This Green Hell

by Greig Beck

  Alex felt like he was at the bottom of a deep pit where sounds and images were indistinct. Voices began to scream at him, cutting through the fog, furious vapours that swirled round him. It wasn’t Aimee; she and the boy were mute with terror. He grunted with pain as the voices increased in volume and ferocity, abusing him for his weakness, his cowardice, his dishonour. His second-in-command had been crushed before his eyes; the woman he loved was frightened and vulnerable in the darkness; and all he could do was grovel in the dirt.

  Get up, the voices roared at him.

  Alex punched his fist into the ground, and shook his head to clear it – of the voices and the fog of concussion.

  Aimee and Saqueo were too close to the priest to use his gauntlets, so he pulled both his short- and long-bladed Ka-Bars from their sheaths. He shook his head again, this time to clear blood from his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and got to his feet. Summoning his last reserves of strength, he launched himself at González.

  The priest caught him in midair and held both his forearms fast, the smile never leaving his bearded face. In his mind, Alex heard the dry, grating laugh again. González forced him backwards, exerting enormous pressure on his arms, trying to wrench them apart. It would have torn a lesser man down the middle, but Alex resisted. For a few seconds, it seemed they were in balance locked in their deadly embrace.

  González surged forward and slammed Alex back so hard, his head bounced off the heavy stone wall. His vision swam again. The priest seized the opportunity to lean in towards him and opened his mouth, bringing it close to Alex’s face. Even in the dark, Alex could see the small grey thing rise in the back of the priest’s throat. Hair-like tendrils fluttered in anticipation of its feast and it mewled softly. As Alex watched, the priest’s right eye shrank in its socket then vanished, reappearing in his mouth on the end of a grey stalk. Something living inside the priest was emerging to feed.

  Alex strained against the priest’s grip, and the creature slammed him into the wall again and again. Alex screamed his defiance and strained even harder. He brought his knee up into the priest’s groin with a force that should have exploded his testicles. There was no response, other than the inexorable forward movement of that hellish face towards his own.

  Alex roared in rage, frustration and revulsion. All he could think of was Aimee; how she was trapped in this dark room. How, if he died, she would be doomed.

  The small, questing tendril unfurled towards his eye. He couldn’t move; couldn’t do anything but wait for it to latch onto his face.

  He heard the click of Sam’s lighter, then hundreds of spikes punctured one side of the priest’s face, exiting his skull on the other side. González roared in pain and turned, and another stream took off the top of his head. He shrieked and disappeared down a small hole in the centre of the room, his dark robes swirling behind him.

  Alex fell to his hands and knees, sucking in enormous breaths. ‘Oh God, that was a close one, buddy.’

  He turned in the direction the ice spikes had come from, expecting to see his second-in-command’s lopsided, aw-shucks, ain’t-nothing-type grin. Instead, he saw Aimee sitting on the floor holding Sam’s arm up like a cannon; she had one arm wrapped around the gauntlet for aim and the other was curling his hand into a fist. Behind her sat Saqueo, holding the lighter.

  She gave him an exhausted grin. ‘Anything else you need … buddy?’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Casey Franks crashed into a tree, and wrapped her arms around it to stay upright. The heat and humidity were exhausting her despite her physical capabilities. She wiped her face; it was wet with perspiration and blood, and crisscrossed with scratches from her charge through the dense green jungle.

  With hands shaking from fatigue, she pulled the small GPS device from her pocket. She checked her positioning. Not far now: two of the dots had grown closer – hers and the chopper’s. But the third …

  ‘Ah, what? Fuck!’

  Alex was still way too far west, and hadn’t moved much since she’d last checked over an hour ago. A moment of indecision washed over her as she considered changing course.

  ‘Fuck, fuck!’ she yelled into the dark, momentarily silencing the surrounding wildlife.

  She took a swing at a large leaf, and looked again at the GPS. It was too far to make it to Alex and then get back to the rendezvous site – her heart would simply explode.

  She pulled the last foil-covered pellet from her pouch, broke it under her nose and shuddered as the chemicals punched her up another level.

  ‘Orders, fucking, unchanged.’

  She ran on.

  Hammerson sat in his office watching his computer screen. Arcadian had been en route to the rendezvous but had diverted – something had changed. A short while ago his communication device had ceased working. Sam Reid and Franks were still in go mode, but their signals were a long way apart.

  What the hell is going on?

  He pinched his lower lip and looked at a small timer in the corner of his screen – just a little more under-the-table information courtesy of MUSE. The timer ticked down in hundredths of a second; he checked it against his watch – sixty minutes to detonation, and just forty-five minutes until rendezvous. Franks should make it, but Alex and Sam? They needed to leave now.

  He sent another pulse to Sam’s comm pellet and waited. In the field, even in the thick of combat, HAWCs were able to acknowledge a message with a single returned pulse … but nothing.

  Hammerson sucked at his teeth, then slammed his hand down on the large desk. ‘Come on, boys, going to be a red hot dawn today.’

  He ran both hands up through his cropped hair, then tried Sam again. Still nothing. Now all he could do was wait. And, God, how he hated waiting.

  There was a commotion outside his door; the next instant, it flew open and he saw Adira Senesh standing there. His assistant, Margaret, was right next to her, her hand on the captain’s arm. Senesh looked down at the hand and Margaret took a step back from the ferocity of the woman’s glare. She gave Hammerson a look that said both I’m sorry and she frightens me.

  Hammerson nodded to his assistant, who backed out of the office and pulled the door closed.

  ‘Not a good time, Captain,’ Hammerson said.

  Adira strode towards him, pointing a finger like a gun directly at his face. Hammerson noticed the knuckles on her hand were abraded. He’d read the report on the two HAWC recruits she’d injured: one left severely incapacitated, the other still on life support. Both out-thought and out-fought; he’d be rejecting both of them as HAWCs following that performance. He sat back and folded his arms, keeping his face expressionless. Senesh was becoming a problem – a clever, highly trained and explosive one. He needed to be smart and careful.

  ‘Will Arcadian be free from the blast radius?’ she spat.

  Hammerson groaned inwardly. Damn Mossad’s information networks – probably better than our own. He didn’t respond, just looked slightly bored.

  Adira’s hand curled into a fist and she leaned forward on it over his desk. ‘If the best soldier your country has ever produced is vaporised in the next few minutes, will you be rewarded for that? I think not.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Billions of dollars spent on the so-called Arcadian Project, all for it to be destroyed in minutes.’

  So, there it was. She did know about the Arcadian, he mused. Hammerson had known from the outset that there was a double mission thrust in Captain Senesh’s secondment to him and the HAWCs. He knew the Israelis; and he knew his old friend Meir Shavit too well to think he did anything without an ulterior motive. Damn shame really, the woman was skilled. He’d immediately recognised her potential and had tried to turn her, but her resolve was iron hard and her subterfuge skills world-class. In the end he’d simply quarantined her from the frontline and she had taken it as a personal affront. She’d also been getting way too nosey.

  He smiled grimly at her, leaned forward himself and keyed a few commands into his computer. He turned the screen arou
nd so she could see it and pressed a key.

  A night-time CCTV loop commenced. A figure in black, moving low to the ground, climbed up and over an eight-feet concrete wall like a dark and silent spider. The face was black-masked and a single lens jutted out from the head. Somehow the intruder managed to deactivate the electronic countermeasures, then entered an upper silo of Deep Storage, one of the access vents to the most secure military storehouse facilities in the United States. The film switched to the inside of the complex, but only for an instant before it was blacked out by the infiltrator.

  Hammerson sat back and folded his arms again. ‘We’ll get ’em next time. And no need for rendition here; we’ll grind the information out of them, then throw what’s left into the chemical furnace.’

  He stared into the woman’s face, his eyes like twin lasers, and watched with satisfaction as her jaw tightened aggressively. Both her fists balled and he readied himself. Adira picked up an old tank shell he kept on his desk as a paperweight and threw it with enough force to smash through the plaster wall. He felt the impact under his feet.

  Hammerson’s office door immediately opened and Margaret stood there with a small-calibre handgun by her side. He held up his hand to her and she paused in the doorway, keeping her eyes on the Israeli woman.

  Adira spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I could have had a jump jet down there by now – Hunter would be already on his way back. My country hasn’t burnt its bridges in South America like yours has.’

  Hammerson kept his gaze flat. ‘Not your problem, Captain.’ He motioned sharply with his head to the door.

  She glared at him for a few seconds, looking as if she was going to say something else, but then spun and went out, her shoulders hunched in fury, Hebrew curses filling the air around her.

  Hammerson raised his eyebrows at Margaret. She looked over her shoulder, then back to him and nodded – she was gone.

  ‘Thanks, Margie. And have security double-sweep my office again – it’s getting a little crowded in here.’

  Adira stood on the landing of the military office block and sucked in a few deep breaths to calm her pounding blood.

  It is my problem … and I am not finished yet, you bastard goyim, she thought.

  She stood like stone, staring off into the distance as she listened to the small pellet inside her ear. Then she glanced up at the building where Hammerson’s office was located; there was an almost imperceptible black dot on the outside of his windowsill.

  And sweep inside your office as much as you like, old man.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Aimee heard Alex groan as he shifted the massive block further across the doorway. His hands were red with blood – this time, mostly his own. The wounds were already healing, but she knew he felt every one of them.

  Moonlight filtered in through the wider opening. Alex kneeled and felt Sam’s neck; he exhaled and nodded slowly.

  Aimee was relieved. She knew Alex would be devastated if the closest person he had to a friend died.

  ‘Get Sam and Saqueo outside,’ he told her. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Aimee noticed he wouldn’t look at her. She knew exactly what was on his mind – unfinished business. She put her hands on her hips. ‘Uh-uh, no way, buster. If you go down there, I’m going with you.’

  Alex looked at her for a moment then shrugged. ‘Sure. Just help me get Sam outside.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she scoffed. ‘And as soon as I step out there, you’ll push the door shut.’

  Alex shook his head slowly. ‘Aimee—’

  She cut him off. ‘I’ve seen what that thing can do, Alex. If you get killed, then we’ll all end up as more bones on its killing field.’ She looked briefly at Saqueo, then back into his eyes. ‘And if you shut me out, and you win, when you do step outside … then I’ll damn well kill you myself!’

  Alex looked up at the roof and exhaled. ‘Aimee … Ahh, Jesus.’

  He wiped one hand through his hair and looked down at Sam’s unconscious form. ‘Saqueo …’ He pointed to the doorway, then grabbed his HAWC by the shoulders and pulled the large man through the gap, the boy following him.

  Aimee smiled and nodded her satisfaction … but only for a moment. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she turned to peer at the black hole in the floor. No light, sound or movement came up from its depths, but something was leaking out nonetheless; she could feel it – and it was pure evil. There was something down there, waiting for them in the black depths.

  ‘Alex, please hurry,’ she whispered.

  Alex heard Aimee’s plea and tried to work as quickly as possible. He removed one of his gauntlets, then ripped off Sam’s shirt sleeves; the material was tough to tear, but he needed the padding. When he re-entered the small room, he found her wide-eyed and pale, pressed as close to the doorway as was possible without actually being wedged in the gap. He knew what she felt: there was a darkness here that had nothing to do with lack of light.

  He grasped her arm and pulled her to him. ‘We’ll be okay,’ he said.

  ‘We will now,’ she responded with a smile when she saw the weapon, the colour coming back into her face. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  Alex wrapped one of Sam’s sleeves around her elbow and halfway down her forearm, then slid the gauntlet over the padding. He left her wrist free, and spent a few seconds adjusting the weapon so the sensors would pick up her brachioradial muscle movements for the triggering mechanism.

  He pointed her arm towards the far wall. ‘Try it.’

  Aimee nodded and drew her eyebrows together in concentration. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then a small stream of ice spikes hissed from the gun in a wild spray and her body fell back from the recoil. Alex grabbed her before she hit the ground.

  ‘You have to be ready for it. Short bursts, or you’ll either be blown off your feet or dislocate your arm.’

  She nodded and lifted her trembling arm again. This time, she managed a two-second burst that hit the wall in a straight line. She lowered her arm and rubbed her shoulder. ‘Got it, and ouch.’

  Alex kneeled down, drew his longest blade and wrapped Sam’s other sleeve around it. He pulled a small canister from his belt and squirted some acrid liquid on the toughened material, then used the big man’s lighter to ignite it. He stood up and handed the torch to Aimee. ‘Let there be light.’

  She took it and looked towards the black pit. ‘And let there be luck.’ The massive gauntlet covered most of her slim arm, its weight pulling the limb down to her side. Her eyes were wide behind the torch flames. ‘Let’s finish this, and go home.’

  ‘There are steps … about eight,’ Alex told her. ‘Aimee, if you get the chance for a shot, you take it. Do not wait for me to get out of the way. You shoot, and you shoot to kill. Understand?’ He waited a second, watching her. When she didn’t respond, he peered closer into her face. ‘You promise me that?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Don’t worry about me. Just remember who it was that saved your ass up here.’ She moved forward quickly and kissed him.

  Alex smiled and shook his head. She was brave, but her lips were cold from fear. He drew his short blade and disappeared down into the impenetrable darkness.

  FORTY

  Aimee followed quickly, holding the burning torch and gauntlet before her. Even with the light from the flame, the room remained dark. It seemed to consume light. She felt a spongy mass under her feet, and could see the wall nearest her was stained a dark brown and pierced by hairy roots that looked like tentacles reaching for their prey. She shuddered at an old memory.

  Alex was in the centre of the room, down on one knee, his head turning slowly. She saw that his eyes were half-closed – he was relying on a different type of vision.

  ‘I can’t …’ he said, turning to her and frowning. ‘It’s overwhelming.’

  His face registered shock just before a howl tore through the small room. Aimee staggered at the sudden, overwhelming noise, and then everything went crazy.

  The
priest dropped from the roof like a giant spider, his mouth open in that terrible roar, and flung himself onto Alex, smothering him with his black robes. The creature’s sudden descent created a draught that made Aimee’s torch waver and dance; for one heart-stopping moment, she thought it was going out.

  She raised her gauntlet, hesitating as the jumping light made the movements of the priest even more erratic. It was hard for her to tell where Alex was in the jumbled mass. Short bursts only–do not wait for me, he’d said. She gritted her teeth and made a fist.

  At exactly that moment, the tangle unfolded and the priest held Alex up in front of him, one arm round his throat, the other exposing his chest and abdomen to the spray of spikes that was already on its way.

  Alex felt the penetrations run from his waist to shoulder. What was left of his suit was tough, but not designed for protection against that sort of assault. The pain was hot at first, then cold, as his body recognised the frozen water penetrating his flesh and attempted to deal with the trauma.

  Alex ignored the pain; his vital organs were undamaged and he knew his body had the recuperative capability to deal with the injuries. It responded with a severe jolt to his system and a resulting flush of chemicals that burst through him. He jerked backwards and reached behind his head to grab the priest by the robe, then pulled with all his strength. The creature hung on, its claws digging into Alex’s flesh.

  Alex grunted with a last herculean effort and slammed backwards. The thing on his back was enormously powerful, but, like Alex, was encased in a human body and bound by the same skeletal and muscular limitations. He tore it over his shoulder, ripping free the black robes and slamming it into the wall. González stuck to the stones like an enormous dark growth, then grinned before dropping lightly to the floor. He straightened and opened his arms wide.

  Alex heard Aimee gasp. The priest’s body was crisscrossed with weird veins and bulges, and his skin didn’t look right. It sagged in some places and was overly tight in others – as if a wrong-sized suit had been pulled too quickly over the frame.