by A. G. Riddle
The first shot grazed David’s shoulder. The second hit a skinny tree three feet away, shattering it, spraying David with splinters and throwing him to the ground. He was vaguely aware of Sonja returning fire, her hand on him, pulling him to cover.
Dorian watched David fall, but he kept firing. He wouldn’t take any chances.
The woman was returning fire, but she was only one; they were five.
He could easily cut the woman and David off, even lure them out. The camp had to be just down the path they had cut into the forest.
Dorian wanted to fire the final shots himself. He wanted to finish it.
He instructed two of his men to stay at the outcropping. “Keep firing on Vale and the woman. Pin them down. I’ll take the camp and then their position.”
Dorian led the other two men across the plain. The woman took a few shots at them, but they missed widely—she was shooting blind.
At the top of a ridge, Dorian got his first glimpse of the carnage at the river. Winged monsters coated in dirt and gore were ripping large animals to shreds in a convulsion of mud and blood that horrified even Dorian. What is this place?
He pumped his legs harder. He was almost to the opening. When he fired on the camp, David and the woman would have no choice but to attack, to come to him.
20
The rapid blasts of gun fire woke Kate. She listened. Two sources. Back and forth. Shooting at each other.
She leapt out of the bed, grabbed her pack, and found Milo, Paul, and Mary outside their tents.
“Pack up,” Kate called to them. She ran from tent to tent, quickly entering the collapse command on the control panels.
The night was complete now, pitch black; the only sounds were gun fire, the rustling of the thick leaves and branches in the forest, and the wail of beasts in the distance. It made Kate’s skin crawl.
She tried to focus. The four of them scrambled to gather their things as the tents folded in on themselves.
“What now?” Paul asked Kate.
There was only one thing they could do. “Hide,” Kate said.
David was starting to get his breath back. Some of the splinters had penetrated the Atlantean suit, but it had kept a remarkable number out.
The group of rocks at their back took another barrage of bullets, showering them in pebbles and dust.
David searched his pack. What could he use?
Yes.
He pulled together some pieces of dead, dry underbrush, struck a match, and started a fire.
“Don’t let this go out,” he said. He took a grenade from the pack. “And cover me.”
He stayed low, running as fast as he could for the exadons at the river.
Dorian and the two soldiers were almost to the opening in the tree line when the man on his right lifted off the ground and screamed in pain. Blood spilled out of the soldier, and his feet kicked Dorian to the ground. For a few seconds, he floated there, just off the ground, then began thrashing back and forth, his blood coating…
One of the creatures.
Dorian opened fire, tearing into the monster and his own man, then swung the gun from side to side.
Two of the abominations fell to the green prairie. They flickered and popped, their scales like little mirrors. Were they machines or beasts? They bled. They were alive. And they could become invisible.
The field seemed to erupt at once.
A grenade blast at the edge of the plain. A wave of mud rose, the outlines of a half-dozen more winged creatures formed, and the massive animals that had been wallowing in the mud stormed out, catching the wrath of the mud-coated gargoyles.
Across the field, one of the men who had been firing on David from a rock outcropping cried out and flew into the air. The other turned and ran for the forest behind them, but he too was also taken, lifted, and shredded. His wails fading seconds after the beast caught him.
Dorian spun around, searching…
Where David and the woman had been, fire sprang up at the edge of the field, growing each second.
The monsters hunt via body heat. David’s trying to blind them, Dorian thought.
Behind him, he saw his salvation. Dorian pointed. “The cave. Hurry,” he said to his last soldier.
David grabbed another log, lit it in the fire, and hurled it into the field. The knee-high grass was green, but he hoped there was enough dead grass near the ground to burn. At the very least, maybe the underbrush at the tree line would ignite. All they needed was a line.
Kate could sense the jungle around her changing. It seemed to move: every leaf, branch, and tree crawled with creatures, as if they were fleeing some unseen enemy. Then Kate heard the explosion and smelled the smoke. What had happened? A new danger occurred to her. Here in this closed environment, they could suffocate. There was only one thing she wanted to do: run back toward the fire and find David. He would be furious with her if she did. She knew that, and she knew what she had to do.
She looked back at Paul, Mary, and Milo. “We need to hurry. If we don’t make it to the exit…”
Paul stepped forward and took the machete from Kate’s hand. “I’ll take the first turn. Rest.”
Dorian crept slowly up the rocky terrain. The smoke filled the air now, and the beam of his laser cut into it like a red line from a lighthouse crisscrossing the night. Any break in the line and he would fire instantly. It was his only chance to hit one of the beasts if it was coming for him.
But none did. They reached the mouth of the cave, which was about four feet in diameter. He poked his head inside and clicked his flashlight on quickly. Clear. And it was deep enough.
“Gather rocks,” he said to the soldier. “I’ll cover. We need to block the entrance so they can’t see our body heat.”
A few minutes later, a pile of stones lay just inside the cave. He and the man climbed in and arranged the rocks at the mouth, completely blocking it. They were safe, if they didn’t suffocate.
Dorian leaned against the wall, opposite the soldier. He thought he heard the man gurgle. A snore? Dorian couldn’t remember if the man had thrown up on the flight. Hopefully he was down to his best soldier. He would need one against David and his she-warrior.
Dorian’s mind drifted to the cave, an unfocused thought occurring to him: what kind of beast would live here?
The man gurgled again.
“Hey, no mouth breathing.”
The gurgle morphed into a wheeze.
Dorian kicked the man’s leg. The muscle was hard. Too hard. Dorian felt it with his boot. Too slender as well. The leg felt no more than eight inches around. The soldier was far bigger. The skin was smooth, almost slippery.
Dorian realized the truth a second before another thick cord closed around his neck, slithered between him and the wall, and coursed all around him, pinning his arms tightly to his body and pulling him to the ground. The enormous snake squeezed him, and Dorian felt his breath go out of him.
21
David and Sonja marched back to back through the jungle, taking turns raking the red beam of the sight on the sniper rifle in oval circles, watching for any sign of the exadons. The smoke was closing in and so was fatigue, yet they pushed on, one foot after another.
Kate marveled at Milo. He had a well of energy she had never witnessed before. He had wrapped cloth around his hands where he gripped the machete. The blisters were the only thing slowing him down as he cut plant after plant and vines that Kate thought would never end.
Behind them, she heard rumbling in the jungle, the scattering of creatures from the trees and ground.
Paul, Mary, and Milo turned to look at her.
“Hide.”
Dorian could feel the life flowing out of him. The snake had wrapped itself around him from his neck to his knees, squeezing tighter every second.
He had enough for one move. He squirmed, rolled to his side, and bent forward, pushing, crunching, and then throwing himself back against the wall of the cave.
The snake held on, but t
he cord of muscle spasmed, relaxing for a fraction of a second—all Dorian needed. He drew the knife from his belt and stabbed down.
The snake’s mouth closed on his arm, the jaws crushing it. But the bite would be its undoing. Dorian took the knife in his other hand and stabbed again, plunging the sharp blade through the snake’s head and into his own forearm. He ignored the pain as he drew the knife out, the serrated back side ripping the vile creature’s head to pieces as it went. He stabbed once more with less force, and the snake went slack around him.
He reached for his pack, fumbling quickly in the dark, still holding the knife, ready for another attack.
He grasped the small cylinder and struck it. The flare illuminated the cramped space, smoke rolling off of it.
Dorian only caught a brief glimpse of the man before the smoke blotted him out, but the eyes stopped him cold. They were blank. The snake twisted, flailed, and released the man. It brushed Dorian as it retreated deeper into the cave, away from the fire and smoke.
Dorian lunged across the dead snake and felt for the man’s neck. A faint pulse. He needed air.
Dorian crawled to the stack of stones they had piled at the mouth of the cave and pushed through. An inferno raged outside. The field in the middle of the freak show arena burned brightly, a sharp contrast to the dark smoke rolling off.
Dorian dragged the man out of the cave and laid him out. He would live, for how much longer, Dorian didn’t know.
He picked him up and made for an indention in the rock—a place Dorian thought he could defend. He set the soldier aside, retrieved the two packs, and gathered another pile of stones.
Dorian tucked himself in the crevice and pulled the man on top of him, draping his body like a shield. If the man died, he would at least provide some camouflage. And if the gargoyles did attack, he would provide padding from their claws. Dorian stacked the rocks around them, hoping to blot out some of their heat.
He gripped his gun but didn’t bother waving the laser sight back and forth. The snake had taken the last bit of energy out of him. He felt drained, almost as badly as he felt every time he spoke with Ares. The Atlantean had him—had the entire human race—like the snake had taken Dorian in the cave: silently, unseen, in the dark, seizing him, squeezing, hoping to take the last bit of life out of him and then devour the carcass.
He watched the fire consume the last of the field. As the flames subsided and the embers glowed, Dorian felt a new fire rising inside him.
Relief washed over Kate when she saw David gliding through the forest, following in the path they had cut.
“David,” she called, leaving her hiding place and running into his arms.
He grunted and turned his head slightly.
He was hurt. Her hands began searching him, finding where the blood was seeping from.
“I’m fine. Just some splinters.”
David surveyed the rest of the group.
“We need to hurry,” he said as he and Sonja took the lead and the others fell in.
Two hours later, the group was staring at the exit to Arc 1701-D.
There was only one problem: it was almost twenty feet from the floor.
David walked to where the last of the dark dirt met the hard composite the arc was made of. The soil was fine here. It was so bizarre.
The group focused on the two challenges at hand: getting the explosives up to the arc door then, assuming the blast broke through, getting everyone out. They exchanged ideas rapidly about how to reach the door; specifically, how to cut down a tree they could use to climb up: we use the machete; it would take too long. Use a bit of explosives; too risky—we might need all of them to get through. We come up short, we’re stuck here. Shoot the tree; we need the bullets for Dorian and the exadons, and the noise could bring trouble.
Finally, they had settled on the lowest-tech, no-bullet, no-grenade, no-noise way to get the explosives up to the arc doors.
David stood at the base. On his shoulders, Sonja stood, balancing as best she could, her arms extended upward, one of Milo’s feet in each hand. She shook slightly as Milo reached, attaching the explosive to the thick door and hitting the button to activate it.
Sonja let Milo fall into her cupped arms, the impact eliciting a sharp grunt from David. Then she handed him down and jumped to the floor. They all took refuge and waited, nervous about the looming result of the blast.
When the dust cleared, they saw the dim emergency lights of the corridor beyond, and a cheer went up and hugs went around. David hugged Kate, then Milo when he rushed into them. Mary found herself in Paul’s arms, and David nodded sharply to Sonja, who allowed a slight smile to curl at her lips.
They reformed their human pyramid, this time hoisting the team out: Milo first, then Mary, Kate, Paul, and Sonja, who instructed the others to hold her while she gripped the straps of three backpacks and reached them down to David. He made a running go, leapt, caught the straps and pushed his feet into the wall, walking up close enough to the top to reach Sonja’s hand. She pulled him close, and the others pulled them in.
The blast woke Dorian. Fear consumed him—he hadn’t intended to fall asleep. The soldier’s head rolled into him. “Sir?” the man whispered, his voice scratchy.
“Stay here.”
Dorian raced to the edge of the rock cliff and followed the noise with the scope of his rifle.
A door. An exit—David’s team had blown it open. Dorian watched that team, which actually numbered six people—none of whom Dorian had ever seen except Kate, crawl up and out.
He exhaled and surveyed the arc. It was quiet, and in the far corner, where the rainforest met the entrance, a sun peeked out. On the opposite rock face, two of the muddy birds spread out, sunning themselves.
Dorian wondered if they would stay there while the sun was out. If so, he would have a clear path to follow Kate and David.
Kate and the team raced down the corridor, away from the arc opening and the danger beyond.
In the portal room, Kate worked the green cloud of light, and then moved to the arched door. “We’re ready.”
“Can you close it? Prevent Dorian from following?” David asked.
“No. The ship’s in emergency protocol. This is the last evacuation route. It can’t be disabled.”
David nodded. One by one, Milo, the two soldiers, and the three scientists walked through the white, shimmering archway of light and onto the Atlantis beacon.
Part II
The Atlantis Beacon
22
When Mary Caldwell cleared the portal, her heart almost stopped. The floor was pearl white, the walls matte gray, but it was the wide picture window spreading out dead ahead that captivated her like nothing ever had before. Earth hung there, a blue, white, and green marble against a black canvas.
This was a view only a select few humans had ever witnessed: astronauts. They were the heroes who dared to risk it all to see this, to expand human knowledge while laying their lives on the line. As a child, Mary had dreamed of this moment, of traveling into space and the great unknown, but it had always been too much risk for her. She had settled for a career in astronomy, hoping to contribute what she could while her feet were firmly planted on the ground. But this was the view and the mission she had always aspired to.
Here and now, she knew, no matter what happened next, she would die happy.
A single thought ran through Paul Brenner’s mind: we’re screwed. He had pretty much felt that way every day since the Atlantis Plague had first broken out, but this was different. He now felt himself coming a bit unhinged. His confrontation with Terrance North, killing the man, had almost pushed him over the edge. The race to escape the flood in Morocco, whatever just happened in that bizarre arena in the Atlantean ship, and now this: orbiting Earth, looking down on it.
He was used to trying to contain and control the uncontrollable: viruses. He knew the rules of that game: pathogens, biology, politics.
Here, he had no idea where he stood.
Almost involuntarily, he looked around, to Mary standing beside him. He hadn’t seen her like that… in a very long time.
What Milo saw confirmed his belief that he was here for a reason, that he had a role to play. Seeing the world that, as a child, he had once thought so unimaginably vast, nearly limitless in size, reduced to a tiny ball, floating there, swallowed by the immensity of the universe, reminded Milo of how small he was, how minute a single life was—just a single drop in the human bucket, gone in the blink of an eye, its temporary, fading ripples the only legacy it would leave.
He believed that a person’s drop could be the poison or the cure for the ails of the age—that age simply being the thin layer of water on the surface for a brief instant. Milo wasn’t a fighter, a leader, or a genius. He looked around at his companions, seeing all of those qualities. But he could help them. He had a role to play. He was sure of it.
David scanned the small holding area onto which the portal opened, and then ran the length of the single round corridor, his gun raised, jerking back and forth as he searched. Empty.
The beacon’s habitable area seemed to be a single level shaped like a saucer.
The portal they had just exited occupied the entire interior section, like a round elevator bank in the center of a high-rise building.
He made another circuit, beginning again at the portal opening and picture window, working clockwise. In order, the beacon contained four residential quarters similar to the crew pods on the lander (a single narrow bed, desk, and enclosed sonic sanitation bay—what he simply called “the shower” but was technically more like a waterless shower with multi-colored strobe lights); on the backside, opposite the portal, two large rooms David assumed were labs; and, in the last enclosed section, on the left-hand side of the picture window, a storage room full of silver crates and a few EVA suits.
