by Greig Beck
‘Or already here,’ Alex said. ‘It was at the edge of the town when the sun’s rays struck it. I’m not sure it was destroyed or even hurt. Perhaps it changes its state during the day – maybe becomes more … benign, or goes into some sort of suspended animation.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m guessing. We know so little, because if you get close to it, you die.’
Erdamir clasped his hands behind his back and paced around the table. ‘Then we have four hours before the sun goes down. And then it may return … less benign.’
Mallory Butler tapped on the table. ‘It’s still basically following the old caravan trail along the Ankara Highway. Outside of Ulucak there’s three miles of empty space. We can set up a wall of fire that a roach couldn’t get through.’
Erdamir pursed his lips, making his moustache jut. ‘Major, this thing went through hundreds of rounds of armor-piercing ammunition, fragmentation grenades, thermobaric RPGs, and also physically ripped our men in half. I lost nearly all my best SFCs and their commander – a good man and one of my best.’ His voice trembled with suppressed rage. ‘Short of a nuke, what do you suggest?’
Butler looked down at his hands. ‘There are around 1000 personnel at this base. But there are over 4 million people in Izmir, and you estimate we have four hours. We can’t evacuate them all by sundown. And we can’t sit on our thumbs and hope it passes us by.’
‘Maybe we don’t have a choice.’ Erdamir sat down heavily.
Frank Harper leaned forward. ‘Hunter, is there anything you can remember that might give us an edge? Anything at all?’
‘Maybe the general is right,’ Alex said. ‘Maybe we don’t have a choice. It’s going to go through whatever we put in front of it, so … don’t put anything in front of it. My guess is, it’s heading somewhere.’
His mind whirled as he remembered the feeling of torment within the creature. But there was something else, like it had a purpose, or a plan.
Harper rubbed his chin. ‘Go on.’
‘We don’t need to evacuate the entire city,’ Alex said slowly. ‘Just leave a corridor.’
The general stood again and leaned forward onto the table, resting on his knuckles on the dark wood. ‘The weeping … you heard it?’
Alex nodded. ‘It seems to be more focused. Originally it was seeking out populations to feed on, but now it seems to be in a hurry. It’s only engaging when it’s engaged.’
‘Well, if it’s not coming here, where is it going?’ Butler asked.
Sam spoke for the first time. ‘It’s going to Crete.’
‘Good.’ The British major sat back and exhaled. ‘Very good.’
Harper got to his feet. ‘Like hell it is. That’s where the goddamn Seventh Fleet is right now. Gentlemen, I’ve got some calls to make.’ He saluted, and pushed out of the room.
Alex rubbed his chin and turned to Sam. ‘Makes sense. It’s trying to get home.’
Sam nodded. ‘We better get word to the colonel and Professor Kearns.’
‘And we need to get over there, fast.’ Alex got to his feet.
Erdamir walked over and placed a large hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘We’ll impose a curfew from sundown, and evacuate a route to the waterfront. Good news is, once it leaves Turkey, it’s not our problem any more. Bad news is, the problem hasn’t gone away. It now belongs to the world.’
*
Borshov hunched over a small table in a house in the hills overlooking Izmir. The sea in the distance was an electric blue, and the city’s ancient minarets and Greek Orthodox churches rose above a plain of terracotta roofs and modern office blocks. The NATO base was tucked behind some hills to the south, and the gray steel of a ship’s bow could just be seen easing around the headland.
Borshov spoke into a cell phone that was dwarfed by his large hand. ‘We saw what this thing did to the Americans – it is unstoppable.’
He frowned as he listened, then shook his head. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I do know that the Americans have sent some scientists to Crete. They believe there is a way to either control or communicate with it. Maybe they find out in Crete, da?’
He looked out over the miles of houses, and grunted. ‘No, there is no more we can do here. We will go to Crete, and stay ahead of the HAWCs.’
He listened for another second or two, and his broad face broke into a grin. ‘Good. I knew this Graham would be helpful – both with the Arcadian treatment and access codes to their weapon archives. Send the package to Crete. I will collect it there. Now we will see who is the strongest.’
Borshov hung up, got to his feet, and stepped over the bodies of the house’s owners. ‘We move fast. A boat will meet us at main wharf in Alacati.’
He and his two remaining Spetsnaz jogged toward the sea.
*
Walter Gray whistled as he used a small and powerful mobile crane to load the crate onto a pallet. He pushed his clipboard under his arm and lifted the lid of the crate. Inside, carefully insulated, lay the top half of a metallic skeleton – gleaming steel armor plating, pistons, and wires. He checked the power pack, ticked off the items included, then sealed the crate back up.
He signed the release form under the twin signatures of General Marcus Chilton and Colonel Jack Hammerson – an urgent priority order.
‘Someone’s in a hurry,’ he said, then started whistling again as he wheeled the pallet into the silver elevator. Destination: Crete.
*
Mustafa Kamalak spat tobacco from his lip. His small wooden cottage was so close to the sea, he could hear the ripples as the waves washed the pebbled shore. He was a fisherman, the same as his father, and his father’s father before that. He hoped one day his sons might also be fishermen. But he had his doubts, given they were more interested in listening to music on those little boxes they had permanently plugged into their ears than spending six mornings a week hauling nets.
He sucked in a deep breath. He envied his boys their worlds of sound this night. Izmir hadn’t been so quiet after sundown since the end of the Greco–Turkish war in 1923. All the buildings along the central roadway to the coast had been evacuated. Those who remained in their homes were huddled inside, lights out. Mustafa kept his small radio playing, its volume down low, as he listened to the news updates. Something was crossing the country, devastating towns – a poisonous cloud of gas, a deadly germ, a devil, a djinn. No one knew, but everyone whispered. The army quarantined whole areas after it had passed through, and no one from within the affected zones was ever heard of again.
The voices on the radio speculated, using scientific terms Mustafa had no hope of understanding. But one thing was clear – they all sounded scared, which made him feel sick in his guts. His lips moved in prayer. He’d heard the old women talking about God punishing them all for turning their backs on the traditional ways, for embracing a modernity that was repellent to the pious. ‘It is our fault,’ they wailed.
The voices on the radio rose in pitch – the monster was now in the streets of Izmir.
Mustafa turned the radio down so low it was little more than the breathy whine of a mosquito. Then he heard it – another sound beginning to manifest. He turned toward the boarded window, and through its slats saw a tall shadow pass by. There was sound too – weeping, moaning, a jeremiad of despair.
The sound was so pitiful, Mustafa also began to weep. ‘May God save you,’ he whispered.
The shadow paused, and Mustafa felt his heartbeat in his throat. Move on, please move on, he prayed, crushing his eyes shut and holding his hands over his ears.
CHAPTER 26
‘I think I got it, Jack.’
Gerry Harris fed the images through to Hammerson’s office. Hammerson’s screen flickered and then he saw the dark mass moving along the Izmir street. It was like a fog bank with a solid center. He noted its size in relation to objects it passed – it was big, over seven feet tall, and broad.
‘Still not clear, Gerry. Can you give me any more clarity?’
‘Sorry, Jack, that’s
as good as it gets. The computers dismantle the original images, then reproduce them as a simulated best guess, building them up pixel by pixel. Takes a helluva lot of processing power to make it real time. You’re seeing it without really seeing it. Also, the thing is literally giving off that gas that surrounds it.’ There was a pause. ‘Let me try something.’
The screen darkened, then flared, as Harris swapped between infrared and thermal. In thermal view, there was nothing but a cold outline.
‘Giving off very little heat,’ he said.
Hammerson grunted. ‘Like a reptile.’
He narrowed his eyes as the images changed again. Harris moved to light enhancement, shadow management, and then contrast adjustment without any improvement. He went back to the original image. ‘Nope; that’s it, I’m afraid.’
‘Okay, Gerry, good work. At least we can see the bitch now. I want this program sent down to Walter Gray in R&D. We need to fit it into something mobile for the field team so they don’t have to fight blind.’
*
The creature stopped at the tip of the peninsula of a fishing village called Çeşme, which had been there since before the time of the Trojans. A cloud swirled around the dark figure, but its central core never wavered as it stood at the water’s edge. Around it, plants wilted, moths fell from the air, and small lizards shuddered, froze, and then turned milky white.
In its mind it saw a land that had ceased to exist many millennia before. Gone were the songs of the priests, the race of bull-jumpers, the souls of a hundred other races down the centuries. They were all gone, washed away by wind and rain and sand a hundred thousand times over. Its loneliness was like a disease eating it up inside. It longed to be among its own kind, or back in its home so far away. Chronological time meant nothing to a creature that measured its life in many thousands of years, but emotions could last an eternity.
The dominant beings here had barely advanced. It had seen inside their minds – they were still primal, aggressive and weak. But there had been one in the desert that was different; that was unique, and alone, like it was. The brief meld with this mind – or two minds, one rational, the other primitive – had made it long for its own kind again. Sadness almost doubled it over, and then the pain racked it again – pain and hunger. It needed more energy, needed to consume more of the smaller beings. Its job here was not done; its people also needed to be fed. It must return.
It sensed the rays of the sun before the yellow orb appeared at the horizon. It would rest soon. Like the small beings that lived here, it was made of billions of living cells. But unlike them, each cell was an individual entity, which cooperated and worked together with the others. The sunlight broke the cohesive bonds between its cells, allowing them to flow free.
The dawn’s light bathed it, and almost immediately it seemed to fragment and then collapse, its elements drifting away, like dust … or a swarm.
*
At sun-up, the curfew ended and the residents of Izmir emerged. Delivery vans started their rounds, cars, trucks, and bikes clogged the roads, and boats were rigged and the crews threw off lines and headed out in pursuit of the day’s catch. In another hour, no one would remember what the fuss was about.
Mustafa Kamalak edged open his front door, and peeked out. The radio had said the threat was gone. The dark sense of foreboding Mustafa had felt the night before was just a memory. It was as though a storm had blown up, but passed over without doing any damage. He stepped fully outside and sucked in the morning air. He grinned, and turned to shout for his two sons.
In no time, he was gripping the boat’s wooden wheel, one eye closed against the stinging smoke from the thick cigarette of reeking tobacco in his mouth. His face showed a thousand lines, each one carved by wind, weather, and adversity. Fishing was hard, and even harder now that the large-net boats trawled the open waters. Today, he would go far out, past the islands of Mikonos and Ios. If the big Greek boats wanted to scoop up all the fish from his home waters, then he would travel to theirs.
Kamalak grinned and shook his head. His two sons were below deck, playing music so loud it hurt his ears. Though he scolded them daily, they were his pride and joy. Their laziness, girl-chasing and bad language reminded him of himself when he was a boy, and made him love them all the more.
He peered through the greasy window to look up at the sky. A few heavy clouds, dark and thick – maybe rain later. He caught sight of the mast, and frowned. There was a large mass clumped on the pole about ten feet up, like a swarm of bees. He cursed; he’d heard that bee swarms, and even wasp colonies, could take up residence in boats for years. People had been stung to death.
He tied a rope over the wheel to keep it steady, and left the cabin, walking with the wide-legged gait of all men moving about on a small boat at sea. He approached the mast, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark clump, then bent to lift a boat hook that was lashed to the rail. The mass wasn’t moving like bees; it looked solid, but jelly-like. It was certainly something strange.
He spat his cigarette over the side and concentrated. He couldn’t hear buzzing, but there was definitely a sound – soft, like … sobbing. A knot of foreboding balled in his gut.
He lifted the boat hook and got on his toes, drew his arm back. It was hard to concentrate on the mass as it seemed to move and shift, staying where it was but never remaining still. He grunted as he plunged the brass hook into its center. The tip sank in easily, as if the strange blob was something glutinous. He went to draw the boat hook out, but it stuck. The pole vibrated in his hands, and he gripped it harder, bracing himself to give it a good yank.
The sky darkened as a huge cloud covered the sun. Almost immediately the mass flowed down the pole like a torrent of sparkling ants. Before Mustafa could take his hands away, his arms were covered to the elbows. The mass surrounded him, light like dust, but prickling as it seemed to work its way into his very pores.
His hands were now welded to the pole. As the stinging substance grew up over his face, he saw it flowing toward the hold – toward his boys.
*
A seagull squawked its outrage as Mustafa Kamalak’s boat crashed into the shore west of Heraklion and just a few miles short of Panormos. The coastline was rugged, and even though the sea was calm the vessel struck hard, partly beaching itself. The sharp rocks and the motion of the waves, even though they were small, would soon ensure the old wooden boat was broken down completely.
The bird kept a beady eye on the craft, always on the lookout for a meal. The mast with its strange growth floated for a while, before wedging itself among the oyster-covered rocks. The tide would soon expose it. Of Kamalak and his sons there was no trace; no sign that anyone had been on board. The life jackets and buoyant rings were some of the first items to wash ashore, all unused.
Above the hiss of the waves and the creak of timbers there was another noise – sobbing. Unsettled by the strange sound, the seagull took off, circling the boat once and then leaving it far behind. Some instinct told it to be far away when the sun went down in just a few hours’ time.
CHAPTER 27
Matt, Rebecca, and Reece Thompson sat on a bench outside the car hire company’s office in Heraklion, waiting for their vehicle to be brought around.
Rebecca groaned and massaged an ankle. ‘My feet and legs are killing me.’
‘Pilot got us as close as he could without being spotted,’ Thompson said. ‘We’re not exactly clearing customs, are we? It was only a couple of miles – c’mon, toughen up.’
Rebecca blew a raspberry at him and continued to rub.
‘Got it.’ Matt had his computer open on his lap. He turned it around to show them the screen.
Thompson winced. ‘Good Christ, it’s fucking huge. How are we able to see it when it nearly killed that technician?’
‘Major Gerry Harris, Hammerson’s go-to guy for technology, put an application together for us,’ Matt said. ‘And in answer to your question, we’re not seeing it, the computer is. The program was
hes down the images, deconstructs them, then rebuilds them pixel by pixel, as a mirror image of the real thing.’ Matt moved the volume bar up its scale. ‘One more thing – listen.’
Both Thompson and Rebecca concentrated.
‘That’s sobbing,’ Rebecca said. ‘Turn it up.’ Matt upped the volume to maximum, and Rebecca leaned in a little more. After a second or two she nodded. ‘Now that is weird.’
‘Is it in pain?’ Thompson asked, then shrugged. ‘Could be its language for all we know. Or even how the big bastard shows enjoyment.’
‘Language?’ Matt raised an eyebrow. He swiveled the computer on his lap and started to type furiously.
Thompson looked at his watch, and folded his arms. ‘What I don’t get is why it’s turning people to stone. Is that how it gets its jollies?’
‘We don’t know yet if it’s even aware it’s doing that to us,’ Rebecca said.
Thompson snorted. ‘That’s not what Hunter’s report says. He reckoned it was well aware of him.’
‘Energy,’ Matt said without lifting his eyes from his screen.
Rebecca nodded. ‘Not a bad theory. After all, there are many organisms that absorb energy – plants, algae, bacteria. They convert light energy, normally from the sun, into chemical energy that’s later released to fuel their activities. The energy’s held inside certain organelles, or in bacteria it’s embedded in the plasma membrane. It’s quite a normal process in nature.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘Right here, on our Earth, the first photosynthetic organisms probably evolved. But what about something very different from us … or from anything that we know, something that evolved differently?’
‘We feed by ingesting sugars and proteins and converting them into energy,’ Matt said. ‘Our guts have evolved a specialized digestion process to allow it. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to obtain energy.’