Colony

  2

  Volkov limped along the tunnel. Besides the pain in his buttock, he felt exhausted. Weak. Humiliated. His world was now composed of two states: dark and less dark. In some ways it was a very simple place. Frighteningly simple. Dark he took to be space; less dark he took to be rock. He carried on a few more paces through the dark, hands outstretched, testing out his theory. Was the tunnel opening out? Possibly. Only time would tell.

  He took another step. This time his heel did not connect with anything. Instead it dropped down into a void, taking the rest of him with it. He cried out as his body tumbled down a slope and came to rest.

  Things scattered before him. Inanimate things, he hoped. They clacked and rattled across the floor. They crunched underneath him; plates of something hard, which bit into his flesh.

  The thought that he may have damaged his spine took over and he stayed down, forcing himself to breathe shallowly. Paralysis would be a death sentence. As he lay there, he could hear creeping sounds. Gnawing sounds. The percussive crunch of whatever lay beneath him.

  He blocked out all noise and focussed on the stars floating before him. Too late. They were extinguishing, one after another, until they had vanished. All except for one.

  He narrowed his eyes and stared towards the remaining dot of light. But it was no imaginary star. It was real. Could it be? His heart leapt. Daylight! Perhaps this was all just a blip after all. Perhaps he would still come out on top.

  He felt at his top pocket. He still had the data stick.

  He began testing out the movement in his limbs. There seemed to be no obvious new impairments. As smoothly as he could manage, he climbed back to his feet and limped towards the light. He waved his hands ahead of him to avoid being sucker-punched by a hidden fist of rock and tested the ground underfoot.

  As he moved, the room morphed from a place of darkness to a place of mere gloom. The walls became visible in outline. They were ribbed, uneven and further apart than he’d imagined. The ceiling was lower, only just above head height, and the floor—

  He stopped. The objects covering the floor were now visible, more as shadows than anything. But there was no mistaking what they were. Skulls. A sea of skulls was peering up at him, their sockets yawning, their jaws either absent or clenched. They weren’t human, he could tell that much. But precisely what they were eluded him. And the fact that they were animal was meagre consolation as they sprang at him from the shadows.

  As his eyes adjusted further, he realised that the skulls were not alone. They were only the most prominent parts of the several hundred skeletons that he could now see piled around the chamber. Most were only partially articulated – a spine here, a ribcage there. But a number of those that were lying on top of the jumble appeared full. Volkov could recognise the tusked crania of walruses, as well as a number of more gracile seal skeletons, their segmented flipper bones poised like unnaturally long fingers.

  Did walruses and seals journey to ancestral graveyards to die? He wasn’t certain. But even if they did, it struck him as unlikely that the two species would share such a place.

  Warning bolts of pain flashed behind his eyes. He reached a shaky hand into his pocket and removed his pill dispenser. The chrome flashed in the dim light as he tipped what he knew to be the last two pills into his mouth. It was an odd sensation. For the first time, his mouth was bone dry, and he actually missed the bitterness of the pills beginning to dissolve on his tongue.

  As he struggled to swallow them, the light ahead flickered. Then again. He stared towards the opening just as something leapt onto the lip of the crevice. It held its position briefly, before bounding into the chamber.

  He kept perfectly still as a train of little creatures followed on, one after the other. They weren’t clear to him, but he was relieved that they didn’t resemble the monsters in the magma chamber. They were way too small for one thing. Even so, he reached down and selected a large shaft of bone to use as a club, and he also took a smaller dagger of splintered rib and secured it in his belt. It was a far cry from his beautiful combat knife, which had slit so many throats with such precision. But it would do.

  There was no longer any sign of the little creatures. A few more paces and he would arrive at the crevice. The blip would be over.

  His leg wound flared up suddenly and he spun around to see a chicken-sized version of the monster that had slashed him before. It was standing boldly in front of him. Its head was cocked and it was chewing on a mouthful of flesh. The sudden realisation that it was his flesh caused him to vomit.

  Before he had time to collect his thoughts, he felt another stab of pain. This time the sensation was accompanied by a ripping sound. He turned back to see a second creature, blood staining its jaws, feasting on another mouthful of his buttock meat. He reached back and felt the blood spilling out over his fingers again from the reopened gash. To his horror, he could even hear the profuse bleeding as it rained down onto the carpet of bones beneath him.

  Bones. His grip tightened around the long bone club and he brought it down towards the creature. With a chirrup, it leapt clear and the club collided with the floor.

  More meat was shredded from the top of his thigh. His heart raced. Screaming, he swung the club backwards and it thumped into the latest creature, sending it crashing into a bone pile. He charged towards it, overcome with rage, and hacked the pointed rib into its gut. Then he brained it with his club.

  Disoriented with blood loss, he threw his head back and roared with laughter before his legs gave way and he crashed down onto the dead creature.

  In an instant, another one was on his chest. Another on his groin. Then his face.

  They were all over him. But Volkov didn’t have the strength left to fight them off, or even to care. He felt a burrowing in his stomach.

  Soon his tongue was gone. Then his eyelids.

  The last thing he saw was one of the creatures scampering past with something in its mouth. It was small, black, rectangular, with a silver ring piercing one end.

  He recognised it, but only dimly, as the darkness finally reached inside his skull.

  3

  None of the soldiers’ GPS tablets were still functioning and none had any useful mapping. Sergeant Marchenko had the same basic plans of Harmsworth that Callum had been issued for his survey, barely legible for blood stains. But there was nothing showing the rest of Franz Josef Land, beyond the outlines of the few immediately surrounding isles.

  Part of Callum wished that he hadn’t insisted on checking the bodies himself. Perhaps if one of the others had been there to fumble around the cold, lifeless limbs, unable to feel sympathy for disgust, then it would have been a trouble shared. But this would be his nightmare.

  They were waiting at the bottom of the moraine as he descended. Earlier, the three of them had managed to locate a drum of unexploded diesel and Callum had left the others, within shouting distance, to refill the hovercraft’s tank.

  “Did you find?” Darya asked.

  He shook his head and her hopeful expression faded. “We’ve got a choice. Either we stay here, take our chances with the creatures and hope that a real rescue turns up, or… we take the hovercraft and whatever supplies we can and move on.”

  “Move on?” Ava said. “You mean search blindly for the base? That’s like looking for a needle in a whole field full of haystacks!”

  “I agree with Ava,” Darya said. “There are nearly two hundred islands. We would search forever.”

  “Not necessarily,” he replied. “Look at it this way. They will send a search party here eventually. The question is when and whether we’re prepared to wait around for it. I’m not. I reckon we decide which way we’re going and leave a note here so that when they do turn up they’ll be able to trace us. We can do the same at each place we visit, and in the meantime we may just avoid getting eaten.”

  There was silence as the other
two considered his words; either they took their chances with the creatures or they took their chances with the sea.

  Then the silence shattered: “How about Option C?”

  They spun around to see a bedraggled figure hobbling towards them. The man was shoeless and shaking. His feet, cut to ribbons on the rock, left a trail of bloody footprints behind him. He was wearing a wetsuit and carrying a loaded harpoon gun.

  Ava could hardly speak. “Dan?”

  Half-dead, Peterson smiled weakly. Then he collapsed where he stood.

  Peterson was alive, though his breathing was shallow and his pulse weak. The three of them lifted him up and lay him in the back of the hovercraft. Using a salvaged first aid kit, Callum bandaged up his feet, while the other two placed their jackets over him and attempted to bring him round.

  Eventually, his eyes reopened and he mumbled something incomprehensible.

  “Dan? What happened to you?” Ava asked, stroking a hand across his cheek.

  He beamed up at her. “Ava?”

  “What have you done?”

  Peterson described what had happened to him since the Albanov had blown, from his confrontation with Volkov and the bullet grazing his side, to his escape from the wreckage of the Sea Centaur. He looked uncomfortable, embarrassed, particularly as he described how he’d been duped by Volkov. His voice was low and broken throughout, and shortly after beginning to speak he started to sweat profusely.

  “…when I made it back to shore, I couldn’t believe it. I was near as damn it hypothermic, even with the suit. Had to curl up between a couple of rocks and warm myself back up with the inhalator. Had no option but to use brine, so the damn thing’s good as busted now, all clogged up with salt. Still, it kept me going long enough to realise I’d have more chance of getting hitched to the pope than finding you guys in the mist. So I waited for it to clear. Saw the helicopter go down and figured that’s where I’d find you.” He paused then added, “Been walking ever since.”

  “So it’s true then,” Ava said at last. “About the Albanov. It was you.”

  Peterson’s eyes seemed to dim and he nodded.

  “But… how could you do such a thing?”

  “I’ve been carrying out attacks on corporate installations for years,” he replied, the softness of his voice at odds with his frankness. “This was my biggest project to date, but the way I figure it, the threat that companies like G&S pose to the planet is also the biggest to date. Every action will have an equal and opposite reaction. In this case, that reaction just so happened to be me.”

  He surveyed their disbelieving faces. “The Arctic’s like a vital organ. We keep it healthy, we live long and prosper. We abuse it and, well… there are worse things than lizard birds in store for us. Anyhow, I know it’s not an excuse, but that piece of shit Volkov played me like a prize idiot. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’d do anything to take it back, believe me I would.” He looked around. “Whatever happened to that piece of shit anyway?”

  It was Callum’s turn to tell Peterson what had happened since he had stranded the three of them on Harmsworth. Where Peterson had given a plain narrative account, Callum’s was more like a list of charges for which he held the Texan accountable. As he spoke, he tried his hardest to exaggerate the sense of horror and loss that they had all experienced, to give Peterson both barrels. But he couldn’t. There was simply no exaggerating what they had been through.

  Peterson took a while to digest what Callum had told him. Then he said, “So you’re the only ones left, huh?”

  “Unless Volkov somehow managed to find his way out of the caves,” Callum replied. “But I doubt that.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” Peterson said. “And he’s got the data stick. Shit! With his contacts, he’ll have an anti-virus developed faster than a whore can drop her panties. Sonofabitch! He’ll probably sell the virus to his mafia friends and then… Shit!”

  “I’m sorry if we’ve disappointed you, Dan,” Callum said. “If I’d only known how upset you’d be, I would’ve tried harder to disarm the maniac.”

  His surprise at finding Peterson alive had all but vanished and with it any sympathy. In its place was raw anger. “Talk about disappointment. I don’t care what your intentions were, what you’ve done turns my stomach!”

  Peterson went to respond. Then he evidently thought better of it and closed his mouth.

  “All those people on board the Albanov,” Callum went on, “everyone that’s died on Harmsworth since, they owe their miserable deaths to you. Their blood is on your hands. All three of us have nearly been killed and we still might be. Do you even understand that?” He paused, his eyes locked on Peterson’s. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re little better than Volkov, and not your high-minded motive or your half-arsed apology redeem you. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I feel like finishing you off myself!”

  Darya took Callum’s clenched fist and squeezed it gently.

  Peterson let out a long sigh. “Like I said before, that’s what I like about you, McJones. You’re a straight shooter. Everything you’ve said is true. No matter how many times I say I’m sorry, it’s not gonna make up for what I’ve done to you, not to anyone. It’s not gonna make a damn bit of difference. I understand that you want me in a box. Hell, I’d climb on in myself if I had the strength.”

  Darya spoke up. “You said that there was Option C, for getting away from here?”

  With Ava’s help, Peterson pulled himself up into a sitting position. “That’s right, there is.”

  “Well, what is it then?” Callum snarled.

  “You can use the submarine to navigate directly to Nagurskoye.”

  “I thought you said the Centaur was a wreck.”

  “It is. But who said anything about the Centaur?”

  “What then?”

  “I mean Volkov’s sub. It’s moored up in a cove a bit further up the coast from here. It’s where I came ashore.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t just climb on board and get yourself to safety.”

  Darya squeezed Callum’s hand again. “Dan tries to help us now.”

  “So why didn’t you?” Ava asked. “Why didn’t you leave us?”

  Peterson was quiet for a long time. Then at last he said, “Guilty conscience, I guess.” His eyes moved quickly back to Callum. “Look, I’m not after forgiveness here, McJones.”

  “It’s Doctor Ross.”

  “Okay, well, I’m not after forgiveness here, Doctor Ross. I’m not even after sympathy. All I wanna do now is get you folks to safety.” He paused. “You gonna let me do that?”

  4

  The cove was only a few kilometres north of the compound, just as Peterson had said. Sure enough, the submarine was moored up offshore. It was smaller than the Centaur, sleek and white, in kind with Volkov’s other toy, and it was secured by two retractable anchors to a talon of rock jutting into the swell.

  Darya read the name off the submarine’s flank. “White Squall.”

  Callum brought the hovercraft to a halt on the beach and killed the engine. The noise of the fans faded out, leaving only the lapping of ocean on stone.

  Peterson’s voice was croaky. “You remember when I showed you the Centaur controls?”

  “Just about,” Callum replied.

  “Good. Well, when you get inside the sub, the console looks pretty much the same, just smaller.” Pre-empting Callum’s question, he added, “Yeah, I took a look when I came ashore. Now, it may seem complicated, but don’t let it fool you, it ain’t rocket science. Smart fella like you’ll figure it out in no time.” He began running through the basic operating procedures: power, anchor, dive…

  “Why don’t you just show me when we’re on board?” Callum asked eventually.

  Peterson was quiet.

  “Dan?” Ava prompted.

  He
looked up at her. “Because I’m not going with you.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course you are. We’re not leaving you here.”

  Peterson gestured towards the submarine. “That’s Volkov’s personal, one-man sub. I’ve seen inside it, and just getting the three of you in there is gonna be pushing it some. Even if I could squeeze in, which I couldn’t, it’d be asking for trouble. The extra weight would stress the system, the life support would be inadequate, manoeuvrability would be all shot to hell—”

  “Nonsense, you’re just delirious!”

  “I’m not delirious, Ava…” he hesitated, “…I’m dying.”

  Though he practically whispered them, the two words seemed to echo around the cove.

  “Dying?” She laughed. “Oh, honey, don’t be so dramatic. You’re just exhausted and beat up like the rest of us. Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Peterson said nothing. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

  Ava’s smile was replaced by a look of panic. “Dan? You’re not dying.” In exasperation, she looked to Callum. “Doctor Ross, tell him. Tell him he’s not dying. He’s got to come with us!”

  Callum stared long and hard at Peterson. Was he really the only one who had noticed the hand-shaped stain on the side of the man’s wetsuit? It seemed so. In a low voice he said, “Volkov’s bullet didn’t just graze you, did it, Dan?”

  Slowly, Peterson yanked the top half of his wetsuit down, struggling against the skin-tight material. A heavily blood-stained bandage was wrapped around his waist.

  As he lifted the dressing, Ava gasped and held her hands to her mouth.

  The bullet hole itself was purple, black and oozing, and the whole of his mid-section had turned a deep burgundy, as if somebody had punched him repeatedly in the stomach.

  “It’s infected,” Peterson said. “Truth be told, it’s a miracle I’m still breathing.”

  “Dan, this must be so painful,” Darya said, dropping to his side.