“We’ll worry about that later,” Lyndsey snapped. “We need comms back online right now. Can you get me a workaround?”
David stared at her. “You’ve got to pull back from that hill. Buy us some time.”
Lyndsey didn’t answer, she just strode across the compartment and let herself into the cockpit. “Alec, change course. Take us farther away from the hill.”
Alec frowned. “How far?”
Lyndsey took her seat beside him and grabbed the nav panel. “I don’t know yet. Just ease us away while we try to get comms back up. The high ground is interfering with our signals.” She picked a point on the map and sent the coordinates to Alec’s display. It was farther away from the hill than she’d wanted, but it would have to do. “Got it?”
“Yes. New coordinates received. We’re on our way.” He turned his head from side to side as if looking for something. “Lost it.”
“What?”
“The drone you sent forward. I can’t see it. And I was just thinking…can we still control it with the comms down?”
“I doubt it,” Lyndsey replied. “I doubt it very much indeed.”
CHAPTER 10
The Hill
“GET DOWN,” PARRY HISSED, his voice suddenly loud in Connor’s helmet. “Stay below the ridge.”
Connor ducked down, and from behind him came the rattle of loose stones. Someone grunted, and then: “Shit!”
Connor looked back to see Finn on all fours, struggling to get back to his feet. John scooted back and gave him a hand.
“I’m fine,” Finn grumbled. “Just slipped. Goddamned scree.”
Connor snorted under his breath, but he didn’t say anything. Finn knew what he’d done wrong. There was no point yelling at him; that would only make him more nervous. We’ve got to get a grip, Connor told himself. We’re too keyed up for our own good. He turned back to Parry.
Squatting down behind a low ridge of rock, Parry shook his head, clearly unimpressed with Finn’s clumsiness. He pointed to Connor and waved him forward.
Crouching, Connor crept to Parry’s side, careful how he placed his feet, learning from Finn’s mistake.
“The wall is below us on the other side of this ridge,” Parry said. “About a hundred yards down. We’ll get a clear line of sight over the wall from here, but we’ve got to keep below the ridge as much as possible, or we could be spotted from the lowlands.”
“Got it.” Connor gestured to the others and said, “Stay down, and stay put.”
John gave him the thumbs up, and Finn said, “Sure. No problem.”
“Connor, I think just the two of us should take a look first,” Parry said. “We’ll lie down against the ridge and take a peek over the top. But check for sharp stones. There’s always some grunge when you’re this close to the wall. You don’t want to tear your suit.”
“Right.” Connor scanned the ground, running his gloved hand over the stones, then he lowered himself down, lying flat with his head just below the crest of the ridge. At his side, Parry did the same, taking his time.
“Okay,” Parry said, “let’s see what we can see.”
Slowly, Connor raised his head until he could just see down onto the lowlands. The first rays of sunlight were lightening the sky on the horizon, and a soft glow crept across the lowlands. But Connor’s eyes went straight to something else.
The wall lay directly below them: a gray ribbon snaking along the lower reaches of the hill. Strange, Connor thought, how small it looks from here, how insignificant. He let his gaze run along it, remembering the long days and months, it had taken to build. They’d stripped every metal panel, every girder and bracket, every nut and bolt from the ruins of their wrecked landing craft, and cobbled it together to make this simple structure. As work progressed, they’d even demolished the habs. There’d been bitter arguments about that, but in the end, everyone had agreed it was worth it. When it came down to it, everyone had wanted the same things: to walk and talk and breathe outside without wearing EVA suits. And more than that, they’d craved the chance to recapture a sense of family life, even if that meant building rudimentary homes from freight containers. Anything was better than living like caged animals, crammed together into the habs with no opportunities for privacy or independence.
“It’s something isn’t it?” Parry asked. “The wall, I mean.”
“Yeah. I think I worked on this section. I’m just glad it’s still holding up.”
“We keep an eye on her,” Parry said. “Patch her up when she needs it.”
“She?”
Parry grunted.
He’s right, Connor thought. This no time for banter. He lifted his head a little higher, craning his neck to search the lowlands below. “I can’t see any vehicles. Do you think they might’ve gone?”
“I doubt it. We just can’t see them from here. It’s that outcrop yonder—it’s in the damned way.” Parry paused. “Sorry. I thought I’d put us in the right spot.”
“No problem,” Connor said. “We just need to climb over this ridge and go lower, right?”
“Yeah, but take it slow.”
“Agreed. Finn, John—are you getting all this.”
“Yes, boss,” John replied. “How about you two go over first, then we’ll move down to take your place?”
“Good call,” Connor lifted himself up into a crouch and clambered over the ridge, turning sideways on to the slope and putting his hand on the rocky ground to steady himself. The EVA suit was built for maximum flexibility, but even so, it messed with Connor’s sense of balance. And even worse, the helmet cut down his peripheral vision; he could just about see Parry cresting the ridge at his side, but that was all—until he turned around.
What the hell? He caught a glimpse of something: a blur of motion, a dark shape in the air.
“Down!” Parry yelled. “Go back!”
But for one sickening heartbeat, Connor froze, staring wild-eyed at the dark, stubby cylinder skimming horizontally through the air, its flight following the wall. Whatever it was, it flew steadily, purposefully, like a honey bee seeking its hive. A round red light, like an all-seeing eye, shone from its front, and it let out a growling buzz as it sliced through the air.
Connor’s instincts kicked in. He turned and leaped back toward the ridge, but in that moment, as he threw his weight forward, his feet slipped from beneath him. For an agonizing split-second, his flailing arms held his balance, his gloved fingers touched the lip of the ridge. And then he fell.
Connor was already slipping down the slope, falling toward the wall, when he landed heavily on his front. The gray stones blurred, scraping across his visor in a steady stream as the torrent of tumbling stones took him downward. He pressed his hands against the shifting slope but found nothing to cling to.
“Connor!” Parry was shouting at him, yelling at the top of his voice. “Roll! Roll onto your back!”
“Shit!” Connor hissed. His mind flooded with images: the grunge crawling over him, devouring his flesh, feasting on his skin. But he twisted his body, throwing his shoulder into the sliding stones, and somehow, he managed to roll onto his back. His life support unit dug into his body, its edges pressing hard into his spine, his ribs, his shoulder blades. But it worked. The bulky backpack found some purchase in the stones, and Connor slowed, stopped. He stared up into the sky, fighting for breath, his chest tight, his throat dry. Was his suit torn? Was the grunge already working its way inside to find him?
He heard Parry say something, but the words were lost, drowned out by a wash of white noise. Too far away, he told himself. Too much interference. He put his hand on his chest and tried to focus, forcing his breathing to slow. How far had he fallen? It must’ve been a long way for his comms to be so badly affected.
He groaned and sat up. He’d fallen halfway to the wall, perhaps fifty yards. His headset crackled.
“Boss, that thing—it’s seen you.”
“What?” Connor’s stomach lurched. The harsh, growling sound grew lo
uder. He turned his head slowly. And stared, wide-eyed in horror.
The dark cylinder had stopped, hovering ten feet in the air, and it had turned to face him, its red eye burning bright.
“Parry, what do I do?”
No answer. Above him, the clatter of rocks. Perhaps Parry was coming to help, but Connor didn’t dare take his eyes from the dark cylinder. It buzzed angrily, and Connor’s hand went to his pocket, his fingers unfastening the flap, finding the handle of his sonic pistol.
A warble of noise in his headset. And then: “—they’re coming! Get b—”
Connor’s gaze slid sideways. He gazed out across the lowlands. And what he saw made his blood run cold.
Barreling through the air, six enormous craft roared toward the hill, headlights blazing. Each was the size of a railroad car: a brutish cuboid of menacing metal.
“No,” Connor whispered. “No, no, no.” His hand shaking, he raised his weapon, holding it at arm’s-length, his aim wavering between the dark cylinder and the distant vehicles rumbling ever closer.
The hovering cylinder backed away, emitting an eerie, wavering whine. Despite Connor’s helmet, the noise pulsed and hammered against his ear-drums, and his vision blurred. He ground his teeth together, but the noise grew stronger, drilling into his skull like the mother of all migraines. “Shit!” Connor aimed his pistol at the cylinder’s center and pulled the trigger.
A sharp crack and his weapon discharged, launching a beam of focused, high energy sound waves to pierce the air and slam into the dark cylinder. The machine juddered out of kilter then righted itself, but its hideous noise did not stop. Connor’s pistol was ready and he fired again and again, as fast as his recharge time would allow. Both shots found their mark, and the cylinder listed to one side and lost altitude. It caught itself before it hit the ground, then it turned lazily away, heading back across the lowlands toward the approaching craft. And its deafening whine faded away.
Connor stared after it. What the hell have I done? He pushed himself to his feet. He should check his suit for damage, but he couldn’t take his eyes from what was happening below him on the lowlands.
The huge vehicles had fanned out, and there were more flying cylinders hovering among the larger craft. Then, while Connor stared, the grim fleet ground to a halt, hanging in the air. Their headlights all faced in Connor’s direction, and in that moment a row of floodlights attached to the roof of one vehicle flared into life, the bright beams carving through the early morning gloom. The other vehicles followed suit, playing their floodlights across the slope as if searching him out. Connor stood, frozen to the spot, his bright white suit almost luminous in the floodlights’ glare.
And one certainty sprang unbidden to his mind: I’m dead.
CHAPTER 11
Truck Two
“TRUCK ONE, RESPOND!” Kyrksen leaned forward in his pilot’s seat and jabbed his finger at the comms panel. “Truck one, this is truck two.” He listened to the crackle and pop of static for a second then muted the speaker and glared at his co-pilot. “Clennan, can you get me truck one?”
Jim Clennan shook his head, but he kept his eyes forward. “No, sir. Comms inoperative. But, sir, truck one, it’s changing course, heading away from the hill.”
“Well don’t waste time, follow it, man.”
“Yes, sir. Altering course.”
Ahead, a distant flash of red light glinted through the gloom.
Jim gasped. “What was that?”
“The advance drone,” Kyrksen said, “it must’ve turned. They’re programmed to respond if they pick up anything unusual.” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “I’m heading into the back. I want to see this for myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kyrksen jumped from his seat and hurried into the truck’s main compartment. The space was dim, lit only by the banks of screens and displays that lined every wall, and it was almost silent. Kyrksen had only two technicians on his team, and they were both hunched over their workstations, their faces pale in the monitors’ blue light, their brows creased in concentration.
“What’s going on?” Kyrksen demanded.
Sue Hodgeson, the senior technician, jumped to her feet and snapped to attention. “Sir, we’ve lost contact with all drones. They’re running on auto, but we’re getting no data from them. No signal at all.”
Kyrksen dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “As you were, Hodgeson. What’s the situation with our comms?”
Sue relaxed her posture, but she remained standing. “Comms inoperative, sir.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Find me something that does work,” Kyrksen snapped. “I need data and I need it now!”
Sue returned to her station and her hands flew across a touch panel. “There is one thing I could…yes!”
“Tell me,” Kyrksen said.
Sue didn’t turn around; she kept working. “I’m getting the scope online. It’s an optical system and it looks like it’s unaffected by the interference.”
“The scope?” Kyrksen sneered. “Is that all we’ve got—a goddamned glorified telescope?”
“Sorry, sir,” Sue replied. “It’s all I can do for now.”
Kyrksen grunted. “It’ll have to do. Patch it through to my workstation.”
“Will do.”
Kyrksen took his seat near the front of the compartment and waited while an image resolved on his monitor: a bleak, almost featureless landscape streaking sideways across the screen. His fingers moved over the controls, and the image slid forward. Soon the hillside appeared, its gray slopes rising up from the ground like a rugged fortress of bleached stone. And what was this? A pale, narrow band ran along the lower slopes, following the contours of the rolling hillside. Was it a road? A path?
Holding his field of view steady, Kyrksen zoomed the scope in, centering on the thin line. “It’s a wall,” he whispered. “They’ve built a wall around the whole damned hill.”
He chewed at the inside of his cheek. Why a wall? Was it to protect them from the symbiont? Or was it a defensive structure, designed to keep intruders away?
He panned the scope along the wall. What was that? An indistinct glimpse of something pale: a shape moving too fast for him to follow. He zoomed the scope out, and then he saw it. The man’s white suit was easy to see against the gray rock. He was sitting down, and a short distance away, a drone hovered. Kyrksen focused on the man, zooming in. And before his eyes, the man raised his arm. “A gun! He’s got a gun!”
Behind him, chairs scraped across the metal floor as the technicians deserted their posts. “Hodgeson! Keep your eyes on the scope,” Kyrksen yelled. And in that moment, the man on the hill fired, over and over again. Kyrksen stood and darted across the compartment, making for the door to the cockpit. “Keep the scope centered on that man,” he called back to the technicians, and then he dashed through the door, slamming it behind him.
Kyrksen barged into the cockpit and threw himself into his seat. He began issuing orders while he fastened his safety harness. “Clennan, break formation. Go forward of truck one and get their attention. Then swing around.”
“Yes, sir.” Jim Clennan adjusted the controls, and immediately the truck accelerated until they were alongside and then just in front of truck one.
Kyrksen looked out through the cockpit’s side window and saw Alec staring back at him from truck one, his face a mask of surprise. Kyrksen gestured toward the hill, waving his arm as much as he could in the confines of the cockpit. But it was no use, he’d have to try something else.
“Clennan, swing around!” Kyrksen shouted. “Now!”
“Sir?” Jim asked. “Which direction—away from the hill?”
“No. Toward the hill. Face that slope. And when the other trucks follow us, come to a halt.”
“Shall we touchdown?”
“No. Just stop. Maintain height.” Kyrksen pulled the nav screen toward him then reconfigured the display, pulling up the feed from the roof-mounted scope. The man on the hillsid
e was standing now, but he hadn’t moved. It was as if he was rooted to the spot.
“Sir, truck one is following our course,” Jim said.
“Good. Stop here.”
Jim slid his hand over the forward throttle, and the truck slowed smoothly until it was stationary, hanging in the air. “All stopped, sir.”
Kyrksen watched as truck one came to a halt alongside. He gestured toward the hill, but Alec frowned and shook his head. “For God’s sake,” Kyrksen whispered. “This is hopeless.”
He peered through the windshield, but they were too far from the hill to see the slope clearly through the gloom. “Clennan, turn the searchlights on.”
“Searchlights activated.”
The bright white lights played alongside the hillside, and in the feed from the powerful scope, the man stood out clearly, a tiny figure against the majestic slope. But with his naked eyes, Kyrksen could see nothing. “Damn it! What the hell am I going to do now?”
CHAPTER 12
Truck One
ALEC TURNED TO FACE LYNDSEY. “What in God’s name is Kyrksen playing at?”
“I don’t know, but something’s got him excited,” Lyndsey replied. “If he’s made the whole fleet stop for no reason, I’ll—”
“He’s put his searchlights on,” Alec interrupted. “He must’ve seen something. I’ll activate ours.”
Lyndsey stared through the smeared windshield, following the hazy white beams from their searchlights. The other trucks followed suit, their beams joining forces to bathe the slope in their glow, but she could see nothing of interest. “We need to get some comms, or…” she let her voice trail away and looked Alec in the eye. “How’d you like to take a walk?”
Alec slipped off his safety harness and stood. “I’ll get my suit.”
“Thanks, Alec. Find out what the problem is and get back as soon as you can.”
“Sure.” Alec went through to the main compartment and kept walking, heading for his cabin.
Lyndsey followed him through the door, but she stayed in the compartment. “Good luck,” she called out. “I’ll keep working on the comms and see if I can get the link back up.”
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