Instinct (2010) (42 page)

‘Look! They’re moving,’ said Andrew, as if he had just spotted Santa Claus.

‘They are that. Looking good, looking good.’ Half of Taj’s face was taken up with a grin. He’d never known something with such high stakes come in at such long odds.

Andrew was tugging at his T-shirt. ‘How long are they going to be? If they make it, I mean.’

‘Wow, uh, I’d give ’em fifteen minutes,’ said Taj hopefully, checking his watch for the hundredth time. ‘They gonna be taking those stairs three at a time, that’s for sure.’

‘Shouldn’t we get over to the hatch?’

‘I think so. And don’t you worry, the first one out gonna be your mom.’

Andrew had managed to keep everything in when his dad had died, but this time something turned the taps on full blast. He was standing in front of Taj, only able to give a jerky nod while the tears dripped off his chin.

Taj wrapped him in a big hug. It wasn’t his usual thing, especially for a kid he hardly knew, but he remembered his grandma doing it when the time was right and he knew how good it could feel.

When they separated, Andrew gave a draggy sniffle and left a big trail of snot on Taj’s shirt.

‘We best get over there now, you know. I bet Jacobs told your mom that you up here, so you’d best be the first thing she sees.’

Andrew nodded and they set off for the hatch.

Although the wasps were definitely the hardest obstacle to overcome, they were by no means the only one. The rest of the Abdomen was fully active, and anything aggressive enough to believe it could take on a human would be keen to give it a go.

This became clear as soon as the celebrations began. The elation was cut brutally short by a wild scream from Mike: a Siafu ant caught his movement and sank its razor-blade jaws into his shin.

‘
AAARRRRRGGAAARR!
Someone help me!’ he yelled. As he moved his leg into the sliver of available light, he realized he had a substantial weight attached to him.

‘Fuck,’ said George as he caught sight of it. ‘Siafu.’ The smaller versions were well known for their tenacity: once the jaws clamped shut, they would not let go, even if the ant were decapitated. This one was the size of a rat, leaving George with only one option.

He turned to Webster. ‘Give me your knife,’ he said urgently. The major handed over his ka-bar immediately. George knelt down next to Mike and wasted no time in cutting the ant’s body off, leaving the head and jaws stuck into the leg like a pair of scissors.

‘Sorry, man,’ George said, as Mike continued to
grunt in pain, ‘you know the Siafu. We can’t get that out until we hit the surface. Better grit your teeth.’

They could all feel each second thumping by like the boots of a marching army, but they also knew they couldn’t just run up the stairs and hope to make it out alive. They went back to standing still as Webster took charge one more time.

‘Jacobs, what have we got to blast our way out?’

‘Not a lot. The explosives might screw the stairs up, so all we got left is a shit-load of old-fashioned semi-autos and a flamethrower you’re going to have to take off Mills’s back.’

‘OK, I’ll use the fire on point to clear the way ahead. Whoever’s used a semi-auto before, use one now; if not, grab a handgun. We can’t risk you guys firing weapons with massive recoil in a confined space. Garrett, I want you at the back taking out anything that follows. OK? Let’s move.’

The soldiers grabbed the M-16s and AR-15s, loading their clips and slamming them home. Then they took the safetys off the Beretta 92Fs and M1911 Colts and passed them to the scientists.

‘Just aim and squeeze the trigger like you seen in the movies. Ain’t nothin’ to it,’ said Garrett to a clearly nervous Susan.

Now that everyone was armed, Webster took aim with the flamethrower and sent a vast cone of fire into the stairway. He knew it would attract some of the insects, but he had to clear the way and give everyone a view of where they were heading.

‘Let’s go!’ Webster shouted, jogging towards the stairs with a small limp rolling off his ankle. He sent another blast into the bottom flight, burning up what was left of the nest. He also set fire to a swarm of bulldog ants the size of mice, which burnt out quickly.

Jacobs, Laura and the scientists were following about ten feet behind, with Bishop at the back of this middle group.

Further back, Garrett and Madison were fighting a rearguard action against the insects that had been attracted to the fire. The sound was putting some of them off, but others, fuelled by their unnatural boldness and aggression, were coming at them at full speed.

‘Get up there,’ Garrett shouted to Madison. ‘If we don’t get into the stairs, we’re never going to get out of here. We need a smaller gap to funnel them into.’

Madison ran into the stairwell while Garrett fired behind her. The insects sensed prey and were following in numbers, but the spray of bullets took care of them with messy efficiency.

Further up, Webster was wondering if the flamethrower was such a good idea after all. It gave great protection, but it left the stairs full of giant burning insects, which thrashed around the enclosed space. Gravity meant that most of them came down the stairs, leaving Webster to keep them at bay with the butt of his rifle. Twice his jacket caught fire, and the time he took to smack the flames out was slowing the ascent even more.

On the sixth flight the decision was made for him: the flamethrower ran out of petrol, so he gladly ripped it off his back and switched to his M-16.

Progress was faster now, as the insects were thinning out and the ones he came across were killed instantly with a couple of well-placed bullets. The few that got past him were dealt with by the boots and handguns of the scientists, who felt a vague sense of shame at how much they enjoyed firing their weapons.

At the bottom of the stairs, Madison and Garrett were catching the scientists up. Some insects were still following, but there were fewer now, and the occasional burst from Garrett’s AR-15 took care of them.

‘Hey, Garrett, you got any more ammo? I’m all out.’ Madison was one flight ahead, so there was little need for him to keep firing, but he didn’t want to go on unarmed.

‘Sure,’ said Garrett, climbing up the steps behind him. They were right next to one of the flares Jacobs had set off earlier, which made it easier for Garrett to see what she was doing.

‘Anything down there?’ Madison asked as she rammed his new clip home.

‘Nothing big. A few ants here and there. My boots work fine on them.’

They both heard the soft, rhythmic thumping, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. As they hadn’t been under much of a threat for a while, they both looked up the stairwell to see if one of the scientists was coming down.

It didn’t sound like that was happening, but now the thumps were getting louder.

Garrett looked down the stairs just in time to see the jumping spider, as big as a dustbin lid, bounding towards them.

Madison had his back to it, so all he saw was Garrett’s terrified face, her arms flailing towards him, pushing him sideways.

With a fraction of a second to spare, she shoved Madison out of the way, but that meant that she could not raise her arms to defend herself.

Madison watched as the spider’s giant fangs plunged straight into the middle of Garrett’s chest.

She was knocked on to her back, smacking her head against the metal steps.

Madison brought his gun up and drilled a volley of bullets into the spider from the side, missing Garrett but turning the arachnid to a furry mush.

Using all his strength, he wrenched what was left of the beast off Garrett’s chest. Great gushes of blood lashed up in a thick fountain, pumping directly from her heart.

‘Garrett! Garrett! Talk to me!’

She looked dead, but just as Madison was about to give up hope, her eyes opened weakly.

‘Garrett?’

‘Madi … son.’ Blood was pouring out of her mouth and down her neck.

‘Oh shit, Garrett. I’ve got to get you help.’ He started to move, but her hand rose weakly, just catching his.

‘No … you go. You go … fly the plane.’

Her eyes shut softly and her head gave a small
clank
as it fell limp on the metal stairs.

Madison grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Garrett! Garrett! Oh fuck!’ As he felt her lifeless body in his arms, he knew she was gone, and he knew she was right: he had to get out of there to fly them to safety.

Shaking his head and choking back the lump in his throat, he grabbed the banister and sprinted up the stairs.

Ten flights up, they were all running, or going as fast as they could, injuries permitting.

Although her back, ribs and shoulder were still sending hot shocks of pain through her, Laura was using thoughts of Andrew to block them out and pull herself up faster and faster, a wash of perspiration clearing the blood and dirt from her face.

Webster was driving upwards, ignoring the sharp stab of pain his ankle gave him every time he put weight on it. The swelling had reduced a great deal, but not enough for a climb like this. His torn bicep was also screaming for attention but he just kept on looking forwards, concentrating on the next flight.

The ant head clinging on to Mike’s shin was so painful he had to keep stopping to have another go at pulling the jaws apart. The effort was pointless. These ants got stuck fast at half an inch long; this one was a hundred times the size, so it would take more than a hard yank from Mike to remove it. Like Webster, he just had to accept he could run in pain or die.

The slash on George’s back seemed to pull apart a little more with every step. It was as if the skin were trying to knit together but the motion of the climb would not let it. This was on top of a general lack of fitness: the Marlboros and beer were definitely making themselves felt. Jacobs could see he wasn’t going to make it on his own, so she dropped back, put his arm over her shoulder and gave him the lift he needed.

Susan was the only one of the original group with no serious injuries. It hadn’t occurred to her to help the others up to then, but she saw how Jacobs was supporting George and went to do the same for Mike. The physical assistance made a difference, but in the rush to avoid being left behind, the feeling there was someone else with you was equally motivating.

Madison ran past Bishop. He knew there was no point in telling anyone what had happened to Garrett, but he also knew he had to make sure the plane was ready for take-off as soon as possible. If the others were safely up on the surface and he was still on the stairs, that would be a huge waste of effort. He jumped up the steps and dragged himself higher by pulling on the banister.

Overall, it was an effort that strained every sinew, every blood vessel, every muscle, but the reward was too good to give up. It would mean that the last six hours had not been for nothing, that they had a chance at a life which had only recently seemed so remote.

Bishop was the only straggler. He looked at the walls and the stairs of the building that surrounded him and
was overcome by a sadness that tempered the relief of survival. Was this really the end? Was he really going to leave this place that had been his home and his life for so long?

The last few weeks had seen him go through more pain, horror, death and revulsion than most people would go through in ten lifetimes. But something made him think he had dealt with that problem. Now it was time to get back to normal.

Maybe Paine would understand that MEROS was too valuable to destroy. Maybe he could persuade the others that it was worth saving. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

He continued up the stairs, but with little enthusiasm.

Captain Fox eased back the throttle and banked over the hills between Aracadinya and Cabadiscana. There were small villages below, which must have found the sight and sound of an F-35 Lightning 2 JSF both strange and fearsome. It was a grey bullet of searing metal, almost invisible against the gathering clouds, but its whining roar filled the sky like an elongated thunderclap.

Fox checked the Synthetic Aperture Radar system to view the terrain ahead. It was time to change down from supersonic and lose altitude. Although it was unlikely the Venezuelan government would be paying close attention to these areas, as far as international aviation tracking went, this mission was non-existent.

The Pratt-Whitney F135 engine slowed under smooth control. Fox then applied a little more pressure on the right pedal and yawed in a southerly direction. He was less than 100 miles from the target so he checked his instruments and prepared to switch to the internal electro-optical targeting system. He was still too far away to make a direct ID of MEROS but he wanted to test the F-35’s capabilities in the head-up displays.

Reaching forward, he moved the cursor on his screen towards the target and designated the B61 Mod
11 for a small white building in a clearing at the end of a jungle runway. Then he moved the cursor and selected a nearby copper mine instead. Playing God with a nuclear bomb gave him a guilty thrill. The idea that a swipe of his index finger and a push of his thumb would end the lives of whomever he chose was a perverse but undeniable pleasure.

His head-down display informed him that the distance to target was only 50 miles. He switched the monitor back to MEROS and looked ahead: nothing but dense dark green, interrupted by the occasional smear of white-grey mist. He hoped the terrain stayed that way. On a similar mission two years earlier, intelligence had sent him to destroy a supposedly isolated cave in Yemen. It turned out to be located half a mile from a bustling village. Sending down that bomb haunted him to this day. He liked to think they had been upwind of the explosion and that the villagers had not been infected by the fallout, but he knew it was unlikely.

His training had suggested that it was inadvisable to imagine the details of what he was attacking, and the radar system made that easier. It had the appearance of a very basic video game, reducing buildings and the people within them to a series of coloured shapes that gave no indication of what lay within.