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            ‘What are those building?’ Coleman asked.

            ‘Caretakers’ compound,’ answered Vanessa. ‘Six people work there to -’

            Coleman waved her quiet.

            He had just spotted the bodies scattered all around the compound.

#

Cairns crouched at the recreational reserve’s service entrance.

            He spotted the Marines’ boot prints cutting across the gravel road.

            ‘Bora, I’m at the service entrance. You were right – the Marines came this way. They entered the reserve at the service entrance. They must be searching for the satellite radio.’

            Bora came back over Cairns’s headset. ‘I’m in position now. I don’t have visual yet, but…wait…I got them. I can see the templates. They’re at the edge the compound. They’re cutting up beside the compound single file. Send in the team.’

            Cairns’s top lip twitched with annoyance. Who the hell was in charge of this operation – him or Bora?

            He ignored the oversight – if it even was an oversight – and waved his men into the reserve. Half his men disappeared wraith-like into the misty foliage. The other half waited at the service entrance, spread out along the wall behind him.

            Settling down against the glass wall, he peered into the reserve, thinking about Bora’s behavior.

            If there was one thing Cairns hated, it was a trained attack-dog that forgot its place.

#

Stalking through the ferns, Coleman spotted another body just inside the gates.

            The caretakers’ compound had come under siege. The disastrous outcome had been inevitable as soon as the creatures sensed the panicking staff. The staff had retreated into the buildings, but it hadn’t saved them. The creatures smashed their way inside. To the creatures, the prefabricated structures were weak as eggshells.

            The staff had tried to flee across the compound. Vanessa said six staff worked here. More than six bodies littered the compound.

           
Others tried to take refuge in there
, reasoned Coleman.
They thought the fence might protect them.

            ‘I think it’s clear of hostiles,’ he said. ‘But stay low.’

            The body near the gates was sexlessly disfigured. This was probably the brave person who locked the gate.

            Coleman imagined their hands fumbling with the chain, straining with the lock, then turning to see the creatures already inside the compound.         

            Four gaping holes in the side fence showed where the creatures tore their way through. The compound’s back fence appeared completely flattened. Once that came down, the creatures had poured inside.

           
It happened fast
, observed Coleman.
No one even reached the vehicles
.

            Fenced off in a smaller section of the compound sat a fleet of four-wheeled quad bikes. Coleman counted more than a dozen bikes.

            He dismissed the rest of the landscaping machinery as his eyes fell on the three largest vehicles. Assembled like oversized toys were the three strangest trucks Coleman had ever seen.

            The three trucks looked purpose-built for the Complex. The closest was a tray-back utility heavily loaded with round river stones. It appeared the caretakers were loading the tray for a landscaping project when the evacuation alarm sounded. The vehicle’s raised suspension accommodated oversized knobbly tires. The overall effect resembled something between a utility vehicle and a monster truck.

            Parked alongside, the second vehicle was unusual because of its sheer size. It measured three times as long as the tray-back. A big steel A-frame structure was permanently affixed down its length. At first glance, it was just a massive A-frame mounted on a long flatbed truck, but then Coleman saw the extra steering controls housed in a rear cab.

            Steering controls like a fire engine.

            The huge dual-operated flatbed was designed to maneuver into positions where a truck that size just didn’t belong. More, the truck could be driven from either end, with either steering cab disengaging to allow extra maneuverability.

            Both these vehicles were tame compared to the last. Size-wise, the last vehicle fell between the tray-back and the A-frame, but that was where all comparison ended.

            There was nothing to compare it to.

            This vehicle had legs.

            Down both sides of the truck, four sets of pneumatically-driven struts – like huge insects’ legs –could extend down for stability on uneven ground. The legs looked necessary to support the small 360 degree crane mounted on the truck’s rear.

            Coleman glanced back at the vehicle. It drew his attention as though he should be noticing something….

            As they skirted the compound, the strange vehicle came into profile and Coleman realized why it radiated such a sinister aura.

            The truck was a giant metal scorpion.

            The cab was the head, the supporting struts the legs, and the crane the stinger. The resemblance was uncanny. Unsurprisingly, the passenger side door sported a big sticker of a black scorpion.

            Coleman drew his attention back to the terrorists’ trail, a concave ferny depression skirting the compound’s side fence. The trail continued up the slope behind the compound.

            ‘What’s up there?’ asked Coleman.

            ‘Nothing,’ answered Vanessa, swatting away ferns. ‘The slope climbs up to the base of the dome. There’s no exit up there - just a section of the suspended walking platform.’

            Coleman couldn’t see over the rise. The fir and pine trees grew denser up there. Off to the right, the slope was split halfway up by a ferny ravine. ‘We have to go up.’

            Forest watched the service road from the rear. ‘We’re getting pretty far away from the service entrance. It’s a long way back if we find trouble.’

            ‘I don’t see any butterflies,’ observed King. ‘That’s a good sign.’

            Coleman started up the slope of slippery ferns.
It must have been a hell of a job dragging the bodies up here.
He grabbed hand-fulls of ferns for support. They climbed a surprisingly long way up before the slope finally flattened out. At the top, breathless, Coleman stared at what was laid out over the ferns.

            Like a small crop-circle, an area at the top of the ferny slope was trampled into a bowl-like depression.

            King halted beside Coleman, his eyes tracking over everything spread out in the flattened clearing.

            ‘What the hell is all this?’ he puffed.

            Coleman was still trying to fathom what he was seeing, but one thing was certain.

            They’d found Fifth Unit.

#

Fifth Unit hung by their wrists from the suspended walking platform.

            They were stripped naked.

            But this wasn’t the confusing issue for Coleman. Bodies displayed butcher-shop-window-style was nothing new; everything
else
about the scene was disturbing.

            All Fifth Unit’s equipment was very deliberately arranged on the ferns before the bodies.

            Fatigues and body armor were unstrapped and unbuttoned. The clothing hadn’t been quickly and efficiently cut away with combat knives, but carefully removed and then laid out over the flattened ferns. The body armor lay beside the owner’s matching fatigues. Helmets were above. Boots were below. CMAR-17s lay to the right. Below each set of boots, the corresponding Marine’s equipment was precisely arranged and separated. Pieces of broken equipment were laid beside each other. Three sets of equipment matched the three suspended bodies.

Erin Stevens was hanging on the right. In the middle hung Cheng. The body on the left no longer had a head, but from its short muscular frame, Coleman guessed it was probably Ramirez. Their bodies had been wiped clean of blood. They resembled pale morgue cadavers more than battlefield casualties.

            What the hell caused those wounds?

            Like someone had scooped chunks from a snowman with a shovel, the wounds weren’t like any pattern of flesh trauma Coleman had ever seen.

            ‘What could do this?’ asked King, walking around the bodies. ‘It looks like they’ve been hit with explosive rounds, not personal defense weapons.’

            Coleman checked the Marines’ equipment. The fatigues and body armor were torn apart around the site of the bullet impact.

            Forest picked up the communication pack. It fell apart in his hands, having taken a direct hit from whatever weapon killed the Marines.

            Disgusted, Forest dropped the radio. ‘It can’t be repaired. It’s useless. I hope Harrison has more luck with his message, because we’re down to smoke signals.’

            Vanessa squatted with her back on the dome, studying her tablet. ‘The answer’s here somewhere. If I just had more time or a faster computer. This analysis is seventy-four percent finished.’

            Still searching the site, Coleman found a tiny plastic container in the ferns. The transparent blue container was about the size of a matchbook. It had been discarded under the ferns, or lost and too hard to find.
Some kind of protective case for an electronic microchip?
He slipped it into his pocket.

            ‘I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,’ he said.

            King and Forest already knew what he meant, but Vanessa looked up from her tablet. ‘Hard way? What have we been doing up to now?’

            ‘We’ve been running,’ said Coleman. ‘Taking the templates has been our only offensive move since we entered this conflict. It’s time for another offensive move.’

            ‘How about interrupting the power supply?’ suggested Forest.

            Vanessa looked confused. ‘Do you mean the electricity for the admin hub?’

            ‘No,’ replied Coleman, seeing that she didn’t understand. ‘He means
everything
. Drop this entire Complex into the dark.’

            ‘We could sabotage the main power room,’ offered King. ‘Then Harrison’s message will get out.’

            Vanessa shook her head, dismissing the idea and studying her screen again. ‘The main power room is on the basement level, and
that
won’t be accessible for long to anybody.’

            ‘Why not?’ asked Coleman.

            She looked around the Marines as though the answer was obvious. ‘Because this whole place is flooding. We’re all standing in an aquifer, gentlemen, and all our backup pumps have been destroyed. This ship’s sinking.’

            She continued when she saw the incredulous looks from the three Marines. ‘Remember when I explained that this entire Complex is a big experiment?’

            Coleman nodded. ‘The big-sucker draws groundwater from the basement, up through the Complex and out into the surface lawn.’