Children of the Fifth Sun

by Gareth Worthington

  As always, Kelly was the first to break the silence. “We gotta go after her.”

  “How, Kelly? How? It murdered our whole team. You wanna go after it, just us? With what? One vehicle? God damn it, Kelly!” screamed Freya in frustration.

  “Look!” Kelly shouted. “That thing was never gonna let her go. I did the only thing I could think of, all right? It was a bad call—”

  “Bad call? It’s a massive fuck-up! Look around you.”

  Lucy emerged from her stupor. “This isn’t going to help anyone. We have to calm down and regroup.” She marched to the doctor who was standing, quite limp, in the doorway of the elevator in the barn. “Doctor, can you track it?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “What?” Freya said.

  “We tried to implant a tracking device before, but its tissue rejected it—actually, it expelled it. That’s why we had a whole team to follow it. Oh, God.”

  “Give me a goddamn truck, then. I’ll follow it. Just gimme the—”

  The deep growl of an engine cut Kelly short as a jeep careened onto the scene, spraying dirt everywhere. The engine stalled, stopping the vehicle dead. There was a lasting wait. Minutes passed before the driver’s door swung open. Against the now fully risen sun, the silhouette of Jonathan Teller emerged. He slipped his cell phone back in his pocket and marched toward them.

  Location: Dulce Base, New Mexico, USA

  Minya sat on a creaky bed that was placed against the back wall of the room they had given her to wait in while they reformulated their plan. The Americans were hospitable enough, but she’d never really liked them. They were loud and annoying—everything she hated about being around people. Plus, they traveled the world making a nuisance of themselves. It was uncomfortable being near them.

  Kelly was particularly annoying. A sincere word never seemed to pass the man’s lips, just snide or sarcastic jibes. Alejandro had warned her about him, but she hadn’t fully understood just how infuriating Kelly was. Sometimes, she got the feeling he was deeper than his outward appearance, but it was fleeting. His protective layer of bullshit was so thick, she almost didn’t believe there was room for anything underneath.

  Still, protection was something that made sense to her. Keeping the past hidden was vital. No one would understand. How could they? She did what she did to survive.

  She had been initiated into criminal life at a young age as a drug mule for her uncle. In those days, young girls weren’t necessarily suspected of packing a kilo of cocaine in their satchels. She hadn’t wanted to do it. In fact, she loved school and was a child prodigy. She excelled at languages and in science, though it hadn’t mattered at that point.

  At the age of sixteen, she’d gone to jail but not just any jail. Her skills had landed her in a remote Gulag prison. A remnant from the first half of the twentieth century. As with all Soviet plans at the time, the Gulag prisons were initially devised to weed out counter-revolutionary and criminal elements, imprisoning those who stood against communism. The system put the prisoners to work—correction by forced labor. And if you had special skills, you went to a special prison.

  But the system was quickly abused and became a substantial economic pillar in Soviet society. As time went on, the prison camp conditions became worse and worse, particularly in the north. Almost three million people died in the prisons before they were officially dissolved in the late fifties. But a few had remained in the outskirts.

  The conditions were disgusting and freezing temperatures in tiny shacks with no food compounded her depression. The camp had prisoners from across Russia, Siberia, Uzbekistan—everywhere. The guards used her to communicate with the prisoners, and the prisoners used her to communicate with each other. And they all wanted to buy and sell contraband.

  For two years, she avoided rape, using her language skills to talk her way out of situations or making sure she was always working for the prison master as late as possible—until her eighteenth birthday. On that day, one of her cellmates had offered to tattoo a rose on her shoulder. It was an old tradition in the Gulag prisons. A symbol for young prisoners, showing they had lost their innocence to the penal system. The ink had been made from melted down boot heels mixed with urine. A dull needle then punctured her flesh over and over to form a crude flower under her skin. She had cried herself to sleep that night—until one of the guards had come into her cell. Apparently, there was another tradition for those young girls who spent their eighteenth birthday in a prison. She hadn’t even fought him. At that point, she had given up all hope and just let it happen. She couldn’t even remember his face.

  The next four months had been a blur. Her memory of that time was fragmented and distorted. She had lived like a zombie, moving through her work and chores day-to-day without really engaging with the world. Though she never had the energy to cut her own wrists or create the noose to hang herself, she wished for death. But this was already hell. There was no point in swapping it for eternal damnation. Nothing would change—until he came.

  He’d been known to buy labor from the Gulag prisons. After all, it was cheap for the outsiders, and the prisons needed funding now the government had all but abandoned them. On the day she had been lined up with a few of the other prisoners—stock to be chosen from for an important job—he walked in and, having taken one look at her, decided he wanted her to work for him. Not only that, but he’d paid to get her out under the condition she work for him and do whatever he asked of her.

  There had been no second thought, no pause. Perhaps God had shown mercy. Perhaps it was fate. However it came about, it was an opportunity.

  * * *

  Minya brushed her red-brown hair across the back of her head and fished out the communication device from her pocket. There were no new messages. There had been no contact for a few days. It was unlike him. He always checked in. It worried her. She scowled, stuffed the device back into her pocket and paced the room. She hated it here. Not only was she stuck with many people she didn’t like, but they were deep underground, too—maybe that’s why she couldn’t receive his message. Plus, it was claustrophobic, and she needed a cigarette.

  The guards had been pretty lax about letting her topside. But then again, where would she go? They were in the middle of the New Mexico desert. She brushed her hair back once again and stomped out of the room and down the corridor. Upon reaching the elevator, she was met with the same soldier she saw every time she left. He’d introduced himself as Tom Radley. It had been difficult to place his age—not that she cared. He was overly familiar and wore an annoying grin every time he saw her. Did he know who she was? His poor attempts at flirtation, commenting on her “beautiful almond eyes” or “amazing bone structure only Russian women have” had fallen on deaf ears. For one thing, she was Siberian. For another, she hated ninety percent of people—especially men.

  “Evening, Ms. Yermalova,” Tom said, beaming.

  Minya eyed him and gave the weakest smile she possibly could.

  “Cigarette break?”

  “Da,” was all she could be bothered replying.

  “Sure. You want me to go with you? That creature could still be up there.”

  “No,” she replied and then decided to add, “Spasiba.”

  “Okay, as always, five minutes before I come get you.”

  Minya nodded and stepped into the elevator.

  The door hissed closed behind her. It lifted quickly upward, and then jerked to a halt. The doors slid open, revealing the cool desert. Its orangey sand spread out for miles and miles in a lonely expanse. She loved the peacefulness.

  Stepping outside, Minya lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. The nicotine seeped through her lungs and into her bloodstream, instantly relaxing her. It was a habit she’d picked up in prison and ended up relying on—she hated that.

  She pulled the communication device from her pocket and glanced at the screen—still no message. Yebat. Bistro! Bistro! Where was he? Minya sucked on her cigarette again.
Why the hell was she here? She didn’t want to be. She should be back home. But this was what she deserved for getting caught up with the Chinese. She was tied to them by the funding of her last dig in Siberia and now to the Americans through a chance encounter a year ago.

  She glanced at her watch. Already six minutes had passed. Damn. She huffed, took a last drag of her cigarette and flicked the stub off into the sand before stepping back inside the elevator and descending back underground.

  Location: Somewhere on the Rio Grande, Texas, USA

  The enormous creature slipped out of the river and onto the shale bank. Dark stones littered the soft silt and extended back ten or fifteen feet to meet the dense tree line. Rows and rows of tree-filled mountains were painted against the cloudy, blue sky. Wak laid Victoria on the ground and slinked off a few feet to sit by itself. Keeping guard, it breathed heavily and rested its aching muscles.

  A light, chilly breeze licked at the river’s surface and across Victoria’s wet skin. She shivered and opened her eyes. Her head was laid in the shale, her body curled up in the fetal position. She glanced around. Where was she? Where was the creature? Had she passed out again? Sitting up, she concentrated harder on understanding her environment. They were still following the river, but the air carried another scent—salt. She lifted her nose and closed her eyes. The power of the scent was strong. It filled the back of her throat so she could almost taste it. The sea. They were close to the sea. It was comforting like home. She inhaled through her nostrils, filling her lungs to capacity. Holding the wonderful atmosphere in her chest, she opened her eyes. Opposite her, she saw the creature mimicking her movements exactly. Its chest puffed out, full of sea air.

  Victoria exhaled quickly, her fear leaving her as the air did. Was she enjoying the experience or was the animal? Which were her thoughts and emotions, and which were its? It was so hard to tell—to separate. She clutched for her invisible crucifix and then her braids. What did the animal want? To escape to a place she did not know? But for some reason, the closer they got, or perhaps the farther away from Dulce Base, the less scared she became. It was inexplicable and abhorrent. The mere fact she was attached to this monster was vile. Why had God forsaken her? What had she done? Was this punishment for the wrong she had done in her life?

  The grating of stone on stone drew her attention to the animal. Wak had begun to stalk toward her. Slowly, cautiously, Victoria shuffled away, just a few inches. But the animal came closer. Its deep red eyes studied her, noting every curve and flaw of her face. Victoria’s insides burned as the animal’s mind penetrated hers, its emotions pouring into her very being—fear, anger, sorrow.

  Victoria frowned. Sorrow? The animal could feel sorrow? For what? Its actions? For killing those men? For invading her soul? She stared further into its eyes. “What do you want?” she whispered.

  Wak backed off slightly and sat on its rear end, its front legs straight like a dog. Victoria found this odd, even amusing. She cocked her head to the right. Wak copied her. She cocked it to the left. Again, the animal mimicked her movement. Was it trying to communicate?

  A powerful seizure gripped the animal, its neck muscles spasming, pulling its head to the side. Its eyes screwed shut as if the pain were excruciating. Victoria felt the fear in the animal and the confusion. It didn’t understand its seizures. They frightened it.

  For a brief moment, Victoria’s heart ached in sympathy. But the feeling was snatched away as the seizure ended, and once again, she sensed anger emanating from the beast. It added to her own anger. Why had this happened to her? She had been a good Christian all her life. Sure, everyone slipped sometimes—made the odd mistake or was unable to control their thoughts. But she’d kept her lust for Kelly under control—for years. And that had been before she’d learned about his deceased wife and daughter.

  After Kelly rescued her on the beach from the elephant seal, she’d become a little infatuated with him. He was both a mentor and an object of desire. He flirted and was cheeky but never crossed the line. She’d always supposed this was because he respected his teacher-like status. Of course, now she knew otherwise. He had been grieving his loss.

  Victoria remained still on the shale shore. She watched Wak. It stared at her as if it knew she needed rest before it was to continue. Of course, it would continue, and she, of course, had no say in the matter. It would drag her along. At least, that was how it had been up until now. Yet, as she rested, a morbid curiosity formed. She needed to see where the animal wanted to go—where it wanted to take her. If this was truly God’s plan for her, perhaps she should see it through.

  Her stomach growled, breaking her chain of thought and startling Wak. She wrapped her arms around her midriff, trying to muffle the sound, almost embarrassed. Wak focused its attention on her and then on the river. Swiftly, it darted from its spot and plunged into the running water.

  Victoria hesitated. Where had it gone? Had it been frightened off? She craned her neck to see farther, scanning the river’s rushing and foaming surface. The creature burst from within the river, spraying Victoria in a foam of water. It landed expertly in front of her. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she froze on the spot, glued to the gravel beneath her.

  In its mouth, Wak held a large fathead catfish. Over three feet in length, it was a mottled gray color and sported a multitude of whisker-like projections on its snout and lower jaw. It flapped and struggled, gasping for oxygenated water. Wak crunched down on the animal, and the struggling ceased. Victoria turned her head away in disgust.

  Wak dropped the catfish onto the shale in front of Victoria and, using its nose, nudged the lifeless creature. It wanted her to eat it. Victoria stared at the slimy teleost and then at Wak. The huge beast’s face looked almost hopeful as if this gift would endear it to her. She frowned. What was the behavior from this animal? Altruistic or manipulative? Either way, it suggested intelligence. As she mused on the possibility she was anthropomorphizing the animal, her stomach growled again. This time it hurt.

  She looked at the fish. She couldn’t eat it, could she? It wasn’t even cooked. But even as she argued with herself, she clasped her hands around it and lifted it to her mouth. Without thinking, she bit into the wet flesh and tore a jelly-like chunk from the carcass. The cold, uncooked meat slipped around inside her mouth until she allowed it to slide down her throat and into her stomach.

  As she raised the fish once more for another bite, she caught sight of her fingers. They looked different. She pulled her hands away from her face and studied her digits more closely. There was something between her fingers, sticking them together. She dropped the catfish and pulled at the thin film of material between her first knuckles. It was attached. Panicked, she pulled harder at each one. It was webbing—her skin had webbing!

  Victoria let out a bloodcurdling scream. “No! No! What’s happening?”

  Wak blinked, its face contorted in confusion.

  She screamed again, but it was drowned out by the sound of rotor blades slicing through the air. An Apache attack helicopter dropped out of the sky and hovered no more than ten feet from the ground. Four soldiers dropped out, their machine guns aimed at Wak.

  “Don’t move,” the leader yelled over the drone of the helicopter. “Tell it not to move.”

  Victoria instinctively put both hands in the air. “It doesn’t listen to me!”

  The soldiers, dressed entirely in black, their faces masked by camouflage paint, edged toward the animal. With an incredible thrust of its hind legs, Wak launched itself at the Apache and landed inside the hold that had just contained the soldiers. The animal stomped its way to the pilot. Unable to fire on their own chopper, the soldiers watched helplessly as Wak twisted the neck of the pilot until it snapped. The helicopter span out of control and immediately smashed into the river, its rotor blades hacking at the river bed until eventually jamming.

  The military team sprinted into the water after their comrade, searching for the creature. It was gone. They scanned the
wreckage, their guns always following their line of sight, but they didn’t see it. A gurgled scream pierced the quiet only for a moment, and then there was silence—another soldier gone. The remaining men circled the destroyed Apache, watching the others’ backs. It was to no avail. Wak, with incredible strength and speed, pounced on each man in rapid succession, ending their lives before a single shot could be fired.

  Panting heavily, it plonked itself into the shallow water of the river and stared at Victoria, its chest heaving. She dropped to her knees and sobbed in desperation. There was no escape.

  Location: Dulce Base, New Mexico, USA

  In the control room at Dulce Base, Teller stared at the screen. Static stared back. Sending in a strike force from Laughlin Air Force Base had seemed like a good idea. He had made an educated guess the animal would use a major river to move quickly, but needed to rely on satellite imagery, which was always delayed. It was just good fortune Laughlin was so close. Or perhaps it was bad luck. The speed at which Wak had taken out the Apache and the team was astounding. All those lives. Gone.

  The room was deathly quiet as each person struggled to comprehend the events they had just witnessed. Lucy and Dr. Parnham stood paralyzed at one end of the room, fixated on the large monitor. Kelly and Freya sat bemused at the opposite end. Minya was standing by the door, her arms folded across her chest. No one wanted to speak.

  “That didn’t go quite according to plan.” Kelly couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

  “No,” Teller replied. “I knew we should have taken it out from the air.”

  “That’s not the objective, Mr. Teller,” Lucy said. “We brought this animal into existence, and it deserves our respect.”

  “What about my men? Didn’t they deserve respect?”

  Lucy didn’t reply. His argument was hard to refute.

  “This won’t get us anywhere,” Kelly said. “We need to keep our distance, and let this thing run its course. Get a team in there and follow it.”