Instinct (2010) (40 page)

‘Hey!’ yelled Jacobs, stepping out into the floor of Level Two. ‘Any of you assholes still alive?’

‘Here! We’re up here!’ They heard Webster’s solid voice from above.

Garrett got to her feet and moved towards the blast hole. ‘Where the hell are you?’ she called.

‘Down here. Sorry about the Ripple. It was the only
thing that looked like it had half a chance of making a dent down here. Is everyone OK?’ replied Jacobs.

‘I’ll round them up,’ Garrett replied.

The first one she saw was George, lying on his front in his reddening lab coat. His face was a tight grimace as he tried to avoid moving and worsening the pain down his back.

‘Shit, man. You OK?’

‘How … how bad is it?’ he asked, gingerly getting to his feet.

There was no time for bedside manner right now. If you could talk you were doing OK. ‘You’ll live,’ said Garrett, already jogging on to the others.

Laura extracted herself from the mess of guts and hobbled to her feet.

Garrett screwed her face up in disgust. ‘I’ll tell you something: we get out of here, I ain’t sitting next to you on the plane.’ Laura took the hint and removed her jacket, to reveal a cleaner T-shirt underneath. It didn’t help the smell much, but it might stop everyone else throwing up.

Susan and Mike came out from under their table and made their way over to where Webster was looking after Carter.

‘Hey, anyone seen Bishop?’ called Webster.

The others shook their heads.

Garrett wished it was someone else she had to spend time and energy looking for, but she wasn’t callous enough to leave him without checking out whether he was dead or not.

Just as she was about to give up, she heard a groan from the back corner.

‘Bishop? That you?’ She walked up to where the sound was coming from but still couldn’t see him. Now she was standing right by his head, so when he groaned again she knew he was somewhere under the rhinoceros beetle.

It had to be Bishop who needed all the help
, she thought, straining to lift the giant insect off him. He was only just conscious, so she hoisted him on to her shoulder and staggered across Level One carrying his weight.

‘That’s all of ’em, Major,’ she said as she dumped Bishop on the ground, with the minimum of care.

‘All here!’ called Webster.

‘Good. OK, now we’ve got to get a move on. Bishop’s friend Paine is going to blast this place to the Stone Age in less than a half-hour, so get your asses down here so we can climb those stairs. Oh, and Dr Trent, Andrew is alive and just fine on the surface.’

‘Alive?’ she said, almost choking, afraid to ask the question in case the confirmation did not come.

‘Sure. Wouldn’t kid about a thing like that.’

Laura couldn’t stop herself from crying with relief. She had never given up on her son, but the thought that he could have made it up to the surface alive had never even crossed her mind.

Susan and Mike inched towards the edge of the blast hole to see Jacobs, Mills and Madison standing on the floor below.

It was the first time it looked as if they might make it out of there.

‘OK, let’s get moving,’ called Jacobs. ‘We’ve still got to get you guys on to Level Two, up a long-ass flight of stairs, on to Madison’s plane and in the air before MEROS becomes a burning hole in the ground.’

This was not going to be easy. Between them they had enough injuries to lay low a platoon, but they had no choice but to get on with it.

Even with his twisted ankle and torn bicep, Webster knew he had to take charge from up here. With a little help from Garrett and Mike, he manoeuvred his good leg and working arm on to the nest, taking the ropes to get down to Level Two. He held them taut so the others could make it down more easily, particularly the scientists, who hadn’t touched a climbing rope since some embarrassing gym classes in high school.

‘Garrett, go down the rope and get the others to pull you into Level Two, then help these guys as they follow you.’

Garrett did as she was told and was soon down with Jacobs, Mills and Madison, holding the rope tight for the next person.

Laura went first and, after a loose slip on the edge of the nest, she was down and safe. Susan couldn’t be persuaded to go next, so George grabbed the ropes and managed the descent with great pain, but no problems.

When they helped him on to Level Two, Jacobs felt his back. It was drying, but the blood was still partly moist. She wiped her reddened fingers on her jacket and tried not to let the revulsion show on her face. If you got injured in the Abdomen, you really got
something world-class, but it was better than being dead, like Wainhouse, Takeshi and Lisa.

Susan and Mike stood at the edge of the hole with Webster. Behind them was Bishop, who was staring into the middle distance.

‘Come on, Susan,’ said Webster, gently, but with an undertone of urgency.

She knew she had to do it but winced as she moved on to the face of the nest. She shifted across in tiny steps with Webster holding on to her. He let her go only when the others could reach her feet and pull her down.

Watching Susan manage it safely both embarrassed and galvanized Mike into taking the ropes. He dropped down easily and, within a couple of seconds, Mills and George had grabbed his feet and brought him in safely.

Webster turned to Bishop. ‘OK, Steven, you next, then I’m bringing Carter down.’

‘Huh? You have to do Carter first. I’m still all …’

‘No one’s 100 per cent, Steven, but Carter’s a risk, and if that means we have a problem, I want to know everybody’s down. Get yourself on the rope.’

Bishop didn’t move.

‘Now, Steven.’

‘I … I can’t do it, Carl. I just can’t.’

‘Steven. Don’t do this. You heard Jacobs. Paine could push the button at any moment. These people have to get out of here with five hundred feet of stairs to climb and we’re all waiting for the insects to come back to life. Look over there.’ On the opposite side of the hole, a cockroach was stumbling to its feet.

Steven looked pathetically at Webster. ‘Help me, Carl,’ he pleaded.

Webster was furious, but there was no time to mess around. He grabbed Bishop with his good hand and the crook of the opposite elbow and lifted him on to his shoulder. Bishop actually whimpered as the group on Level Two watched in confusion. With great effort, Webster pulled himself and Bishop on to the rope and started on his way down.

The descent was pain from all directions. The hand on his good arm burned as he tried to use it to slow himself, while the strain in his torn bicep was blaring like a siren. His thighs, wrapped around the lower part of the rope, felt an uncomfortable heat and pressure that spread through his groin, and his eyes stung as he blinked back drips of salty sweat.

He couldn’t afford to let up on any part of his grip, so he slid his way down slowly, like ketchup easing from a bottle.

As he came to the edge of Level Two he felt a jolt. The weight had dislodged the pins in the nest, dropping him down a couple of feet in one go. He was now face to face with Mills and Madison, who grabbed Bishop and took him off Webster’s back.

‘What happened to you?’ Garrett asked Bishop.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

Webster wasted no time in climbing back up the ropes. He pulled himself on to the floor of Level One with one arm and grabbed Carter, slinging his massive frame over his shoulders with a pained grunt. He didn’t
want to stop to think about what he was trying to do; he just drove on, knowing he only had a few more moments of effort to endure.

The strain of carrying Carter made Bishop’s descent seem like carrying a child. The lieutenant was a dead weight and some fifty pounds heavier. The sweat was now a slick film that covered every inch of him and he had to keep wiping his face to see what he was doing.

He could not keep the same slow control he had done with Bishop. Movement came as a jerky series of stops and starts, a quick drop ended by a hard squeeze. The others watched as more and more of Webster became visible. First his boots, then the bottom of his trousers, his knees, his belt –

Then everything else passed by in an instant.

One of the expansion bolts had pulled all the way out, leaving him swinging by his good hand with Carter slipping off his wet shoulder.

The loose pin had dropped them further down but it had also sent them swinging in a wide arc away from the others.

When they came within reach of Mills and Garrett their momentum gave them too much speed to be caught and they continued on another loop, Carter slipping further down.

Webster could feel every ounce of his lieutenant’s weight, and every inch that was sliding off his shoulder.

Then the balance shifted and the pressure became too much. Webster knew he couldn’t save himself without letting Carter go.

The rope swung round to the others again, but it was still too fast and whatever grip they could get was wrenched out of their hands by the speed of the swing.

Out over the hole, Carter’s body slipped level with Webster’s until it became completely detached, his arm sliding ever so slowly off the Major’s back.

He dropped into thin air, plummeting towards the dense white undergrowth of Level Three.

At the last moment Webster whipped his hand out to catch Carter’s.

Their fingers met and Webster managed to close his around Carter’s in a desperate grip. For a split second, he thought he had saved him, but then the sweat gently eased their hands apart.

Now there was no way back. Carter fell through the air like one of the giant insects, landing with a
swooosshh
of leaves, a crack of branches and a thick thud on the floor of Level Three.

The white plants made it easier to pick him out, but he was a long way down.

Ignoring the danger, Webster flipped himself round so his head was as low as possible, his face grazing the tops of the blanched leaves that obscured Carter from view.

‘Carter!’

Webster was amazed to see that his cry got a reaction. Carter opened his heavy-lidded eyes and looked up as his head rolled heavily forward.

‘Get me some more slack on this rope!’ yelled Webster.

Garrett knew they couldn’t let it out any further
without sending Webster crashing down to join Carter, and then how would they get back up?

To her right, she spotted a firehose and ran across to it.

With one hard tug she emptied a spray of smaller insects from the end and fell flat on her back. The rubber had perished long ago and there was no chance of any of it holding their weight.

Webster continued to yell Carter’s name, every shout helping him regain a little consciousness. His eyes opened wider and he stared ahead as if trying to focus. Then, with a huge effort, he leaned forward until he was almost sitting up.

Hearing Webster’s calls, he looked above and saw a blurred vision of the major hanging upside down amongst the blanched plants that rose above him. He could just about make out the sound of his name and some other drowsy words asking him to do something he couldn’t understand.

Distracted by the shouts, he didn’t notice that the vines were coiling their way around him.

‘Major, we can’t pull the rope out and there’s nothing else to use.’

Webster ignored Garrett and slid further down the rope.

He could see that Carter was now covered in a weave of thin tendrils. Then he felt something light brush against his fingers. Looking down, he saw that the tallest plants seemed to be stretching higher, as if reaching out for him.

He whipped his arm away and rubbed where he had been touched by the unpleasantly cool stems.

In the darkness he tried to confirm exactly what he thought he saw. The pale, writhing shapes of the stalks were flowing amongst each other like a nest of serpents, shifting and slithering with horrible purpose.

Carter was being eased backwards, forced to the floor by the weight and strength of the stems and leaves that wrapped themselves around his wide chest.

‘Carter!’

Looking up again, he wondered why his torso felt so tight.

Webster watched the plants reaching around Carter’s head, mummifying him before slipping carefully into his nostrils, ears and mouth.

‘Carter!’

There was the smallest muffle of reply as the last breaths left his body.

He was gone, lost to the white stalks that were filling his throat, forcing their way into his oesophagus so there was no longer room for air.

They continued to slip further down, finding the stomach before filling it up and rupturing its walls then exploring the rest of his organs.

The tiny white tendrils that had slipped into his ears pushed through the drums until they found their way past the cochlea. Then they pushed harder until they poked at the rubbery moisture of Carter’s brain.

Whatever had invaded his nostrils had reappeared at his eye sockets, easing out the damp tissue and
straining the fibres that held the flesh in place. Then, with a muted wrenching, the eyeballs detached and rolled across his face to be gathered up greedily by the plants around his chest.

Webster shut his eyes hard, as if trying to squeeze what he had seen out of his thoughts.

Then he felt something tighten around his wrists.

Looking down, he saw that they were both covered in thin, white, fibrous stalks that were continuing to wrap themselves around him like leather straps.

The pain in his bicep was crashing through him in waves. He tried to pull free but couldn’t find the strength.

‘Shit! Help! Pull me up! Pull the rope up!’ The others did as they were asked but the plants would not ease off their hold. Webster’s hands felt cold and numb.

The dense beat of his pulse tried to force blood into them, but his arteries were being squeezed flat. His right fingers had gone stiff and he was worried he would soon lose them.

‘Do something! Shoot them!’ he yelled.

Madison pulled his weapon first. He took hasty aim and emptied his whole magazine into the ground on Level Three. Some of the bullets passed into Carter’s corpse, but none freed Webster.

Garrett shunted him out of the way. She raised her rifle to her eye and ran through her prayer at top speed: