Alien Storm (14 page)

Seconds later the lift came to a halt and the doors opened. Weapon raised, Sarah jumped through and into a crouch, finding herself…

In a garden.

Blinking in confusion, Sarah took in her unexpected surroundings. The lift appeared to have taken her to the very top of the Spire. The walls were sloping glass, angled to a point high above – like being inside a transparent pyramid. The room itself was a large open space, clearly intended as a kind of viewing platform. The unusual thing about the place was that the entire floor was covered with grass. Around the edge of the area stood rows of trees through which a gentle breeze blew – no doubt artificially created. It was like being in an indoor park.

In the centre of the room, on a gentle incline, was a long stone table around which Robert and the others sat. They looked in surprise at Sarah's sudden entrance. She straightened up and slowly lowered the extinguisher. Her friends didn't seem like they were in danger. They seemed like they were having lunch.

“Sarah!” Louise cried as she ran over and threw her arms around her. “It's okay!”

“What is this?” Sarah asked, looking over at the others. She allowed the extinguisher to drop from her hand onto the grass.

“Come on,” Louise said, taking Sarah's hand and leading her towards the table.

As they approached, a tall man got up from the head of the table and walked towards them. The first thing Sarah noticed about him was his hair – which was completely white. The second thing she noticed was his eyes – deep, black irises that seemed to swallow you up as you looked into them. The man stopped before her and extended a slender hand to shake.

“Greetings, Sarah,” he said with a lilting Russian accent. “I'm Nikolai Makarov. Welcome to my world.”

18

“You arrived just in time to save us, Sarah,” Octavio said sarcastically as she approached the stone table. “Lunch was getting cold.”

Ignoring him, Sarah took a seat between Robert and Louise. The table was a single slab of polished stone and covered with a feast of food – bacon and eggs, chips, hamburgers, ice cream, chocolate. A woman in a uniform identical to the one Sarah had seen on the floor below, approached the table and laid a plate in front of her. Sarah noticed the vacant, expressionless eyes with interest, remembering the way the other woman had stood there uselessly in the corridor after going to her room. There was something robotic about them both.

“Thank you,” she said, but the woman gave no response. She merely walked back to where two similar attendants stood, off to the side of the table, waiting to serve should they be needed. Sarah's stomach rumbled at the smell of the food – she hadn't eaten in hours – but she refused to take anything until she had some answers about what was going on.

At the other end of the table, Makarov resumed his chair, laying a napkin across his lap with a flourish. “I hope you forgive us for starting the meal without you,” he said, pouring tea from a silver pot. He offered some to Alex, who was sitting to his right. “You were in such a sound sleep, we didn't want to disturb you. It seems you inhaled a stronger dose of the sleep agent than the others. Probably when you tried to block the vents in my plane.”

Sarah held his gaze. “Yes. Just why did you do that?”

“Gas you?” Makarov replied, taking a sip of tea and putting the cup down. “When you opened the cockpit door I was worried you were going to tamper with the controls. My autojet is a prototype. The instrumentation is very sensitive and emotions were running high after your escape from Major Bright. It would have been easy to cause a fatal crash. It was absolutely for your own protection.”

Around the table the other kids nodded, as if his explanation made perfect sense. Sarah shook her head in exasperation. It was like she'd fallen asleep and woken up at the Mad Hatter's tea party.

“Excuse me,” she protested, rising from her seat and placing her hands on the stone table. “But am I the only one here who finds this all a little strange? I mean, look at where we are.” She indicated the grass and the blue sky above them through the pyramid. “Yesterday we were in Australia and now this guy” – she waved a hand at Makarov – “whisks us off to somewhere in Russia. I really don't know what to say.”

“Thank you
would be a start,” Alex said. “Or perhaps you're forgetting it was Nikolai who actually saved us from Major Bright.”

Sarah turned her attention to him. “Of course, you would say that. You're his right-hand man.”

Sarah
, Robert thought at her side.
Take it easy
.

Take it easy?
she said.
Didn't you hear me calling you down there? I thought something had happened
.

Sarah, we're fine, Robert reassured her. It must have been the after-effects of the gas blocking your psychic communication.

Right, or some
one
blocking me
, she said, casting a sideways glance at Makarov.

Why would he do that?

I don't know, but I'm going to find out…
She trailed off as she saw Robert's expression becoming increasingly worried. Looking round the faces of the others turned towards her, Sarah realized she wasn't achieving anything by losing control. Taking a breath, she took her seat again and reached under the table to give Robert's hand a squeeze.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I was being rude.”

“Your concern is quite understandable,” Makarov replied, pressing his fingertips together as if he were about to pray, “as are your questions. I apologize for using the sleep gas on you and the others, Sarah. I thought it was for the best. Do you forgive me?”

Sarah gave Robert a reassuring look and then nodded. The tall man smiled as if satisfied with her response. Carefully, she reached out with her mind, testing the edges of Makarov's consciousness, trying to work out what he was really thinking. She sensed nothing. It was like looking into a cloudy lake, impenetrable and unfathomably deep. For whatever reason, Makarov was shielding his thoughts from her and, more to the point, he had the power to do so.

“I know being brought to such a remote part of the world must be disconcerting,” he continued, giving no indication he had sensed Sarah's effort to probe, “but it is my home and normal to me. My personal jet is at your disposal to fly you to any location around the globe. Even back to Australia, if that's what you want.”

“Not likely,” Octavio snorted. “You should've seen where we were living. This place is a
big
improvement.”

Louise turned to Sarah, unable to control her excitement. “He's right, Sarah! Wei and I have been up for hours and we went exploring. There is so much cool stuff here. There's a pool on the 128th floor.”

“And a cinema,” Wei added. “And a games suite.”

“And there's a park even bigger than this one,” Louise continued. “We can stay a while, can't we?”

Sarah looked around the group, realizing that everyone was looking at her. Including Makarov.

“I was hoping you'd stay a few days, at least,” he said. “You've all been running so long. Don't you feel tired? Wouldn't it be nice to rest here just for a short time?”

Sarah thought there was a hypnotic quality to the way he spoke – so measured and calm. Was that what he was trying to do – hypnotize them? If so, the others didn't seem to realize it. Once again they were looking at her, awaiting her response. She threw up her hands in exasperation.

“All I want to do right now is eat!” she said and the tension broke.

Robert and Louise began piling her plate with breakfast items: bacon, eggs, sausage and mushrooms. Her stomach rumbled uncontrollably and she realized that it was probably over a day since she'd last eaten. She picked up a fork and took a bite of bacon – it was just about the best thing she'd ever tasted and it was all she could do to stop herself from devouring the whole plate in one.

“Don't mind us,” Nestor told her. “We've all been pigs.”

Sarah started tucking in. She might not trust Makarov yet, but his food was great.

“Now, where were we?” the Russian said as she proceeded to clean her plate.

“You were going to tell us about how you got your powers,” Octavio answered.

“Yes, quite right,” Makarov said with a nod. “I was exposed to the fall virus, just like all of you have been. As you know, exposure causes the development of special abilities in a very small number of people.”

“But only in children,” Wei interrupted.

Makarov waggled a finger at him. “Excellent point, and you're quite right, I was a child at the time. This was many years ago, of course. I would say that I was one of the very first humans to be affected by the fall virus – eight years old and living with my father in a central area of Russia near the Tunguska River. I was getting ready for school when the meteorite hit less than thirty kilometres from our house.”

“What was it like?” Louise asked, leaning forward. Makarov really had everyone's attention now – even Sarah stopped eating.

“The blast wave from the impact broke every window in our home and knocked my father off his feet. There was a sound like a hundred thunderclaps and the sky went dark as night.” Makarov stopped abruptly, as if considering something. “But perhaps it's easier to show you. Everyone close your eyes for a moment. Please.”

Around the table the children did as he asked, including Sarah. Slowly, an image began to form in their minds…

Makarov – young now, only eight – runs across a swaying field of wheat towards a line of trees. In the distance the sound of something like thunder rolls and a shadow falls across the sun. Makarov turns to look back towards a farmhouse in the distance. A cloud of dust is rising behind the building, covering the sky. There is red light in the cloud – a wall of flame the height of a tree
.

A bearded man – his father – runs across the field as the fire engulfs the house. “Nikolai, run!”

The boy turns and continues to flee as the wheat catches alight. The sky is black as night now and ash is falling all around. His father grabs Makarov and pulls him along. Before them, fire sparks amidst the trees and in seconds they are ablaze
.

“Where can we go?” Makarov asks as they draw up short
.

“The river,” his father replies, dragging him off to the side as the flames race across the field at an alarming rate
.

They reach an incline and clamber down towards the sound of running water. The air temperature is increasing rapidly and the atmosphere is clogged with smoke now. The ground is muddy and steeply sloped
.
Makarov slips as they descend, but his father holds firmly onto his wrist
.

“Into the river!” the man orders. “It's our only hope!”

Makarov plunges into the water, which feels icy cold after the heat of the field, and his father follows afterwards. Behind them, a wall of fire forms along the top of the ridge, sending searing waves of heat in their direction. Red hot embers from the trees fall all around, sizzling against the surface of the water as they land. Makarov screams as one of them touches his neck.

“Get to the middle!” his father cries, pushing him forward in the water. On the other side of the river, people are running down the bank to escape another wall of fire. One man is burning and plunges into the water with a sickening hiss. Smoke rises where he hits, but the man does not surface again
.

Almost in the middle of the river now, the current begins to take hold and Makarov finds himself being carried downstream. He turns, arms outstretched, but his father is fighting his way across the river to help a younger child struggling to keep her head above water
.

“Father!” Makarov yells
.

“Swim against the current, Nikolai!” his father calls back, not looking round. “I have to help them.”

Makarov yells at him again, but he's being carried too far away now for his father to hear above the roar of the fires from either side of the river. For a moment he tries to fight against the current, but it's no use. Giving in, he allows himself to be swept away as all around him the world burns…

The vision ended and they opened their eyes. For a few seconds, no one around the table spoke, shocked by the vision of hell they'd been shown. Makarov still had his eyes closed. His face looked suddenly drained, as if from the effort of showing them his memory.

“What happened to your father?” Nestor asked finally, breaking the silence.

“I never saw him again,” Makarov replied, opening his eyes. “I can only assume he died in the fires.”

“He was a hero,” Robert said.

Makarov raised an eyebrow. “Was he? I would have preferred he survived rather than sacrifice himself for strangers.” He made no effort to disguise the bitterness in his voice.

“What happened to you?” Louise asked.

“I floated further along the river,” said Makarov. “I was carried past burned farmland and entire forests that had been flattened by the impact. That one meteorite caused the same devastation as an atomic bomb. Finally, I was picked up by a group of priests who were fleeing the destruction. My entire family died in the Tunguska event, so they took me in and raised me. I guess I owe them my life.”

“What about the fall virus?” Nestor asked.

“There were victims,” Makarov answered. “As I'm sure you know, the virus is extraterrestrial in origin: carried across the universe on lumps of rock and debris. The ruling powers of the time would not entertain stories of an alien disease. So, it was covered up.”

“That's quite a story,” Sarah said, laying her knife and fork down.

Makarov turned his gaze on her. Sarah sensed his mind reaching out, trying to read her thoughts, but she put up a mental wall and blocked his attempt to probe, just as he had done to her earlier. A smile flickered across Makarov's lips and he gave the slightest nod, as if acknowledging the power of another psychic.