by Pamela Fryer
They came to a mountain of refuse. It was an assortment of age-old garbage. Rusted scraps, a dilapidated office chair, an old metal cabinet, and a twisted cage of unidentifiable metal blocked their path.
“I don’t like this.” It smelled like another trap.
“Where does this tunnel connect?” Jager swept his light over the pile. There was a small gap near the top the Tetra had fit through, if it had indeed continued, but it would be impossible for them to climb up there over all this scrap.
Brooke pulled the map out of her pocket and held it in Jager’s light. “It doesn’t.” She pointed to the diagram. “It ends at one of the old substations they abandoned when they built the new treatment plant.”
An unrealistic sense of relief curled in her belly, but it was just that, unrealistic. She hated the memories that running through the sewers had rekindled and wanted this over with. Part of her hoped that since it was the end of the line, the Tetra would stop running and make a stand. This would be finished, one way or the other.
The rational part worried it would do just that.
“Has it barricaded itself in?”
“Perhaps, or this might just be a delay tactic. Are there any other branches before the end?”
She shook her head. “The only other way out is an exit at the station”—she squinted at the paper—“and two more access pipes before the tunnel reaches the end.”
He started pulling at scraps of metal. “We do not have time to go back to the overhead pipe.”
“I agree, but we have no idea how much junk is there. The Tetra could have been working all night. Be careful with that. I don’t suppose you’ve had a tetanus shot?”
“I feel it would be wisest to go straight ahead. If we exit the system, and re-enter through another access, the Tetra could be lying in wait behind us. We must blast a hole through.”
He stood back and aimed his weapon at the pile.
“Wait! I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Brooke was too nervous after the first near-fiasco. Being roasted alive was not high on her list of priorities. She placed her hand on Jager’s arm, and he lowered the weapon. “Please, let’s just move a little farther back. What’s the distance on that thing?”
“One hundred feet.”
“Good. One hundred feet makes me feel a lot better.” She frowned. “What do you call that thing, anyway?”
“It is a prototype upgrade for a weapon called a Xino,” he explained. “We call this the Xinotype. It is the first handheld portable electromagnetic device capable of delivering a five hundred thousand volt pulse at two million degrees Kelvin.”
They jogged a distance back and knelt down on opposite sides of the tunnel.
“Sounds like it could roast a turkey in thirty seconds.”
Jager leveled the weapon, set his aim, and fired a solid burst into the pile.
For one second the tunnel was dark, the next it was as bright as a nuclear blast. The explosion knocked Brooke backward and tore a scream from her throat. Just as quickly, all the air was sucked from her lungs. A fireball rolled across the ceiling of the tunnel, churning flames mixed with curling black smoke. A deadly arsenal of shrapnel flew from the pile and a small, sharp piece of metal grazed her cheek.
Brooke threw her arm up a split second before something very big, and very heavy, landed on top of her.
Chapter Twelve
She couldn’t see. Smoke filled the tunnel and scorched her lungs. Little by little, glowing orange spots formed before her eyes. Burning embers. Dimly, she heard Jager shouting her name. The shell of a Steelcase filing cabinet was lifted off her and thrown aside.
“Brooke!”
“God, I’m in the muck. Shit, it’s going up my pant legs.”
He hauled her against his chest. “Thank the Goddess Giolula Nebulas!”
She went easily into his arms. “It’s all right. I’m fine.”
He laughed as he drew back to look at her. “Thanks to yet another wise decision. I am convinced you would make an excellent agent for the Interplanetary Alliance.”
“I’m beginning to think we’re seriously under-equipped. We need to call in the army—” She caught her breath. “Jager, you’re hurt!”
“As are you.”
There was a bloody gash across her right thigh, but it didn’t go deep. Her jeans had suffered the worst of it. It was nothing compared to the sliver of metal sticking out of his triceps.
“Jesus—don’t pull on it!” she yelled at him, but he’d already yanked it out. A curtain of blood gushed down his arm.
“That was dumb!”
She pulled at the hem of her shirt until she’d torn the side seam. It was her last piece of clothing that was still clean. “Here, let me wrap it.”
“I am unhindered. We must continue. There is little time left.”
“I don’t need to be reminded about Sara. But I’m starting to think this is too much for us. Jager, that damned spider knew your weapon would ignite gasoline and it tried to barbeque us. Now it’s blowing things up. What will it do next?”
“There is a good chance that was its last trap. It has not had sufficient time to—”
“And there’s a good chance it wasn’t,” she argued before he could finish.
“I believe you should return to the safety of the ship. You are not required to risk your life.” He stood. “I am.”
She got to her feet with him and grabbed his arm. “You’re wrong.” She wound the torn fabric of her shirt around the wound. “Sara Brown is my responsibility. I made a promise to her father and he’s depending on me. She doesn’t know it yet, but so is she. She’s gotten herself into trouble she can’t get out of, trouble that isn’t her fault.”
“It is mine,” Jager said solemnly.
“No, it isn’t. It’s nobody’s fault. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have to do whatever it takes to get her out of it, and I can’t stop because it’s dangerous. I won’t bring another client home in a body bag—” She snapped her jaw shut before she said more. Brooke stared at a burning piece of cardboard at her feet and counted to five.
“Someone under your care died,” Jager said quietly.
“Not just someone.” She still couldn’t meet his eyes. “The daughter of a very close friend. She was only six years younger than me. Some very bad people killed her before I could get to her. I vowed I would never lose another client. I will die before I let that happen.”
He took her by the arms and finally Brooke looked up. His eyes were filled with concern, and understanding. “You cannot let guilt drive you to recklessness.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Do you not forget I lost my navigator in the crash?”
She pulled away. “He was a soldier. You yourself said he knew the risks.”
“That does not make it any easier for me to accept.”
Defeated and near the breaking point, she surged into his arms. “Jager, I’m sorry. That was cruel of me to say.”
“I am not offended,” he said. Then in a softer voice, “I know you feel you cannot turn back. I only wish I could make you believe you do not need to keep a promise to anyone at the risk of your own life.”
She eased away far enough to look up into his eyes. “Only the promise I made to myself.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then sighed. “I understand.”
“Then we’re in agreement? We go on—together.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “We are in agreement.”
* * * * *
Every little sound, every phantom sight, every uneasy feeling skittering across her spine sent Brooke whirling, shining with her light. She was afraid to ask Jager what the power supply’s life expectancy was. All her questions were answered with bad news.
Smokey residue coated her nostrils and left a charred, gritty taste in her mouth. She could hardly draw a breath. The worst part was the acrid flavor did a thorough job of masking the Tetra’s foul scent. She wouldn’
t be able to smell its approach.
She walked up the center of the corridor, unconcerned with the muck running steadily down its gently sloped channel. The fact she was dealing with a super-smart spider from outer space took up all her cognitive power.
Don’t forget the restarting heart. She got the heebie-jeebies every time she thought of it. What had Jager said? Sever its head before two minutes passed? Or was it one minute?
Nervous tension was wearing her out, and she was starting to realize how much the infection had taken out of her. She wasn’t fully healed yet. It had only been the fantastic sex with an incredible man that had given her a momentary surge of new life.
But what a surge it was.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. Sick or not, she had to rescue Sara.
Jager’s handheld device beeped.
“What is it?” Brooke asked.
“Your Sara Brown. She is alive.”
Brooke saw colors appear at the top of the screen: red, indicating Sara’s body, and green, indicating the spider. Only there were several green spots. As she watched, another appeared on the screen.
“We must hurry.” Jager increased his pace and she struggled to keep up.
“Should I be worried?” she panted.
“The eggs are starting to hatch.”
“That means—”
“They will begin feeding on her.”
Adrenaline surged through Brooke. She ignored the stitch in her side as she raced forward. “How far?”
Jager answered with his body language. He slowed, crouched down and slunk forward, weapon prone.
Brooke’s heart nearly burst out of her chest when her light found the gruesome scene.
The channel slanted sharply upward, rising to a wide area with working platforms on either side. They had reached the abandoned substation for the old hydro plant.
On the platform to their left, giant pressure valves that controlled the flow jutted from the wall. On the right side, the platform was wider to accommodate the control panels. The equipment had long since been removed, leaving empty steel-lined concaves and exposed wiring.
High in the corner on that side, in the corner where the wall met the ceiling, a mass of grayish webbing held a human form stuck at an odd angle.
Sara.
The body was covered with it, but Brooke could still make out the curve of her breasts, the slope of her hips, the bend in her knees. Several fingers of one hand poked through. They were slack and unmoving.
Strange balls were fused into the web surrounding the body.
Oh, God...are those the eggs?
She didn’t have to ask. One was broken open. It appeared to be empty. Green slime coated the inside and dripped down the wall. She glanced around, suddenly afraid to venture any closer. Jager kept going.
“Stay close, Brooke. The hatchlings are as dangerous as the queen.”
“Speaking of Her Majesty, where is the bitch?”
A loud clang sounded in the access pipe on the far platform, followed by another loud bang. Weak light shined through the pipe.
“The queen has gone. With her eggs hatching, her job at this nest is done. She is concerned only for her own preservation, and finding a safe spot for her next nest.”
“Jesus.” How could she have forgotten he was the bearer of bad news?
Brooke struggled to tackle the fear. She was closer to Sara now than she’d been yet. Her own safety didn’t matter, as long as she saved Sara.
She and Jager climbed the dry edge beside the sloping channel that trickled with slimy, mossy ooze.
Something whizzed over her head. Jager turned and fired his weapon. A smaller version of the Tetra landed in the muck in the tunnel and lay still. He went back after the hatchling as she continued up the ladder.
Balanced on her tiptoes, Brooke began pulling at the webbing securing Sara to the wall.
“There’s another hatched egg here.” Brooke pulled frantically at the webbing around Sara’s face. Gunk balled up on her fingers until they were fused together. It was like wearing mittens made of rubber cement.
A blast from Jager’s weapon lit up the area. There was a scuttling sound followed by a screech much like the queen’s, only the sound was thinner and more shrill. Hatchling screech. It was worse than a shrieking teakettle.
The egg close to her elbow started shaking. It cracked open, spilling a dollop of yellow goo, and the ugliest insect face she’d ever seen hissed at her. Brooke screamed and jumped back, scraping the webbing from her fingers along the stone floor. She couldn’t operate her weapon with her fingers gummed together like this.
“Jager!”
He slid to a stop on his knees beside her, aiming his weapon at her hand. The webbing ignited in a bluish flame. She shook her hand to extinguish it and pull off the rest of the webbing, which was now dry like rice paper.
He thrust his weapon into her clean hand. “Burn it off. Use the red button to change the setting back again.”
“Get down!” She pushed on his shoulder. He ducked as the Tetra hatchling flew out of its egg and soared over his head. It bounced off the floor, awkwardly gained its footing, and then scrabbled up the wall again, headed into the tunnel.
Jager took her weapon and leapt over the railing. He disappeared back into the tunnel, leaving her with his Xinotype set to burn off the webbing. She quickly cleaned her other hand and then struggled to her feet and aimed at Sara.
“I hope this works!” She pressed the trigger button. This weapon wasn’t as easy to aim as she’d thought. The whitish beam hit the side of the webbing and dislodged one of the eggs before it started doing any real good for Sara.
The egg dropped to the floor, still intact. Brooke stomped on it. “Just my freaking luck. It’s a damned coconut shell!”
Yellow-orange flashes lit up the tunnel. She understood not a single Tetra could be allowed to escape. When Jager told her the statistics on the Tetra’s reproduction, she’d done some quick math. They would multiply at an alarming rate that would quickly devastate Earth. If one queen and ten hatchlings were this much trouble, mankind would be doomed.
She fumbled with the gun to change the setting as Jager had told her. The egg at her feet began to shake. The weapon made a sound like an old-fashioned camera’s flash unit recharging.
The egg cracked open. She aimed and fired an instant before thinking twice about shooting at something so close.
A yellow pulse hit one spindly leg as the Tetra hatchling sprang from its egg. The flash blinded her as it exploded off the floor, but she had seen enough to know she only grazed the hatchling before it skittered away. The creature’s pained shriek pierced her eardrums.
For futuristic technology, this thing had sucky aim.
Brooke drew her .45 and fired three shots. The hatchling exploded into a chunky spray. Not bad for half-blind. A dull green phantom smear from the Xinotype blast filled most of her vision.
“Let’s see you restart your heart now, cockroach.”
Her heart sank as she realized she didn’t know how to change the weapon back to its web-burning setting.
It didn’t matter. Another hatchling was trying to break free. She angled herself in front of the web and carefully aimed, counting to two before she pulled the trigger. This time she blinked her eyes shut as the pulse fired.
The hatchling fell to the floor and lay still.
Sever its head. Jesus Christ, how?
Brooke stomped on the small, beetle-like protrusion at the front of its hairy body. It smashed under her heel with a sickening crunch. She stepped back and stomped again with the right foot, and then kicked the body away with her left. She hoped that counted well enough.
Disgusting. The stench was nauseating, like rotting eggs and dirty diapers. She gagged, choking on her own spit. The gooey yellow snot that was left of the hatchling’s head made her foot stick to the floor.
She reached up and pulled at the webbing. Sara still hadn’t moved. Brooke began to wonder if sh
e’d been paralyzed with some sort of venom, or if she was even still alive. She remembered what Jager had said about the Tetra’s feeding method, and pulled the webbing away from the girl’s stomach.
There didn’t seem to be any puncture marks. “Thank God.”
Just then Sara’s body hitched and she drew a choking breath, followed by a fit of coughing. She writhed and kicked, seized with panic.
Brooke caught her as she came away from the wall. She stumbled backward and fell, bearing the full brunt of Sara’s weight as the girl came down on top of her.
“It’s all right! Sara, calm down.” She tried to speak soothingly, but her voice shook with fear. “You’re free now.”
Sara thrashed in the throes of a fit. She screamed like a madwoman, clawing at the webbing still clinging to her face and striking at Brooke. For someone who’d just been in a spider-induced coma, she was incredibly strong.
“Sara, calm down! You’re safe!”
Brooke caught an elbow in the jaw. It rattled her teeth and her vision. Sara rolled away just as a hatchling descended on Brooke. It went straight for her face, mandibles wide.
Chapter Thirteen
Brooke struck at the hatchling, afraid to get her hands anywhere near those sharp pincers. It came back fast, mandibles snapping. She grabbed one foreleg and planted her other hand beside its knobby little head. The mandibles spread wide. A squeal grated over Brooke’s eardrums, and a tube-like proboscis came shooting from the mouth.
Holy shit!
“You aren’t going to eat me, you little bastard!” Damn, it was strong for its size. It was like wrestling with a Bull Terrier intent on tearing out her throat.
A yellow burst soared over her head, striking another hatchling as it broke free of its egg.
“Jager!” She tossed the creature into the air and flattened herself across the floor. A yellow pulse hit the hatchling directly above her.
The limp body fell against her, oozing more of that gooey yellow snot out of its mouth. It dripped onto her chest and ran toward her neck. Brooke shoved it away just as Jager ran up beside her. With his Xinotype on yet another setting, it emitted a thin red beam that neatly sliced off the creature’s head. A wisp of smoke curled away from the severed stump, carrying the scent of scorched meat to her nostrils.
