The two men turned at a sudden scream from their left. Looking through the sight, Jack saw that one of the men nearby was clutching at his shoulder. Like most of the soldiers, he had taken a prone position in the mud so he could aim better, and one of the larval harvesters had attacked him.
Jack cursed as he compared the gray tone of the harvester with that of the ground. It was a near-perfect match. He wouldn’t be able to pick them out of the clutter to shoot them.
Rudenko grabbed the man by his desperately kicking feet and pulled him back from the defensive line. He was thrashing uncontrollably, his hands already trapped in the harvester’s pulsing flesh after he’d tried to tear it off.
The soldier managed to get one of his feet free from Rudenko’s grasp and lashed out, knocking Rudenko to the ground. “Shoot him!”
For a moment, Jack stood rooted to the ground, paralyzed. He’d killed before, certainly, but he’d never killed a man in cold blood.
There’s no hope for him, Jack told himself. In his mind it was a cold voice, a dead voice, and Jack wondered if someday someone might not say the same for him.
Raising the shotgun, he aimed at the darker, cooler mass of the harvester larva on his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
The thermal sight blanked out for a moment in the white glare of the Dragon’s Breath, and the man’s screams ended with sudden finality as the harvester spreading up his chest and neck exploded into flames.
Turning the sight away from the dead soldier, Jack scanned the others around him. “It looks like this area’s clear. Wait.” He saw something in the shape of a man, but whose “face” was distinctly cooler, darker in the thermal imager, than those around him. “Shit. Follow me.”
Sprinting through the muck, Jack saw that his target was giving orders to the men around him, shouting with authority, and even taking shots with a rifle at the harvesters continuing to charge the defensive perimeter.
As he got closer, Jack could see the outline of the thing’s skeleton beneath the malleable flesh. There was no question.
The only problem was that the thing was right in the middle of a group of soldiers. If Jack shot it now, it could easily kill other soldiers when it burst into flame.
“Rudenko! We've got to get him away from the others!”
The big man didn’t hesitate. He simply charged him and grabbed the harvester by the arm, swung it around, and let it go, flinging it away from the men and putting it in Jack’s line of fire.
The thing recovered its balance almost immediately, much faster than a man possibly could. The human-looking face glared at Rudenko, but before it could do anything more, Jack fired.
The Dragon’s breath shell speared through its thorax and the harvester’s malleable flesh exploded into flame. It did a dance of death, burning gobbets sailing away into the night.
The soldiers around the thing cried out in terror, turning their attention away from the other harvesters that were still coming on fast.
Rudenko bellowed at the soldiers, gesturing with his shotgun for them to turn away from the flaming harvester, harmless now, to watch for the enemies that could still kill them.
As if the sizzling pyre of the harvester was a signal, the firing around them died down, then stopped.
The silence was stunning.
“Did we kill them all?” It was Rudenko’s question, but every surviving soldier was wondering the same thing.
“Don’t count on it. They gave up too easily.”
“Too easily?” Rudenko looked around them. At least a quarter of the men were down, either injured or killed. There were piles of bodies, soldiers who had fought and died at close quarters with harvesters that had made it to the perimeter. Most of the creatures were in their natural, insectoid form, their limbs and killing appendages exposed. A few were part man, part beast, as if they had come running at the humans in the process of changing form. The air was thick with the foul stench that the harvesters exuded in their natural state, and more than a few men were choking and gagging, the smell was so intense. “This must be all, Jack. There were not so many people living in the village to act as hosts for there to be many more.”
Jack shook his head, remembering the poor monkey who was the very first victim of this new generation of harvesters. “Remember, these things don't need humans. They can use any organic material. Animals, plants, almost anything.”
“Da. Even plastics and rubber.” Rudenko wiped a bloodstained hand across his forehead. “I had forgotten.”
“And we have no idea how quickly they reproduce, spawning the smaller larval forms. God knows how many of those little sons of bitches are oozing toward us right now.”
Rudenko reflexively looked down at his feet, but he knew that one of the abominations could be right next to his foot and he probably wouldn’t see it in these conditions. “Chyort voz’mi.”
Jack finished scanning the men left in the defensive perimeter with the thermal imaging sight. He didn’t see any others who looked like harvesters. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go find Mikhailov.”
* * *
They found the Russian captain where they’d left him, near the center of the defensive perimeter, not far from where Kuybishev was talking on the radio in quiet, urgent tones.
“That was exciting.” Mikhailov patted Jack on the shoulder and nodded at Rudenko. “Glad to see you made it.”
“You, too.” Jack looked more closely at the Russian captain. “You seem a bit better than when we left you.”
“Drugs, Jack, they do wonders. Our medic gave me something. My ribs still hurt, but it does not seem to matter as much.”
Rudenko snorted. “Vodka is better medicine.”
Jack nodded toward the regimental commander. “What’s Kuybishev doing?”
“Trying to get air support. Unfortunately, he is having a difficult time persuading our superiors to bomb this place.” Mikhailov glanced over at Kuybishev as the colonel gave the handset back to the radioman while hissing a stream of curses. “The memories of what happened in your California a year ago are still fresh, it seems.”
Kuybishev stomped over, his feet splashing in the mud. Unable to help himself, Jack watched every step the colonel took. He’d become acutely aware of how dangerous the ground had become.
“We are ordered to withdraw.” Kuybishev spat on the ground. “The fools are sending trucks for us.”
“What about the rest of the battalion?” Jack had a sinking feeling. “When is the second drop supposed to arrive?”
“They are not coming. Second drop has been canceled. Army is sending 205th Motorized Rifle Brigade from Budyonnovsk to sanitize area.”
“And what is to become of us, polkovnik?” Mikhailov asked, shocked. “They think we have failed, and so simply remove us?”
“No, they do not think we failed. We are being recalled as part of general alert of airborne troops and military operational commands. The Chinese have gone on full military alert.” He shot a look at Jack. “I should not be saying this to outsiders, of course.”
“I understand, colonel,” Jack told him. “Your secrets are safe with me. But it’s not the Chinese you should be worried about. One of my people informed me that she thought something like what is happening here was happening in China, too. There are also outbreaks in Brazil and India. Their military response is being triggered by the harvesters, just the same as yours.”
Kuybishev’s expression hardened. “I do not wish to believe you, but I cannot dismiss what I have seen with my own eyes. I requested air strike here, to kill any little horrors that might have survived, but command denied it. Now we count our dead and await transport.”
Jack was about to point out that he didn’t think the battle here was over when he heard something over the pattering of the rain. It was a mewling screech.
Soon the lone voice was joined by others, creating an unholy din somewhere beyond the nearest houses on the eastern flank.
“Colonel,” Jack said quietly, “I s
uggest you reinforce that side. We’re going to have company in a minute, and probably lots of it.”
“What is that terrible sound?” Rudenko tightened the grip on his shotgun as, like every other man in the perimeter, he stared in the direction of the noise.
“Unless I’m badly mistaken, those are cats. They’re the only animals that have an instinctive revulsion toward harvesters. We use them as living detectors, and I sure wish someone would figure out a way to bring them on operations like this.” In that moment, he wished more than anything that he had his own cat, Alexander, here with him, but knew that the silly beast was a lot safer at home with Naomi. “One of them even saved my life a couple times.”
One of the soldiers on the eastern side shouted something.
Mikhailov translated, his voice thick with dread. “Movement!”
Turning to the young captain, Kuybishev said, “Stay here. I am putting a platoon under your command as reserve.”
“Ponyatno.”
Pointing at Jack, Kuybishev said, “You stay with him. Kill any that mimic my soldiers, and stay alive. You know these things, and information you bring back will be priceless.” He looked at Rudenko. “You will protect him. At all costs.”
Before Rudenko could respond, Kuybishev had spun around and was trotting away into the darkness in the direction from which the cries of the cats were growing steadily louder and more frenzied.
“I have never heard such a sound.” Rudenko stood close by Jack while Mikhailov spoke to the men Kuybishev had pulled out of the line and sent to him, there in the center of the defensive ring.
As Jack had suggested, Kuybishev had pulled as many men as he dared from the other quadrants to reinforce the eastern sector, and made the perimeter even smaller in hopes of making it easier to defend.
“There’s something about the harvesters that seems to override the cats’ natural instincts,” Jack explained quietly as he scanned the houses to the east. There was still nothing. “They’ll band together, attack and fight.”
“I wonder where the cats were before now?”
“There’s no way of knowing.” Jack saw small, light gray shapes dart around both sides of the nearest house. Like a school of fish, the cats seemed to move as one. They paused, just for a moment, and then made a beeline for the humans. A torrent of nightmarish shapes followed right behind them. “Shit, here they come! Tell Kuybishev they’re coming!”
Mikhailov shouted something, but his words were lost in a fusillade of gunfire that again lit up the night. Jack was astonished to see that the cats, instead of shying away from the gunfire, bored straight on toward the Russians. He only saw two cats go down, caught by stray bullets. The rest passed through the Russian line and ran straight past Jack and the others. But before they reached the men on the other side of the perimeter, they suddenly spun about and gathered around him and the others in the center, mewling pitiably.
Turning his attention back to the fight, Jack watched through the thermal sight as several dark blobs arced outward from the Russian soldiers, grenades that exploded amongst the harvesters with spectacular results. Kuybishev had them use white phosphorus, and brightly burning fragments sailed outward from each grenade blast, many of them landing on harvesters and setting them ablaze.
He lowered the sight. It was nearly useless in the sudden glare of the flames.
“I do not understand.” Mikhailov shouted to be heard over the gunfire. “Why do they come at us this way? Why did they not pretend to be humans and ambush us, as they did on Spitsbergen? Or try harder to infiltrate us, masquerading as our own men?”
Jack shook his head. He’d been wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. We know so little about them to begin with, and this generation is genetically different from the old ones. They can obviously cooperate, but beyond that, only Naomi might be able to tell us.”
A chorus of shouts erupted from behind them, to the west, followed by gunfire and screams.
Bringing up the shotgun, Jack took a look through the thermal sight and felt his heart leap into his throat. He should have paid closer attention to the cats’ behavior. There was a reason they didn’t keep heading west, away from the attacking harvesters. “They’re coming in behind us!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Naomi escaped from one form of captivity only to trade it for another. As the elevator opened on the ground floor, she and the others were greeted by a team of FBI agents.
One of them was a tall black woman with close-cropped hair sporting a few streaks of gray. While that suggested she was a bit older than the agents around her, she also had the build of an Olympic sprinter. “I’m Special Agent Angie Boisson of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If you’ll all please exit the elevator and move to your right,” she gestured toward another group of agents who formed a cordon in the lobby, “I’d appreciate it.”
Naomi let the others file past her as she pressed herself into the front corner of the elevator near the control panel. As the last person, Harmony, stepped out, Naomi jabbed the button for the floor where her office was located.
“Dr. Perrault?”
Naomi looked up in surprise to see Boisson, a bemused expression on her face, stepping into the elevator.
“You won’t be able to go anywhere without this.” Boisson held up an emergency key, which she stuck into the control panel. Giving it a turn, she asked, “Which floor were you planning to go to?”
“Three.” Naomi had stepped back involuntarily, not sure what to make of Boisson’s actions. “I need to get to my office. My cats are there. I won’t leave them.”
The FBI agent pressed the button for the third floor and the elevator doors slid shut on the pandemonium beyond. “Assistant Director Carl Richards sends his regards,” Boisson said. “He wanted to thank you for the tip on Kline.” She paused, her dark eyes locking with Naomi’s. “He also wanted me to ask about what you’ve been holding out on him.”
Naomi felt sick. She had been worried that this might happen. Her silence in exchange for Morgan telling her everything about the Beta-Three samples had been necessary, but had been a bargain with the devil, all the same. That, however, didn’t mean she was going to spill her guts to an FBI agent she didn’t know. “If I did know something, why should I tell you?”
“Because if you don’t, you’re probably going to wind up in prison for a very long time, and Assistant Director Richards indicated to me that he wasn’t very fond of that idea.” She turned the key and hit the stop button. “He wanted me to find you and have a little private chat before anyone else got hold of you.”
“He could have just called me and asked.”
Boisson shook her head. “No, he couldn’t. This raid was based on your tip about Kline. But we also figured out on our own that someone here at Morgan Pharmaceuticals was involved in getting their hands on the biological weapon we believe Kline was selling. Richards is trying to keep this as above-board as he can, given the circumstances. By calling you about this, he would have been involving himself directly with a potential suspect in a case.”
“And this little conversation doesn’t amount to the same thing?” Naomi’s voice was laced with skepticism, but she couldn’t help but cling to the small hope Boisson might represent. Naomi didn’t want to wind up in prison for many reasons, not least of all that she knew that her world could soon be under siege, and she was one of the few people who might be able to help stop it.
“Richards and I go back quite a ways. I was also one of the agents involved in the Sutter Buttes raid. He helped save my ass. I owe him.”
Naomi put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Fifty-three FBI agents had lost their lives in the raid the year before on the Earth Defense Society base, an old Cold War Titan-I missile complex, at Sutter Buttes, California. It was the most grievous loss the Bureau had ever suffered, and had come right on the heels of the destruction of the FBI Laboratory in Quantico, Virginia by the harvesters. Watching those men and women die am
ong the mines that defended the base had been one of the most heart-wrenching, horrible things Naomi had ever witnessed.
Boisson shrugged. “I walked away when a lot of others didn’t.” She looked at her watch. “I’m going to give you three minutes. That’s all I can spare before we’re both sorely missed. If you come clean, I’ve got a cover story that I’ll use to take you into protective custody. I can’t guarantee it’ll keep you out of the pen in the long term, but you’ll at least have a chance.” Her voice hardened. “If you want to keep up the ‘I’m not telling’ routine, you’ll be walking out of this elevator in handcuffs.”
Naomi closed her eyes. Once again, she had no choice.
Then she told Boisson what she knew about Howard Morgan and his Beta-Three project.
* * *
“How can I help you, Special Agent Boisson?”
Boisson turned to see Howard Morgan, a Cheshire Cat’s grin on his face, striding toward her, with the woman Boisson recognized as his security chief right behind. They were flanked by a pair of her agents.
“You can start by telling me what the hell’s behind this door.” Naomi had told Boisson the critical facts about the Beta-Three research in the short time they’d had before Boisson had to turn her over to a trio of agents, who, after gathering up the two cats, whisked Naomi out of the building to a safe house. The most important thing Naomi had revealed was the existence of Lab One, and the rushed evacuation just after the FBI had arrived. Leading a team of agents to the basement, Boisson had found the lab, of course, but there was no way to get inside.
That was when she’d sent her people to find Morgan and drag him down here. She knew that she didn’t have enough to pin anything on him, but he still had to comply with her search warrant.
Of course, compliance didn’t necessarily mean she would get what she wanted.
“I’m so sorry,” Morgan said, not sounding sorry at all, “but Lab One suffered a catastrophic breach this morning and had to be sanitized. I can get you through the outer door, here, but beyond that, I can’t help you.” He shook his head, pursing his lips. “For safety reasons you won’t be able to get past the inner door. No one can, not even me, until the internal sensors judge it to be safe.”
Bitter Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 2) Page 22