Instinct (2010)

by Kay, Ben

  Further up, Webster was wondering if the flamethrower was such a good idea after all. It gave great protection, but it left the stairs full of giant burning insects, which thrashed around the enclosed space. Gravity meant that most of them came down the stairs, leaving Webster to keep them at bay with the butt of his rifle. Twice his jacket caught fire, and the time he took to smack the flames out was slowing the ascent even more.

  On the sixth flight the decision was made for him: the flamethrower ran out of petrol, so he gladly ripped it off his back and switched to his M-16.

  Progress was faster now, as the insects were thinning out and the ones he came across were killed instantly with a couple of well-placed bullets. The few that got past him were dealt with by the boots and handguns of the scientists, who felt a vague sense of shame at how much they enjoyed firing their weapons.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Madison and Garrett were catching the scientists up. Some insects were still following, but there were fewer now, and the occasional burst from Garrett’s AR-15 took care of them.

  ‘Hey, Garrett, you got any more ammo? I’m all out.’ Madison was one flight ahead, so there was little need for him to keep firing, but he didn’t want to go on unarmed.

  ‘Sure,’ said Garrett, climbing up the steps behind him. They were right next to one of the flares Jacobs had set off earlier, which made it easier for Garrett to see what she was doing.

  ‘Anything down there?’ Madison asked as she rammed his new clip home.

  ‘Nothing big. A few ants here and there. My boots work fine on them.’

  They both heard the soft, rhythmic thumping, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. As they hadn’t been under much of a threat for a while, they both looked up the stairwell to see if one of the scientists was coming down.

  It didn’t sound like that was happening, but now the thumps were getting louder.

  Garrett looked down the stairs just in time to see the jumping spider, as big as a dustbin lid, bounding towards them.

  Madison had his back to it, so all he saw was Garrett’s terrified face, her arms flailing towards him, pushing him sideways.

  With a fraction of a second to spare, she shoved Madison out of the way, but that meant that she could not raise her arms to defend herself.

  Madison watched as the spider’s giant fangs plunged straight into the middle of Garrett’s chest.

  She was knocked on to her back, smacking her head against the metal steps.

  Madison brought his gun up and drilled a volley of bullets into the spider from the side, missing Garrett but turning the arachnid to a furry mush.

  Using all his strength, he wrenched what was left of the beast off Garrett’s chest. Great gushes of blood lashed up in a thick fountain, pumping directly from her heart.

  ‘Garrett! Garrett! Talk to me!’

  She looked dead, but just as Madison was about to give up hope, her eyes opened weakly.

  ‘Garrett?’

  ‘Madi … son.’ Blood was pouring out of her mouth and down her neck.

  ‘Oh shit, Garrett. I’ve got to get you help.’ He started to move, but her hand rose weakly, just catching his.

  ‘No … you go. You go … fly the plane.’

  Her eyes shut softly and her head gave a small clank as it fell limp on the metal stairs.

  Madison grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Garrett! Garrett! Oh fuck!’ As he felt her lifeless body in his arms, he knew she was gone, and he knew she was right: he had to get out of there to fly them to safety.

  Shaking his head and choking back the lump in his throat, he grabbed the banister and sprinted up the stairs.

  Ten flights up, they were all running, or going as fast as they could, injuries permitting.

  Although her back, ribs and shoulder were still sending hot shocks of pain through her, Laura was using thoughts of Andrew to block them out and pull herself up faster and faster, a wash of perspiration clearing the blood and dirt from her face.

  Webster was driving upwards, ignoring the sharp stab of pain his ankle gave him every time he put weight on it. The swelling had reduced a great deal, but not enough for a climb like this. His torn bicep was also screaming for attention but he just kept on looking forwards, concentrating on the next flight.

  The ant head clinging on to Mike’s shin was so painful he had to keep stopping to have another go at pulling the jaws apart. The effort was pointless. These ants got stuck fast at half an inch long; this one was a hundred times the size, so it would take more than a hard yank from Mike to remove it. Like Webster, he just had to accept he could run in pain or die.

  The slash on George’s back seemed to pull apart a little more with every step. It was as if the skin were trying to knit together but the motion of the climb would not let it. This was on top of a general lack of fitness: the Marlboros and beer were definitely making themselves felt. Jacobs could see he wasn’t going to make it on his own, so she dropped back, put his arm over her shoulder and gave him the lift he needed.

  Susan was the only one of the original group with no serious injuries. It hadn’t occurred to her to help the others up to then, but she saw how Jacobs was supporting George and went to do the same for Mike. The physical assistance made a difference, but in the rush to avoid being left behind, the feeling there was someone else with you was equally motivating.

  Madison ran past Bishop. He knew there was no point in telling anyone what had happened to Garrett, but he also knew he had to make sure the plane was ready for take-off as soon as possible. If the others were safely up on the surface and he was still on the stairs, that would be a huge waste of effort. He jumped up the steps and dragged himself higher by pulling on the banister.

  Overall, it was an effort that strained every sinew, every blood vessel, every muscle, but the reward was too good to give up. It would mean that the last six hours had not been for nothing, that they had a chance at a life which had only recently seemed so remote.

  Bishop was the only straggler. He looked at the walls and the stairs of the building that surrounded him and was overcome by a sadness that tempered the relief of survival. Was this really the end? Was he really going to leave this place that had been his home and his life for so long?

  The last few weeks had seen him go through more pain, horror, death and revulsion than most people would go through in ten lifetimes. But something made him think he had dealt with that problem. Now it was time to get back to normal.

  Maybe Paine would understand that MEROS was too valuable to destroy. Maybe he could persuade the others that it was worth saving. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

  He continued up the stairs, but with little enthusiasm.

  93

  Captain Fox eased back the throttle and banked over the hills between Aracadinya and Cabadiscana. There were small villages below, which must have found the sight and sound of an F-35 Lightning 2 JSF both strange and fearsome. It was a grey bullet of searing metal, almost invisible against the gathering clouds, but its whining roar filled the sky like an elongated thunderclap.

  Fox checked the Synthetic Aperture Radar system to view the terrain ahead. It was time to change down from supersonic and lose altitude. Although it was unlikely the Venezuelan government would be paying close attention to these areas, as far as international aviation tracking went, this mission was non-existent.

  The Pratt-Whitney F135 engine slowed under smooth control. Fox then applied a little more pressure on the right pedal and yawed in a southerly direction. He was less than 100 miles from the target so he checked his instruments and prepared to switch to the internal electro-optical targeting system. He was still too far away to make a direct ID of MEROS but he wanted to test the F-35’s capabilities in the head-up displays.

  Reaching forward, he moved the cursor on his screen towards the target and designated the B61 Mod 11 for a small white building in a clearing at the end of a j
ungle runway. Then he moved the cursor and selected a nearby copper mine instead. Playing God with a nuclear bomb gave him a guilty thrill. The idea that a swipe of his index finger and a push of his thumb would end the lives of whomever he chose was a perverse but undeniable pleasure.

  His head-down display informed him that the distance to target was only 50 miles. He switched the monitor back to MEROS and looked ahead: nothing but dense dark green, interrupted by the occasional smear of white-grey mist. He hoped the terrain stayed that way. On a similar mission two years earlier, intelligence had sent him to destroy a supposedly isolated cave in Yemen. It turned out to be located half a mile from a bustling village. Sending down that bomb haunted him to this day. He liked to think they had been upwind of the explosion and that the villagers had not been infected by the fallout, but he knew it was unlikely.

  His training had suggested that it was inadvisable to imagine the details of what he was attacking, and the radar system made that easier. It had the appearance of a very basic video game, reducing buildings and the people within them to a series of coloured shapes that gave no indication of what lay within.

  MEROS was now one of those shapes: a white triangle, for the next fifteen minutes, at least.

  94

  There was nobody else within eight flights of Laura. Her thighs pumped like pistons, eating up the stairs in leaps and jumps. Much of her climb was in darkness, but she could just make out where she was going from the dying flares that Jacobs, Mills and Madison had left on their way down.

  It had been almost thirty-six hours since she had entered the complex, twice that since Andrew had gone missing, but it felt like weeks. Even before the Heath wasps had escaped she had doubted she would ever be able to return home, but oddly enough the disaster that had followed was what had made it possible.

  Perspiration poured down her front and back while the inside of her mouth was dust-dry. How many more steps could there be? How much time was left? She prayed nothing had happened to Madison, and climbed faster still.

  Near the summit the steps curved in a different direction with shorter flights and she felt the first whisper of cool air from outside. It was joined by a faint haze of natural light that showed the stairs to be a dark blue rather than the black they had seemed as they passed beneath her feet. As she made her way up the last steps she heard voices from above. It was impossible to know who was talking but she could understand the tone, a minor disagreement between a high voice and a low one.

  ‘They should be here by now.’

  ‘They on their goddamn way! Now chill! Listen!’

  Taj was interrupted by the faint clang of Laura’s boots on the metal stairs. Andrew immediately tried to run into the staircase, but Taj held him back.

  ‘Leave room. They all got to get out.’

  The clangs became louder until it was obvious they were coming from the final steps.

  Andrew broke free from Taj with a fierce kick.

  ‘Andrew, Andrew, Andrew,’ was all Laura could say as she buried her face in his neck and hugged him so hard his ribs ached.

  She had lost him twice in the last three days and both times she thought it was for ever. As she held him again, she resolved to remember everything about this moment: his scruffy brown hair, his shining eyes and the way he held her like he would never let go again.

  When at last they separated Laura saw Taj looking awkward.

  ‘Thank you for looking after him …’

  ‘Taj.’

  ‘Taj, of course.’

  ‘Must have been plenty, uh, I mean to say you must have been through a lot, Dr Trent.’

  Laura looked at Andrew and rubbed the back of his neck as he smiled up at her, squinting at the sun streaming in behind her head.

  ‘Yes … it’s been quite …’

  Just when she thought that no words could do the experience justice, Webster came through the hatch, closely followed by Madison.

  ‘Sorry, but we have to get to the plane now,’ Webster said. ‘There’s a minute left on Jacobs’s clock.’

  They ploughed through the trees: Madison running ahead, and Webster, Laura, Andrew and Taj tight on his heels.

  The way through the jungle was not easy: ripples of earth, thick with trees and creepers, undulated down the steep slope.

  Leading the way, Madison caught his foot on a tendon of root and went flying. Landing hard, he somersaulted down past stumps and trunks, twice missing concussion by the width of a finger.

  Trailing his hand behind him, he managed to grasp a tight mess of vines. The momentum wrenched at his knuckles but he finally came to a stop just before a row of rocks that would have split his head like a pineapple.

  Webster caught him up. ‘You OK?’ Madison didn’t even reply. He just got back up and bolted through the bushes.

  A hundred more yards of flat jungle and they were at the clearing. Thumping boots swished through the foliage and on to the grass.

  Madison was already jumping through the Spartan’s side doors and grabbing his headphones.

  ‘Thirty seconds!’ warned Webster, looking at his watch as the others took their seats. ‘Paine had better be late.’

  They all took seats by the windows and watched the jungle for the arrival of the others.

  ‘Come on … come on …’ whispered Webster.

  Madison gunned the ignition and the twin turboprop engines swept into life. They were already at the end of the two-thousand-foot runway, so Madison did not need to manoeuvre the plane into position.

  ‘Come on!’ snapped Webster.

  Suddenly the cockpit alarm blared in Madison’s ears.

  ‘Shit! I have incoming, north-north-east, approaching at low altitude and high speed. This looks like the one, Major. I can try to taxi slowly, but we can’t really wait any more.’

  ‘Hang on, Madison!’

  One by one, the others appeared from the trees: George, Susan, Mike and Jacobs limped and staggered across the clearing. Webster ran out to help them along and they were soon up the steps and into the plane’s side door, gasping hard and sweating harder.

  As Madison powered up the engine, Taj called out from the back row.‘Hey, Jacobs. Looks like your calculations were a little off. My watch is at zero.’ There was a smattering of relieved laughter.

  ‘Glad to be wrong, Taj.’

  ‘OK, we ready to get the fuck out of here?’ called Madison. Webster counted them off then looked around again.

  ‘We’re missing two.’

  Madison got out of his seat and appeared at the door to the cockpit. ‘I’m sorry, guys. Garrett bought it on the way up. I didn’t see any point in saying until we got out of there but she made it very clear she wants us to live, so let’s talk about it after I get us safe.’

  He returned to the cockpit, leaving a stunned silence behind him.

  Webster couldn’t believe what he had heard, but right now he had to push his grief aside. Who else was … ?

  ‘Bishop,’ said Mike sourly.

  ‘We can’t leave without him,’ said Webster.

  ‘Major, pretty soon I’m going to have no choice,’ called Madison.

  ‘How long?’ replied Webster.

  ‘ETA of two minutes. That gives us thirty seconds before I have to lift off, but I’ll gun the engine as hard as I can.’

  ‘Come on, Bishop,’ said Webster through gritted teeth.

  ‘Hey, I say we leave the asshole. You really want to risk this, Major?’ asked Mike.

  ‘You really want to leave a man to die?’ Webster shot back.

  A second later, Bishop was out of the jungle and into the clearing. Webster frantically waved him towards the plane.

  But he wasn’t running. He ambled on to the flat grass and looked ruefully at the plane. Then he gave the smallest of waves and walked back towards the white building.

  Webster wanted to stop him but he knew they
had no time to wait for that. There was something in Bishop’s eyes that seemed impossibly empty, as if they were transparent. It didn’t feel right to leave him in that state, but on this occasion they couldn’t do anything else.

  ‘Take her up,’ he shouted to Madison, sadness in his voice. If anyone had been standing close enough to Bishop, they’d have heard him talking:

  ‘It’s OK. The blast will be a half-mile underground. There’ll be no danger. I just can’t leave my post. And I’ll be in touch. When we’ve sorted this place out and we can get MEROS functioning again somewhere else, I’ll get hold of you all and we can continue what made this place great, continue the work, continue our valuable contribution to …’

  Either he realized nobody was listening or he didn’t know how the sentence was going to end. He turned back to the Spartan again and waved at no one in particular, as if they were all his good friends, moving on after their final year of college.

  With a melancholy smile on his face, he looked back to the entrance of MEROS.

  Behind him, the Spartan was accelerating down the runway.

  Three miles to the north-east, the F-35 was coming in low. Captain Fox tapped the cursor on his screen and the B61 Mod 11 was on its way.

  The Spartan had covered half of the runway, and was nearing take-off speed.

  ‘OK, everyone,’ yelled Madison. ‘I’m picking up something else. Smaller, coming in faster. Brace yourselves. I’m going to do my best to avoid it, but I’ve got to get airborne first.’

  As he spoke, the Spartan’s wheels lifted off the concrete and into the air.

  Fox was gaining altitude so he could come back round and check that the bomb had hit its target. As soon as his nose lurched upwards, the Spartan appeared on his radar as a hostile craft.

  ‘What the hell?’ he said to himself, then switched on the mike in his oxygen mask.

  ‘Candyman to base. Candyman to base.’

  ‘This is base, copy Candyman.’