by Dan Smith
Something grabbed at Zak’s ankle and he went sprawling face first into the snow. He didn’t miss a beat, though. Straight away, he clambered forward on to his hands and knees, scrambling over the ice without looking back. Only when he had crawled a few metres, did he get to his feet and turn to see what had attacked him.
The soldier was propped on his elbows, watching Zak like he couldn’t work out who he was or what he was doing there. He blinked hard and shook his head, trying to get to his feet but failing. Around him, the other soldiers were beginning to stir.
‘Boy.’ The voice came from behind him. Quiet and muffled, but commanding. ‘Boy.’
Zak spun around to see the woman in black on one knee, between him and Storage. Both her hands were on the ground as she tried to push to her feet.
‘Stay where you are,’ she said.
‘Get lost.’ Zak rushed forward as the woman tried to stand. He slammed into her as hard as he could, barging her with his shoulder, sending her sprawling. The impact of it rattled his teeth, but he didn’t waste time trying to recover. If the soldiers were starting to come round, it meant everyone inside Storage probably was too. He had to get to them. He had to tell them the soldiers were unarmed. A group of nerdy scientists against highly trained soldiers didn’t have the best chance, but they were smart; if they all worked together, they might be able to overcome them.
As he came close to the edge of the landing strip, though, Zak spotted something from the corner of his eye, and he twisted to see someone tumble out of the Osprey’s side door.
The pilot! I forgot about the pilot!
The man struggled to his feet. He used one hand to support himself against the fuselage, while the other reached to draw the pistol from the holster secured to his thigh.
‘Stop him.’ The woman in black spoke again. ‘Bring him down.’
Zak lowered his head and sprinted as hard as he could but managed only four long strides before something ripped through the side of his coat, below his armpit. A fraction of a second later he heard the report of a gunshot from behind him.
Blam!
He’s shooting at me! Zak’s mind screamed, and his body shifted into overdrive. Everything was working at once – heart and lungs, arms and legs. He was running for his life now, adrenaline flooding his body.
Blam!
This time the bullet slammed through the padding on the shoulder of his coat, grazing the surface of his skin as it passed through. The shock of it jarred Zak to the left. His legs tangled beneath him and he tripped over his own feet, sprawling on to the compacted ice of the landing strip. Shoulder burning, he crawled on as shots punched into the ground around him. He was desperate. Terrified. The pilot was disorientated, but he was starting to recover. His shots were better placed, and soon his senses would return completely. Any second now, one of those bullets was going to slam through his back, or hit his head.
Keep moving! Zak had to get into Storage before that happened. He had to keep moving.
Staying on his hands and knees, he clambered across the landing strip and into the deeper snow on the other side. The pilot had stopped firing, so Zak guessed he must have used his full magazine and was reloading the pistol. This was his chance to make a final run for it.
Ignoring the burning sensation in his right shoulder, Zak stood and risked a look back. But the pilot wasn’t reloading his weapon. Instead, he was leaning into the cockpit of the aircraft. Zak had a second to register that the pilot was retrieving an assault rifle, then something hit him hard from the left.
Zak’s boots left the ground and he went sprawling, snow filling his mouth and burning in his eyes. Trying to recover, he pushed to his knees, but before he could stand, an arm wrapped around his neck and dragged him hard to his feet. His head twisted, his neck strained, and he heard the woman in black speak into his ear. ‘Nice try, kid.’
Footsteps crunched the ice and snow as the Osprey pilot came to meet them. The woman in black pushed Zak away, grabbed the rifle from the pilot’s hands, and tucked the weapon against her shoulder. She raised it so Zak was looking up into the barrel.
‘No!’ He put his hands up to cover his face. ‘Stop!’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t shoot!’
So she stopped.
Zak knelt in the ice, hands covering his face, but nothing happened. No gunshot.
He lowered his hands and looked up at her.
‘Leader?’ The pilot looked at the woman, her face hidden by the battle helmet. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I . . .’ She leant forward, pointing the rifle. Zak flinched, but still she didn’t shoot. ‘I can’t,’ she said.
‘Can’t?’ the pilot asked.
‘No.’
Could it be? Zak thought. Could it be that the insects had given him something unexpected? In those moments before they left, when they smothered him, and filled him with life, maybe they had done more than just cure him. Maybe they had taken the sickness from his brain, and in its place they had given him a way to connect with other minds, the way they had connected with his. The way they had controlled the red-jackets.
So Zak concentrated like he had concentrated when he was in the wreckage of the plane, misleading the red-jackets. He stared at the woman in black, trying to put an image in her head. An image of her doing everything he told her to do. ‘You won’t shoot,’ he said.
The woman in black paused. ‘I won’t shoot.’
It worked! It actually worked!
‘You’re going to put that down,’ he said.
‘No, I’m not,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to—’
‘You’re going to put that down,’ Zak tried again, concentrating harder, imagining her obeying him.
This time, the woman in black shifted the weight of the rifle and lowered it with both hands. ‘I’m going to put this down.’ She dropped it into the snow.
Behind her, the other soldiers glanced at one another in confusion.
It’s like a Jedi mind trick! As crazy as it seemed, that’s what it was like. Zak was Obi-Wan, waving his hand and saying, ‘These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.’
No, it’s more like when Rey tells the stormtrooper to remove her restraints and drop the gun. When she’s just beginning to realize what she can do.
Zak tried not to let the mixture of excitement and confusion overwhelm him. Instead, he fixed his mind on what he wanted the woman to do.
‘You’re going to sit on the ground,’ he said.
‘I’m going to sit on the ground.’ The woman in black did exactly as she was told.
‘All of you.’ Zak imagined them all sitting down, and when he spoke the words, they all did exactly as he pictured it. They all sat down, and he turned to see Mum and Dad and May coming out of Storage, followed by Dima and all the others from Outpost Zero. Even Sofia was on her feet, flanked by her mama and papa.
‘You’re OK.’ Zak couldn’t hide his relief.
‘Zak?’ May asked as she ran over to him. ‘What’s going on? What happened?’
‘I’m not completely sure.’ He was overwhelmed to see them all, but didn’t dare break his concentration. ‘But I don’t know how long this is going to last.’
‘How long what’s going to last?’ May asked, but Mum and Dad were close on her heels, trying to wrap their arms around Zak as soon as they reached him.
He pushed them away and spoke to Dima. ‘Can you fly that thing?’
Dima cast his eyes over the Osprey. ‘Where did it come from? What happened to my plane?’
‘Can you fly it?’ Zak asked again.
Dima shrugged. ‘I can fly anything.’
‘Good. Get in and wait for me. All of you.’
‘What on earth is going on?’ Mum said. ‘We’re—’
‘Just get in the plane. Please. All of you.’
Mum’s face dropped and she blinked once. ‘Of course, sweetheart, whatever you say.’
Zak didn’t watch as the group made their way to the Osprey and climbed on board; he
kept his eyes on the woman in black. ‘You,’ he said. ‘Take off your helmet.’
She placed her hands on either side of the helmet and lifted it from her head. She placed it carefully on the ice beside her and stared at Zak.
She was blonde, with short hair, and an average face. She had no distinguishing features and nothing about her appearance was remarkable. She certainly didn’t look like a monster. Didn’t look extraordinary in any way. She was the kind of person Zak would pass on the street and not take any notice of at all.
‘Where did you come from?’ Zak asked her.
‘November Island. Indian Ocean.’
‘Why?’
‘To secure the base, secure whatever is under the ice, eliminate everyone, await further instruction.’
‘Eliminate everyone?’
‘Yes. No loose ends.’
Zak took a deep breath. ‘Who sent you?’
‘Phoenix.’
‘What’s Phoenix?’
‘I don’t know. I receive a message and that’s it.’
Zak didn’t want to hear any more. He wanted to get out of there, to get as far away as possible from these people and from Outpost Zero. ‘Do you have some way to communicate with wherever you came from?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK.’ He thought about what to tell her. ‘Right. When we’ve gone, I want you and your men to wait five minutes,’ he said. ‘Actually, make that ten minutes . . . then you can go to Storage. It should be warm enough for you in there. Huddle together or something. I want you to wait ten hours before you tell anyone you’re here, do you understand?’
‘I understand.’
‘Good.’ Zak stepped back, wondering if he would still have control when he moved away from her. How did this work? Was there a limit? How long would it last? He had a million questions, but now wasn’t the time to think about them. He had to concentrate. Keep everyone safe.
‘One other thing,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
Zak raised his voice to all the soldiers. ‘When you leave here, you will all forget us. You’ll forget this place. You’ll forget everything that happened. You’ve never been here, do you understand?’
They replied as one. ‘Yes. We understand.’
‘Good.’ Zak walked backwards a few paces, and turned around, cringing, waiting for a sudden shout, an attack or . . . but nothing happened.
As Zak climbed on board the Osprey, he looked back to see the woman in black still sitting on the ice with the rest of her surviving soldiers.
‘What’s going on?’ Dima asked as he closed the door behind them.
‘I’ll explain it all later,’ Zak said. ‘For now, just get us out of here.’
‘As you wish.’ Dima secured the door and went straight to the cockpit to begin preparations for take-off.
Inside, the Osprey was packed full with the people from Outpost Zero. Stunned and confused, they were talking among themselves, trying to remember what had happened to them. Zak pushed past them and went to his mum and dad. He threw his arms around them and hugged them tight.
‘What happened?’ Dad asked. ‘Are you all right? What’s—’
‘I’m fine,’ Zak said. ‘Actually, no, I’m better than fine.’ He put a hand to the side of his head. ‘I’m perfect.’
Then he turned to his sister. ‘Let’s go home.’
JANUARY ISLAND, SOUTH CHINA SEA
NOW
Inside his War Room, The Broker was struggling to stay calm.
The updated thermal satellite images showed no sign of anything remaining below the ice. Whatever those things were, they were now gone, along with most of Outpost Zero. The only remaining heat signatures came from the Storage building, the burning wreckage on the airstrip, and the remaining Osprey.
The loss of the aircraft was like pure acid in The Broker’s stomach. A dense core of white-hot anger. But it wasn’t the worst thing that had happened today.
There was something much worse than losing a couple of Ospreys: failure. More than anything, he hated failure.
The Broker tightened his hands into fists. His manicured fingernails dug into his palms and his knuckles turned white. He lowered his head and glared at the screens in front of him.
Some of the feeds coming in from the battle helmets worn by Lazarovich’s team were dead. The screens hissed and displayed a snowstorm of nothing. These were the pilot and the operatives who had died when the base fell into the darkness of the ice. They did not concern The Broker. He was more interested in the other feeds. In particular, he was watching the feed coming in from an operative identified as ‘Lewis’, because Lewis had a clear view of the remaining team.
In Lewis’s feed, The Broker could see the others on their knees in the snow. None of them was armed. None of them moved. None of them even turned their head; they simply knelt and stared at the Storage building.
The Broker tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Of what he had seen.
When Phoenix had first contacted him with the images of Outpost Zero, The Broker had expected something big. He had imagined vast pools of minerals that could be mined and sold. He imagined an archaeological discovery that would be worth millions. He imagined a new and powerful energy source. But what he had seen erupt from the ground beneath Outpost Zero was more strange and unusual than any of those things, and it had slipped out of his grasp.
He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, trying to soothe his rising anger.
Relax.
When his breathing was under control, he opened his eyes and focused on the feed coming in from Lazarovich’s helmet. The Reeves boy had told her to take it off, and she had done exactly as he instructed. It was now on the ice. The bottom part of the screen was obscured by a dusting of snow, but the rest of it showed him the remaining Osprey. Right now, the rotors were spinning as it prepared to take off.
It was uncanny, the way the Reeves boy had commanded Lazarovich. It was as if he had hypnotized her. The Broker had seen everything that happened – the battle, the rip in the ice, the collapse of Outpost Zero, the appearance of . . . what? What had come out of the ice? Some kind of swarm?
Whatever it was, it had touched the boy. Changed him somehow. The Broker couldn’t think of any other reason why Lazarovich was so firmly under the boy’s control. And he’d also seen what happened to the girl. Lazarovich had shot her dead, but she wasn’t dead any more; not after those things had worked their magic.
Watching the images coming in from Lazarovich’s battle helmet, The Broker saw the Osprey rise from the ground and lift out of view. He listened to the sound of the engines and imagined the aircraft climbing, turning and moving away. He waited until everything was silent, and continued to watch the operatives kneeling in the ice.
None of them moved.
With a sigh, The Broker pulled his smartphone towards him and touched his thumb to the recognition pad. When it lit up, he tapped an icon in the shape of a phoenix.
The phone rang once before Phoenix answered. ‘Sir.’
‘I can assume you saw everything?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ve been trying to contact the team. I have direct comms, but there’s no reply. It’s like they’re zombies. What did that boy do to them?’
‘I don’t know, but I want to find out. I want to talk to him. Track that aircraft. Find out where it goes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And send someone to bring back Lazarovich. I can’t afford to see another one of my agents go rogue.’
‘Sir.’
The Broker didn’t wait for anything else. He cut off the call and stood up, allowing his fury to flare with a sharp, sudden explosion. It surged through him, uncontrollable and violent. He swatted the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug from the table beside him. There was a ting! when his wedding ring struck it, and the mug shot across the War Room. It slammed into the far wall and exploded into a hundred pieces.
Before the fragments of the mug hit the ground, The Broker grabbed the table
from beside him, and launched it at the wall.
The table struck the centre screen with a loud crash! The screen dented in the middle, and a crack flared out in both directions, running diagonally from corner to corner. As soon as the table dropped to the floor, The Broker surged forward, kicking it out of his way. He grabbed the screen with both hands, and with one powerful wrench he tore it from the wall. He lifted it over his head and brought it down hard on the floor, over and over again until the screen came apart, components spilling out and scattering across the floor. He threw the carcass aside and grabbed another screen, about to rip it from the wall and—
Knock knock.
A gentle tap at the door.
The Broker stopped.
Knock knock. ‘Everything all right, Dad?’ A voice outside. His son.
Still holding the screen, The Broker turned to look at the door. ‘Yes, David, everything’s fine. I dropped my mug. Sorry – it’s the one you gave me for my birthday.’
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Well, anyway, Mum says there’s coffee and cake if you want it.’
‘I’ll be there in a second.’ The Broker cleared his throat and let go of the screen. He dusted himself off and straightened his hair, taking a moment to calm himself before going to the door.
When he left the War Room, his son David was waiting outside.
‘You sure everything’s all right?’ David leant to one side, trying to look into the room.
‘Fine.’ The Broker closed the door. There was a click as it locked.
‘It’s just . . . I thought I heard—’
‘Everything’s good.’ The Broker ruffled his son’s hair and smiled. ‘Sorry about the mug.’
‘It’s all right,’ David said. ‘We’ll get you another one.’
‘That would be great.’ The Broker put his arm around his son as they strolled through the house to join the rest of the family. ‘So,’ he asked. ‘What kind of cake are we having?’