the secondary visor and then tossed it onto a benchtop. Behind his primary visor, his face ran with sweat. “You asked before how the biped could be some new and improved human being. Basically, it’s not,” Hertzog said. “Not for around here anyway, but think of it in terms of how the human race has reached an evolutionary plateau, and other than some height variations, as a species, we’ve pretty much stalled now.”
“Go on.”
Hertzog nodded, talking as he stared down at the strange body. “Well, in the past, environmental factors forced evolutionary changes in creatures, to us – in response to hot or cold, we grew or lost fur. We came down from the trees and stood upright when the jungles were turning into grasslands. We humans grew big brains to outwit our predators. But the thing about growing big brains was it meant a harsh environment didn’t change us anymore, we changed it. If we needed fur, we didn’t have to grow it; we simply killed an animal and wore its fur instead. We also didn’t need to find caves anymore, we built our own. Our big brains meant we didn’t have evolution forcing changes on us anymore.”
“And these spore things are forcing evolutionary changes because they think our world is harsh?” Hammerson was incredulous.
“They might if we didn’t think about from a human being’s perspective.” Hertzog responded. “But what if this stuff is forcing evolutionary changes on us because to something non-Earthly, this is a harsh environment. Or worse, the world it’s creating will be brutal and therefore it might think it’s helping us by preparing us physically for an environment, a world, significantly harsher.”
Hammerson groaned. “So it’s terraforming and transforming us into creatures that can survive in its home environment.”
“Why not? Changing us to adapt to a world ruled by tooth and claw.” Hertzog gave Hammerson a half smile. “Whatever came down in that shuttle is not from our corner of the universe. And perhaps where it came from, its world was horrifyingly hostile.”
Hertzog folded arms over a blood and mucus-spattered suit. “Where exactly was this material picked up from?”
“We believe it came from inside a fragment of asteroid the Orlando plucked from space. However, NASA extrapolations tell us that it came from the void – endless space – it could have been traveling for a billion years.”
“Hmm, until we found it. Or it found us.” Hertzog cursed softly. “And we brought it home, huh?” He sighed. “There’s one more thing, Jack. I don’t believe this biped had finished changing.”
“Hadn’t finished changing? Jesus Christ, this just keeps getting worse.” Hammerson stared for a moment, his mind working. “What would it eventually have become when it did finish?”
“I, for one, never want to find out,” Hertzog said softly. “But that’s not the worst of it. These bipeds can and will breed, and the slime is loaded with spores. Everything about them is designed for rapid reproduction. This could spread catastrophically in a crowded environment.”
Hammerson sighed heavily. He had hoped that the autopsy would reveal something he could use to stall the order from Chilton. Some kind of weakness in the creatures, some weapon they could use, or even some hope of slowing down the contamination spread. But there was nothing for it.
Hertzog looked alarmed. “Jack, if it were my call, then step one would be to clean up the source of the infection. We can’t let it get out. Ever.”
“No, we can’t.” Hammerson knew he had no choice now, and no more time.
CHAPTER 31
Hammerson clicked on the satellite image of the mountaintop crater where his HAWC team and the NASA scientists were deployed. The spore-mist had risen more than a dozen feet since he had last checked and he expected the hyper-aggressive slime mold – or whatever that weird shit was – would have expanded its territory about the same amount.
Nestled in its warm cocoon underneath the atmosphere blanket it would continue to grow, but thankfully for now, not become the super-aggressive form that had attacked and killed the NASA scientists in lab-45 and many of the townsfolk of Greenbelt.
Once again, he clicked on the extrapolation software his techs had put together. It used predictive analytics to create an advanced timeline for how far and fast the biological gas and the underlying organisms were likely to spread. A digital clock raced forward, speeding up the designated area of the Revelation Mountains.
Hammerson’s eyes narrowed as he watched – in another hour, the atmosphere blister would have climbed a further dozen feet. In six more hours, it would reach the rim of the crater. Following that it would begin its long, slow spillover into the valleys.
The environment was still harsh, but as the mass grew the total land it absorbed would grow as well, doubling exponentially every hour – two miles would become four, become eight, become sixteen, become thirty-two, then sixty-four, and so on, and so on.
They had twenty-four hours before the atmosphere blister and carpet of deadly ooze beneath covered 200 square miles. It would then encounter the first of the villages in the lowlands. It would also then enter a more benign climate, and switch on. Once that happened, it was anyone’s guess as to whether it could be controlled or when the free-floating spores would be lifted on the winds to firstly infect Alaska, Canada, the rest of the US, and then the globe.
Colonel Jack Hammerson knew General Chilton was right to take immediate and significant corrective action. And if he didn’t have a horse in the race, he would have come to the same conclusion.
Fact was, HAWCs died, and there were very few old ones, himself being an exception. But time was moving against them. For now, they had the organism contained in a natural kill box. The biological mass would overflow the crater rim in approximately six hours, the detonation would occur in – his eyes moved to his countdown clock – just on five. But his team didn’t know any of this.
&n
bsp; Chilton had authorized the use of a single GBU43B Massive Ordnance Air Blast – one of the most powerful non-nuclear weapons ever designed. The MOAB was not a penetrator weapon but was created primarily for surface targets, just like this one.
Hammerson had seen test drops; the things were city killers. They initially detonated with the explosive force of eleven tons of TNT and would raise temperatures to 4,500 degrees in an instant. The secondary ignition of the methane-rich atmosphere would amplify the thermal dispersion, turning the entire cusp of the mountaintop into a molten cauldron.
He slammed a fist down hard on his desk – there’d be nothing left of it or his team. And he couldn’t even warn them. As far as communications went, they were deaf, dumb, and blind. He couldn’t send anyone else in. But even if he thought there was a slim chance of making it in time, or making a difference, he’d goddamn HALO drop in there himself.
He looked again at the visuals – the mountaintop looked like it was stuffed with dirty cotton wool. Trying to affect a blind landing in something like that was suicide.
He could send a probe, drop in a communication spike, but it’d have to land right on Alex’s head for him to find it – impossible. Hammerson lowered his hands. Unless the probe could go looking for him.
He drummed his fingers on the desk as his mind worked. Go looking for him – and then find him.
He lunged for his phone, calling through to the weaponry labs.
“Get me Grey. I need a piece of his tech on a plane, right now.”
CHAPTER 32
Something all leathery wings and multiple limbs flew in front of the window. Alex smiled, grimly. Here they were in a downed spaceship, looking out at an alien world. He was starting to doubt he was even on Earth anymore.
He inhaled the canned air of his suit, and wondered what the atmosphere would smell like if they didn’t make it out. And what it would feel like, or look like, to see his muscles twist and lump like those of the Morg. He didn’t want to find out.
“Listen up.” Alex turned away from the Orlando cockpit window and faced the group. “Our oxy-levels are down. We’ve burned it faster than we expected through all the activity.” He turned to Sam. “Sam …”
Sam Reid nodded. “I figure we’ve got ten hours remaining if we just sit here on our asses, eight hours if we head for home, and maybe five if we gotta run and fight all the way back.”
“After that, we start to suck this crap into our lungs,” Alex finished.
“And then we join the locals,” Casey seethed.
“Okay, I think if we’re careful, we can make it – steady as she goes, conserve our energy, and all that,” Russell added.
“Really?” Alex gave him a lopsided smile. “Anyone else think we’re not going to have fight and run every damn step of the way? To get to the crater wall, at double time, then scale to the top to make it above the mist line and get to clean air, we’re going to need every second and every breath we have left. Five hours is our drop dead limit.”
Russell’s mouth dropped open. “Double time? Jesus Christ, Hunter, we’re exhausted, and you want us to run and climb for five hours?” He had an arm around Anne who still looked washed out.
“Yes.” Alex turned to look out of the cockpit window again and into a speckled mist so thick the window could have been painted over. It was like a microscopic snowstorm, except it moved, swirled and eddied like it was a turbulent current in an ocean.
Alex also sensed things darting back and forth, some small, and some larger. And a while back he had felt something big, very big, circle them. Now, it had either moved on, or had paused somewhere, waiting.
“Dammit, we’re wearing HAZMAT suits, with oxygen tanks, and not those lightweight things you’ve got,” Russell spluttered. “Anne won’t make it. She’s dead on her feet now. We all are, Captain.” He was seething now. “You might as well just kill us now and be done with it.”
“You’ve got two minutes to come up with an alternative plan, Professor.” Alex lifted his chin, waiting.
Russell’s lip curled. “Oh, for god’s sake, there is no other plan.”
“That’s what I thought.” Alex went to turn to Sam, but Russell stood quickly and grabbed at him.
“This plan of yours is only designed to get you and your team of super warriors to safety, isn’t it? And the rest of us can go to hell.”
Alex stared. “Don’t think for a second I was ever Mister Nice Guy.”
Muttering, Russell sunk back down and put his arm around Anne.
Morag stood. “If we run out of air and have to breathe this … stuff, we’ll start to change, won’t we?”
Alex nodded.
“Well, I’m not going to end up like those things out there, those Morg things.” She looked down at Anne and Russell. “I’ll run till I die if I have to.”
“Yeah.” Casey made a fist in the air for the woman. “That’s it, babe.”
“Time’s up,” Alex said. “Live or die?”
Russell just shook his head. “I guess we’ve got no choice.”
Alex faced the group. “We are in a small metal box, and outside it might as well be an alien world. We’re going to have to run until we feel like we’re going to drop, and then we’re going to run some more. It’s going to hurt like hell, but the human body can take more pain than you’d believe.”
Russell audibly gulped and Anne nodded meekly. Morag’s mouth was set in a tight line. “We’re outnumbered,” Morag said. “If the Russians have joined the …” She briefly looked over her shoulder at Anne before going on. “… the Orlando crew, then that makes about six of them.”
“And you can add in McIntyre and maybe Dunsen, if he’s still alive, to that bunch,” Casey said. “And probably your idiot cameraman.”
“Renner, Calvin Renner,” Morag said and scowled back at Casey.
Alex nodded. “I estimate we now have up to eight or maybe nine hostiles out there. They may take a run at us, and they may not.”
“This is where they’ve been holing up,” Monroe said. “So, they may all just come back here to their nest.”
“I don’t get the feeling these Morg are the live and let live types. They want us, as food or as new recruits,” Sam said.
“This infection, or whatever it is, has a one hundred percent inclusion rate. Either you get affected and become the beast, or worse, you are dissembled into some sort of primordial spore-slime.” Russell licked dry lips. “Or alternatively, you get killed by the affected individuals. Either way, it gets out of here, it’s bad news for the rest of the world.”
“If we had the ordnance, we could blow it,” Sam said. “The atmosphere detonation would do the rest for us.”
“Shit.” Alex tilted his head back, and let out a bitter laugh. “Of course.” He exhaled, and then turned to Sam. “If we had the ordnance, then we’d make sure nothing ever leaves this mountaintop, right?”
“Yeah.” Sam frowned, but his mouth began to curve into a smile. “What?”
“Who thinks like us, and knows that if this stuff gets out it’s going to be game over for the world?” Alex tilted his head. “Oh yeah, and who does have the ordnance?”
Sam grinned. “Colonel Jack Hammerson.”
“Right, the Hammer,” Alex said. “He has all the kill power he needs. I’m betting that he’s already planning a drop, or will soon.” Alex folded his arms. “We need to coordinate and make sure we’re over the rim by then.”
“By when though?” Morag asked.
“Exactly; when, what? How? We can’t coordinate that when outside. They can’t even talk to us. A minute’s difference and it might as well be suicide or murder,” Russell pleaded.
“Yeah, I like it,” Casey said. “The Russians, the data chip, and every other weird piece of shit in here will be ash.”
“Plug?” Sam raised his eyebrows.
Alex nodded. “Last one.”
Sam started to open the messenger on his wrist and waited to enter data. “Okay boss, r
eady when you are.”
Alex nodded. “Orlando site compromised – stop – contagion must not escape mountain – stop.” He smiled, grimly. “Burn it all to hell – stop.”
“Jesus Christ.” Russell eased back down.
Alex looked at his watch. “Request detonation at 20:00 hours.” He looked up. “That gives us our five hours – same as our oxygen.”
“Wait, wait; you just said we’d need all of that to make it to the wall, and then more to climb out.” Russell’s mouth hung open. “Are you trying to kill us? Might as well just say, go ahead and drop it right now.”
Casey laughed out loud.
“No, one hour, to climb. People’s oxygen will start running out then, and we’ll start to breathe in this mutagenic atmosphere. In my book, that’s going to be worse than death. So, consider it extra motivation.” Alex turned. “Sam.”
Sam nodded to Casey. “Door.” He loaded the plug and waited for the door to outside to be opened. Casey and Monroe had their guns up and pointed as the mist billowed, but thankfully nothing else rushed in at them. Sam hung his huge body out, pointed the stubby gun skyward, and fired.
“One away.” He pulled himself back in, and Casey immediately pulled the door shut again.
“Plan is in motion. Bring the rain,” Monroe hooted.
CHAPTER 33
Hammerson watched the blip of the helicopter approach the mountaintop with his special delivery onboard. Chilton’s cauterization drop was a few hours away, so there was still a slim chance his dumb idea might work.
Grey had protested to high hell, but at the end of the day, his technology was there for offense and defense, and not to sit in the laboratory and have the eggheads endlessly tinker with it.
The scientist had also complained that the technology was still only in second-level testing, and they weren’t sure about the neural link componentry. That meant that when it linked to a particular person, it became psychologically bonded, and in this case, that was to be Alex Hunter. He would become its homing beacon, its target, and best friend. It could be programmed to be his assassin or his guardian angel.
