Fast (45 page)

            ‘Exactly,’ confirmed Vanessa. ‘But groundwater movement can’t be accurately predicted. It can depend on, well, almost any number of environmental conditions, even things that are happening hundreds of kilometers away. Consequently, the water level in the basement changes daily. We call it the ‘tide’. We use the pumps to keep the water level stable and always covering the root system.’

            ‘How big
is
this root system?’ asked Coleman.

            ‘It’s like nothing you’ve ever imagined,’ she said. ‘We also need water to serve the habitation level, the hydroponics farms, and this reserve. We have storage tanks recessed under the desert that serve every level of the Complex. With the pump rooms destroyed, all that water is flowing back into the basement.’

            ‘A lot of water?’ tested King.

            Vanessa nodded. ‘It will flood the basement and half the engineering level.’

            ‘Vanessa…,’ Forest interrupted quietly.

            Forest had turned away to peer down the fern-covered slope. ‘Are there any large animals in this reserve?’

            ‘No,’ she answered, standing up and clutching the templates. ‘Very few animals. That’s why we need the butterflies. Why?’

            ‘Because I can see movement coming up the slope towards us.’

            Coleman spun and scanned the ferny slope.

            Forest was right. A cluster of ferns shook about thirty meters down the slope. No detectable breeze circulated in the dome. Gould’s large creatures couldn’t hide under the ferns. No natural reason why the fronds should be moving presented itself.

            Coleman spotted movement in another place, a few meters closer and off to the left. King snapped up his arm, pointing out more movement off to the right. The Marines swept their gaze across the entire slope and saw a staggered line of movement as the terrorists crept up through the ferns towards Third Unit’s position.

            ‘They’ve found us,’ Forest whispered. ‘They’re coming up under the ferns.’

            ‘They’ve got us hemmed in,’ realized King. ‘What are they waiting for?’

            Coleman took stock of their surroundings before answering. ‘They know we’re practically out of ammunition. They’re not going to risk attracting the creatures with gunfire again. They’re getting as close as possible to take us out in hand-to-hand combat.’

            ‘Captain!’ hissed Forest. He pointed up into the trees to the north, towards the suspended walking platform that passed right over Third Unit.

            Sprinting along the platform through the canopy came four gunmen. Coleman recognized the lead gunmen.

            It was Krisko Borivoj.

            Bora had survived the cinema.

            Unbelievable.

            Coleman would have bet good money that the cinema was a deathtrap. Not so, apparently, for Bora. The entire platform shuddered as the huge man pounded towards Third Unit.

            The progress of the gunmen advancing up the slope hadn’t changed. The line of movement was five meters closer. The trap was getting tighter.

            ‘Listen carefully,’ Coleman said, signaling everyone to join him at the top of the slope. ‘If we run hard from the start, our momentum might be enough to punch our way through their line.’

            Before anyone could disagree, Coleman shoved Vanessa behind King. ‘King - you’re blocking for Vanessa. Don’t let anything stop you reaching the bottom of this hill. Even if one of us goes down. Got it?’

            King nodded, looking down the slope, choosing his path.

            ‘Forest and I will run interference on either side of you.’ Coleman knew this was going to be about speed, momentum, and surprise. ‘Don’t stop for
anything,
King. Absolutely
anything
.’

            King was already in the zone. He was psyching himself up like an angry bull.

            ‘Ready?’

            Everyone nodded.

            ‘Go!’ hissed Coleman.

            The four leapt down the incline and charged down the slope. King took huge thrashing steps through the ferns. Forest ran three paces to King’s left. Coleman ran three paces to the right. Vanessa, running with the templates, was five steps behind King.

            Ten meters down the slope, the first gunman popped up from under the ferns.

            He appeared right in front of Forest.

            He must have wondered what was suddenly charging towards his hiding place.

            What he discovered was Forests’ elbow swinging towards his head. The full force of Forest’s momentum carried the blow. The terrorist’s spine bent backwards, chasing the recoil of his head. His whole body flipped. The man was out cold before he even hit the ferns. Forest kept running, searching his path ahead for the next jack-in-the-box terrorist.

            At the same time, down slope from Forest, King was churning forwards like an unstoppable locomotive.

            Two gunmen rose in his path.

            He wasn’t slowing.

            He wasn’t dodging.

            He sure as hell wasn’t stopping.

            The first terrorist’s eyes widened for a second. Both gunmen lunged at the charging Marine.

            King smashed into the human obstacles like a one-man landslide. Neither gunman was fully committed to the attack. The man on the right spun off King’s shoulder and tumbled under the ferns. The man on the left dove sideways across the ferns, trying to grapple King’s bull neck.

            Mid-flight, his upturned chin smacked squarely into King’s charging stiff-arm.

            The terrorist bit off his own tongue. Tendons and ligaments in his neck tore from their bony anchors. Finally, a split second after palm-met-chin, the man’s accordion-compacted spine pulverized three of his neck vertebrae into wet chalk. The man would have fared better diving into a brick wall.

            ‘Cop that for your troubles,’ King said under his breath, using Marlin’s favorite saying.

            Off to King’s right, three men rose in Coleman’s path.

            As Coleman had guessed, the terrorists had their weapon strapped to their backs. They had even removed their body armor to crawl under the ferns. Coleman had chosen to run towards the ferns with the most movement, hoping to draw maximum attention from Vanessa. He hadn’t expected to encounter three terrorists at once, though.

            Laying on the speed, his legs blurred in his lower vision. He felt the slope accelerating his body towards the break-neck point where his torso was
almost
overtaking his legs. That was the speed - before he lost balance and tumbled forwards down the slope - where he still had some control over his body. It was also the point of acceleration where his body was charged with its maximum downhill momentum.

            Ramming speed.

            Two meters short of the first terrorist, Coleman reached his maximum controlled downhill momentum. He launched himself feet first at the closest terrorist.

            Body rigid, flying parallel to the slope, his boots smashed into the terrorist’s chest.

            All his accumulated momentum transferred violently into the terrorist’s torso.

            First the sternum, then the terrorist’s every rib cracked as ninety kilograms of rigidly flying human collided stiff-legged and boots-first into his chest.

            The man
catapulted
backwards into the second terrorist. Both men shot backwards down the slope, tumbling together wildly.

            Coleman landed flat on the ferns, all his momentum lost in the attack. Lying on his stomach and looking back up the slope, he spotted Bora dropping from the suspended walking platform. Bora landed agilely in the ferns. Three more gunmen hung down from the platform, ripe fruit ready to drop.

            Coleman pushed up off the ferns, catching a glimpse of movement over his shoulder. The third terrorist dove at his back. Twisting, Coleman struck the man hard in the nose with the heel of his hand. It was a fast attack, all speed and no power, but it stunned the man long enough for Coleman to roll away.

            Both men scrambled to their feet, facing off.

            Beyond the terrorist, Coleman saw Forest get tackled by a gunman. Forest went down under the blind-side tackle. For a second Coleman tracked the combatants’ chaotically rolling trajectory through the ferns, but then his assailant attacked again.

            A powerful roundhouse punch streaked at his head.

            He didn’t have time for a fistfight. He needed to disable this threat quickly. He saw the man’s right leg, bending to push off the upper slope, drove the powerful attack. The man’s left leg, locked-out straight down the slope, supported most of his weight.

            Coleman dropped under the man’s punch. The wild attack would have been a routine matter to block, but Coleman needed the man’s body weight to follow-through.

            It was all about the timing of bodies in motion.

            The terrorist’s fist swished above Coleman’s head. Now overbalanced, the attacker transferred his weight to his left leg to compensate -

            - and at that moment, the moment when the man’s full weight shifted, Coleman kicked savagely at the strained left knee.

            His boot heel landed solidly.

            The man’s leg caved sideways. First the kneecap, and then with a sickening fleshy grind, the entire knee collapsed as the straining joint busted under the sideways pressure. The terrorist dropped in agony, clutching his knee.

            Coleman stood over his disabled opponent and saw Forest in trouble.

            Forest’s wild roll had stopped halfway down the slope. He grappled desperately with the terrorist. Both men struggled for the upper hand. It looked like a pretty even match.

            With Forest occupied, Vanessa and the templates were completely exposed on the right-hand side.

            One terrorist spotted the opportunity.

            He clambered sideways across the slope, angling to intercept between King and Vanessa.

            King couldn’t stop.

            He was a bus without brakes. He couldn’t halt his downhill momentum. He couldn’t possibly protect Vanessa from both the front
and
the side.

            She and the terrorist were on a collision course.

            Coleman started scrambling down the slope, but he couldn’t beat the terrorist’s maneuver.

            Right then, with Coleman halfway down the slope, Vanessa spotted the incoming threat. She realized King couldn’t help. She didn’t panic. She didn’t trip. She didn’t make any dangerous sudden changes of direction, but Coleman saw her running motion change. Her steps became shorter and more controlled as she tracked the incoming terrorist.

            Don’t slow down, Vanessa!

            She was sacrificing valuable downhill speed. Coleman hoped she had a very good reason.

            In an instant, he saw her mad plan.