No Escape

by Alex Scarrow

  “What are those?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “Those are free-floating membrane sacs that contain infection spores,” explained Dr. Calloway. “What we call ‘floaters.’” He turned to Grace. “Are they produced within the chimney-like structure?”

  Grace shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re a viral. How can you not know?”

  “You’re human, Calloway,” said the prime minister. “Do you know how to build a suspension bridge?”

  “What? No. Of course I—”

  “Right, so this girl doesn’t know everything.”

  “It’s not a girl, sir. It’s a viral construct. We have to treat it with extreme caution.”

  A couple of the soldiers in the cabin nodded at that.

  “Or treat her with courtesy,” added Williams. “Keep in mind this is a diplomatic mission. We’re here to say hello. And so are They.”

  Grace was impressed with the prime minister’s manner. She wanted to reassure them all that, despite the hellish appearance of the approaching island, it was a benign structure. It was here to listen, not to conquer.

  The water around the leading edge of the island was beginning to spray as the long reach of the helicopter’s downdraft hit. They were descending very slowly now, the pilot doing his best to make the helicopter, with its deafening noise and disruptive blasting air, appear unthreatening.

  Grace looked down. She saw the surface of the viral island twitch like an elephant’s leathery skin in response to the tickling claws of a settling bird. The helicopter continued slowly forward, settling down gently with barely a bump.

  “We’re down,” reported the pilot.

  “All right. Mr. Williams, your attention please, sir?”

  The prime minister turned to the officer leading his security team. He was holding the handle of the cabin door’s lift bar.

  “Me and my lads will exit first, sir. We’ll scan the perimeter around the helicopter. When I’m happy we have no hostiles about to jump us…then I’ll give the word for you to come out. Is that clear?”

  “Yes. Yes. Of course.”

  “Pilot?”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep her take-off ready until I say.”

  “Roger that.”

  The officer looked directly at Jing. “Lieutenant Choi, you’re coming out alongside us. You’re infected already. I’m guessing you can tell the crawlers to back off.”

  Grace answered before he could. “No. He’s not one of us. He’s been infected and then returned uninfected. Just like I said.”

  “But the virus will treat him as a friendly? One of them, right?”

  “No,” she replied. “The scouts are not intelligent. They’ll see Jing as just the same as you. Let me come out with you. I am…infected. They’ll know that as soon as I take my mask off. Jing and I will come out with your soldiers. Then I need to remove my mask and my gloves. I need to touch tissue, to let it know who I am.”

  “No way,” said the officer. “She’s our leverage. If she escapes, we’re left totally vulnerable.” He looked at Grace. “We’re hanging on to you.” He nodded at one of his men, who was holding a flamethrower. The gesture was pretty clear: Try and make a run for it, and we light you up.

  “I’m not here to escape. I’m here to help Mr. Williams meet my…friends.”

  “Captain,” cut in Jing. “You should trust Grace. She has no agenda. She just wants us to meet them and—”

  “The safety of the prime minister is my only concern. So this is my call.” The officer nodded at his men. “Steve, Chris, your boots down first. Then the girl and Choi go out, then it’s me and Ross. Clear?”

  His men yes sired.

  “Then, when I’m completely happy, and only then…it’s your turn, Prime Minister.”

  “What about me?” asked Dr. Calloway.

  “You’re an observer. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

  “All right, that seems sensible,” said the prime minister. He turned to Grace for assurance. “Grace…you do what you need to do.”

  Chapter 32

  Rex Williams watched as the officer of his security unit lifted the bar lever and the cabin’s door slid open on its rails. The confined space was suddenly filled with the roar of the helicopter’s engine, the thwup-thwup-thwup of the spinning rotors, and the rush of air blasted inside by them.

  “GO! GO! GO!”

  The first two men jumped out swiftly, scooted across the uneven surface, and dropped to their knees. He pointed to the girl and the Chinese officer. “Your turn!”

  Rex watched Choi and Grace step out, followed by the other two soldiers. He could hear short orders being barked over the communications system.

  “Steve, go left. Chris, right!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  He could hear their labored breathing, all four men encumbered by their biohazard suits as they got into position, dropped to one knee into ready-to-fire postures.

  Rex leaned forward, poked his head out of the door, and looked around. They were parked about fifteen yards from the front of the “island.” He could see waves splashing over the top, and where the spray landed, the rich, chocolate-colored ground looked like the raw and frayed texture of whiplashed skin. He watched as another lively wave broke over the messy fringe, and immediately, the dying skin closest to the edge started bubbling and blistering.

  This thing isn’t immune to salt. It was scarring itself in order to cross the sea, tolerating biomass loss. He wondered if it was feeling pain as it did so.

  “Anybody eyeballing movement yet?”

  A chorus of negatives crackled back in response.

  “I’m going to remove my mask and say hello,” said Grace. “Is that OK?”

  “Sir, are we really letting her do this?” That was Calloway. The question was directed at Rex.

  “Yes, we are. Grace…go ahead. Let them know we’re here.”

  He stepped out through the cabin’s door and put a foot down on the ground. It gave subtly beneath his boots, like walking on freshly spread tar.

  “Prime Minister! Please stay inside until—”

  “For God’s sake, I’m fine!” snapped Rex. He ducked low as he stepped away from the helicopter’s downdraft and walked over to stand by Choi. He could see their surroundings more completely now. The ground was uneven, with gentle bumps and dips that made it look as though a thick, wet blanket had been draped over a hidden landscape of giant sinews and bones. He noticed the ground began to slope upward gently toward the giant “volcano” in the island’s middle. It was impossible to judge the height of it since there was little recognizable or familiar to use for scale. As high as a ten-story block? As high as a water tower?

  Grace was down on her knees, unclipping, then lifting the mask’s plate away from her face. She leaned forward until one side of her face was pressed against the ground.

  “Jesus…like the Pope kissing the—”

  “Shut up!” barked the officer. The communications channel went quiet again.

  As Grace knelt with her cheek against the ground, her eyes settled on Rex. She smiled at him “You look totally terrified!”

  “I’m…uh, I’m doing fine, Grace. Can you tell me what you’re doing right now? Is this about making contact?”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m knocking on the front door.”

  They waited in silence for a minute, then finally she stirred. She slowly lifted her head from the ground, leaving a sticky, jellylike strand dangling for a moment before it snapped back down.

  “They know we’re here. And They know why.” She turned to look at him, revealing the side of her face that she’d held down. The flesh of her cheek was gone, exposing tendons and bone, gums and teeth. Her smile was a zombielike sneer, a cheap movie-world prosthetic.

  “What wil
l They do?” asked Rex. “What’s going to happen?”

  “They’re coming,” she replied. “Relax. All They want to do is show you.”

  “Show me? Show me what?”

  “What They have to offer.”

  “What does that mean, Grace? What can They ‘offer’ us?”

  “Movement!” one of the soldiers barked suddenly. “Three o’clock.”

  Rex turned to his right and scanned the marbled, brown terrain. He could see a portion of the ground puffing up like a blister. Its color lightened as it ballooned, stretched, and thinned. The membrane popped softly, the skin rupturing and falling to the ground to reveal a ribbed orifice that descended into darkness.

  “Shit!” gasped one of the soldiers.

  They waited and watched for another few seconds before spotting movement within the cavernous interior.

  “Grace? Talk to us. What’s happening?”

  “Shhh,” she replied, smiling again. “It’s OK, Mr. Williams… Just wait and see, OK?”

  Rex squinted to try and make sense of what was emerging out of the gloom. He could see the top of something pale, tall, slim.

  “What the hell is that?” said Calloway.

  There were five of them, growing taller, like calcium stalagmites in fast-forward. Rex realized they weren’t growing; they were advancing up an ascending ramp into the open. He understood with that, that this structure was more iceberg than ship, with an unknowable mass hidden below the water’s surface.

  How big is this thing?

  The pale objects emerged from the orifice into the sunlight and began to cautiously advance across the undulating ground toward them.

  “Steady, lads,” said the officer. “Fingers off triggers.”

  Rex could hear a faint hissing, skittering sound above the gentle splash of the bow waves nearby. The tall objects, a little closer now, appeared to be pale columns, like tree trunks freshly stripped of bark, at their bases, a froth of pale movement that he began to recognize as a swarm of the small scuttling creatures.

  “Grace?”

  “Yes?”

  He pointed. “Those crab things, they know who we are as well, right?”

  “Everyone knows who we are by now,” she replied. “You’re among friends.”

  The five trunks and the surging carpet of pale creatures drifted closer, riding over the humps and dipping into the troughs.

  “You should lift your mask or remove a glove,” said Grace, “so they can taste you.”

  Taste? This was starting to feel like a bad idea.

  Their welcoming party was now just five yards from them and had come to a halt. The carpet of scuttling creatures settled down, retracting their tiny legs and claws into their pale, pearl-like shells until they looked like thousands of glistening pebbles. The tree trunks, he could see now, were not solid but a woven rope of slender, glistening, eel-like creatures, writhing and twisting around each other as they appeared to struggle upward to the very top.

  “What now?” Rex asked.

  “Grace? May I go now?” said Choi.

  She nodded. “Go on, Jing.”

  The Chinese officer removed his mask, his gloves, then unzipped his biohazard suit, shrugging it off his body and stepping out of it. He turned to look at everyone.

  “I am not afraid,” he said. “This is what I am choosing—to pass into this other world.”

  “You’re not coming back, Lieutenant Choi?”

  He shook his head. “This is our future. Embrace it, Prime Minister.”

  “Christ. What’s it going to feel like?”

  “There is no pain. No discomfort. Only a sense of unity.” Jing smiled. “You will see.”

  God help me.

  Choi turned to Grace. “I thank you for your friendship and your invitation.”

  “I’ll see you inside, Jing.”

  He stepped forward, crossing the small distance between them and the writhing trunks, removing his shirt, then his undershirt, and discarding them in his wake. He stepped onto the carpet of glistening, pale pebbles and stopped before the nearest of the trunks, looking up at it like a pilgrim at the end of a long journey. He carefully removed his trousers and underwear and stood naked before them, his arms spread wide.

  The trunk advanced until it was pressed firmly against him, then the eel-like shapes suddenly ceased their endless, squirming race to the top, changed direction, and swarmed over his body. Within seconds, he was engulfed.

  Rex could hear one of the men cursing quietly, someone else’s breath hitching nervously.

  “Steady, men,” said Rex. “Those things…” He could hear his voice shaking. He was sure he sounded like a ten-year-old schoolboy, a figure of authority no more. “Those things didn’t attack him. We’re still good. We’re still good.” He turned to Grace. “What happens now?”

  “Do you trust me, Mr. Williams?”

  I don’t have much choice, do I? He was here now. If he turned and ran for the helicopter, he wasn’t sure what would happen. Would the crabs chase him down? Would running now undermine his role as the ambassador for what was left of humanity? Trigger an aggressive stance from the virus?

  He cracked an uncertain smile. “Yes.”

  She held out her hand to him. “Take my hand, and we’ll step in together.”

  “I’m not going to lie… I’m really very, very bloody scared.”

  She smiled, a scary Janus-like expression—on one side warmth, compassion, on the other, a wraithlike sneer.

  Chapter 33

  “The truth is…we can cross the water to get to you. We have been able to do this for some time. You are not safe here anymore,” said Camille.

  Leon watched the young girl as her gaze swept across the people crammed into the fish-and-chip restaurant. She looked every bit as human as anyone else. Only, unlike everyone else, there was an odd serenity about her.

  “So, if I spray you”—Leon was holding the hose in both hands—“you’re saying it won’t do you any damage?”

  “It will hurt me,” she replied. “Please do not. You will kill many in my community. And I am only here to help you.”

  “Help us?” Leon started forward.

  “Take it easy, Leon,” said Lawrence. He took a step closer. Most of those in the small restaurant had stood up from their chairs and backed well away. Lawrence, however, had come forward. He looked at Leon, then at Jake, standing on the other side of the small narrow-framed girl, with a salt-water-filled fire extinguisher ready to use.

  “My name’s Lawrence. I suppose you could say I’m in charge here on the isle.”

  The girl studied him for a moment before answering. “I am Camille.”

  “So”—the old man narrowed his eyes—“starting from the basics…you’re saying you’re one of Them.”

  “Do you need proof of that? I can disassemble if you want?”

  There were gasps at that. Leon turned to see heads shaking, eyes wide—Cora’s, Finley’s, and Kim’s the widest; they knew how that looked when it happened.

  “You really don’t want that happening in here, Lawrence!” called out Jake.

  “That’s what happened at Southampton?”

  He nodded. “They break down into crabs, hundreds of them. There’s no way to fight them.”

  “In that case, we’ll take it for now, Camille, that you’re infected then. Please…don’t disassemble!”

  “Don’t even move a muscle!” added Leon.

  Camille shook her head sadly. “You are all so frightened. You do not have to be. They came to help us move on to the next stage of life, to absorb us. They are like librarians. Gatekeepers of information.”

  “You say your name is…was Camille?” said Leon.

  “I am Camille. And I am human,” she replied with a hint of indignation.

  �
�You’re not human,” snapped Lawrence. “You’re a copy. A recreation, a—”

  “I am Camille Ramiu. I am a proud Hausa. I lived in Niger. I lost one parent to disease and one to militiamen. I always dreamed of going to school, but I had to care for my brother and sister, or they would starve.” She inspected her hands. “These are my hands, my fingers, and they are as much mine now as they once were before.” She turned to look at Leon. “Leon…you said that is your name?”

  He nodded.

  “Leon, yes, you can hurt me with the salt water. But it will not kill me. It will kill the flesh it touches. If enough of my colony structure is damaged, I would have no choice but to disassemble into smaller constructions. And these smaller creatures are not able to communicate with you in the same way I can. They are simple. They work on instinct.”

  “We don’t want that,” said Leon. “We really don’t want that happening!”

  “Why did you come here?” asked Lawrence.

  “I have a message, but it is very complicated, Lawrence.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “It is better, perhaps, if I can show you?”

  “NO!” He shook his head quickly. “Don’t do anything! No one’s doing anything! Just tell us the message!”

  “As you wish.” She locked her fingers together and raised both hands to beneath her chin, looking like a little shaman in prayer. “They are ninety-nine percent of life on Earth. They are made up of all the humans, all the animals that existed here on this world. There are now only a few small groups like yours around the world.”

  “Where are they?” asked Leon.

  “The ones who came to rescue you, they came from places called Cuba and New Zealand. There are a few others, but they are struggling, dying.”

  “How many of us left?” asked Leon. “Do you know?”

  She shrugged. “I have no number, but most of them will not survive for much longer. Their food is dwindling. This world will continue to grow colder as the climate has been changed by our reach. They, and you, will die out in the next few winters.”