by Simon Clark
“That’ll be enough?”
“Once you light it you’ve got twenty seconds to get clear.”
“Give or take a few seconds,” Tony added. “So make sure you move fast once it’s burning.”
Zak gave a grim smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll move fast enough. They don’t call me Mr. Greased Lightning for nothing, you know.”
Tony chuckled. “When did they ever call you that? We have to hold lighted cigarettes to your toes to get you out of bed in the morning.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I knew they were letting off steam to ease the tension. The truth was, all this hung on Boy getting it right the first time. If he fluffed it we got no second chances. And I knew we didn’t have enough dynamite to blow a hole through those three-foot concrete walls.
“Man, you’re so slow you’ve got moss growing on the soles of your boots.”
“You’ve got moss on your dick. The only time you use it is to prick the pastry.”
Both crumbled into snorting laughter. Tension was eating them. They were letting it out the only way they knew how.
Tony flicked Zak’s bald head with his finger. “Yeah, remind me to buy you a brush and comb set for Christmas.”
Zak grinned. “You won’t do that twice.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah . . . I’ve got a cute little kitten in my coat pocket. Try that again and I’ll squeeze its throat until its eyes go pop.”
“That so?”
“Yeah, and what—”
“Guys,” I breathed. “It’s happening.”
Suddenly they were alert again, staring forward through the bushes. Boy had climbed to his feet. He tilted his head to one side as he hoisted the backpack onto his back.
Zak whispered, “I hope those weld joints hold, Tony.”
“They will.”
I watched Boy. He seemed to be listening to a voice. I angled my head, too, but couldn’t catch anything. Then I saw Boy nod.
“He’s heading toward the annex,” I whispered. “That’s what Phoenix told us to do last time.”
“So it’s working?”
“Pray that it is.” I stared through the binoculars at the annex building that was disguised as a large garage. “There’s a door operated by pneumatics, I guess. Boy will have around twenty seconds to do his thing.”
Boy made a good act of plodding exhaustedly toward the annex. The backpack looked like a dead weight on his back. I guessed he wasn’t playacting that part of it. The bag contained nothing but a welded steel frame that fitted tightly into it like a hand in a glove. Tony had spent half the night making the thing. Now, pray God it was strong enough.
“There it goes,” I whispered. “See the bunker door opening?”
“Hell, it must be a foot thick,” Zak breathed.
“As soon as he wedges the bag in the doorway, move. And for God’s sake keep off the lawn. There are landmines under the grass.” I glanced at Zak. “You happy carrying the dynamite?”
“I’ll do it. Don’t worry about me.”
I nodded. “Once we’re in, Phoenix will do whatever he can to make life hard for us. There’ll be no light, so use the flashlights. He’ll probably hit us with water. Even a lot of noise.”
“If those are his only weapons we’re laughing.”
“Just say a little prayer he’s got nothing else. Wait; Boy’s almost there. Get ready. But keep down until we know the door’s jammed. OK?”
Without rising from the cover of the bushes I pulled the strap of the rifle over my shoulder and checked that the .45 automatic was still strapped to my hip. At either side of me Zak and Tony checked their weapons. Tony sported a submachine gun with spare ammo clips taped together, while Zak carried a pair of sawed-off shotguns. He also hoisted the backpack containing the bundles of dynamite over his shoulders.
Hell, there was so much to check. Flashlights, ammo. I patted my pockets, feeling a rising panic. I’d forgotten the goddam cigarette lighter to ignite the fuses. Shit, you idiot, Valdiva, you fucking class A idiot, you should—Thank Christ. I felt hard tube shapes in my shirt pocket. I’d placed a pair of lighters there earlier. But pulling this off was like the plate-spinning trick you see at the circus. You have to make every little element of the plan work. Anything forgotten, anything mistimed, it all went crap.
“Any second now,” Zak whispered.
Still playing the weary refugee, Boy made it to the bunker. I saw him stop to listen again to a voice we couldn’t hear. No doubt Phoenix was giving the same instructions Michaela and I’d received in the same soft, whispering voice. Boy nodded again, then limped to the open doorway. As he entered he slipped the heavy bag from his shoulders. This time lightning-quick he spun ’round and jammed the bag lengthways into the entranceway. A second later the big armored door slid forward, as if to seal the aperture. It made it a third of the way, then stopped. It slid back. Shut again. But it couldn’t slide more than a third of the way across. An alarm began to sound from the bunker.
“He’s done it.” I scrambled to my feet and repeated the earlier warning: “For God’s sake keep off the grass. Touch that and you’ll go fucking sky high.”
The two followed me along the path to the bunker entrance.
Fifty
This was it. Adrenaline blasted me into overdrive. The world blurred as I ran hard at the bunker.
Boy danced outside the bunker door. “I did it, I did it!”
“Great work. Now get behind the bunker. And keep off the goddam grass.” I looked down at the doorway. The metal frame inside the bag still held against the pressure of the door. Even so, it had closed now maybe halfway, leaving a two-foot opening. I heard pneumatics hiss. The steel frame groaned; there was the sound of metal on metal grinding somewhere inside.
“It’s holding,” I shouted. “But it might not hold for long.”
Then Phoenix’s voice rolled from the speakers. “Valdiva! Get out of here! You’re a dead man! I’ll crush you!”
“Yeah, you and whose army?”
“You are dead, Valdiva. Get away from here! Get away!”
The voice thundered across the plastic lawns away into the forest.
“You’ve got bunker boy all riled,” Tony said as he switched on his flashlight.
“I’ll go first,” I said. “He’s going to turn this place into a fun house the moment we go in there.”
Phoenix boomed like the voice of God: “YOU’RE DEAD MEN WALKING. D’YA HEAR? GET AWAY FROM HERE. . . . LEAVE AND YOU’LL LIVE!”
“Sounds as if you’ve spooked him, too.”
Zak lumbered up with the heavy pack of dynamite on his pack. He turned ’round so I could pull open the zipper on the backpack. I reached in, tugged out a bundle of dynamite, then started to unreel the fuse that I’d carefully wound ’round it.
“Tony, hold the end of the fuse. Zak, stick close to the bunker wall . . . no—farther back from the doorway.” Suddenly this seemed crazy; to be standing there with five sticks of dynamite in my hand. Hell, I’d never used the stuff before. OK, I’d shoved the gleaming steel-shelled detonator into the center. But is that where it went? Jesus, sweet Jesus . . . “All right.” I took a deep breath. “Stay back. The trick is to use just enough to blow the doors . . . not bring the whole house down.”
Maybe Zak saw me hesitating, as if I doubted I could pull this off. “He’s got a lot of goodies in there, Greg. Do it.”
“Keep a grip on that fuse, Tony. If I yell ‘Light it!’ just light it anyway, OK?”
He nodded, his face grim.
The door was still trying to crush the steel frame. I heard metal groaning as I stepped over it. The outer door wasn’t my target. It would take a whole truckload of explosive to even dent that. My only hope was that it didn’t manage to force itself shut. If I was trapped in there . . . hell, I didn’t want to paint any mind pictures about that one. . . .
As I suspected, Phoenix didn’t help me by switching on the lights. Inste
ad I moved along that same decontamination chamber I had entered before, this time a flashlight in my hand. The light danced on the tiled floor; the fuse trailed behind me. I repeatedly looked back to see if it had snagged against the door that slid backward and forward as Phoenix tried to batter the obstruction to crud.
At that moment spray hit me in the face. Hell, he was using the decontamination procedure as a weapon. The disinfectant caught me squarely, shooting into my mouth and eyes. The stuff burned like fire.
Half blinded, I stumbled forward, still holding the dynamite in one hand, the flashlight in the other, and trying to steady my balance with my elbow. Then he hit me with the cold water spray.
“Getting desperate, are we, bunker boy?” I murmured. I had anticipated his suddenly appearing in the doorway with a machine gun to blast us. He must have hundreds of weapons at his disposal. But something told me now he wouldn’t have the guts to venture out of his safe house to face us.
“We’re coming in, Phoenix!” I yelled over the hiss of water. “We’ll find you.”
“You bastards. You won’t get close to me. You’re dead men . . . dead men!”
I reached the door to the locker room. Although hardly flimsy, it was only a fraction as thick as the outer door. Carefully, I set the dynamite down so it was touching the door.
Too much explosive? Too little? Dammit, I just didn’t know. Behind me metal shrieked as if in pain. I glanced back to see the outer door had all but crushed its way shut.
Taking a deep breath, I bellowed: “Tony! Light the fuse!”
The outer door had become a great champing mouth. It slid back, then rumbled forward to crush the steel frame. The fuse snaked across the mangled back pack.
“You’ve made yourself a tomb!” Phoenix ranted. “D’ ya hear me, Valdiva? I’m going to sit here. I’m going to enjoy watching you rot!”
Come on, Tony, do it . . . light it . . . if the door slides all the way shut it’s gonna kill the fuse. I looked ’round for something else to wedge in the door, but this passageway consisted of nothing but naked walls. I ran back to the outer door, tried to hold it back with my bare hands. Shit. I might as well have tried to stop the sun rising with nothing but my own two arms. With a hiss it rolled along the groove again to slam against the mangled frame, nearly pulping me in the process.
I glanced down as the flame ate the fuse, spitting sparks and fizzing. Then it ran through the doorway back toward the dynamite. Even the deluge of water from the showerheads didn’t slow it. Jesus, the fuse burned faster than I had anticipated.
Tony and Zak appeared to help me with the door.
“No, it’s too late,” I shouted. “Get back. The dynamite’s going to blow.”
They moved back sharply, waving Boy to get down. Inquisitive as kids are, he’d leaned out from behind the bunker to get a closer look.
My eyes hunted across the ground. There, in the plastic grass, I saw it: a crowbar a hornet had used to break heads. But the ground was mined beneath the lawn. I looked at it, searching for any telltale marks in the grass. Dammit. Nothing to tell where the bombs were. Hell, what else could I do? I stepped onto the astroturf, hoping I didn’t trigger a mine.
Thank you, Lord. I reached the iron bar, grabbed it, then ran back to the bunker door that had now closed the gap to around six inches. It slid back before returning to batter the obstruction. Cut into the floor was an inch deep groove fitted with a steel slot where the door wheels ran. I slammed the iron bar into the groove just as the door came hissing back. It glided over the iron bar like it wasn’t there. But just as I was thinking, Shit, it didn’t work, the wheel that supported the half-ton door must have run into the iron bar. With a jolt the door stopped dead.
Zak yelled at me: “Greg! Get back! It’s going to blow!”
Jesus, I’d forgotten about the fuse. I slammed myself against the bunker wall. The thunderous bang shortcut my ears. I felt a tremendous concussion in the center of my head. Instantly the bunker wall jumped at me, knocking me square in the face and flinging me back to the ground.
I pulled myself to my feet, my ears ringing, blood dripping from my nose.
“You all right?” The voice seemed to be part of the ringing. I looked ’round to see Zak and Tony helping me to stand.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Go see if we’re in.”
With flashlights blazing they squeezed past the crippled door and entered the hallway. I followed, shaking the dizzy sensation from my head. In the glow of the flashlights I saw water oozing from a fractured pipe. The explosion had blackened the walls, and every tile had shattered. I checked out the door inside the chamber. Fantastically, it still held tight in one piece, but it was the wall beside it that had staved in. I followed Zak and Tony through crumpled metal panels into the locker room. The explosion had picked up the vacuum packs of clothes, then scattered them ’round the place. Those white rubber sandals covered the floor as if a blizzard had hit it, covering it with blobs of snow.
So . . . I’d made it back again. I was back in the bunker, only it was different this time. No longer the prisoner but the invader.
When I reached Phoenix, and met him face to face, I wondered what he would say. Come to that, I wondered what he would do.
Fifty-one
We went through the place like a hurricane. Zak and Tony followed me, gun muzzles pointing outward like spines on a porcupine, ready to blast anything that moved. They shone the flashlights left, right and center, scanning the rooms for danger. Once we were through the pneumatic doors that Phoenix could operate remotely, the other lightweight internal doors weren’t a problem. I kicked through one after another.
After screaming at us Phoenix fell silent. But he was watching; I knew that. From those concealed cameras he’d been seeing everything we did. He’d have seen us pass through the kitchen where I’d made popcorn with Michaela, through the living room, down the stairs to the operations rooms with their keypads that glowed like yellow eyes in the darkness. But I wasn’t interested in those anymore.
“OK, Zak,” I said. He turned ’round. I unzipped the backpack to pull out another bundle of dynamite, then I began unraveling the fuse. “There are bedrooms back through the double doors and along the corridor. Get in one of those with the door shut behind you.” I checked that the detonator was in place. “Ten sticks in this one. It’s going to kick like the devil. Ready?”
They nodded, their eyes on those white sticks. Now they’d seen what the stuff could do close up, they regarded it with infinite respect.
Phoenix’s voice came rushing back. “I’m warning you, get out now. You don’t know what you’re getting into. Run, Valdiva, run!”
Get this: Phoenix didn’t sound so much threatening as terrified. Something frightened him. He didn’t even seem scared of us. . . . I felt that flicker of instinct in my gut . . . the little red warning light began to flash behind my eyes. The man genuinely warned us of some danger . . . only it wasn’t him. He wasn’t the threat. Something else lurked there . . . he was trying to save us . . .
I shook the thought from my head, but still a sense of unease wormed its way along my nervous system. Something isn’t right, Valdiva.
“You OK, Greg?”
I nodded. “Rarin’ to go, Tony.” I laid the dynamite at the foot of the twin doors that were labeled COMM ROUTE. If my hunch served me right, these two meaty iron doors blocked the way to a tunnel that connected with the main bunker. There, Phoenix waited. Along with whatever surprises lay in store.
I played out the fuse behind me, checking that it didn’t snag. “OK.” I flipped the cigarette lighter, touched the flame to the fuse end. Sparks flew. “Take cover—here she goes!”
OK, so maybe I did use too much. The explosion knocked in bedroom doors, filling the whole complex with smoke. Even the beds we crouched on jumped halfway to the ceiling. Closets flew open, sleeping bags, pillowcases, towels flapped ’round like crazy birds. For a second we lay there on the floor, trying to retrieve the air th
at had had been slammed from our lungs.
“Jeez,” Zak breathed. “Valdiva, you never do anything by halves, do you, man?”
I picked up the rifle from where the concussion had flung it across the room. “Come on, let’s finish this now.”
The corridor to the other rooms had been mutilated; you could use no other word for it. Mutilated to hell and back. Walls had been gouged by the explosion. Part of the concrete ceiling had broken away to come crashing to the floor. Every single door had been blasted inward. For the first time I saw the sick bay and the boardroom. There, tables and chairs had been up ended. Exposed wiring in the walls sent out cascades of sparks. A punctured fire extinguisher sprayed a blizzard of foam.
I nodded at the twin doors that led to the connecting tunnel. “We’ve done it. We’re in.” The massive doors had been crumpled the way you can scrunch up a sheet of paper in your hand. Smoke billowed, thick as fog. It reflected the beams of the flashlights right back at us.
I approached the smashed doors. The tunnel entrance yawned like a hungry mouth, eager to swallow us into its concrete gut.
“Greg! Get back!”
Tony pushed me aside to fire the machine gun into the fog of smoke. A figure blundered out through the mutilated doors, then fell to the floor and lay still.
I looked through the smoke, expecting to see Phoenix lying there. Instead I saw a witch head of wild gray hair. A bloody mass bubbled where the face should have been.
Zak nodded down at the figure. “We got bunker boy?”
“That’s not him.” My stomach muscles clenched. “That’s a hornet. . . .” I moved closer to the tunnel’s raw mouth. “Jesus, he must have let them in to guard the hive.”
Swarming through the gloom of the tunnel, like they were a plague of hungry rats I saw them. Dozens of them. Men, women. Young, old. Their faces blazed hatred.
“Hornets!” I yelled. “They’re coming this way.”
Tony stepped into the doorway to fire the machine gun at them. Flame a yard long erupted from the muzzle. I could even see bullets roar into the gloom like balls of light to ricochet off walls, or to rip into bodies.