Everett was about to say he felt the same but the noncom told them to hush up, and listen.
A faint sound filled Everett’s earphones. At first, he couldn’t place it. Then the truth dawned. Something was coming toward the trench, sliding on the ground like a snake might.
Or a Martian.
43
Dr. Katla Dkany wanted to scream her frustration to the heavens. Twice, she had barely survived the fall of a colony. Now she was going through the same horrific disaster again. The Martians had Bradbury surrounded. Buildings were sliding into the very earth. And an immense dust cloud covered the drop ships and the airfield and was sweeping toward the golden domes. “Is there no end?” she said under her breath.
“Sorry?” Trisna Sahir said.
Katla beckoned. “Hurry! The airlock is close.”
“Vishnu preserve us,” Trisna said.
The street was becoming crammed with people who had the same idea. Terror-struck, they were clamoring to be let through the lock even though they weren’t wearing EVA suits.
A trio of U.N.I.C. troopers were preventing anyone from entering. ICW’s trained, they were telling everyone to go back to their homes, that for the time being only the military were allowed egress.
A woman shouted that she had no home to go back to, that it had sunk into the ground.
A man stalked up to a trooper and angrily demanded that he and his family be let out ‘or else.’ “Keeping us boxed will get us killed!” he railed, and others nodded and pressed forward.
“Enough!” The trooper fired a burst into the ground and the mob scampered back. “I won’t tell you again! We are under orders not to let anyone use…” He stopped and pressed a finger to his temple. “Hold on!” he shouted and seemed to be listening. Straightening, he said, “New orders! We’re to evacuate the colony! Right away!”
It was as if he were the little Dutch boy who once plugged a hole in a dyke with his finger---and then took his finger out. They all rushed forward at once. Men. Women. Children. The press drove the three troopers back against the inner door where they struggled to make room.
By then, Katla and Trisna were at the edge of the throng, with a barrier of pushing and shoving humanity between them and their salvation.
“How do we get through?” Trisna said.
A dark shadow fell across them.
Katla looked up in alarm. The dust cloud was enveloping the dome. A partial darkness descended. Screams broke out and people pushed one another and milled in confusion.
“Piotr, hold onto Trisna,” Katla said, and the boy gulped and nodded. “Hold tight, do you understand? Whatever happens, don’t let go of her.”
“I won’t,” the boy said, his fear transparent.
“Trisna, stay close to my back,” Katla said. “No matter what.”
“What will you be doing?” she asked.
“What do you think?”
Katla shouldered into the press. Surprisingly, few resisted. It helped that many of them were gaping at the top of the dome and the dust. A man was blubbering and muttering to himself. She went around. A woman with two children had crouched with a jacket over their heads. She skirted them.
Katla pushed through a last knot of people and reached the airlock.
A trooper loomed, his ICW held crosswise over his chest.
“We want out,” Katla said.
“The dust,” the trooper said, indicating the cloud outside. “How far do you think you would get?”
“We’re wearing suits. We can manage.”
The trooper nodded. “I have no one I can send to protect you.”
“We’ll protect ourselves,” Katla said, hefting her weapon. “Just let us out.”
“You’ve got it.” He moved toward the airlock panel.
“These poor people,” Trisna said, looking over her shoulder. “They don’t have suits. What will they do?”
“Poor us if we don’t reach the drop ship,” Katla said.
“Any word from Captain Rahn?”
“No,” Katla said, her emotions welling. She had grown to care for that man, a lot. “Keep holding hands,” she said. Only a few steps and they were at the inner door.
“Come on, come on,” Katla said impatiently. She was under no illusion about how long the drop ships would wait. If things turned sour, if the ships were in danger, they would lift off---with or without the evacuees.
“What is the delay?” Trisna said.
“Maybe it won’t open,” Katla said. “Maybe the dust has gotten into the system.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
Katla heard a hiss and the inner door moved. Anxiously, she pushed to try and speed things along but the door was too massive. She had to wait until it thunked to a stop. She and Trisna and the kids entered, and she pressed the speaker button. “We’re in. You can pressurize.”
The trooper’s tinny voice replied, “Activating air exchange. Give it a minute.”
Katla remembered that airlocks were one of Archard’s few peeves. They operated so slowly, he once griped that he could write a book between the time the inner and outer doors opened. She’d grinned and told him it wasn’t that bad.
She was wrong.
The cycling took forever. She fidgeted. She shifted her weight from leg to leg. She raised and lowered her ICW.
Just when she thought she couldn’t bear the suspense another heartbeat, the outer door started to open.
“Finally!” Trisna exclaimed. “On to the drop ships!”
Yes, Katla thought. But first, they must make it past the Martians.
44
Captain Archard Rahn returned to the world of the living in fitful spurts. His consciousness flickered, succumbed to an abyss of emptiness, flickered anew. He became dimly aware of pressure on his body, as of a great weight. Then he passed out.
With a mild start, he came around yet again. He felt the weight, and a sharp pain in his hip, and a duller ache in his head. His eyelids fluttered, and for a few moments, he could have gone either way, down into the dark or up into the light. Struggling mightily, through sheer force of will he snapped his eyes open and sucked in a deep breath.
Disoriented, Archard tried to make sense of what he saw. The last thing he remembered was being struck down. He wondered if he had been moved while he was out. The stairwell had been brightly lit, but wherever he was now, there was hardly any light. He tried to turn his head to see better and couldn’t because of the weight on top of him.
Directly under his faceplate, smearing it in places, was a reddish goo that made him think of pudding. Belatedly, he realized it was pulped Martian flesh. Only then did he remember falling onto he-knew-not-how-many dead Martians.
Other bodies must be on top of him.
He struggled, seeking to gauge how heavily he was pinned. He couldn’t move either of his legs or his left arm but he was able to shift his right.
Encouraged, Archard braced his hands and legs and tried to rise. Nothing doing. Girding himself, he tried again, and this time rose perhaps a finger’s width. The effort caused his head to pound and his hip to spike in greater pain in protest.
Pausing until the pain subsided, Archard listened for sounds from around him. Other than a faint drip of liquid---blood, possibly---he might as well be in a tomb. The silence was near total.
The fight must be over, he reasoned. The victors had moved on. The other troopers must have assumed he was dead. The Martians, too. Or could it be that the creatures knew he was still alive and were waiting for him to reveal himself to pounce?
Archard waited, hoping the Martians would give themselves away. Except for the drip, the only sound was his own breathing.
A loud rumble from deep underground galvanized him into acting. He’d forgotten that the building was sinking. He had to get out of there before he was completely buried.
Girding himself, Archard heaved upward. The body or bodies on top of him gave a little. He heaved again, putting all his strength into it.
The weight eased a fraction.
Archard pushed and pushed until he couldn’t take the strain, and sank down. He rested, pushed, rested, pushed, so many times he lost count, until suddenly, as he
strained to his utmost, the weight on top of him was gone.
Caked with sweat and gasping for breath, he pushed to his knees.
The stairwell was filled with the dead, troopers and BioMarines and Martians all intermixed, limbs askew, flesh and carapaces ruptured, organs spilled out, alien and human and hybrid blood mingling in pools.
No Martians were waiting for him. He had a dead BioMarine and several dead Martians to thank. They had fallen on top of him, shielding him from detection.
“Thank you,” Archard gasped. Wearily, he rose. His ICW had been under him. Picking it up, he checked the magazine, then climbed over bodies until he reached
the stairs.
As much as he would like to rest some more, time was of the essence.
Archard climbed, alert for Martians, fearing he might be the only human still breathing in the whole building.
Several landings up, he came on more bodies. A pitched battle had been fought and cost the lives of General Augusto’s aide, Major Fogarty, as well as a lot of hybrids. The dead were three and four deep in places.
Archard didn’t see any sign of the general.
Dreading that more Martians would show up, Archard took the stairs two at a bound.
Keying his personal frequency, Archard cleared his throat. “Katla? Can you hear me? Are you there?” She didn’t answer. Either because he was too far underground or conditions topside were unfavorable or the unthinkable had happened to her.
Archard forced her from his mind and climbed faster. Yet another slaughter unfolded before him. The hybrids and troopers on point had put up a good fight but fared no better than the rest. He only saw a few dead BioMarines, which inclined him to believe that several might have escaped.
Other than an occasional rumbling, the building stayed stable until Archard reached the ground floor.
He was appalled to see that the main doors were blocked by a solid wall of dirt. Fear clawed at him, fear that U.N.I.C. headquarters might be completely buried. Returning to the stairwell, he climbed for the first floor and tried the exit door. It wouldn’t budge. A glance out a window in a room told him why. More dirt.
“No,” Archard prayed, and ran to the second floor. Entering another room, he dashed to a window and was elated to see the street and a patch of dome.
Just then the building gave another of its violent lurches, and the floor dipped under him.
Archard took a step back and cut loose with his ICW, stitching the pane to pieces. The glass fell away, clattering. Holding his arms and the ICW in front of his faceplate, he dived out. There was the sensation of falling. He came down hard on his side and tumbled a couple of meters and lay still, taking stock.
The ground under him was quaking. A horrendous grinding filled his ears.
Rising onto his elbows, Archard beheld an astounding sight. U.N.I.C. headquarters was sliding deeper into the earth. Dust spewed, and there were loud popping and crackling noises. When the racket finally stopped, only part of the upper floor and the roof were visible. The rest was buried.
Archard had gotten out in the nick of time. Pushing up, he slowly rose. His EVA suit was torn in a few places but the tears were minor and the suit was sealing. His ICW wasn’t damaged.
Archard turned in a circle to get his bearings. The devastation was shocking. Two-thirds of the structures under Dome One were partially or completely buried. Dust from the sinkholes filled the air. Smoke rose from a number of fires. Screams and cries wafted from all quarters. People ran wildly, yelling and weeping. Martians scuttled after prey.
Above it all, the public address system was blaring an emergency message. “Attention colonists! We are evacuating Bradbury! You are instructed to report to the drop ships at the airfield for immediate extraction!”
Archard broke into a jog. If Katla was anywhere, it would be the there. He was going to find her and get her safely off-planet---or die trying.
45
KLL-12 reached the end of Asimov Avenue and turned onto Dick Street. On all sides, buildings were shaking and sinking, making tremendous grinding noises as they slowly disappeared. The humans were in a state of panic.
“I still can’t raise KLL-1,” KLL-13 said, swiping a hand across her gore-streaked forehead.
“We are on our own from here on out,” KLL-12 said.
“Hold on,” KLL-15 said. He had been trailing a little behind but now he caught up. “What’s your plan?”
“To reach the drop ships and take one up to the fleet in orbit.”
“What about the rest of our unit?” KLL-15 said.
“So far as we know, we’re the only BioMarines left,” KLL-12 said.
Sudden scratching issued from a partially sunken residence and he shifted to watch the windows.
“You don’t know that for certain,” KLL-15 said. “Just because we can’t raise them doesn’t mean some of them aren’t still alive.”
“He’s right,” KLL-13 said.
“We’re BioMarines,” KLL-15 flatly declared. “We don’t abandon our own.”
“Booyah,” KLL-13 said and grinned.
“Are you two done?” KLL-12 said. “If you want to go search for them, go. But look around you first. The colony is doomed. It will soon be overrun. The Martians will kill everyone. Including you.”
“We can’t just desert our own,” KLL-15 insisted.
“And what about the humans?” KLL-13 said.
“What about them?” KLL-12 said. “They brought this on themselves. Their leaders knew this planet was inhabited. They thought they could colonize it under the Martians’ very nose. They were wrong. Now they’re paying for their arrogance.”
“Doesn’t matter,” KLL-15 said. “We are sworn to protect them wherever and however necessary.”
“We were conditioned to protect them,” KLL-12 amended, “whether we want to or not.”
“Here we go again,” KLL-13 said tiredly.
KLL-12 faced them. “Then consider this. Seniority in our unit is based on the order of our creation, yes? Even though we are all essentially alike?”
“Except for our personalities,” KLL-13 said and winked.
“As the first of us, KLL-1 was our leader. KLL-2 our second-in-command.”
“So?” KLL-15 said.
“So since twelve comes before thirteen and fifteen, that makes me senior here. And I order the two of you to follow me to the drop ships and escape this madhouse before it is too late.”
They looked at each other and KLL-13 said, “He has a point.”
“I still don’t like running from a fight,” KLL-15.
The front windows in the residence shattered, disgorging Martians one after the other. Fanning out as they came, the crabs scrabbled toward the BioMarines.
“Be careful what you wish for,” KLL-13 said to KLL-15.
Then there was no time for talk. The Martians were on them.
KLL-12 fought with a ferocity born of desperation. He refused to die. He enjoyed being alive. Whether created in a test-tube or natural-born, life was precious. Those who didn’t think so were fools.
Unlike the humans, he had no belief in an afterlife. No assurance whatsoever that some part of him would survive were his body to be slain. “This” was it, and he would fight for his right to go on breathing with every iota of his being.
So he slew in a berserker fury while dodging and ducking and sidestepping with a speed the Martians were hard-pressed to match.
Out of the corner of an eye, he saw KLL-13 rip a creature in half and secretly delighted in her bloodlust.
KLL-15 was doing his part, too. He had plowed into the Martians like a ship into a wave, meeting them head-on, his lethality a testimony to how he had survived the battle in the stairwell.
Twenty, thirty, forty Martians had been dispatche
d, and the ground littered with twitching limbs and ruptured carapaces when the flow of creatures out of the house stopped.
Breathing heavily, KLL-13 laughed and said, “We did it!”
“We’ve done nothing,” KLL-12 said. “There are a million more to take their place.”
“You’re a real buzzkill, you know that?”
“Let’s go,” KLL-12 said, and started off in prodigious leaps and bounds thanks to Mars’ lesser gravity.
“Where to?” KLL-13 asked, matching him. “The main airlock?”
“A secondary,” KLL-12 said. “The main will be jammed with humans trying to escape.”
“You think of everything,” she said sweetly.
Most of the people they passed were too distraught or too terror-struck to pay much notice. A few called out and raised their hands in appeal.
“They want our help,” KLL-15 said.
KLL-12 ignored him. For their own sake, they must resist their conditioning. They must think for themselves and not let their common sense be overpowered by whatever the humans had done to them.
“I don’t know if I can abandon them,” KLL-15 said. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“You will follow my orders, soldier,” KLL-12 declared. “Stay with us, you hear?”
Above them, the golden dome had darkened. A gigantic dust cloud was descending and would soon envelop the entire dome.
More Martians were appearing and attacking humans at random.
And all the while, the buildings continued to sink. Like so many half-buried headstones, they lent the scene the aspect of a macabre cemetery.
KLL-12 turned onto Kline Street. Ahead was the airlock. Several troopers were trying to hold back a mob clamoring for turns.
“Look at them,” KLL-13 said. “The poor things.”
“Our great makers,” KLL-12 said. He stopped short of the squabbling press of humanity and bellowed, “Out of the way! Official business!”
The humans turned and gaped and were quick to move aside for the towering newcomers. The few who didn’t, KLL-12 only had to flick a claw and they stepped back.
Species War: Battlefield Mars Book 3 Page 13
