Fast

by Shane M Brown

  Vanessa shook her head, dismissing the idea and studying her screen again. ‘The main power room is on the basement level, and that won’t be accessible for long to anybody.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Coleman.

  She looked around the Marines as though the answer was obvious. ‘Because this whole place is flooding. We’re all standing in an aquifer, gentlemen, and all our backup pumps have been destroyed. This ship’s sinking.’

  She continued when she saw the incredulous looks from the three Marines. ‘Remember when I explained that this entire Complex is a big experiment?’

  Coleman nodded. ‘The big-sucker draws groundwater from the basement, up through the Complex and out into the surface lawn.’

  ‘Exactly,’ confirmed Vanessa. ‘But groundwater movement can’t be accurately predicted. It can depend on, well, almost any number of environmental conditions, even things that are happening hundreds of kilometers away. Consequently, the water level in the basement changes daily. We call it the ‘tide’. We use the pumps to keep the water level stable and always covering the root system.’

  ‘How big is this root system?’ asked Coleman.

  ‘It’s like nothing you’ve ever imagined,’ she said. ‘We also need water to serve the habitation level, the hydroponics farms, and this reserve. We have storage tanks recessed under the desert that serve every level of the Complex. With the pump rooms destroyed, all that water is flowing back into the basement.’

  ‘A lot of water?’ tested King.

  Vanessa nodded. ‘It will flood the basement and half the engineering level.’

  ‘Vanessa…,’ Forest interrupted quietly.

  Forest had turned away to peer down the fern-covered slope. ‘Are there any large animals in this reserve?’

  ‘No,’ she answered, standing up and clutching the templates. ‘Very few animals. That’s why we need the butterflies. Why?’

  ‘Because I can see movement coming up the slope towards us.’

  Coleman spun and scanned the ferny slope.

  Forest was right. A cluster of ferns shook about thirty meters down the slope. No detectable breeze circulated in the dome. Gould’s large creatures couldn’t hide under the ferns. No natural reason why the fronds should be moving presented itself.

  Coleman spotted movement in another place, a few meters closer and off to the left. King snapped up his arm, pointing out more movement off to the right. The Marines swept their gaze across the entire slope and saw a staggered line of movement as the terrorists crept up through the ferns towards Third Unit’s position.

  ‘They’ve found us,’ Forest whispered. ‘They’re coming up under the ferns.’

  ‘They’ve got us hemmed in,’ realized King. ‘What are they waiting for?’

  Coleman took stock of their surroundings before answering. ‘They know we’re practically out of ammunition. They’re not going to risk attracting the creatures with gunfire again. They’re getting as close as possible to take us out in hand-to-hand combat.’

  ‘Captain!’ hissed Forest. He pointed up into the trees to the north, towards the suspended walking platform that passed right over Third Unit.

  Sprinting along the platform through the canopy came four gunmen. Coleman recognized the lead gunmen.

  It was Krisko Borivoj.

  Bora had survived the cinema.

  Unbelievable.

  Coleman would have bet good money that the cinema was a deathtrap. Not so, apparently, for Bora. The entire platform shuddered as the huge man pounded towards Third Unit.

  The progress of the gunmen advancing up the slope hadn’t changed. The line of movement was five meters closer. The trap was getting tighter.

  ‘Listen carefully,’ Coleman said, signaling everyone to join him at the top of the slope. ‘If we run hard from the start, our momentum might be enough to punch our way through their line.’

  Before anyone could disagree, Coleman shoved Vanessa behind King. ‘King - you’re blocking for Vanessa. Don’t let anything stop you reaching the bottom of this hill. Even if one of us goes down. Got it?’

  King nodded, looking down the slope, choosing his path.

  ‘Forest and I will run interference on either side of you.’ Coleman knew this was going to be about speed, momentum, and surprise. ‘Don’t stop for anything, King. Absolutely anything.’

  King was already in the zone. He was psyching himself up like an angry bull.

  ‘Ready?’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘Go!’ hissed Coleman.

  The four leapt down the incline and charged down the slope. King took huge thrashing steps through the ferns. Forest ran three paces to King’s left. Coleman ran three paces to the right. Vanessa, running with the templates, was five steps behind King.

  Ten meters down the slope, the first gunman popped up from under the ferns.

  He appeared right in front of Forest.

  He must have wondered what was suddenly charging towards his hiding place.

  What he discovered was Forests’ elbow swinging towards his head. The full force of Forest’s momentum carried the blow. The terrorist’s spine bent backwards, chasing the recoil of his head. His whole body flipped. The man was out cold before he even hit the ferns. Forest kept running, searching his path ahead for the next jack-in-the-box terrorist.

  At the same time, down slope from Forest, King was churning forwards like an unstoppable locomotive.

  Two gunmen rose in his path.

  He wasn’t slowing.

  He wasn’t dodging.

  He sure as hell wasn’t stopping.

  The first terrorist’s eyes widened for a second. Both gunmen lunged at the charging Marine.

  King smashed into the human obstacles like a one-man landslide. Neither gunman was fully committed to the attack. The man on the right spun off King’s shoulder and tumbled under the ferns. The man on the left dove sideways across the ferns, trying to grapple King’s bull neck.

  Mid-flight, his upturned chin smacked squarely into King’s charging stiff-arm.

  The terrorist bit off his own tongue. Tendons and ligaments in his neck tore from their bony anchors. Finally, a split second after palm-met-chin, the man’s accordion-compacted spine pulverized three of his neck vertebrae into wet chalk. The man would have fared better diving into a brick wall.

  ‘Cop that for your troubles,’ King said under his breath, using Marlin’s favorite saying.

  Off to King’s right, three men rose in Coleman’s path.

  As Coleman had guessed, the terrorists had their weapon strapped to their backs. They had even removed their body armor to crawl under the ferns. Coleman had chosen to run towards the ferns with the most movement, hoping to draw maximum attention from Vanessa. He hadn’t expected to encounter three terrorists at once, though.

  Laying on the speed, his legs blurred in his lower vision. He felt the slope accelerating his body towards the break-neck point where his torso was almost overtaking his legs. That was the speed - before he lost balance and tumbled forwards down the slope - where he still had some control over his body. It was also the point of acceleration where his body was charged with its maximum downhill momentum.

  Ramming speed.

  Two meters short of the first terrorist, Coleman reached his maximum controlled downhill momentum. He launched himself feet first at the closest terrorist.

  Body rigid, flying parallel to the slope, his boots smashed into the terrorist’s chest.

  All his accumulated momentum transferred violently into the terrorist’s torso.

  First the sternum, then the terrorist’s every rib cracked as ninety kilograms of rigidly flying human collided stiff-legged and boots-first into his chest.

  The man catapulted backwards into the second terrorist. Both men shot backwards down the slope, tumbling together wildly.

  Coleman landed flat on the ferns, all his momentum lost in the attack. Lying on his stomach and looking back up the slope, he spotted Bora dropping from the
suspended walking platform. Bora landed agilely in the ferns. Three more gunmen hung down from the platform, ripe fruit ready to drop.

  Coleman pushed up off the ferns, catching a glimpse of movement over his shoulder. The third terrorist dove at his back. Twisting, Coleman struck the man hard in the nose with the heel of his hand. It was a fast attack, all speed and no power, but it stunned the man long enough for Coleman to roll away.

  Both men scrambled to their feet, facing off.

  Beyond the terrorist, Coleman saw Forest get tackled by a gunman. Forest went down under the blind-side tackle. For a second Coleman tracked the combatants’ chaotically rolling trajectory through the ferns, but then his assailant attacked again.

  A powerful roundhouse punch streaked at his head.

  He didn’t have time for a fistfight. He needed to disable this threat quickly. He saw the man’s right leg, bending to push off the upper slope, drove the powerful attack. The man’s left leg, locked-out straight down the slope, supported most of his weight.

  Coleman dropped under the man’s punch. The wild attack would have been a routine matter to block, but Coleman needed the man’s body weight to follow-through.

  It was all about the timing of bodies in motion.

  The terrorist’s fist swished above Coleman’s head. Now overbalanced, the attacker transferred his weight to his left leg to compensate -

  - and at that moment, the moment when the man’s full weight shifted, Coleman kicked savagely at the strained left knee.

  His boot heel landed solidly.

  The man’s leg caved sideways. First the kneecap, and then with a sickening fleshy grind, the entire knee collapsed as the straining joint busted under the sideways pressure. The terrorist dropped in agony, clutching his knee.

  Coleman stood over his disabled opponent and saw Forest in trouble.

  Forest’s wild roll had stopped halfway down the slope. He grappled desperately with the terrorist. Both men struggled for the upper hand. It looked like a pretty even match.

  With Forest occupied, Vanessa and the templates were completely exposed on the right-hand side.

  One terrorist spotted the opportunity.

  He clambered sideways across the slope, angling to intercept between King and Vanessa.

  King couldn’t stop.

  He was a bus without brakes. He couldn’t halt his downhill momentum. He couldn’t possibly protect Vanessa from both the front and the side.

  She and the terrorist were on a collision course.

  Coleman started scrambling down the slope, but he couldn’t beat the terrorist’s maneuver.

  Right then, with Coleman halfway down the slope, Vanessa spotted the incoming threat. She realized King couldn’t help. She didn’t panic. She didn’t trip. She didn’t make any dangerous sudden changes of direction, but Coleman saw her running motion change. Her steps became shorter and more controlled as she tracked the incoming terrorist.

  Don’t slow down, Vanessa!

  She was sacrificing valuable downhill speed. Coleman hoped she had a very good reason.

  In an instant, he saw her mad plan.

  Coleman hollered for everything he was worth. ‘King - incoming - six o’clock!’

  The second before the terrorist’s high-speed interception slammed into Vanessa, she planted her foot and hurled the templates forwards. Coleman winced as his ex-wife went down.

  The templates flew up through the air. Reaching the top of their flight path, they brushed through a branch of pine needle and then started coming down.

  Sprinting wildly down the hill, Coleman saw the templates overshooting King. There was nothing Coleman could do. He was still too far away.

  King suddenly leapt straight up. He twisted as he jumped, stretching his long torso straight up into the air. His airborne body was now flying backwards down the slope. His fingers strained upwards and -

  - the templates smacked into his hands.

  King wrenched the templates from the air and hugged them to his chest. Then he came down. At full speed. Facing backwards. On a steep slope.

  On the positive side - Coleman realized as King tumbled head-over-heels backwards with his body wrapped protectively around the templates - he was still moving downhill.

  Vanessa fared worse. Completely committing herself to the throw, she had no time to brace for the terrorist’s slamming side impact.

  The tangled combatants rolled into Coleman’s path.

  Coleman was the only Marine still on his feet. King was somersaulting down the slope. Forest was gaining the upper hand in his fight higher up the slope, but he wasn’t making any downhill progress.

  Vanessa was rolling right into Coleman’s path.

  Before Coleman knew it, Vanessa and the terrorist were tumbling around his boots. The terrorist had two hands around her neck, but with all the wild rolling, his strangle-hold was ineffective. Vanessa was drilling her fist into the terrorist’s face at every opportunity, but the clinging terrorist wasn’t getting the hint.

  Coleman dropped onto the pair as they rolled past.

  All three rolled down the slope, a tangled mess of boots and elbows. Coleman pried the terrorist off Vanessa. Free from the tangle, she caught her momentum on the ferns. Coleman kept rolling.

  The two men tumbled over each other down the slope until, completely unexpected, two crazy things happened.

  First, the ground fell away from Coleman’s back. Second, every inch of air surrounding him filled with motion.

  He took a moment to work out what was happening.

  They had rolled into a depression completely filled with butterflies. Coleman kicked the terrorist away, sending up another cloud of butterflies as the terrorist whumped down on the other side of the depression. The ground was sticky. Coleman scrambled to his feet, realizing they had rolled into one of Gould’s brood cavities.

  Coleman peered through the streaking bedlam of fluttering wings.

  Up the slope, Forest had finally opened up a can of whoop-ass on the terrorist. Kneeling over the prone gunman, Forest jack-hammered his right fist into the man’s face. Down the slope, almost at the bottom, King recovered his footing. Up the slope on Coleman’s left, Vanessa ran towards King.

  ‘Go for the compound!’ yelled Coleman a moment before a fist smashed into his face.

  The shocking blow knocked him onto his heels. When he recovered, the terrorist had drawn his boot knife and lunged.

  The knife came right for Coleman’s face. Stumbling backwards, he caught the terrorist’s wrist with two hands. As the terrorist stepped forward, trying to drive the knife home, Coleman swept out the man’s leading boot. The terrorist fell forwards. With the knife locked between them, Coleman made a desperate move. This was a technique he would never use normally, but he had no choice. He could only hope the man’s fight with Vanessa had sapped some of his arm strength.

  As they fell, Coleman focused all his energy into twisting the terrorist’s wrist. He felt small bones grind and crack. When the ground smacked up into his back, the knife was pointing towards the terrorist’s unprotected abdomen.

  The terrorist fell straight onto the blade, squawking out a surprised grunt as the knife slid through his flesh and jabbed his spine. Impaled on his own blade, the terrorist rolled away.

  Coleman yanked out the knife and cut the straps securing the terrorist’s P190.

  Another terrorist appeared at the edge of the depression. Coleman threw the knife, burying the blade up to its handle in the man’s throat. As the man fell back, Coleman spotted Forest still in trouble.

  ‘Forest! Move!’ he yelled.

  Forest had only reached halfway down the slope. Three gunmen surrounding Forest closed in like wary predators. The three terrorists, a shrinking triangle around the Marine, had herded him to where the slope dropped steeply into the ferny ravine. Just over the edge, two meters from Forest’s boots, the ravine dropped off twice as steeply as anywhere else.

  Squatting in this precarious position, Fores
t watched the approaching men.

  Coleman cocked the P190. To save his friend, he would risk attracting the creatures with gunfire. He brought the weapon up to his shoulder, preparing to fire.

  Then he noted Forest’s expression.

  It was a nasty smirk.

  Forest wasn’t the one trapped.

  It was the terrorists who were walking into Forest’s trap.

  Coleman saw that Forest’s fatigues were drenched with water. His surroundings glistened wetly. The reserve’s watering system had not long shut down on that side of the slope. The ravine was a natural drain.

  One terrorist slipped. His left boot shot away. He dropped to his hands and knees. It was the man negotiating closest to the ravine. It was the mistake that Forest was waiting for.

  He sprung at the unbalanced man.

  In three steps Forest reached the man and slammed his knee into the terrorist’s chest. The kneeling terrorist saw the attack coming and wrapped his arms tightly around Forest’s waist.

  Twisting, locked together, they tumbled headfirst over the edge.

  The two men slid straight down the ravine.

  Underneath the terrorist, Forest’s body acted like a sled. The terrorist clung to the Marine as they sluiced over the ferns, rapidly accelerating. Forest twisted his body to look backwards, searching for the reason he hadn’t jumped down the ravine in the first place.

  At the bottom of the slope waited a massive moss-covered boulder.

  The two men slid straight towards it, head-first at breakneck speed.

  Forest hooked the terrorist under his arms. Just before they crashed into the boulder, Forest dug his heels into ground. He applied the brakes on his sled.

  The terrorist had nothing to slow his motion, and Forest jerked the man up by his arms, imparting even more deadly momentum.

  The last-second maneuver completely altered the dynamics of the collision. The terrorist’s body hit first, absorbing Forest’s impact like a fleshy airbag. After a heart-stopping moment, Coleman saw Forest disengaged himself from the broken man and wobble to his feet.

  Coleman took a second to locate everyone else. Forest’s roller-coaster ride had placed him beyond the line of terrorists. King was out in the open. Vanessa ran the last few meters down the slope to reach him. ‘There’s more coming. It’s Bora.’