Warhead

by Andy Remic

  Roxi held a finger up to her lips. ‘Shh. I’m here to take you home.’

  Joe’s eyes widened. An uncertain smile flickered across his face but was instantly gone. ‘Home?’ he said, his voice soft and frightened. Confusion showed on his young features.

  Roxi nodded and smiled. ‘Carter sent me. Your daddy sent me. To take you away from this place.’

  ‘But what about the Nex?’ said Joe.

  ‘We have to be careful. We have to move slowly, and keep our eyes open. We have to avoid the Nex at all costs—there are too many to fight. They are too strong.’

  And then Roxi saw the look in Joe’s eyes.

  ‘But what about her?’ he said, pointing.

  Slowly, Roxi turned, her Glock held low. Standing directly ahead of her, holding a Steyr sub-machine gun, was a lithe Nex female of modest stature. She wore a tight body-hugging black uniform and on her feet were soft black boots. Her short dark hair was spiked and bristling, and her oval flawless face was elegant, sculpted and extremely pale-skinned. Her eyes were bright and copper; they showed no emotion.

  ‘My name is Alexis,’ said the Nex gently. ‘And you are Roxi, a pretty little Spiral agent whom I have been observing for some time. You are good. No, you are exceptional.’

  ‘I have heard of you, Alexis.’ Roxi’s grin showed most of her teeth. ‘Durell’s greatest general; reports of your atrocities precede you. Your reputation stinks like hell-shit.’

  ‘Please don’t flatter me so. To destroy humans is no great atrocity; how could it be when they are too stupid to embrace Nex symbiosis? Now, the whole building has, of course, been alerted to your presence. You have—in effect—been digitally manacled. Throw down your weapon, if you please.’

  Roxi hesitated.

  ‘If I shoot now,’ said Alexis, ‘then there is a high possibility that a bullet will strike the child. Don’t be such a fool.’ She smiled then, her copper eyes gleaming. ‘Don’t throw away the life of your lover’s little boy. Throw down your gun. Show us what a good girl you can be.’

  Roxi dropped her Glock on the grass. It fell with a dull thud.

  ‘I do so enjoy a happy ending,’ said Alexis coldly.

  ‘There can be only one of those in this situation,’ said Roxi, her body tensed, readying herself for whatever Alexis decided to throw at her—even if that might be death ...

  ‘Really?’ asked Alexis smoothly, eyebrows raised. ‘Only one happy ending?’

  Carter, Mongrel and Simmo stood on the high gantry. Rogowski, smiling malevolently, watched them as the final seconds ticked away towards the detonation of the MicroNuke—and the final destruction of Spiral.

  ‘Here!’ rasped Mongrel.

  Carter grunted, passing the heavy cylinder to Mongrel who took the vibrating bomb in his hands and glanced down at it. Then he looked at Rogowski, pulled free his ECube and punched in a complicated sequence.

  The ECube opened; then it hummed, and blue lights flickered across its alloy petals. Below the group, near the foot of the steel tower, there came a crackle from the SpiralGRID as the silver outline of a SpiderCAR materialised and hung a few inches above the ground, barely visible.

  Then the SpiralGRID ... illuminated.

  A million strands of lightning seemed to spread out from the CAR, arcing and zigzagging in a million different directions. Electricity shimmered through the very air, making everybody sway as sparks and galvanic discharges ran up their legs and arms. But Mongrel ignored this phenomenon as he stepped to the edge of the gantry and with a quick glance down, held the MicroNuke out over the dazzling display.

  ‘What are—’ hissed Rogowski, his eyes suddenly wide and confused.

  Mongrel allowed the silver warhead to drop. All eyes followed the bomb as it tumbled end over end. Mongrel thumbed his ECube coolly and as the MicroNuke struck the SpiderCAR he initiated the GRID.

  There was a pulsating flare of high energy.

  And the nuclear bomb had gone.

  The Spiral operatives below gave a small cheer, as Mongrel turned his dark gaze back to Rogowski.

  ‘Impossible!’ gasped the wounded traitor.

  Mongrel winked. ‘Niet. Not impossible, just not likely for big lump like me to plan so far ahead. You saying, Ro? About us being so unaware?’

  Below, the GRID was still crackling.

  Rogowski pulled free his own ECube and thumbed the small alloy device—as three kilometres away the SpiralGRID delivered the MicroNuke into the heart of Durell’s latest and largest plant combined WarFac and NEP Production Centre. A group of fifteen dumbfounded Nex stared at the silver cylinder rolling noisily across the polished wooden floor towards them. Hands reached for weapons ...

  There was a tiny click. And the MicroNuke detonated.

  Carter heard the blast, and averted his gaze as a flash many times brighter than the sun bloomed for an instant on the London horizon. For hundreds of metres surrounding the detonated MicroNuke buildings were suddenly smashed from existence, pulped into a frenzy of crushed concrete, melted metal, incinerated wood, a boiling thrashing composite of base elements and fused flesh. London shook to its stone roots.

  A column of dust and smoke rose up into the sky, a micro-mushroom cloud. Beneath their feet tremors rocked the ground in pounding waves and up on the high gantry Carter nearly lost his footing.

  Rogowski thumbed his ECube and rolled from the gantry. Below him the SpiralGRID crackled and as Rogowski hit it he was half absorbed, half transmitted on high-energy pulses. As his flesh parted company with itself he was effectively pulped instantly. His noodle-like remains slid messily from the silver flicker of the GRID to lie in a pile of slop on the concrete floor.

  ‘We changed access files,’ said Mongrel softly, staring down. ‘We suspect him for a long while.’

  Carter came up beside his old friend. ‘Well, at least that fucker’s dead.’

  Mongrel met Carter’s gaze. Carter could see a reflection of nuclear fire in the other’s man’s dark orbs. ‘Yeah, but we not know who real traitor is now. Unless he bluffing.’

  ‘I get the horrible feeling that he was telling the truth,’ said Carter. Then he glanced at Simmo, who was chewing his cigar stub and staring with a strange expression at the still-rising cloud. ‘I don’t trust the bastard; there will be a fail-safe. Another bomb, or some form of back-up close by. Simmo, get the squads searching.’

  ‘Maybe we not have the time,’ rumbled Simmo.

  ‘We need to get the hell out of here, then.’

  As the three men moved towards the ladder a shout came from below. ‘There are Nex advancin’—thousands of ‘em and you’re not going to believe this, lads—they’ve only gone an’ got us fuckin’ surrounded.’

  The huge chamber at the top of the New York Sentinel HQ tower was dark. At a quick glance it would have appeared empty. Banks of computers glittered softly, and a large black screen shimmered black on black—like a block of obsidian slowly melting into itself.

  Something shifted within the darkness. Durell stood with a crackle of spine plates. He moved slowly—as if in great pain—and stared at a single flashing point of blue. Then the blue dot vanished from the screen, which cleared to show a scene of nuclear devastation ...

  Durell frowned. The location was wrong.

  ‘Reports?’ he said through strings of saliva.

  ‘WarFac dfl2 and co-ProC totally destroyed by MicroNuke explosion yield 2.6ktf. Estimated death count: 1,270 Nex, 885 JT8s, 313 civilians awaiting Nex integration.’

  ‘Was it…’ Durell cleared his throat. ‘Was this the device destined for the Spiral outfit?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  Durell pushed a button at the base of the plasma screen and started out over the dark night sky of New York. Below, the world was still and peaceful. No violence, no warfare; an oasis of calm. Durell smiled. It didn’t feel right.

  Alexis arrived and stared inquisitively into Durell’s face. ‘We have a problem?’

  ‘We have a problem. It would
seem that our little plan—to destroy Spiral and the GRID with one swift crushing blow—has effectively been turned against us.’

  ‘Carter didn’t deliver the bomb?’

  ‘He delivered it, all right. Straight into our major UK WarFac.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’ said Alexis coldly.

  ‘Kill the boy.’ There was a momentary pause. Then Alexis hoisted her 9mm TMP, spun on her heel and strode from the room.

  Durell stared out over the destroyed cityscape of New York.

  ‘Why won’t you join us, Mr Carter?’ whispered Durell, clawed fist drawing tight. ‘Why won’t you join us when you are, effectively, a splinter of our clan?’ I don’t want to kill you, Carter, he thought.

  Don’t you understand? I do not want to kill you.

  The orders came—in a digital moment.

  As one, the Nex army rose from their cover and started to move slowly through the streets—a huge black swathe of lithe killers, heavily armed and backed with tanks. Tracks crushed stones, rolled over the detritus of the ancient world—rusting old SmutCars, battered parking meters, twisted alloy chairs. Engines revved, pluming LVA exhaust into the air. In the distance, the sounds of chopper engines carried through the air.

  As the Nex walked through the ruins of London, they checked gun magazines, hoisted weapons high, and looked around with emotionless copper eyes.

  Carter stood beside the remains of Rogowski. All around him the Spiral operatives were checking weapons and several groups were searching through surrounding rooms, cabins and between huge heaps of metal scrap. The whole area was a hive of activity.

  Simmo strode over; he slotted a mag into his H&K with a precise click. ‘Reminds The Sarge of a particularly fine tagliatelle he once had.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  Simmo nudged the remains of Rogowski with his boot. ‘Ham and mushroom. Heavy on the tomatoes and cream. A fine dish, if a bit on the rich side.’

  ‘What actually happened to him?’

  Simmo shrugged his shoulders. ‘Dumb bastard jumped in mid-shift. It took several strips of him in the same direction as the warhead; left about half of him here. You could say he a paid-up subscriber to VHF now, eh, Carter?’ He gave a booming laugh, and relit the stump of his cigar.

  Plumes of blue smoke engulfed Carter. ‘I never would have thought it of Rogowski.’

  Simmo frowned. ‘You would never have thought it? Carter, I fought fifty-eight missions with that man. He was unflappable. He was a professional soldier. He was as hard as heat-tempered nails—no, harder. He could hammer nails through six-inch floor joists with the palm of his hand. If you had asked The Sarge to point out possible traitors, he would have shot that damned Priest before he picked out Rogowski as turncoat.’ Simmo sighed, shaking his huge head. ‘Carter—if Ro was one of them, then I can no longer trust anybody within Spiral’s ranks. And that the honest truth, laddie boy.’

  Carter nodded. He understood Simmo’s sentiments exactly.

  Mongrel came pounding over, face red with exertion. ‘Right, lads, got problems. There fucking thousands of Nex closing in—we have maybe three minutes before arrival. They got tanks, choppers, the lot. But there is tunnel escape, so we can slink off out of here—too risky to use SpiralGRID at this moment, Mongrel thinking. But worse than this, Rogowski did have back-up plan—he has planted another bomb. An ECube shell picked up tracers, but it using electronic fibrillation—we can’t pinpoint it.’

  Gunfire erupted to one side and an enemy chopper swept overhead, its low drone reverberating from the concrete walls.

  ‘You said three minutes?’ said Carter.

  ‘Make that zero minutes,’ corrected Mongrel sheepishly.

  The three men sprinted across the concrete yard; machine-gun fire rattled, and several screams sounded from nearby. Mongrel dragged Carter to a halt. ‘Down there.’ The huge East European squaddie pointed. He grinned a gappy grin. ‘Just follow the fleeing Spiral men ...’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To save the GRID.’

  ‘I’m with you,’ said Carter.

  ‘Me too,’ growled Simmo.

  Mongrel clapped the two men on the shoulders. His face twisted, as if he was sucking on a lemon. ‘By God, you is fine fellows to die with! Come on!’ They ran, ducking under a bank of low galvanised pipes, several of which were leaking steam. They emerged into a low-ceilinged room stinking of dead rats and damp and mould. More gunfire erupted out in the concrete yard as a Spiral rearguard opened up with mounted Browning heavy machine guns to allow their comrades to escape.

  Mongrel led Carter and Simmo through a complicated maze of old warehouses, storage rooms and ancient workshops, floors still stained with the sludge of antique blackened oil, battered and chipped engineering mills and the curls of aged steel shavings.

  They halted, chests heaving and sweat dripping into eyes, in a quadrangle that was open to the air and surrounded by ancient grooved steel benches. Mongrel peered up, searching for more choppers. Sporadic machine-gun fire was still rattling in the distance.

  ‘They pissed off we nuke their WarFac, you think?’

  ‘They pissed off.’ Simmo nodded, hefting his H&K. He peered at Mongrel. ‘You taking us to the HUB?’

  ‘Yes. Look like Ro got there before us. We must find his secondary bomb—and that would be logical place. I confused how he manage to get past security!’

  ‘Why did he not detonate it earlier?’ asked Simmo. ‘He could have destroyed the HUB without Carter acting as a pack mule for the MicroNuke.’

  Carter gave a cold smile. ‘He wanted to take all of you out. Not just the GRID, but the majority of Spiral as well. The MicroNuke would accomplish that—and if it didn’t work? Well, this was Plan B.’

  They moved warily across the quadrangle and into a small workshop. Pipes criss-crossed overhead, and the walls were lined with benches, many with tiny, intricate-looking engine parts lined up on their surfaces.

  At the centre of the room there were several huge metal grates, with alloy loop handles attached, set into the floor. Mongrel and Simmo, grunting, swung the central one into the air, showering dust all around. The three Spiral men looked down onto—the SpiralGRID HUB.

  It was about the size of a small car and seemed to be wrapped in thick black polythene.

  ‘Is that it?’ grunted Carter.

  ‘Is brain, not face of fucking supermodel,’ snapped Mongrel. Then his eyes widened. ‘Shit. There.’ He pointed to the small black case attached to the side of the HUB. ‘Alien artefact.’

  ‘It has gyroscopic floats,’ said Simmo, puffing on his cigar. The huge sergeant dropped to his knees and peered close. ‘Also has K12 alloy permeable casing. I can get the cover off—looks like basic HighJ payload.’ The Sarge removed his jacket and stood bare-chested, muscles rippling. Outside, in the quadrangle, snow started to fall once more.

  ‘That’ll slow down the choppers.’

  ‘But not the infantry,’ growled Carter as five Nex appeared. Carter’s weapon bucked in his hands and bullets hurtled from the workshop’s doorway. Two Nex were hammered from their feet, and the rest retreated under covering fire. Ancient blackened brickwork shattered and Carter ducked back, slamming shut the thick steel door with his boot. He peered through the grimy windows.

  ‘Not good,’ said Mongrel.

  ‘Just buy me some time! The Sarge sort this out in a jiffy.’ Simmo had produced a small leather case and removed several small tools. He dropped to his belly and reached over the side of the pit containing the plastic-sheeted HUB.

  ‘You good at this?’ asked Carter, his gaze searching warily for more Nex.

  ‘Ten years in bomb squad,’ said Simmo, blue cigar smoke pluming up from the HUB’s supporting chassis struts. His voice was calm, soothing. He threw something behind him which clattered. Carter and Mongrel stared down at a battered length of casing. Then they moved to crouch at opposite sides of the window.

  More Nex appeared, firing as they came. Carter
and Mongrel shot through the glass, their bullets flying across the quadrangle to kick tiny showers of powdered red dust from ancient brickwork.

  ‘You got some 15q snub-nosed pliers?’ came Simmo’s disembodied voice.

  ‘No.’

  ‘We’ve got two minutes before this baby blows.’

  ‘Ahh.’

  ‘Rogowski should have detonated this in the first place!’ muttered Mongrel.

  ‘Yeah, well, he wanted to preserve his place in Spiral to the end,’ said Carter. ‘Make sure we were all dead and buried, the traitorous piece of shit.’

  ‘Damn and bloody bollocks,’ cursed The Sarge from the pit.

  Mongrel fired off a full magazine across the quadrangle. They could hear choppers circling through the falling snow.

  ‘What is it?’ Carter moved across to crouch beside Simmo. Sweat was dripping from the huge man’s forehead, running across his facial tattoos and making the tattoo script at his throat gleam.

  ‘Negative wiring. I seen this before, a long time ago. So has Rogowski. He knew I might try this; he trying to trick me.’

  ‘And has he?’

  ‘No!’

  Simmo grinned, and snipped a green wire. There was a barely audible blip as some connection was triggered.

  ‘Was that good?’ asked Carter slowly. Then he saw Simmo’s eyes, and he knew that it was not good. In fact, it was as far from fucking good as it could ever be.

  ‘Ha, ha, lads. Simmo have little problem here.’

  Mongrel moved to Simmo’s prostrate form. ‘What is it?’

  The thumping of rotors was getting louder. Suddenly, a hail of mini-gun bullets pounded through the steel-sheeting roof ten metres to the group’s right, making it rattle and dance.

  There was an awful heart-stopping pause. More bullets hammered from across the quadrangle. ‘They corner us,’ spat Mongrel.

  ‘What’s wrong, Sarge?’ said Carter quietly, coolly. He could hear the scything whine of engines far above. A chopper was coming around for a second sweep.

  ‘I cut wire. Rogowski pulled double bluff on me. Bastard. Simmo now acting as a circuit bridge. If I let go, the whole fucking lot detonate—and we’ll go with it.’