“Steady.” Boisson held her assault rifle in one hand and a lighter in the other. She stepped forward and knelt down to the pitiful stream of lighter fluid that was all that separated her team from the oncoming horde of apparitions. “Steady.”
When the closest of the creatures was a mere ten meters away, she ignited the lighter fluid and jumped back. “Fire!”
As her team opened fire, she turned and slammed her fist against the base of the flare, launching it in the direction of the Cobras orbiting to the south. Naomi saw her mouth something, maybe a silent prayer that the Marines would see the dazzling red ball that soared toward them. A red flare. Send help.
“Back up!” At Boisson’s order, the agents began to slowly move back, away from the sputtering line of burning lighter fluid.
Harvesters went down under the barrage of fire, and just as Boisson had hoped, several of them skittered or stumbled forward into the burning lighter fluid and exploded into flames. Other harvesters, unable to stop in time, tried to leap over. Some made it, only to be blasted to pieces by the concentrated fire from the FBI agents. Others didn’t, and they joined their brethren in flames.
In no time at all, the pitiful line of lighter fluid had been transformed into a conflagration, with flames reaching a dozen or more meters into the sky. The agents had to move back, away from the blistering heat.
“Spray more fluid on our flanks!” The harvesters were now streaming around them. Most were keeping well away from the flames, but Boisson wasn’t taking any chances.
“I’m out!” One of the agents tossed away his empty can of lighter fluid and raised his rifle toward a harvester passing close by. He didn’t see the one that skittered perilously close to the fire. It stabbed him in the neck, just above his armor, with its stinger in passing, just before two of the other agents blasted the creature in the torso, knocking it down.
Naomi held her fire, mainly because of the cats. They howled in fear at the roar of the guns, the crackling heat of the creatures now burning on three sides of them, and the sense of harvesters all around them. Alexander panicked, but instead of bolting away, he clawed his way up her leg. She cried out in pain, but let him go. She wasn’t about to try to pull him off in the middle of a firefight, not that she’d be able to, anyway. There was nothing else she could do.
He climbed up her back, where his claws found purchase on her web gear, but couldn’t sink through her body armor. With his front claws lodged in the web gear over one shoulder, his muzzle was right next to her ear, and his pitiful cries joined the maelstrom of noise around them.
Koshka, not about to be left alone, followed her feline companion, lodging herself on Naomi’s back next to Alexander.
Making a decision, Naomi undid their leashes from her belt. If she went down, at least the cats would have a chance at survival on their own. She wouldn’t doom them to die because they couldn’t escape the anchor of their dead mistress.
Three harvesters leaped over the flames on one side. Four agents went down under them in a ferocious melee of whipping tails, slashing claws, and automatic weapons fire.
Naomi stepped forward with her shotgun and blasted one of the harvesters in the head while two of the agents pinned it down. One of the other creatures leaped to its feet and ran off after decapitating another agent. Naomi dropped it with two rounds from her weapon. The third harvester twitched and died after another agent stuck the muzzle of her shotgun in its gut and pulled the trigger.
Grabbing the woman under the arm, Naomi pulled her to her feet as the other two agents scrabbled away from the still-twitching harvester.
“Thanks,” the woman gasped.
As bright and hot as the harvester bodies burned, they didn’t burn long. Already their protective wall of fire was guttering, dying out.
Naomi froze as she saw one of the enormous larvae pass by. The smaller ones couldn’t move very quickly, but the relative speed of which the things were capable seemed to increase with size. Naomi could easily escape one, but she’d have to move at a brisk trot to do so.
Boisson stood beside her, watching the thing glide past. “Holy shit.”
They both heard a sound, a loud, deep hum. The giant larva rippled, then exploded. Burning chunks of it were sent skyward in all directions as the main body caught fire.
Naomi looked up to see one of the Marine Corps SuperCobras coming up fast from the south. The sound she’d heard was the gunship’s twenty millimeter triple-barrel gatling cannon. It fired again, blasting another larva that she couldn’t see.
That’s when she remembered the bits of the first creature now arcing down all around them. “Don’t let any of it touch you!” She shouted out the warning again, pointing up at the bits of what looked like flaming bacon grease.
Boisson and most of the other agents looked up, horrified expressions on their faces as the gunship continued to fire at targets all around them.
Naomi screamed again, trying to warn the agent that had carried the carboy. He looked up in time to catch a fist-sized piece of the giant larva square on the face below his helmet. Dropping his weapon, he put his hands to his face and fell to his knees, writhing.
Then she was flying through the air, landing hard on her chest. Her chin and the end of her nose banged into the asphalt. The brim of her helmet saved the rest of her face from the impact.
Dazed, she rolled over on her side to look back. A piece of the giant larva, as large as Alexander, had landed right where she’d been standing. It was on fire, but was rolling around, as if still looking for more prey.
On the far side of it stood Boisson. She’d pushed Naomi clear.
“That’s the second time one of those bastards has tried to fall on me,” Naomi said to Alexander through his non-stop cries. “I think I’m a bit sick of them doing that.”
Boisson helped her back to her feet, weighed down by over thirty pounds of terrified felines in addition to her combat gear.
Now both of the Marine gunships that had been to the south were circling over them, firing non-stop. One of them hovered for a moment, and with a whoosh fired several rockets back toward the stables. Then it fired more. The southeastern end of the stables disappeared in the resulting explosions as the rockets hit, sending a shower of wood and metal into the air.
“I’m out!” One of the agents nearby tossed his rifle to the ground. While they had come armed with heavy weapons, they hadn’t planned to take along enough ammunition for a full-up firefight.
Naomi handed the man her shotgun, then took the ammunition out of her pouches and stuffed the shells into his.
She backed up next to Boisson, feeling utterly naked without anything more powerful than the Glock 23 that she pulled from the holster strapped to her thigh.
One of the Cobras fired again. Then it came down low and hovered where they could see the pilot and the gunner. The gunner pointed to the nose where the cannon was, then ran his finger across his throat.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones running dry,” Boisson shouted.
“No,” Naomi breathed as the helicopter pulled up and turned away. The other Cobra turned to join up with it. “Oh, no.”
“Come on,” Boisson said. “We’ve got to move.”
While most of the adult harvesters had moved past, the bulk of the larvae, large and small, were coming right for them, converging. The clinical part of Naomi’s mind wondered how they could possibly sense anything, as they seemed to be made up of nothing more than a variant of the harvester’s malleable flesh. But they clearly could. The larva in the jar, which miraculously still stood, undisturbed, had proved that. Even now, it was plastered against the side of the carboy that faced her and the others, trying to get at them.
“Great. Adults ahead of us, larvae behind.”
“Yeah, and the big ones are fast.” Boisson gestured for one of the surviving agents who had run out of ammo to pick up the carboy. Grimacing, the man knelt down and cradled the thing to his chest, then followed Naomi and Bois
son as they began trotting south across the parking lot toward Huntington Drive.
They quickly discovered that while the harvesters had learned to fear their own children, the humans were still nothing more than food. Two of the things attacked, killing another agent before they were brought down.
Now, the only thing the FBI agents had were their pistols.
Boisson cursed. “We should’ve brought more hair spray.”
More of the harvesters slowed, then turned to watch the humans. There was a ring of the creatures now, hemming in the team as the larvae continued to approach from behind.
“Shit,” Boisson breathed. “We’re trapped.”
She was right, Naomi knew. They were caught in a vice. “Dammit,” she whispered. She reached up and scratched Alexander behind the ears, wishing she could do the same for Koshka, who continued to cling to her back. She raised the muzzle of her pistol, pointing it over her shoulder, just under the big cat’s chin. There was no way the cats could escape, and she wouldn’t let them suffer.
Beside her, Boisson nodded.
Naomi’s finger was just applying pressure to the trigger, squeezing it gently as Alexander rubbed his muzzle against her neck when she heard the sound of an approaching helicopter.
Easing her finger off the trigger, she looked to the west and saw a bright blue Bell 412, larger than the Marine gunships, zoom over the mall. It was flying so low that there couldn’t have been more than a few inches between the tops of the air conditioning units and the aircraft’s skids. It flew over the parking lot where they’d been, then suddenly banked to the right, heading right toward them, coming in low over the larvae converging on what was left of the team. The doors on both sides slid open, and a man in combat gear and wearing a flight helmet, supported by a safety harness, stepped out onto the skid on the starboard side. In his hands was a machine gun.
“Let’s go!” Boisson pushed Naomi toward the helicopter as the skids brushed the pavement. Glancing over her shoulder, Naomi saw that the harvesters had decided that it was time to play again. As one, they were rushing the helicopter.
The door gunner opened fire, sending a solid stream of tracers just inches over the heads of the agents and Naomi as they ran toward the helicopter.
Boisson shoved Naomi in first, then the agent carrying the carboy gingerly handed it up before climbing in after it.
Naomi turned to help the other agents in, noticing how accurate the fire from the door gunner was. It seemed like every round the man fired hit one of the harvesters. Like inflammable marionettes, they danced in a costume of flames before they collapsed to the pavement.
As the last agent was hauled aboard, the helicopter lifted away. The man on the machine gun continued to fire until the harvesters were out of range.
Someone thrust a headset into Naomi’s hands, and she pulled it on while two of the other agents tried to pry the cats off her back.
“Jesus Christ, girl!” The voice was familiar, and belonged to someone she’d known well, although she hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year. “Why is it that every time I haul your ass around the sky, something’s either blowing up or somebody’s shooting at us?”
“Al?” She nearly burst into tears, she was so relieved. “Al Ferris?”
“Who else do you think would be stupid enough to land in the middle of a bunch of monsters?”
Pushing herself out of her seat, she leaned forward against the pilot’s seat and wrapped her arms around the older man, hugging him tight. “Oh, God, Al.”
“Take it easy, kid.” Ferris, a retired and highly decorated veteran of Combat Search and Rescue, had been the main pilot for the Earth Defense Society. Even though Naomi had been his boss, he’d always been like a gruff but loving uncle. “It’s damn good to see you. But I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“How did you know to come for us?”
“Renee called me,” he explained as he pointed the helicopter to the east. The nose dipped as it picked up speed. “She told me that if I didn’t pick you up, she’d never make me any more of those meatballs of hers. Couldn’t have that.” He jabbed a thumb back toward the man who was still manning the door gun. “Hathcock got hired as a security weenie, ‘cause he’s too dumb to fly.”
Naomi turned to look at the door gunner. He raised his visor and gave her a thumbs up and a smile. It was Craig Hathcock, one of the hired guns that had been with the EDS and a world-class sniper. “Good to have you back, Naomi.”
“Thanks for the cover, Craig,” she told him. “You saved our asses.”
“All in a day’s work.” He smiled again, then turned his attention back to the ground below. They were flying at well over a thousand feet now and still climbing, so the harvesters were no direct threat, but his job was protecting the helicopter, so he kept his eyes and the muzzle of the machine gun pointed outside the ship.
Naomi was still confused. “But where did you come from?”
“Unlike you, kid, I had to find a real job after the EDS got burned. This rich guy heard about what a hotshot pilot I was and offered to hire me as his personal aerial chauffeur. Who knows, you might even know him.” He nodded toward the copilot’s seat.
Both Naomi and Boisson looked at the copilot, who happened to be wearing a very expensive suit. Turning toward them, he raised the dark visor on his helmet to fully expose his face.
It was Howard Morgan.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Norway?” Khatuna stared at both men as if they had lost their minds. “Duraki! Idiots! That must be two thousand kilometers from here. We cannot reach so far.”
Jack looked back into the cavernous space in the back of the plane. “How much cargo can this thing carry?”
“A little more than two thousand kilograms.”
“And how much fuel?”
“Twelve hundred liters.” Khatuna narrowed her eyes. “What are you thinking, Jack?”
“I think I saw some fuel drums behind the station here. What if we get them in here and fill them up with fuel. We should be able to extend our range.”
“Not enough.” Khatuna shook her head. “We could not carry enough safely to reach Norway. We would still be perhaps three hundred kilometers short. And I doubt we will be so lucky to make another refueling stop like this.”
“Then we carry what we need to get where we want to go, Khatuna.” Mikhailov coughed, then wiped the blood from his lips. “We have gone well beyond what is merely safe, I think. But we need to act quickly. The authorities will come soon. That will not be good.”
“We must get you to hospital.” Khatuna put a hand to his chin and lifted his head to get a better look at his face. “Your bleeding is worse.”
“I am fine.” He closed his hand over hers, gently, then pushed it away. “Now go. Hurry.”
Jack led her out of the plane, Khatuna muttering what he knew must be venomous curses. Without a word he pushed through the ring of onlookers and headed toward the rear of the station. Sure enough, there was a stack of fuel drums.
“Each holds two hundred liters.” Khatuna rapped her knuckles on one, then another. They were empty. “We will need at least eight, Jack. Nine if we are to have any reserve at all. But that will put us over maximum load of plane.”
“What does that mean?” Jack began to roll the first drum toward the plane. The two men who ran the station had come over to see what they were doing, and Jack pointed at them, then at the fuel drums. One of them opened his mouth to protest, and was met by the muzzle of the Desert Eagle, about three inches from his nose. Jack stared at him for a moment, then twitched the gun in the direction of the fuel drums. The men, dark expressions on their faces, moved past him and grabbed a drum each, and Jack shoved the gun back in its holster.
“It means we will probably crash on takeoff, or soon after.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to be an ace and fly very carefully.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You don’t have to come with us, Khatuna. But Sergei and I have to
do this. We have no choice.”
“And who will fly plane? Sergei? He can barely raise his arms!” She cursed again. “Get drums inside, as far forward as you can, and tie them down.”
“How many?”
“Ten. If we are going to die, let us die with maybe enough fuel to get there. But you have forgotten one thing.”
“What’s that?” Jack set the barrel on its side and began rolling it toward the plane.
“We have no way to get fuel from barrels without landing.”
“I’ve got an idea about that.”
She shook her head, sending her hair flying in a golden halo around her head. “Durak.”
* * *
It didn’t take long to get the fuel drums aboard, and after raising the flimsy metal seats in the cargo area to make room, Jack lashed them down with the rope he took from the storage compartment in the tail. The drums were packed in tight, with no walkway to reach the cockpit.
Khatuna had to crawl over them to come aft. “Main tanks are full. Now we fill these. Come.”
Outside, she disconnected the fuel line from the plane and handed it to Jack. “Put this in first drum. When it is almost full, tell me. We will shut off pump, then move to next drum.” She glared at him. “Do not spill fuel in plane.”
“Got it.”
While Jack hauled his end of the hose into the plane, Khatuna pulled the other end from the underground fuel tank and dragged it over to the premium fuel pump. In Russian, she ordered the two men who now followed her like hyenas, “Turn on the pump.”
“And who will pay?” They were very angry now. “Do you know how many rubles this is costing us?”
“You will be reimbursed by the VDV, and given extra as a reward for your cooperation,” she said smoothly. “Kapitan Mikhailov is keeping careful records of what we are using.” Her voice softened slightly. “He is an honorable man on an urgent mission. You will not be cheated.”
Bitter Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 2) Page 33