Soil (The Last Flotilla Book 2)

by Barnes, Colin F.

  There, beneath the graphs, she spotted a large, dull metal handle.

  ‘Hey, what’s this?’ she asked, pointing to it.

  Tom and Marcus came over to inspect it. Marcus reached out to grab it, but Eva smacked his arm out of the way. ‘Not this time,’ she said with a wry smile. Marcus feigned injury and stepped back to allow Tom to take a closer look.

  ‘It’s a power supply switch,’ Tom said.

  ‘From where, though?’ Marcus said. ‘We’re up a mountain.’

  ‘It’s curious, isn’t it?’ Tom said, reaching out for it. Before Eva could stop him, Tom twisted the handle. At first nothing happened, but a few seconds later an audible click sounded from somewhere beyond the wall. Following soon after it, an electrical hum vibrated through the floor.

  ‘Hah, seems like it’s working,’ Tom said. ‘Must be some kind of backup generator in another part of this building.’

  ‘So we have power?’ Marcus said, his eyes flashing wide. He spun round and dashed the few metres to the open doorway, where he ran his hand against the wall. ‘Abracadabra . . .’ He flicked a switch, and . . .

  The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, creating a strobe effect, as if the group had been transported into a mid-nineties rave. Eventually, with admirable tenacity, one of the bulbs remained on, casting a blue-white blanket over the room, pushing the shadows into the far corners.

  ‘Now we have power, I wonder if . . .’ Tom said, his words drifting away as he fell deep in thought and stepped over to the central desk. He went from one computer to the next, checking each of the four. One of them booted up with a single long beep.

  Eva and the others crowded around the dusty LED monitor as they waited for something to happen. A grey cursor flashed in the top right-hand corner of a black screen for a full thirty seconds before the BIOS details appeared, stating the motherboard serial number, processor clock speed, and various other system-specific metrics. The cursor continued to flash, waiting for an input.

  Tom tried for a few minutes to get something to happen. None of the commands returned a result, apart from one: a system scan. When he hit Enter, however, the system bleeped once and reported an error.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Eva asked, not understanding the string of error codes.

  ‘The system’s been completely wiped of data,’ Tom said. ‘It seems anything of interest was destroyed. I doubt these reports and printouts we’ve been reading are offering us any insight into the Banshee Project or what went on here.’

  ‘Great. So we travelled for all that time, stuck in a tin can, for nothing?’ Marcus said, shaking his head and sighing. ‘I’ll go put out the yellow flare to let the others know we’ll be making our way back.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Eva said. ‘I’ve got one on me.’ They had agreed with Duncan on a simple system of communication from their position on the mountain. A green flare told them they had found the base and were investigating; a yellow one indicated they had found nothing of significance and would be returning; and finally, yellow and green together was an emergency request for help.

  Eva carried two yellow flares in the cargo pockets of her military-issue trousers. She left the office and made her way into the communal room. Halfway across it, a red light caught her attention. It was the door by the kitchenette. An LED flashed dimly behind the red plastic cover.

  Not expecting anything, she grabbed the handle and twisted to the right. Nothing.

  Turning it to the left brought a satisfying clunk. A green light flashed on as the red extinguished. Eva pulled the handle upward, feeling the mechanism working, but the ice had blocked it, much like the others.

  ‘Hey, Tom, I need you and the crowbar here. This door’s got power and is unlocked . . . I think.’

  Tom and the others helped to break through the ice and frost and opened the door. This time, there were no skeletons or blood waiting for them inside. The room was half the size of the office and was already lit by overhead halogen bulbs, giving the room a hospital feel, making Eva think of Mike and the other infected patients back on the flotilla.

  A metal workbench ran the length of the right wall until it terminated at yet another metal door. This one had a control panel on the wall with two buttons whose markings – probably up and down arrows – had long since been rubbed away with use.

  ‘Guys, I think we’ve found the base. That looks to me like an elevator.’ She pointed to the metal door and the two buttons. As she moved into the room, she stopped suddenly as she heard the unmistakable hiss and crackle of a radio. The workbench surface was empty, but there was a shelf about halfway down. Eva spotted a pale-blue screen a few inches across and an inch high.

  Marcus joined her, followed by Tom.

  ‘Is that a . . . ? Holy shit, it is,’ Marcus said, reaching under the shelf and pulling out a bulky metal device the size of a shoebox, painted in a deep green colour. A spiral power cord hung out of the back. A phone-like handset was connected to a port in the front.

  Marcus placed it on the surface and stood back. ‘Yep, thought so. It’s a freakin’ radio.’

  ‘Military,’ Tom said. ‘Army. An Exelis SINCGARS unit. We have a similar, naval-specific model on the sub.’

  Eva’s neck tingled; she shivered as the cold seeped through her various layers. The sight of the radio brought her back to the present with a chilling reality. ‘So we’re on to something, after all,’ she said, her voice becoming a whisper as though she were afraid her words would be transmitted through the radio.

  ‘I knew it,’ Marcus said. ‘This whole place had the stink of a government or military setup. I think those Russkies were on to something, don’t you, Tom?’

  The captain didn’t rise to Marcus’s bait. Eva was impressed with his level of control.

  Ignoring Marcus, Tom manipulated the dials, creating a wave pattern of static. His face became taut after a few seconds and he focused more closely on the radio’s controls.

  ‘What is it?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Voices . . . . I thought I heard voices.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Sshh!’ Tom said, holding up his hand. He dialled the radio further, until Eva too heard the voices. They were quiet, beneath the sea of static; the words were unintelligible, each syllable making her catch her breath. Her heart began to thump against her chest.

  The rest of the group remained silent, looking on with wide eyes, some shining with excitement, others communicating worry or fear. Tom turned the volume up, adjusted the reception, until, finally, Eva made out some words. It appeared two distinct voices were talking to each other, fragments of their conversation missing through static or some other kind of disturbance.

  —North block twenty . . . she’s there . . .

  —Hang back . . . supplies . . . chance to get to the . . .

  —What is it?

  —Power’s on.

  —Bu . . . they’re dead . . .

  The conversation went silent. Tom swore and continued to scan the channels, but couldn’t pick up the voices again.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’ Eva said.

  Jim ran a hand through his hair. ‘I think they, whoever they are, know we’re here. The mention of power and the dead – that’s got to be the scientists up here and the fact we switched the power on.’

  ‘What should we do now?’ Annette said, her thin arms shaking against her body. Eva moved over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Stay calm,’ Eva said. ‘We knew there was a chance someone was here. If anything, this is a good sign.’

  ‘I don’t think the skeletons would agree,’ Marcus said. ‘Tom, did you recognise those voices? Gracefield, or one of his staff, perhaps?’

  ‘No one comes to mind,’ Tom said. ‘But at least they weren’t Russian, eh?’

  ‘Funny guy for a potential turncoat.’

  Eva shot Marcus a dirty look. ‘You’re not helping. Let’s think about this logically.
’

  ‘We should try to make contact,’ Jim said. ‘Explain we’re not a threat. If they know we’re here already, it’d be better to avoid getting off on the wrong foot.’

  ‘And what if they’re hostile?’ Marcus said.

  ‘Then we deal with that too,’ Tom said. He lifted the microphone, which looked like an old-fashioned landline phone, and adjusted the dials on the front of the radio.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Annette said, reaching out for Tom, a bloom of panic spreading across her pale cheeks.

  Tom shouldered her arm away and replied, ‘Making contact with the sub. I told Brad to keep a channel open in case we found means of communication. Although the signal is weak, we might be able to . . .’

  Brad’s excited voice crackled through the speaker. ‘Guys, that really you? What have you found? Anyone there? Holy crap, I can’t believe there’s actually something there.’

  ‘Brad, we’re currently in a science facility of some kind,’ Tom said. ‘There are some dead bodies here and signs of murder . . . No, we’re fine; we’re just putting the pieces together. I don’t want to talk long; I just wanted to let you all know we’re safe and we’ll be back in touch later if we find anything else. For now, keep the sub within distance, but don’t come too close. Any sign of danger, get out of there, come back for us later. Consider this a green flare.’

  ‘Roger that, Captain. Stay safe.’

  Tom clicked off the radio and looked round at the others. ‘We should continue to search around the place, see what else we can find out about this place before we attempt contact. Also, there must be some other doors around here if there are people somewhere here.’

  ‘Maybe there’s another building outside?’ Annette said.

  ‘It’s a possibility, but given that this place was turned into a morgue, I think we might be closer than that.’

  ‘Okay,’ Eva said. ‘Everyone split up and search this place high and low. There must be something we’re missing.’

  During the conversation, Marcus had broken away from the group and now stood at the far end of the radio room, his head cocked to one side. His ear was almost touching the metal door, and he held up his palm and ran it across the surface.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Eva said. He looked like one of those mime artists doing the ‘trapped in a glass cube’ routine.

  Marcus didn’t respond and kept moving his hand over the wall until he came to a section covered by a weather chart. He ripped it away to expose a brushed steel control panel featuring a single button the size of a dollar coin.

  The group gathered round and stared at the plain button. It had no text or markings on it at all, but the surface was shinier in the middle than on the edges, indicating that it had been used.

  ‘Don’t touch—’ Eva said.

  Marcus pressed the button.

  Jim grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. ‘You damned fool,’ he barked, his full Scottish accent getting thicker. It was too late. From somewhere beyond the door, below their feet, a deep whirring noise rumbled up, as if they had just disturbed some great beast within the mountain.

  The group stepped back away from the wall.

  Tom wielded the crowbar as a weapon, and they waited.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The whirring noise stopped and the door slid back to reveal an empty elevator.

  Eva let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she was holding. Light spots flashed in her vision and she swayed to one side, leaning into Marcus. He held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Just . . . This is all difficult to take in.’

  The others mumbled their surprise and excitement at the elevator. No one moved as it stood there, silently beckoning them in to see what was down below. Eva knew they were getting closer to the truth, but the closer they got, the tenser she felt. Now it was real; there were actual people down there somewhere.

  ‘Well?’ Marcus said, letting Eva go and stepping into the elevator, turning round so he faced outward to the group. ‘Are we gonna go get some answers, or what? I, for one, didn’t come all this way just to read some weather reports.’

  Eva’s legs were rebar-strengthened concrete. To move would have taken more energy than she could muster, but when the door started to close and Jim, Tom, and Annette dashed inside, leaving her alone, looking in, she found that energy.

  ‘Wait!’ she said, almost stumbling inside and falling into Marcus.

  ‘Thought you weren’t coming.’ Marcus grinned cockily.

  The door slid shut and the elevator car descended.

  Eva’s guts churned, not from the speed of their descent, for that was particularly slow – too slow – but from the anticipation. It was the same feeling she had had when she had taken the pregnancy test that had eventually told her she was having a baby. That wait, in the stall of a cocktail bar’s bathroom, had taken on a gravity and existence of its own, transcending normal suspense. Then, as now, it had felt like an out-of-body experience, something so big, so unknowable, that it took her out of herself, allowing her to witness the situation as if she were completely separate from it, an objective onlooker with no stake in the game.

  Here, now, for a period of time Eva couldn’t quite discern, the group remained silent during their descent. She wondered whether they were now below the mountain or below the new sea.

  And then a thought brought her back into her body with a jolt: would they ever be able to go back up?

  Jim, standing to Eva’s right, turned to face her, and, in a barely audible whisper, asked, ‘What is it?’

  In equally quiet tones, Eva replied, ‘Nothing . . . Just had a bad thought. Ignore me. I’m just nervous.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Annette said with a nervous laugh. ‘It’s like the time I had to wait for my prom date all over again. The wait was horrible. I wasn’t even sure he would turn up. I thought it was all a joke, you know? Like in Carrie, but . . . Shit, sorry. I’m rambling. When’s this damned thing going to stop?’

  Tom checked his watch. ‘We must be at least a few thousand metres down by now. If the base is under the previous water level, then we should be coming to a—’

  The elevator stopped. The door opened, and, slowly, they all stepped out into a stark white, light-filled glass tunnel.

  Tom and Jim went first, with Eva, Marcus, and Annette close behind them. The space was a melding of glass, white plastic, and rock. A chill settled in Eva’s lungs with each breath; the air had a heavy, damp feel. They were inside a transparent structure, outside of which was a perfectly cut tube of rock, the striations of some great machine carved into it.

  The air smelled stale, like the recycled air on the sub. Below them, a thin channel of grated metal ran the length of the tunnel, at least four metres long. The space was wide enough to accommodate the group side by side if necessary, but they continued to move forward in single file, each of them unsure what to expect.

  Marcus ran a hand over his head as he looked around. ‘What the hell is this? It’s like something you’d see in a James Bond film, some bad guy’s lair.’ He spun around as he moved forward to a plain steel door with a single handle in the middle.

  ‘Perhaps something to do with the project,’ Eva said. ‘An underground base like this must have cost an absolute fortune. I doubt very much it’s just an addition to a weather station. This has got government money written all over it.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Tom asked. ‘Could be military, or a private company – like WhiteSquare Industries.’

  ‘I just don’t see some private co in weather tech being able to afford something like this,’ Eva said. ‘How would they have managed to dig a tunnel all the way down from the mountain’s surface without the involvement of the US government? This is Alaska, after all. I can’t see how a company could just do this without someone objecting to it.’

  ‘I think she’s right,’ Marcus said. ‘The scale of all this is insane. If not
covered up by the government, surely something like this would have got out. And remember Gracefield’s kill orders to Stanic . . . That fucker wanted this place to remain a secret real bad.’

  Tom looked away, presumably uncomfortable with the memory of what had happened on the Utah: the loss of his fellow crew, his survival.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Jim said. He stepped forward and tried the handle.

  To everyone’s surprise, it moved. A heavy clunk sounded from somewhere beyond the door. A hissing noise came from the grate.

  ‘It’s some kind of airlock,’ Tom said, as he moved through into the next chamber. It was much like the first; only this time, at the end was a glass door that looked out onto a huge cavernous space, the ceiling of which was hidden by the gloom.

  The group moved forward in shared wonder and confusion until they reached the end and stood in front of a glass door. Their reflections stared back at them like insubstantial doppelgangers. Then a new shape took their place, banishing the illusion: a person in a white HAZMAT suit, their face hidden behind a shiny black visor. The figure held a rifle – an M16 – across its body as it stood there, staring with unseen eyes.

  ‘Shit,’ Eva said.

  ‘What the . . .’ Annette whispered, grabbing Eva’s arm.

  Marcus, standing close to Eva, tensed and bunched his hands into fists. Not that that would do any good; they were caught together in a small tunnel. If the figure wanted to gun them down, there’d be nothing they could do.

  But she doubted that’s what they wanted; it’d damage the airlock, or whatever it was, unless it was bulletproof glass. Eva’s mind raced with pointless considerations as the figure outside the door lowered the rifle’s barrel and approached.

  It reached out and pressed something on the wall. From inside the tunnel, a woman’s voice spoke. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ There was a hint of panic in those words.

  The black, featureless visor stared on, waiting for a response.

  At first no one said anything, but after a few moments Eva found herself taking the role of spokesperson. ‘We’re survivors,’ she said. ‘We came across the weather station and, well . . . found this. We don’t mean any harm. We’re just looking for shelter.’