by A. G. Taylor
“Man, that’s too bad,” said his brother, Octavio, a tall kid with a head of dark, shoulder-length hair.
“I thought we agreed, no telekinesis,” Nestor protested, giving his opponent a hard look. “You moved it off course.”
Octavio shrugged and chalked the end of his cue. “All’s fair in love and war.” He lined up on the shot, but as he struck through, the black ball lifted into the air above the table. The white rolled beneath it into the pocket.
“Hey!” protested Octavio. “Cheat!”
Nestor held up his hands to show it was nothing to do with him. The black ball continued to hover in the air. Then, the outline of a third boy appeared. Like Nestor and Octavio, he was fifteen, but blond and lighter in complexion that the Colombian brothers. As Alex Fisher became visible, he tossed the black ball in the air and caught it again.
“Just thought I’d even things up,” he said with a grin.
Octavio threw his cue down on the table. “This game isn’t fun any more.”
“Because you never play by the rules,” Nestor said.
Octavio rolled his eyes and Alex suppressed a smile. Although they were twins, the brothers were about as different as two people could possibly be.
Dunking the black in the corner pocket, Alex said, “Come on. We’re wanted in the briefing room.”
“At this time of night?” Nestor said.
Alex shrugged. “You know as much as I do.”
“Great,” Octavio muttered as he and Nestor followed Alex out of the rec room. “Another lecture on HIDRA safety procedures, no doubt.”
“Those procedures are there to make sure we don’t get hurt,” Nestor replied.
“Do you have any idea how lame you sound? Really?”
As his two companions continued bickering (some days they never stopped), Alex led the way out of their quarters, which was a block on the perimeter of the HIDRA UK centre of operations in the east of England. The centre was a disused RAF base that had been taken over by HIDRA some ten years before. There was an airstrip, hangars, storage facilities and barracks for the hundred personnel stationed there. To the outside world, the operation looked innocuous enough, but the real action happened underground.
Alex led the way from their barracks to an inconspicuous building that looked a lot like a rusty shed. The September night air was cool and the moon full. It would have been a lot easier for all of them to have lived in the main, subterranean part of the base, but the boys (like most of the other women and men from HIDRA stationed there) had requested quarters above ground.
It was nice to see the sky.
As they reached the building, the door swung open to meet them and a HIDRA guard with a machine gun appeared. Alex held up his hand and they were nodded through. The inside of the shed was pretty much as you’d expect (rusting corrugated iron walls, dirt on the floor) with one exception: in the centre of the room stood a cubicle of gleaming metal with twin, automated machine gun turrets on either side. Alex removed a card from his pocket and swiped it through a reader on the side. As always, when the reader beeped and the light on the side went green, he took a relieved breath – he hated to think what the turrets would do to anyone trying to break in. Doors slid open to reveal the inside of a lift and the boys stepped in.
“Level 6,” Alex said as the doors closed. The lift descended at high speed.
The HIDRA UK base had twenty underground levels, partly refurbished from a decommissioned bunker from the cold war days of the 1960s and 70s. However, the technicians had been to work on the site since then, massively expanding and refurbishing the network of rooms and tunnels hidden beneath the earth. The lift hummed to a halt on Sub-Level 6, the main command area of the base, and the doors opened onto a light, ultramodern foyer. Halogen bulbs in the ceiling simulated daylight and there were even LED “windows” with incredibly realistic views of the East Anglian countryside.
The boys crossed the empty floor towards a reception desk, behind which a bespectacled woman sat, her hair tied back in a prim ponytail. As they approached, she gave them a careful look over before pressing a button on the desk. Glass doors to the right of the reception slid open. Alex had never spoken more than a few words to the receptionist (who never seemed to leave the desk), but one of the soldiers on site had told him that she was one of HIDRA’s best sharpshooters and had a semi-automatic pistol strapped to the underside of the desk, right under a picture of her kids. The glass doors that slid shut silently behind them were made of a polymer so strong that a tank would bounce off them.
It was safe to say that HIDRA UK didn’t want any uninvited guests.
The briefing room was the third door on the right: a circular chamber with giant screens along one curved wall and a ten-metre-long table in the middle – a black marble slab that reflected the images of anyone sitting around it. Several of the key personnel from the base were already seated, including Dr. Fincher, HIDRA’s stick-thin head of science. As usual, he was dressed in a white coat and looked harried, as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of some experiment or other.
“Nice of you gentlemen to finally join us,” a female voice said from one of the screens. They looked round at the image of Colonel Rachel Andersen as they took their seats. A caption in the corner of the screen read Live Link via Satellite. They were used to regular video briefings with Rachel, but today she looked tired and there were smudges of dirt on her face, as if she’d been in a scuffle. Yet her expression was as determined as ever.
“Sorry, Colonel,” Octavio said hurriedly as he took his chair.
Nestor sniggered into his hand. Sorry, Colonel, he echoed.
Yeah, Octavio’s really sorry, Rachel, Alex joined in. He loves a woman in uniform.
I’ll be a good boy. Promise.
Kiss kiss.
Octavio looked daggers at them both. Idiots!
“Right,” Rachel said, casting her eyes over the audience and pressing a button before her. Screens lit up around the wall. “There’s been an attack on the HIDRA Pacific Base.”
That got everyone’s attention. “Who was it?” someone asked on the other side of the table.
“Who do you think?” Octavio said. “Major Bright.”
Rachel nodded and brought up shaky footage of the Ulysses on the screen. It appeared to have been taken by a camera on a boat speeding away from the ship. Everyone watched in stunned silence as what appeared to be a giant sea monster crushed the ship in its tentacles and then, with a series of explosions, dragged it beneath the waves. The footage paused on an image of a dart-like object flying across the screen away from the wreck.
“The stealth jet,” Nestor said, pointing at the screen.
“Sarah,” Alex added quietly.
“That’s why you’re included in this meeting,” Rachel explained. “Sarah and the other superhumans on the Ulysses were involved in holding off that monster long enough for most of the crew to escape.” Her voice softened a little. “I also know you had friends on the ship among the HIDRA personnel. We all did.”
“How many were lost?” Dr. Fincher asked.
“We’re estimating over forty casualties at the moment,” Rachel said. “The majority of the crew made it to the escape boats, however. A Korean military vessel in the area picked us up and that’s where I’m speaking to you from. As soon as I can I’ll be en route to the UK base.”
“What about Sarah and the others?” Nestor asked. “Are they safe?”
“Yes. They were following Bright in the jet, but the GPS tracker went offline. We have intelligence that Bright and his men intend to strike somewhere in Europe. Judging by the monster they sent against the Ulysses, they have the capacity to inflict some serious damage. We need to find out where and what they intend to do.”
“They’re clearly using some kind of highly advanced technology,” Dr. Fincher said thoughtfully. “Probably alien in origin.”
“The Entity,” Alex said and the doctor nodded.
Rachel addressed th
e HIDRA personnel in the room. “HIDRA Pacific is offline until further notice, so you’re the first line of defence. Until we find out what’s going on here, everybody is on continuous duty. For those of you who haven’t familiarized yourself with the report on the Makarov incident, I suggest you do so at the earliest opportunity. Bright has killed our people. This time he isn’t getting away with it. Dismissed.”
As people rose around the table, she turned her gaze on the boys. “The stealth jet is rerouting to your base until we find out Bright’s location. Sarah and the others should be with you at dawn. Get some rest.”
With that, she started talking to Dr. Fincher as the footage of the Ulysses attack replayed. Octavio exchanged a look with Nestor and then both brothers turned to Alex.
What? he demanded.
Looks like your girlfriend’s coming back, Octavio said with a wink.
Nestor sighed. Get ready for World War III.
If you two need some time alone, just let us know, okay?
Alex gave them both a withering look and rose swiftly from his chair. Grow up. Both of you.
The twins cracked up as he stormed out of the room.
Sarah sat beside Robert, who was laid out on the table in the medical bay of the stealth jet once more. She’d given him another injection and he’d fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted after the battle against the squid. Reaching out, she placed her palm on his forehead and immediately sensed his fervid, nightmare-wracked unconsciousness: dreams of spiders and all manner of killing machines.
Easy, she soothed, forcing the dreams away and replacing them with calming, neutral images. Robert began to breathe more slowly and she removed her hand.
“Sarah.” One of the screens flickered on and Dr. Fincher appeared.
“Hi,” she said, happy to see a familiar face.
“I’ve analysed the blood data you sent,” Dr. Fincher said. “I’m afraid your brother has a very serious infection. It’s some kind of mutant strain of the fall virus, but it seems to attack the host at the genetic level. Altering DNA strands. Hence the changes you can see on his skin.”
“How do we stop it?” Sarah demanded.
Fincher shook his head. “We still don’t have an effective cure for the fall virus, let alone this mutation. All we can do at the moment is slow the spread of the infection until we can run a proper analysis at the base. I’m sending data through to your medical computer for a series of injections that should slow it down.”
“But what if we can’t find a cure?” Sarah asked, looking down at Robert.
“Don’t worry, Sarah. Robert has a natural resistance to the virus, as you all do. Don’t forget that. We’re going to do everything in our power to turn this around. I promise.”
And HIDRA had promised a cure for the fall virus as well, Sarah thought, but after more than a year it had not come. What chance did Robert stand against this… What had Fincher called it? Mutant strain? The black mark on his neck was moving down his arm, making the skin reptilian, scaly. She thought the most horrible thing about it was the way it reminded her of the black mark spreading across Major Bright’s face. How many hours did Robert have left?
Keeping these thoughts to herself, she looked round at the doctor as an alert flashed on another screen. “I have to go. See you in a few hours, doctor.”
Taking a final concerned look at her brother, she walked through the cabin towards the cockpit where Wei and Louise were waiting. Ahead, a giant refuelling plane swung into view, flying above their position. Sarah took the pilot’s seat and turned off the automatic pilot.
“Just in time,” Louise said, pointing to a flashing fuel warning light. Any longer and the jet would have fallen out of the sky.
As Sarah made the fine adjustments necessary to the position of the jet, a refuelling nozzle emerged from the back of the larger plane. The nozzle stretched down towards them on the end of a hose over fifty metres long.
“That’s it,” the pilot of the fuel plane said in Sarah’s headset. His accent was a heavy Texan drawl and she imagined someone in a cowboy hat. “Lookin’ good.”
Sarah tapped the joystick and the stealth jet moved perfectly into line with the nozzle. The coupling on the front of the stealth jet hit the nozzle and they locked closed with a clunk. Sarah reactivated the autopilot to hold them in position.
“Contact!” the other pilot said. “Beginning the refuel. Shouldn’t take more than five minutes.”
“Thanks.”
“Just doing our job,” the pilot said conversationally. “You sound kinda young to be flying that thing. Where you taking it?”
Sarah thought for a moment before saying, “We’re going home.”
26
The C-17s touched down at an airstrip eighty kilometres south of London just after dawn. The airstrip had been bought by Goodware Inc. two months before, ostensibly with the purpose of shipping PC games into Europe. However, the real intent behind its purchase was to act as the staging point for Major Bright’s entry into the UK.
Mercs hurriedly offloaded the two UH-60M Black Hawk helicopters and started prepping them for departure. Less than twenty minutes after landing, Hack and May were escorted down the ramp to one of them. As the rotor blades whirred into life, May looked around their new surroundings: the mist hanging in the air and the early morning sun shining through.
“I always wanted to go to England,” she said. “But not like this.”
Hack nodded. After the heat of their jungle prison, the cool atmosphere was a shock to the system. Kotler, the merc leader, pulled open the back of the Black Hawk and ordered them to get in. As they took seats, a merc sat down opposite, gun cradled in his lap. Hack spied a pair of padded jackets on a rack in the ceiling and, without bothering to ask permission, grabbed one for May.
“Thanks,” she said as he draped it over her shoulders.
“Keep your eyes open,” Hack whispered, bending close to pull it around her. “We need to find a way to escape.”
May nodded as the merc pushed Hack’s shoulder. “Sit the hell down.”
As the helicopter engine noise rose, Major Bright and Marlon Good jumped inside. Bright banged his fist on the back wall of the cockpit and the machine rose into the air. Hack looked out of the still-open back door at the flat English countryside below and then at the machine guns and rockets strapped to the side of the Black Hawk.
“Don’t worry,” Marlon Good said, reading his mind. “We’ve got flight clearance all the way into central London.” He tapped a finger against the side of his nose and said in a fake English accent, “Friends in the Ministry of Defence, don’t you know.”
As they circled over the airstrip, Hack saw mercs loading equipment onto trucks, ready to ship out by road. He looked round at Good. “So, we’re headed to London then? Where?”
Good opened his mouth to reply, but Bright cut him dead. “The less you know for now, the better.”
Hack shrugged and looked at May, who shook her head – indicating that he should stay quiet. Bright’s voice had a dangerous edge to it. The long flight had clearly done nothing for his temper.
After that, Hack contented himself with staring at the unfamiliar English landscape passing by outside. The fields and motorways soon gave way to an endless suburban sprawl. Despite their situation, he was fascinated by the landscape – row after row of two-storey buildings joined together, punctuated only occasionally by the tower blocks he was used to from Hong Kong. The streets were thin lines jammed with traffic.
“It’s so different to where I’m from,” Hack said, to no one in particular. “But similar too. So many people.”
“Living like ants,” Bright replied with no effort to disguise his contempt. “Eating and sleeping and working in an endless cycle. Pointless existence repeated day after day with no thought. No change.”
Good laughed. “Well, not for much longer.”
“Yes,” Bright replied with a nod. “By the end of today we’ll sweep it all away. Then the drones wil
l serve us.”
“How can you think about them like that?” May asked. “They’re human beings.”
Bright turned his piercing gaze on her. “Are they?”
May looked away. They’re both mad, she sent to Hack. We have to do more than just escape. We have to find some way to stop them.
Yes, Hack replied. But that’s not going to be easy with these collars. One wrong move and Good will trigger these bombs around our necks. I know it.
She glanced at him. Maybe there’s more at stake than just our escape. They’re talking about enslaving an entire city. Then the rest of the world. We have to stop them even if it costs us our lives.
Hack studied her face and saw the determination there. I know, he said. How are you feeling?
Okay. Have you noticed? They haven’t given me a shot since we left the island.
Hack realized she was right. In the chaos of the evacuation of the island base, the mercs responsible for administering the drugs that held May’s power in check seemed to have forgotten their job. Or perhaps they assumed the explosive collars would be enough to hold them in check. Can you—
Not yet, May replied, face betraying no emotion. But I can feel the drugs wearing off. I just need a little longer until I’ll be able to use my power freely again.
Good. Just don’t take any unnecessary risks until you’re at full strength. We aren’t going to be able to do anything if we get recaptured as soon as we escape.
May eyed the gun in the merc’s lap. Or killed.
Hack nodded and rubbed the bandage on his arm. The crude stitches one of the mercs had sewn into his skin after Bright dug out the GPS tracker were really starting to hurt – and itch. He hoped that didn’t mean they were infected. Seeing him fussing, May reached out and placed her hand over the bandage. There was a brief feeling of warmth, followed by a complete cessation of pain. Hack looked at her in surprise.
What did you just do?
Healed your arm, she replied. But leave the bandage on – we don’t need them to know about that.
Hack smiled. Thanks. The more he saw of May’s power, the more amazed he was by it. He wondered what she would achieve with it in the future – if they survived the day, that was.
