Coleman felt his body slip an inch backwards. He dug in with his boot toes and pressed his cheek to the floor, offering the smallest possible profile to the wind.
This worked for about four seconds, until he felt his boot toes slipping again, and then his body started creeping backwards. No, no, no, no, NO! He was getting sucked along the floor back towards the twister. He was getting dragged into the turbines!
Coleman’s hands scrabbled madly over the floor, searching for purchase, for anything to stop his slide. There was nothing, not a thing, and his near panic made his body pick up more speed.
He was sliding completely out of control when he passed under a fixed workbench. Lashing out desperately with his right hand, he caught the frame where it bolted to the floor. The jerk almost wrenched his arm from its socket. He wrapped his arm around the frame so the steel leg was clenched under his armpit.
Something bounced off his shoulder and disappeared into the fire helix. He just glimpsed the object. A flare pistol.
He looked away from the twisting helix, grimacing into the wind, and spotted Cairns.
The turbines were designed to extract the air from a contained space at an incredible speed. But Cairns had destroyed most of the lab doors with explosives. Coleman had damaged the turbine’s controls. The combined effect had transformed the level’s corridors into a network of high-velocity wind tunnels.
Cairns hung trapped in one of those wind tunnels at the entrance to H-lab.
Stretched out on the floor, his feet lifted by the wind, his left hand gripped a broken piece of plexiglass jutting from the corridor wall. His right hand still clutched the templates. He needed to drop the templates if he had any chance of maintaining his hold.
His anchoring hand suddenly slipped free. He came sliding along the wet floor towards Coleman.
Coleman tightened his grip on the steel frame and braced himself as Cairns slid straight into his shoulders.
The jarring impact tortured Coleman’s already throbbing hand.
Cairns arrested his wild flight by grabbing Coleman’s bent elbow where it looped around the bench leg.
The combined drag of the two bodies began pulling Coleman’s arm from his anchor point. He lowered his head and bit Cairns’s hand savagely. He felt his teeth sink straight through to the bone.
Cairns dropped his grip, sliding five feet down Coleman’s body and wrapping his arm around Coleman’s boots.
Looking down his body, all Coleman could see was Cairns’s profile silhouetted against the column of twisting fire. Cairns was looking back into the fire-helix. Then Cairns started doing something completely unexpected. He dragged the templates up his body. His arm shook at the massive effort it took to pull the templates through the wind.
Coleman had no idea what was going on, but Cairns’s immediate intention seemed plain enough.
He was passing Coleman the templates.
Coleman reached down towards the templates, curling his fingers around the handle as Cairns tore away from his legs.
Cairns slid straight back into the twisting fire helix. Fire outlined his body for a spit second before the twister engulfed him.
As the last of the gas combusted, the firestorm suddenly disappeared. The flaming tornado existed for a moment longer, and then Coleman heard the massive turbines winding down. Either some safety mechanism had kicked in, or the turbines had burned themselves out.
Cairns was a blackened shape, kneeling over the floor vent, his head back and his mouth open like he had inhaled the helix. His skull was a burnt match head. He knelt immobile like a fired clay statue. Coleman couldn’t tell what had been fatigues and what had been skin.
He imagined that if he pushed him over, Cairns would smash.
The internal lab intercom suddenly blared out behind Coleman. It was Vanessa’s voice. ‘Alex! I’m in the administration hub. I’ve reinstated the internal comms and dropped the C-Guards. Is there any message we need to send out? Alex, are you there?’
Coleman remembered the weapon under the Complex, but David was more important. He dashed to the intercom.
‘What about David?’ he demanded. ‘Are the evacuees safe?’
‘They’re safe,’ she said. ‘My plan worked. The creatures are inanimate. I’m going there right now to get him.’
Coleman set aside his relief to focus on his important message. He thought for a bare second and then related his message to Vanessa, hearing her typing out the message in the background. He provided the exact frequency to broadcast the message.
‘Okay,’ confirmed Vanessa. ‘The message is away. Is there anything else?’
‘Yes. How did you disperse the pheromone?’
‘You’ll see.’
And minutes later, when Coleman reached the Quarantine Center, he did.
#
Vice Admiral Tucker watched the digital countdown on the right hand corner of the Knowledge Wall. It was synchronized to every clock on the ship, and in turn linked to the ship’s weapon systems.
When the neutron weapon detonated under the Biological Solutions Research Complex, Tucker would know the exact moment.
That moment was twenty seconds away.
Captain Boundary paced the room.
Apart from his footsteps, the room was filled with stony silence. Both men found themselves glancing towards the mainland as though they could see through the walls of the Disney Room.
Tucker heard steps, the sound of someone running. His head snapped up as Chief Warrant Officer Daniels burst into the chamber.
Daniels was short of breath, like he’d sprinted all the way. He jerked his hand over the table to Tucker.
‘Sir, a message, sir. From inside the Complex. From Captain Coleman, sir.’
Tucker jumped up and snatched the message.
It was brief.
Templates Secured. Hostile Forces Neutralized. Urgent medical assistance required for civilian and military casualties.
Daniels spoke up urgently, ‘It came in on the right frequency. It’s genuine, sir.’
‘Go!’ yelled Tucker at the Chief Warrant Officer. ‘Shut it down now!’
Tucker checked the countdown as Chief Warrant Officer Daniels sprinted from the room.
#
The radio signal left the USS Coronado with six seconds left on the synchronized countdown. It was picked up by the concealed antennae in the grassy tussock less than a second later. It sped down the underground line and was manipulated and verified by three repeater stations. It reached its destination with four seconds to spare.
In the cement bunker buried below the Complex, a small red light stopped flashing as the neutron weapon went back to sleep.
#
Four hours and twenty-three minutes later, two emergency divers broke the surface in an underground pool.
They finned into the cave until their feet touched the sandy bottom.
The lead diver flipped down a small map from her wetsuit and checked their bearings. This is it. This is definitely the right cave.
No lights showed in the cave. It looked pitch black. The lead diver lifted her dive flashlight and panned it over the beach at the back of the cave. She spotted one figure stretched out on the sand.
Just one? We were told there were two in here.
She signaled for the second diver to approach. ‘Fire up the chem-lamp.’
The second diver lifted a large-lensed lamp from under the water. The chemical lamp ignited with a crackling hiss. With the entire cave fully illuminated in every detail, she scanned the beach where it joined the water.
There were foot prints and drag marks. Two sets of foot prints led up the beach, and the same two came down again. There were two parallel drag marks. Partway up, trodden into the sand were the black straps, like two dead snakes, which they had used to drag the injured underwater to this location.
That all made sense.
What didn’t make sense was the extra drag mark that looked like it had come down the beach again.
The rest of the remark died on her lips.
A huge man held a combat dagger to her diving partner’s throat. The man must have circled around and emerged in the water behind them.
It was pitch black in here! He has no idea who we are. I thought they were supposed to be incapacitated.
The man looked half-dead, but obviously strong enough to use the knife.
‘Sergeant King, right? William King? We’re on your side. We’ve come to get you out of here.’
With that, the big man dropped the knife and passed out.
#
TWO WEEKS LATER
Forest used the ergonomic bar to pull himself into a sitting position in the hospital bed.
Nice and steady.
He kept his movements slow and controlled. No sudden jerking or he’d be punished with more internal spasms of pain up and down his torso. The doctor said he should upgrade to crutches in three weeks, but Forest aimed for ten days.
The scuba tank had done an efficient job at messing up his insides.
The military hospital was the last place he would choose to spend the previous two weeks, but at least he was getting paid. He knew he shouldn’t be moving at all, but lying back in bed made him crazier than a bucket of bat crap.
There aren’t even any pretty nurses.
He could deal with the pain, but not with the boredom. Flirting with a couple of hot nurses would really take the edge off.
As he bent his body, the new pressure made him need to pee. He glanced at the wheelchair beside the bed. He could put it off a bit longer, maybe half an hour. It hurt like wildfire to pee.
And he had a dry mouth. Drink now, pee later.
Turning gingerly towards the high bedside table’s ever-present plastic water jug, he saw that someone had left flowers beside his bed.
Large blooms, red fading to pink on the inside.
Forest stared at them for a full minute. Finally he turned them around so the blooms faced the opposite corner of the room. I’ll be damned if I’m going to risk waking up with those in my face. I’ll have a heart attack before my real injuries have a chance to kill me.
He tried not to laugh at himself. Laughing was definitely out. God, I’m a funny bastard.
Now, time for some more training.
A television hung in the corner of his room. Forest picked up the game console hand-control, loaded his saved game, selected the ‘Assault Rifle’ icon, and then started blowing away the baddies that popped up on the screen.
In his head, large pink flowers were having the worst day of their lives.
#
King glanced up and saw that the man had the wrong recovery room.
He dropped his head back down to the hospital pillow.
The guy would get the message. A big black man with a face full of stitches obviously wasn’t who he was looking for. The big guy who’d slid open the door was wearing a tailored suit and carrying a small plant, obviously intended for somebody else’s bedside table.
King knew it was a tailored suit because from personal experience he knew you couldn’t buy them that big from off the rack.
That was the thing with being relocated to the civilian surgery – he had to contend with visiting hours and people wandering around. In the military infirmary where Forest was being treated, he wouldn’t have had that problem. But the specialist equipment and surgeons to fix his arm were located here, in the middle of New York City, and King valued the use of his hand very highly.
The hunting knife had lacerated veins and nearly severed three tendons.
King heard the door to his private room slide closed.
Someone spoke from the door. ‘I’m not here to kill you.’
That voice.
He looked up again. The meds must be playing tricks with my brain. It can’t be….
There was no mistake. The suit and their environment had thrown him off at first.
It was Krisko Borivoj.
Bora moved past King’s bed and placed the plant on his bedside table.
King considered pressing his assistance button. What good would that do? Probably just get a nurse and a couple of security guards killed. This is my problem.
Bora looked up and down King’s prone frame, studying the very wounds he had delivered.
‘Are surprised to see me?’ asked Bora.
‘What do you want?’
Bora repeated his question, articulating each word precisely. His tone made it inelegantly clear that the events of the next few minutes depended on King’s answer.
‘I’ll ask you again, because I know you’re upset. Are you, surprised, to see me?’
King already knew the answer. He didn’t need to think about it. It had been something playing on his mind for the last fortnight. The thought was linked to a sound. It was the sound of the assault rifle firing as King abandoned Bora to the creature.
Bora’s question wasn’t Are you surprised to see me in this hospital?, his question was Are you surprised to see me still alive?
‘No, I’m not surprised,’ answered King. ‘I knew you’d made it out when they didn’t recover your body.’
Bora looked thoughtfully down at the drip in King’s arm. ‘When you regained consciousness, after your military secured the Complex, after all your civilians were evaced, that was your first question, wasn’t it? You asked if they’d located my body.’
It wasn’t a question. Bora knew it. It was true. It was the only question that had been in King’s mind when they were stretchering him out of the Complex.
‘So, how did you get out?’ asked King.
‘Every dog has his day, William. You and I had unfinished business.’
King just waited. Something was coming.
‘You dropped these,’ said Bora. ‘And I of all people understand how badly you wanted to take them from me.’
Bora dropped Marlin’s dog tags onto King’s open fingers.
King couldn’t close that hand. The recent surgery had left it immobile for the present.
Bora kept hold of the chain, as though at any second he might snatch the tags from King’s fingers.
‘If you want them, close you hand and take them,’ challenged Bora.
‘What do you want with me?’
‘Close your hand.’
It took all King’s willpower to make his damaged hand close around the cold metal. It felt like plunging his arm into liquid fire. Breathless from pain, he hissed, ‘Next time I see you, I’m going to kill you.’
Bora looked at the plant on the bedside table. ‘We’ll see. You’ll need to be in better condition next time. Get strong, then come and find me. One way or another, you’ll get your chance.’
With that, Bora left the room as quietly as he’d arrived.
King closed his eyes and laid his head back, hardly noticing where the dog tags cut into his clenched fist. Nor had he noticed that during the entire exchange, Bora had been reading his lips.
#
For a moment Coleman saw the back of another visitor, a big man in a smart business suit, but then he reached King’s room and slid open the door.
King eyes were closed. Asleep or resting, Coleman couldn’t tell.
His hand was clenched.
It’s a good sign that he’s getting the use of his hand back.
Coleman backed from the doorway, not wanting to disturb his friend. Shutting the door quietly, he noticed a small orange flower on the floor. It was no larger than a penny.
He picked it up. It must have dropped from a bunch that someone had delivered. Maybe the other visitor that Coleman had just glimpsed.
He checked his watch.
The surgery was in the city, and the busy sidewalk was full of people as Coleman wove down the street and into the corner diner.
Vanessa and David waited in the diner. Vanessa lowered her newspaper as Coleman scooted into the sea
t beside David. Coleman put his arm around his son, kissing the top of his head. ‘Move over, big guy. You’re hogging the whole seat.’
David wriggled down the seat, pulling his breakfast down the table. ‘You can have my tomato if you like, Dad.’
‘Sure. In a bit.’ Coleman just stared at his son. He’d spent a lot of time with David in the past week, but it never seemed enough. Hopefully that was going to change. Vanessa had agreed to arrange things so he and David could spend a lot more time together. When Vanessa went back to work, David would spend the next month living with Coleman. Before now, a week was usually the longest they could spend with David away from his mother.
‘When do you have to get back?’ Coleman asked.
‘When your brass stop asking me questions. The papers don’t say much,’ she remarked. ‘Your people responsible for that?’
Coleman waited until his coffee was poured. He smiled at the waitress as she left. ‘I’d expect so. It won’t be covered up, but the incident will be very carefully managed. The details will definitely change.’
Vanessa nodded. ‘I was not so tactfully reminded about our staff confidentially contracts. I had to sign that thing myself.’
Coleman sipped his coffee. ‘What happens under the desert stays under the desert?’
‘Something like that.’
David stopped chewing. ‘But I can tell people, right?’
Coleman winked at him. ‘You sure can. You don’t work for anybody. But maybe next time wait until you mouth isn’t full of breakfast, huh?’
‘Sorry.’ David looked relieved and started chewing again.
‘I never thanked you for saving my life.’ Coleman settled his coffee cup down. ‘And David’s.’
Vanessa folded the paper neatly. ‘In the life-saving stakes, I’m pretty sure that you’re ahead of the game.’
‘That’s not true.’ Coleman tapped the paper with his good hand. ‘Those people are only alive because of your eleventh-hour solution. It was a stroke of genius.’
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