Eight

by WW Mortensen

  “…as I said… Wit’s gone, Sarge. Diez… and …meyer too. We’ve been… busted up good.”

  “Shit…” Kriedemann said, turning away. “SHIT!”

  “…you’re it now, Sarge… you know that? In charge… What do… you want us… do?”

  Kriedemann glanced about, as though trying to take it all in. “Bull, hold the line.” He turned to Rebecca. “How long will it take to navigate the burrow?”

  Rebecca shrugged. “Maybe an hour, if it was just the two of us. But Ed can’t crawl. We need another way out.”

  “There is no other way.” Kriedemann turned back, keyed the radio again. “Bull, you there? I want you to sit tight. We’re coming to you, but it’s gonna be slow. We’ve got an injured man here. I need you to hold your position. You got that? Hold your position. You gotta give us an hour. Maybe more.”

  There was a long pause. “Sarge… we may not have… hour. If those things… come back…”

  “Then just give us what you can,” Kriedemann said. “Out.”

  Rebecca listened apprehensively, not keen on heading down to the burrow but knowing there was no other option. She figured Kriedemann was worried the overland route was too exposed, or maybe, in the dark, too hazardous. Both were factors, but there was a more critical issue at play. While the inner barrier-web had been catastrophically damaged, the outer catching-sheet—at least at ground level—was unscathed. That route hadn’t been an option this morning, and nothing had changed. They had to go under.

  Kriedemann turned to her, his mouth opening just as Bull’s voice jumped back on the line.

  “Sarge… you still there…?”

  Kriedemann spun. “Go ahead.”

  “Sarge, listen… we may be able to speed things up.”

  • • •

  Rebecca slipped her left arm around Ed’s torso, gripping him firmly by the belt. With Kriedemann on the opposite side and taking the bulk of the weight, they scampered a few short paces with Ed between them.

  Rebecca strained with the effort. “I hope this plan of theirs works.”

  “It will. How far to the burrow?”

  “Not far. A few minutes.”

  “And if there’re any of those things down there, this device”—he gestured at the X40 in Ed’s vest—“will keep them at bay?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  They shuffled to the chopper’s mangled rear and crouched amongst the shadows. Kriedemann jutted his chin at the missing tailfin and rotor: the entire assembly had been blown off.

  “Someone hit us with an RPG,” he said. “Deliberately took us out. Who would have done that?”

  Rebecca recalled the image of the vapour trail and the alarm she’d felt as it emerged from the jungle in an unerring white line. As the truth hit her, so did a familiar wave of unease. She gave Kriedemann a loaded look. “I can hazard a guess.”

  101

  De Sousa slung the rocket launcher and gathered his gear.

  “You know, Sandros was there,” Cartana whined. “They were going to pick him up.”

  De Sousa sneered. “That’s not what they said. Get the warheads.”

  For once, there was no further argument from Cartana, and De Sousa watched as the smaller man knelt by the pile of equipment and began scooping it up. As he did, De Sousa walked behind him and drew the foot-long blade of his hunting-knife across his throat.

  Cartana made no sound. Wide-eyed, he knelt there for a second—seemingly in surprise—and then toppled to the forest floor.

  De Sousa wiped the blade against a tree. Cartana had served his purpose and would only have slowed him. Had he the chance, the weakling might even have betrayed him. He couldn’t risk it.

  But most of all, he’d had enough of the snivelling.

  De Sousa pried the two remaining warheads from the dead man’s fingers and slunk into the night, Cartana’s body twitching in his wake.

  102

  Bull watched from the door of the chopper as Heng—Chinese-American, light, lean, and comparatively short—moved to the burrow Jessy had told them about. It had taken some searching even with the infrared binoculars, but several tell-tale tracks around the entrance led them to it. They’d already opened the trapdoor and meticulously checked the tunnel. Nothing lurked inside.

  Heng would travel light. A pair of NVGs covered his eyes. A pistol was holstered at his hip. Looped around his shoulders was a nylon webbing rescue strop.

  “We got 300 feet of steel cable,” Tag said to Bull. “Will that do?”

  “It’ll have to.”

  They’d already tested the electrical rescue hoist above the starboard-side door of Raven Two. It still worked.

  Kneeling, Heng paused at the entrance to the burrow before dropping down under the watchful eyes of his companions. McGinley let go of Heng’s ankles, and as his feet disappeared beneath the rim, the flap of earth that was the trapdoor sprang tightly shut.

  Bull keyed his throat-mike. “You there, Sarge? He’s on his way.”

  • • •

  With Kriedemann’s help, Rebecca hoisted Ed, and together they crossed the plaza, this time heading for the tunnel entrance. They’d sheltered at the tail of the chopper for twenty minutes. It would take Heng, at full speed, upwards of half an hour to traverse the burrow, and Kriedemann figured it was better to wait above ground than in the darkness beneath the pyramid. Rebecca had used the time to brief him about De Sousa. She was certain the psycho had fired the rocket. Who else could have?

  Paranoid that De Sousa was out there somewhere watching them—watching her—she hurried forward, glad to be on the move.

  Ed groaned. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for several minutes now. He muttered something unintelligible.

  “Ed, save your strength,” Rebecca whispered. “We’ve got you.”

  The tunnel mouth lay at the foot of the pyramid, about forty feet to the left of the large central staircase. The cobbled stone passageway was eerily quiet. They started down, Rebecca’s gaze fixed on the gloom ahead. This was the single, long passageway that led to the chamber housing the sphere—the very same chamber the spiders had earlier flooded when they’d dropped from the ceiling.

  The burrow entrance was even closer to the surface than she’d hoped. They reached it just as a scraping, shuffling sound echoed off the stonework. Heng’s head popped from the narrow hole, and Kriedemann helped him to his feet.

  Heng brushed himself off, and there were brief introductions.

  “The cable finished up thirty feet short,” Heng told them.

  “We’ll have to drag Ed to it,” Rebecca said.

  Ed had again roused back to consciousness and interjected groggily. “I can crawl.”

  “That’ll help,” Kriedemann said to him, and then turned to Heng. “What about the weight? Can the hoist handle it?”

  “We’re cutting it close,” Heng said. “But we’ll take it slow.”

  Kriedemann nodded. “Okay then. Let’s get moving.”

  • • •

  To Rebecca’s considerable relief, it worked. Strapped by her belt to the retracting cable and with her head and shoulders raised as high as she could manage, she only had to hang on and allow the steel line to winch her and her three companions back through the earthen burrow. Rebecca was at the top of the queue, with Kriedemann aligned somewhere in the darkness beyond her feet and Heng and Ed in turn somewhere beyond his. Ed had the padded collar of the strop around his shoulders, protecting and elevating his head and neck, so he could pretty much lay back and enjoy the scenery. Not that there was anything to see. A continuous rain of dirt marked the journey, and even with the goggles, Rebecca had to squeeze shut her eyes at the barrage. All the while, the cable thrummed in her hands as it transferred through its length the jarring whir of the rescue hoist located somewhere beyond the burrow’s entrance, at the door of the felled second chopper.

  Careful not to overheat the motor, they kept the mechanism on its slowest setting. Even so,
just ten minutes later, all four passengers—with the addition only of a few extra bumps and bruises—were back at the north-western vantage point, safe and sound.

  • • •

  Two soldiers lifted Rebecca from the pitch-blackness of the burrow into the equally dark jungle at its mouth. Immediately, she scanned the area, her gaze falling on the crumpled shape of the second Black Hawk, still hot from the crash and blazing through her NVGs. She and the rest of her group made for it with haste.

  Out in front, Heng and Kriedemann each had an arm around Ed, who, though still concussed, was at his most lucid since his tumble down the face of the pyramid. Rebecca trailed a pace or two behind, aided by the soldiers who had lifted her from the hole. As the group hurried to the chopper, Ed looked back at her, over his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed softly.

  Rebecca smiled. You’re welcome.

  At that moment a female voice rose from inside the felled Black Hawk, cutting through the night. It was Jessy, calling Ed’s name. At that, Ed freed himself, stumbling into a run. As he did, a dark-skinned soldier shot forward from his post outside the chopper and met him midway. Ed shrugged his assistance and burst on unsteady legs past yet another soldier who covered them from the aircraft’s window with the pintle-mounted M2. Hastening to catch up, Rebecca scrambled in behind.

  She found Jessy sitting upright against one of the chopper’s mangled sides and nearly gasped at the sight. The young undergrad—her broken leg splinted and elevated—was a mess: her pigtails had unravelled, and her blond hair was mussed and bloodied, as was her clothing. She held out a pair of bruised, grazed arms. Ed, who was himself bloodied, bandaged and covered in dirt and silk from the burrow, raced forward to embrace her.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted in an almost breathless whisper.

  Jessy was in tears. “I was so scared.”

  “I know. Please forgive me.”

  As they held one another on the chopper’s leaf-strewn floor, Rebecca hesitated at the doorway. A rush of raw emotion washed over her, and she realised a decent portion of it was envy. She looked at her feet, trying to collect herself. She wanted to be happy for the two of them, needed to be. She lifted her eyes and smiled at Jessy as warmly as she could.

  “You did it, Bec,” Jessy said over Ed’s shoulder. Despite what must have been severe discomfort, she beamed. “You got him back, just as you promised. Thank you.”

  Rebecca could stand there no longer and hurried over. A moment later all three were sharing a tearful embrace.

  They still held one another when a voice interrupted. “Someone else wants a hug, too.”

  Rebecca turned to the voice, rising to her feet as Priscilla bounded from the arms of a young Hispanic soldier and straight into hers.

  “Hello!” Rebecca cried, embracing the tiny monkey, who snuggled in close. “Oh, I missed you!”

  Jessy’s eyes lit up in surprise and relief. “Tag… where was she?”

  The soldier named Tag shrugged. “Found her hiding just now in the bushes outside. She must have leapt free before the chopper went down. She’s a survivor.”

  Kriedemann smiled at the scene. Rebecca beamed back at him before turning to thank Tag. There were introductions all round before the intensity of the reunion subsided and the tone inside the chopper once again grew serious. Rebecca sensed she wasn’t alone in feeling they needed a plan, and fast.

  “You want me to call for another helo?” Bull asked Kriedemann.

  Jessy snapped her head up. “Please—no more choppers. I beg you.”

  “Yeah, same,” Ed murmured in agreement.

  Kriedemann seemed keen to put both at ease. “No need to worry about that,” he said. “While those lunatics with the RPG are running around, we’re grounded. I’m not losing another bird.”

  Tag, on guard now at the window, glanced at Kriedemann. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “We secure the area and ride out the night here,” Kriedemann said. “First light, we’ll hunt down those assholes and deal with them. Then—and only then—we’ll call for another helo.”

  It sounded like a reasonable course of action, but Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s wise. That plan, I mean.”

  Kriedemann turned to her. “Sorry?”

  “We need to salvage what we can, get moving, get out of here as soon as possible.”

  Kriedemann nodded. “And that’s exactly my intention, but not until we’ve caught those pricks—and not in the dark.”

  “But we can’t wait for morning. We’ve got to leave now, on foot.”

  A flicker of impatience washed over Kriedemann’s brown and green-streaked features. “Why would we do that?” he said, then reined himself in, tempering his tone. “Bec, listen. I don’t like it much myself, but I’m in charge now. You need to trust me—it’s too dangerous out there. Here, we can defend ourselves: rig Claymores and flares, cordon off the area, set watches. For now, we need to stay put.”

  Rebecca listened politely, but at the end of it shook her head, lowering her voice so as not to undermine Kriedemann’s authority in front of the other men. “Sergeant, please. There’s a reason we have to go. Those creatures… they aren’t finished; they’re regrouping as we speak. They’ll be back, and soon. You need to trust me. We don’t have much time.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. At its conclusion, Kriedemann sighed softly. “What makes you so sure?”

  “I’ve got some expertise in the area, is all.” Rebecca leaned close, her voice almost at a whisper now. “Sergeant, the three of us—Ed, Jessy and I—aren’t compelled to follow orders, right? We’re free to go? Because we’re not hanging around. It’s your choice to sit tight, but I strongly urge you not to. You don’t want to be caught out here again, just the six of you on your own.”

  Kriedemann hesitated, his jaw tightening, and Rebecca figured it was less in exasperation than discomfort. Clearly, the pressures of leadership weighed heavy.

  “So, what are you suggesting?” Kriedemann asked.

  She sensed her chance and took it. “We stirred up the nest—big time. Ed killed the alpha female, and the arachnids will be agitated. In fact, we’ve done so much damage they’ll probably abandon the site altogether, look to start another nest somewhere else. They may be on the move already, and if so, they’ll overrun us long before daylight.”

  Jessy looked at Ed, eyes wide. “You killed what?”

  “Tell you later,” Ed whispered.

  Tag threw Kriedemann an uncertain glance. “She might have a point, Sarge. Crews included, we lost twelve men out there.”

  Kriedemann hesitated. “All the more reason to stay till light. You know we don’t leave anyone behind.”

  Leaning close, Bull cleared his throat. “Sarge, listen, we… already checked before you got here. There ain’t no bodies out there—not a one. They’re gone.”

  “All of them?”

  Bull nodded.

  “Christ.” Kriedemann massaged his jaw, clearly running options and scenarios. At last, he opened his mouth. “For argument’s sake… say we move. Where the hell would we go?”

  Ed was still groggy but had grown visibly stronger in the past few minutes. “This morning,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I talked with Oliveira, and one of his men let slip that they’d arrived here by Zodiac and left it at the ravine. The rain must have flooded the stream. If we head back there and take the Zodiac to the main river, we can radio ahead to a friend of mine who can pick us up in his boat.”

  Rebecca had forgotten about Chad and the Tempestade. It was a good idea.

  Kriedemann, however, wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know that I’m comfortable leading a team into the jungle, at night, on the word of some no-good drug runner. You don’t have proof there’s a boat at this ‘ravine’, and even if there was, who’s to say those lunatics with the RPG haven’t bugged out? It could be gone already.”

  “Maybe, but we still have to get out of here,” Rebecca said. “I thi
nk it’s a good plan. The ravine’s not far, just a couple of hours.” She scanned the cabin. “You got a map?”

  Kriedemann gestured to Chavarre, who produced one. Ed had the ravine’s GPS coordinates.

  Chart in hand, Bull nudged Kriedemann with his elbow. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” he whispered. He pointed to a spot. “Just a few hours from rally point Delta. It’s on the way.” He looked up at Kriedemann, his eyes hopeful. “Boat or no boat, we can pull back to the ravine, regroup, reassess from there. Hell, if she’s right and we did poke a stick down the anthill, they’re gonna be pissed. And if they do come again, and in more numbers, the six of us don’t have the firepower to repel them.”

  Kriedemann glanced about, taking in the surrounding devastation.

  “We could do with your help, Sergeant,” Rebecca urged, “and you with ours. Trust me. The Zodiac will be there.”

  Outside, lightning flashed, followed by a peal of thunder. Rain started to ping on the Black Hawk.

  Kriedemann smirked. “You still want to go out?”

  “We have to,” Rebecca replied, smiling too.

  Kriedemann shook his head a final time and then turned to his team. “All right, you heard the lady—let’s lock and load. We move in five, people.”

  • • •

  They salvaged what they could from the wreckage of Raven Two and assembled in the rain. Rebecca was thankful that Jessy and the soldiers had earlier thought to bring her pack and her laptop down to the exfiltration site. Ed, not surprisingly, appeared to have no concerns about abandoning his equipment, just as he wasn’t upset about leaving behind Intihuasi and all that it still guarded.

  They decided to double-time it. The fittest would pair up and carry Jessy’s stretcher between them, interchanging as needed.

  As soon as everyone was ready, Kriedemann gave the order, and they moved out.

  103

  Moments before De Sousa’s rocket had blasted from the jungle, impacting with Raven One, Sanchez and Owen had exited the cavern—the scene of their encounter with the five megarachnids—through the clustered boulders over which the shallow stream flowed. They headed through a narrow corridor of rock and were engulfed once more by darkness, although this time, it wasn’t absolute.