The Exodus Towers (19 page)

Sam’s gaze settled on the area just beyond no-man’s-land. A group of tall buildings marked the local government offices, half a kilometer away. She could only see the very top floors. Everything else lay blanketed under a thick cloud that hugged the ground despite an ocean breeze. The gray-white haze swirled and billowed gently.

Grillo tapped her shoulder and handed her a headset. She slipped it over her head and adjusted the boom mic to rest near her cheek.

“Sound check,” a woman’s voice said in her ear.

Sam glanced back at the truck below her, and said, “Testing one two.”

“You’re clear,” the woman replied.

The two mercenaries, David and Faisal, were suited now and climbing the barricade. They both carried matching assault rifles, standard army issue stuff. David, she saw, had a couple of grenades on his utility belt. Oddly, both men had towels wrapped around their left forearm, as if they expected to get bitten by a police dog.

Next to Sam, Grillo cleared his throat. “I’m most interested in what is causing that cloud. If you can find yesterday’s
party, please ascertain their fate, and salvage what you can.”

“And the headset is so I can call in reinforcements?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“No,” she said. “Glad-hand me.”

Grillo’s eyebrow twitched slightly but he did not smile. Sarcasm seemed to be the only thing that rattled his calm veneer. “The headset is so you can report back what you are seeing,” he said. “Up until the end, if need be.”

No offense, mate, but I’m not risking my life just to give you a little intel
. She kept this to herself and nodded. “Let’s go, boys.”

She hopped down the other side of the barricade and stepped onto the dirty road beyond. When her two companions didn’t immediately join her, Sam glanced back to egg them on, expecting to see them eyeing the Clear with worry.

Instead, she saw them standing in a rough circle with Grillo, their hands clasped and heads bowed.

What the fuck is this? Prayer?

The posture only lasted a few seconds, and then in unison they broke their circle and the two men jumped down the mound of debris to join her.

Darwin, Australia

5.MAY.2283

S
AMANTHA TOOK POINT
, with Faisal and David following a few paces behind, off to her left and right, respectively. The air processors on their backs hummed each time they took a breath.

They walked in this formation through no-man’s-land and into the Clear beyond.
Clear
, of course, being a misnomer. Samantha often chuckled when the term was used to describe the world outside Darwin. With no more humans polluting the shit out of everything, the theory went that the world would “clear up,” hence the name. Some thought that might be why the Builders confined everyone to a single city. A punishment, or judgment, of sorts. A chance for the planet to recover.

And the world may have indeed cleared up in places, but so many factories, chemical plants, power stations, and other bits of infrastructure were abandoned in haste that many of them ran on their own for
years
, unchecked. Fuel stations caught fire and burned for so long that they would shroud an entire metropolis in dark smoke for months. Samantha had seen all of this in her forays. Yet even she used the name Clear. It’s the name that stuck, and if it had a tinge of irony to it, so be it.

Fog started to envelop them. Samantha called a halt by raising her fist and then motioning for them to lower into a ready crouch. She felt a bit more confident when both men complied like such a silent command was old habit.

She instructed them to come to her position. “The thicker
this gets, the closer we bunch, understood?” she asked when they were next to her.

Both men nodded. The masks of their environment suits were already dappled with condensation. Faisal raised his left arm, the one with a towel wrapped around it, and wiped away the moisture.

“If you get separated, stop and do a quick little whistle, nothing more. Subs are wired to attack humans, and our speaking voice is something they key on. Despite your helmets, a loud shout of surprise will still carry.”

Whether they knew this or not, they both flashed her an a-okay with their hands. She’d made the comment more for Grillo’s benefit, and for the woman operating the comm, so that she wouldn’t have to provide a running commentary.

“Okay,” Samantha said. “Follow me.”

Less than ten meters into the cloud, Samantha could hardly see her hand in front of her face. The swirling fog was cool on her skin, and in no time her body glistened from the water as if she’d been caught in a morning drizzle. She glanced back. Faisal and David were nothing more than apparitions in the fog. David drew his towel-wrapped arm across his mask, leaving a swath of clear plastic through which to see.

She faced forward again and crept farther into the thick mist.

The crystalline spike appeared so suddenly that she almost ran into it.

A needle point of pale blue glass, just a few centimeters in front of her face. Samantha halted and raised her hand for the others to stop. “Found something,” she said in a low voice.

“Bodies?” Grillo asked in her ear.

She ignored him and moved sideways to look at the strange tendril from the side. It was segmented, each length of it as long as her hand, connected by bulbous sections like bony knuckles. The material was not like anything she’d seen before. Slightly opaque, and coated with a fine dust, or moisture perhaps. She moved closer and saw both theories were wrong—the spike had thousands—no, millions—of tiny
thorns jutting out of it, each thin as a hair and no longer than a grain of sand.

“What is it?” David asked.

Sam shook her head. “Beats me,” she replied. She stepped around it only to be poked in her stomach by something sharp, felt even through her thick combat vest. She looked down to see another of the long, thin crystal branches protruding through the cloud.

Looking up, and around her, Samantha realized they were standing at the edge of some kind of massive lattice. A complex, chaotic system of branches made up of the queer, pale blue segments. The tips of the branches were sharp as needles.

Samantha slung her weapon and tugged at her pant leg, pulling a section of it tight and away from her thigh. Then she waddled a few steps over to a spike protruding at that height and watched in horror as it poked through the cloth like a knife through warm butter.

“Guys,” she said, “back away. Very slowly.”

Faisal turned first. “God help us,” he muttered, and froze.

Facing him, Samantha saw that the lattice of branches had grown over and around them. Even as she watched, she could see new knuckle-like tips blooming on the thorny ends of branches, and new segments beginning to stretch.

“What’s going on?” Grillo asked, urgency in his usually calm voice.

Faisal crouched low and ran, ducking under the jagged tentacles. She saw him drop to a belly crawl before he vanished completely in the soupy gray haze.

“David, go!” Samantha shouted.

But the man hesitated. The spikes were getting lower to the ground with each passing second.

“I’m out!” she heard Faisal yell from somewhere nearby.

The opportunity to flee passed just seconds later. Samantha thought they would be skewered on a thousand of the knifelike points, but the growth seemed to stop when it neared them, leaving them inside a bulbous cavity, surrounded on all sides.

“We’re trapped,” David said. Now a hint of fear shadowed
his gruff voice. If any one of those spikes poked his environment suit, he’d be infected and the headaches would start. After that, if he didn’t get back to the aura in time to snuff out the early part of the infection, he’d die. Or worse.

Sam unslung her rifle again, took the clip out, and ensured no round was in the chamber. Then she flipped it around to hold it like a club.

“Samantha, I need an update,” Grillo hissed in her ear.

“There’s some kind of … growth here. I think it’s … alien.”

David nodded at her with grim determination. He’d converted his own rifle into a club as well, and stood ready to start hacking.

“We’re completely surrounded by it,” Samantha said. “Going to try to smash our way out.”

Glancing around, she realized that every direction looked the same. She couldn’t remember the path Faisal had taken. “Which way?” she asked David.

He glanced around, then dropped to a knee to study the ground. “I think he went that way,” the man said, pointing. There were so many blurred boot marks on the ground, Sam didn’t think he could really tell.

“Faisal?!” she called out.

“Here,” his voice came back. It seemed to come from everywhere, but she thought it stronger in one direction. Better than nothing, she decided, and turned to face that way.

She swung the butt of her rifle with all her strength.

The gun swept through the crystal branches with a whoosh. The bony arms rattled against the butt of the gun like dead-wood. They swayed from the impact and bounced back, vibrating silently along their length. Not a single one broke or even showed signs of damage.

After a few seconds of rattling back and forth, the branches settled back into their original positions and continued to grow. Sam felt like a diver, trapped below some kind of coral reef grown with time-lapse quickness.

Soon she and David were completely enveloped in a pocket within the strange structure, needle-sharp tips pointing at them from every direction except the ground. David crawled
to the center of the cavity and sat there, glancing frantically around himself, waiting for the thorn that would puncture his suit and doom him. But the growth stopped, as if it wanted them trapped inside.

“We’re stuck in here,” Samantha said for Grillo’s benefit. “Some kind of plant, I don’t know. It’s surrounded us and the tips will cut David’s suit if he moves.”

“Try a grenade,” Grillo said.

Samantha filed that advice. She’d not yet reached that level of desperation. Kneeling, she wiped her right hand across her shirt to dry it, then reached out and tapped the side of one branch with her index finger, as gently as she could. The semi-transparent stick, which snaked off into the cloud in a line roughly parallel to the ground, swayed slightly from the pressure. Sam examined her finger and saw a dab of moisture there. Water? Some kind of secretion? She couldn’t be sure, but it tingled.

Leaning in close, she noticed fine wisps of mist coming from the microscopic thorns along the length of the branch. “I think this thing is creating the cloud,” she said, to no one in particular.

“Grenade?” David asked.

“Hold on,” Samantha said. “If it shatters and falls on us, you’ll be fucked.”

He grunted. “Good point.”

Slinging her weapon again, Sam held out her hands to either side of the closest branch, twitched her fingers, then gripped it below a knuckle a half meter down its length.

Pinpricks of pain forced her to yank her hands away. “Son of a damn bitch” she barked, examining her palms. A hundred little dots of blood formed and welled. “Jesus H. fucking Christ that hurts.” She unzipped her combat vest and gripped the white tank top beneath to put pressure on the wounds. Her hands began to feel cold and numb, as if she’d rubbed eucalyptus oil into them, and she gripped her shirt tighter, biting her tongue against the pain, until the sensation subsided.

Sam sat down next to David, aware of his measured breaths through the speaker on his suit.

“Sod this,” he growled. “Grenade.”

“No,” Samantha said. She let go of her shirt, leaving two dark red handprints on it, and flexed her fingers over and over until the numb feeling vanished entirely.

Knowing it futile, she searched the pockets of her vest and pants for a pair of gloves, and found none. She rarely carried them unless on a mission somewhere cold.

In another pocket she found a chrome Zippo lighter, dented and scuffed. She’d picked it up in Japan, she thought, but couldn’t recall for sure.
Worth a try
, she figured, and moved back to the edge of their pocket within the lattice.

She rolled the knobby igniter, swallowing a bit of pain from the still-raw needle pricks on her thumb. It failed to catch, and she had to thumb it four more times before the sparks finally lit. A meager yellow flame sprouted from the tip of the lighter and held.

Slowly she guided her hand underneath the same branch she’d tried to break. When the flame licked a portion of the crystalline stick, it turned beet red and shrank away. The red discoloration rippled along the length of the branch, fading into the cloud. Soon the thin arm of the alien structure absorbed the redness and returned to its original pale blue.

Sam jabbed the flame under it again, and once again the branch recoiled away, as if growing in reverse. She kept the flame under it, watching in fascination as the length receded and pulses of bright red coloration flowed along its length.

“It doesn’t like fire,” she said brightly. “We need to make a torch.”

It took a few minutes to improvise one. David’s assault rifle was modular and easily broken down. He removed the butt of it to serve as the handle of their torch. Sam pulled her vest off and set it on the ground, then hoisted her bloodied shirt over her head. David actually averted his eyes at her partial state of nudity, only refocusing on the torch when she pulled her vest back on. The thick nylon rubbed against her skin like sandpaper.