Quake

by Andy Remic

  ‘Ha, I’ll fly anything! Not very well, but I fly it.’

  ‘Then we’ll rendezvous in Austria. I’ll scout ahead. The fucking speed of this thing, I’ll probably get there before Durell and Jam!’

  ‘I doubt that. We spend too much time fucking about here.’

  ‘I knew coming to Egypt was a bad idea. Have you checked the ECube?’

  Mongrel fished out the machine. It glowed blue.

  ‘It’s working. But I fear Nex still have control of systems, despite this new revision of our magical little alloy friend - real piece of shit The Priest gave us here, I am thinking.’

  ‘Send an ECube blip on the WarChannel. When the shit hits the fan, my disobedience will be as nothing - and the world is at stake here, our whole civilisation at risk. We need Spiral back-up; I doubt we’ll come out of this alive without some aid ...’

  ‘But you are disobeying Spiral’s orders!’

  Carter nodded. ‘I will save Natasha - and I will destroy Durell. But I cannot fight a war alone. Let Spiral do what they will do - if they cannot see I fight for the greater good, then fuck them to the darkest reaches of Hell. But I won’t turn down a bit of heavy artillery help, that’s for sure ...’

  Mongrel nodded, and started to spin the ECube in his fingers. ‘If Durell does have control of channels, when I send this he might know we’re still alive. He might know we’re coming ...’

  ‘Fuck him,’ said Carter. ‘Send him one as well. And tell him I look forward to our next joyful meeting, because there will be only one fucker leaving the room - and it won’t be him.’

  The MiG cruised on, sunlight glimmering along its dull grey hull. The Russian tri-colour was the only bit of colour on its otherwise blank alloy fuselage. Soon the machine dropped, howling from the deep blue skies, and skimmed low across the desert rocks of Gebel al-Galala al-Qibliya - and then on towards the Red Sea Mountains, searching for a place to land ...

  ■

  ■ ■

  ■ ■

  >>>>>

  ■ quakehubQIV initiated

  waiting

  waiting

  waiting

  proc zgrade

  matter (q) clocks initiated

  zones (q-z): checking

  ■

  OPEN 6364786398-QIV {

  isort(A, 0); check(A, 0)

  genid(A, 1); isort(A, 1)i check(A, 1)

  genrand(A, n); isort(A, n); check(A, n)

  gensort(A, n); isort(A, n); check(A, n)

  genrev(A, n); isort(A, n); check(A, n)

  identical integers //q12

  genid(A, n); isort(Ai n); check(A, n)

  qq)

  function isort(A, n, I, j, t) {

  for (i = 2, i < = n, i++)

  for (j = I, j > 1 88 A [j-1] > A [j];

  j--) {

  # swap A[j-1] = A[j]

  t = A[j-1]; A[j -1] = A[j]; A[j] = t \ }

  zones cleared;

  call fzone sort; 7y879ehwi

  x897xx89x897x90

  x5x675x45x56576

  x876x79-x076x9x7

  x6xx454x76x765x

  call 76538973454784

  call 43876438973492

  call 23765723862348

  ■

  quakehub systems online

  quakehub foundations linked

  quakehub systems operational

  01010111ok

  101010100k

  111010100k

  10010101ok

  100000100k

  00000000ok•

  engines complete

  please specify targets…

  OPEN tactical :GUI

  done

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  New York, the United States of America

  Darkness flowed majestically over the sleeping city. Lights glittered from a billion different coordinates, a swathe of electronic eyes focusing and keeping the world alive. Cars moved in tracer streamers along the twisting concrete highways, headlights slicing the dark and adding to the great sweep of phosphorescence flowing up and out towards heaven.

  The night was peaceful.

  Sleeping.

  The rumble seemed to shake the whole world. Buildings started to tremble, softly at first, jiggling against their foundations as windows clattered in frames. Several shattered, glass shards and slivers tumbling in long glittering falls to the sidewalks far below. From Queens to Staten Island, from Brooklyn to Manhattan, the Big Apple felt the clenched and threatened fury of the quake’s titanic fist-fuck.

  Cars started to rattle against road surfaces, bouncing on protesting suspensions.

  Shop windows cascaded onto sidewalks in huge sheets of diced glass.

  Alarms started to squeal from a million different tenement blocks and wounded vehicles.

  The George Washington Bridge began to shudder, swaying violently.

  On the subway, trains ground to a halt as rails were distorted, twisted, wrenched from concrete blocks, their tortured bolts torn.

  And then the quake seemed to grow, to expand, to rise swiftly into a sudden fury - as it washed across the whole city in a titanic crush and devastating smash of unleashed energy worse than any single warhead that had ever been directed at the United States ...

  Buildings toppled.

  Houses disintegrated.

  Cars were crushed.

  And all to the accompaniment of a constant wail, a high-pitched eternal cacophony, a moaning writhing bleeding symphony-scream of apocalyptic human suffering.

  Shanghai, China

  In Shanghai Harbour at the head of the Yangtze River, the water trembled gently. Small boats started to bob, the rhythm gentle at first but growing more violent until they jiggled as though they were on wires. Moored ferries started to rock, crunching against wharfs and one another, and on the mainland the streets started to move, some actually erupting as tarmac buckled and thrust upwards in grey-black showers. The new T12 HyperTubeway ground to a halt, and screams echoed as the waters from the Yangtze poured in, picking up trams and spinning them violently down the wide bright underground tunnels, washing people like sticks of debris from the platforms, drowning those who were already trapped and struggling.

  The Huxinting tea house, built in 1784 and nestling like a proud jewel, a national symbol of heritage at the centre of Nanshi’s ornamental lake, shifted as dust drifted down from its ancient supports, peppering the still lake waters with tiny flakes of debris. There was a beautifully constructed zigzag bridge, linking to Yu Yuan, that was said to keep evil spirits away ... As it tumbled into the still waters a roar so loud, so devastating that it could dwarf the sound of a nuclear explosion, scythed across Shanghai. The whole area moved and tipped and a devastation, an abomination like nothing the city had ever seen smashed down without mercy through the darkness ...

  To leave a mass of pulped flesh in its wake.

  Delhi, India

  The Red Fort of Delhi, quarried and built in 1648 from the local deep red sandstone and once serving as the imperial palace of the Mughal Emperors, started to shake. The Lahore Gate and the Delhi Gate started to rattle against their ancient iron hinges, and stonework began to crumble around sand-blasted fixings. The two-and-a-half-kilometre defensive wall began to buckle, writhing like a huge red snake in its death throes, and all around people stared up in wonder - and horror - as the ground trembled beneath their feet.

  The huge and beautiful Great Mosque - the Jama Masjid - was shuddering as if some great hand had taken the tapering minarets and rounded bulbous domes and was shaking them. Several minarets toppled to the ground far below, scattering debris like a child’s abused building blocks under the fists of a tantrum-screaming toddler ...

  The River Yamuna shook as if in the grip of a fit; it sloshed up its banks, smashing boats and overturning several small ferries. A huge wave washed up, over, dragging people and barking dogs from the banks and away in a sudden deep swell of flood waters ... In the suburbs surrounding the city people came outside to stand in the street, staring up int
o the sky or over towards the crumbling Red Fort, which dominated the skyline and seemed to shimmer.

  And twelve million people watched in muted terror as the quake made its presence felt, smashing, stomping and branding its presence into the brain of every screaming human who endured its buckling stampeding smashing torturing onslaught...

  ‘Is it done?’ asked Jam through twisted jaws.

  Durell shook his head. ‘No, my boy, it is not yet done.’ His eyes stared down at the screen, at the swirl of colours, at the scattered flickering images of destruction being relayed back to him via thousands of satellite eyes around and above the globe.

  He reached down beside the screen where a small black box sat, its lights flickering softly. He glanced down, a curious smile etching his face within the folds of the dark hood. Frost coated the box - the QuakeHub - and with blackened claws Durell flicked open the lid to reveal a dark cube squatting at the heart of this terrible weapon that was wreaking such havoc across the world.

  Jam peered closer.

  ‘What exactly is it?’

  ‘The heart of the QuakeHub. It is a processor, Jam. The most advanced military processor ever designed. It is controlling the earthquakes, and it is controlling the world ... watch closely, for no more will we offer ultimatums, no more will we bow under the onslaught of world powers and world armies and the slime that is Spiral ... we will control everything because, my friend, as you can quite clearly see, the QIV processor, the QIV military-organic-cubic processor is now fully operational and permanently on-line.’

  The Nex poured out in their thousands from hidden bunkers - cold-storage facilities, secret subterranean chambers - across the globe.

  As satellites became blind and governments and army leaders panicked, appalled at their sudden terrifying loss of control, the Nex attacked targets that had no idea of what was coming.

  In Germany, armies clashed in the streets as civilians fled, screaming, to be machine-gunned in the back. In Sweden, the Nex landed in swarms of black helicopters, storming airfields and army and naval bases, taking them in minutes. With stumbling leaders blind, oblivious to the fact that they were even under attack, nuclear power stations were overrun and complete control was taken of poorly defended nuclear missile silos - from Russia to America to China.

  The Nex - thanks to the QIV military processor - had control of digital locks, satellite navigation, world finances. In certain high-tech army barracks hundreds of thousands of men were simply locked in. No need for bloody warfare in such cases, no need for hand-to-hand combat in the streets - the Nex could prevail with far inferior numbers due to technological and digital superiority.

  The power base across the surface of the globe began to shift.

  Durell stood over the QIV processor, revelling in his supremacy, revelling in his power, his apotheosis - and he turned, throwing back his hood as his glittering eyes surveyed Jam. He placed a claw on Jam’s shoulder and smiled. There was a taste on his lips like ... revenge.

  ‘Carter is coming,’ said Jam softly.

  ‘I care not.’

  ‘And Spiral, with their TankSquads.’

  ‘I care not.’

  ‘We should leave this place.’

  ‘No, Jam. This Carter, he must die. By coming to us he simply makes this game easier ... he cannot stand against you, and he cannot stand against us. It is too late, the game is in play, the world is toppling even as we speak, we blink, we breathe. The time for running is over.’

  ‘Is the QIV processor blind to Carter? Like the QIII before it?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Jam. ‘Why can it not see him?’

  ‘Carter is an anomaly in the system. A bug in the software. A virus in the code. He needs to be ironed out; he needs to be quarantined; he needs to be eliminated.’

  ‘I will do this,’ said Jam softly.

  ‘Good,’ whispered Durell, nodding with satisfaction, and he turned back to the screen which rippled like mercury. His hands moved deftly over the controls as thousands of images flickered across it, showing scenes of battle and death.

  And all the while they could hear the deep and distant rumbling of the quake.

  The huge hospital car park on the outskirts of London was dark and rainswept, filled with shadows. Sections of it were packed with cars gleaming glossy under the downpour; several spaces provided nothing more than raindrops dancing on tarmac. A soft noise echoed through the darkness at the perimeter fence - where a single Sleeper Nex stood, water gleaming on its shell. It turned copper eyes within its triangular head, left, then right, and dropped to all fours like a huge cat. Muscles bunched and its whole body quivered. It seemed to scent the air - then, eyes glinting eerily, it turned its nose towards the Accident & Emergency neon sign and the bright glare of strip lights inside. An ambulance had just pulled up, blue lights flickering.

  The entity sniffed again and, head dropping, its claws raked the tarmac as it headed towards the bright entrance and the heavy stifling stink of the people within.

  Earthquakes had ravaged London. Most wounded had been airlifted away because the capital was said to be still unstable, at best - with the threat of more quakes to come. People were leaving the capital in their thousands -or, rather, sitting on motorways, crawling along bumper to bumper.

  It had been suggested by the hospital authorities that Natasha should be removed along with other patients, airlifted to a quieter hospital by military Chinook, to a city that had not been savaged by the fury of the earthquake, such as nearby Oxford or Coventry. Nicky had made it plain to the doctors that Natasha would be going nowhere and had sat at her friend’s bedside for long hours, holding the cool flesh of Natasha’s hand.

  Nicky came awake with a start.

  The steady beep-beep-beep of the monitors soothed her suddenly racing heart and adrenalin kicked her system into wakefulness. She glanced at Natasha.

  What woke me? she thought.

  She tilted her head, listening.

  Something felt wrong. Out of place.

  She tied back her hair, pulled tight the laces of her boots and lifted free her Smith & Wesson 11mm pistol, checking the 24-round ‘compact-shell’ magazine and flicking free the safety.

  Tiny hairs prickled across the nape of her neck.

  A distant shout echoed from the depths of the hospital. Nicky glanced at Natasha’s recumbent form, and moved quietly to the door.

  Somewhere, distantly, a woman gave a muffled scream.

  There came a crack.

  What’s going on? she thought, blood nightmares raging in her skull.

  Nex?

  Mercs, even?

  The return of the quake?

  She tugged free her ECube and paused for a moment -Spiral were already stretched to full capacity ... and beyond. The last thing they needed was some jumpy bitch sending in an Urgent Request for Heavy Back-up - just because a locally anaesthetised patient on a cold operating slab was being sliced open by a careless doctor.

  She toyed with the tiny black alloy cube for a moment.

  Then pocketed it.

  Pull yourself together, girl, she thought with a long blink and a deep breath.

  Clutching the S&W pistol tightly, she moved down the corridor and then stopped, listening, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed in concentration.

  Nothing.

  ‘See? Panic for nothing ...’ she muttered to the stagnant air.

  She moved towards the double swing door, boots squeaking a little on the sterile tiles of the hospital corridor. A man screamed - a long low animal sound, full of pain and horror and ending with a savage nasty gurgle.

  Nicky paused then—

  A real pause.

  As a fist of fear punched her in the brain.

  She started to reach for her ECube, thinking Fuck it, they can send me some of the boys - when something rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, about twenty metres directly ahead of her. Something big and black, heavily armoured and moving stealthily lik
e a large cat. Thick armoured legs supported a wide stocky chest and a triangular head, with tiny copper eyes. Claws raked the ground and the head snapped up, around, a blur of movement. She saw blood dripping from twisted jaws.

  Twin copper eyes focused on Nicky.

  There was recognition there, in that bright copper-eyed gaze. It knew her. Dropping its head it started to pound towards her, leaving trails of blood from its claws against the white tiles ... she could see strips of flesh flapping from its twisted maw ...

  And she realised—

  For whatever reason, it had come for Natasha ...

  Come to murder Natasha ...

  And any one else from Spiral who got in its way.

  Gritting her teeth, Nicky fired off five deafening shots, then heeled back through the double doors and began to sprint towards Natasha’s room. In her pocket, she stabbed a PB on the ECube and let out a little gasp of fear, glancing over her shoulder as the huge black gleaming monstrosity hammered through the doors, wrenching them from their hinges.

  Nicky slammed through into Natasha’s private room, kicked shut the door and slid the bolts into place - gun up and pressing against her cheek as the pounding claws suddenly halted and silence flooded the corridor.

  Nicky backed away from the door.

  Fear beat a tattoo within her chest.

  And she watched in horror as the triangular head, twisted jaws drooling and trailing strings of human meat, lifted - slowly, purposefully - and those tiny copper eyes tilted and stared in at her through the rectangular frame of wire-mesh glass.

  Nicky lifted her gun and took slow and careful aim.

  CHAPTER 18

  AUSTRIA

  After a hurried desert landing to allow Mongrel to hop from the MiG 8-40, Carter gave a small salute with blood-encrusted fingers and urged the jet over the hard-packed desert rock, aviation-shocks pissing oil from their abused suspension. Leaving a huge dust trail in its wake, the tortured war machine climbed from the ground and powered hungrily into the vast blue bowl of the sky.

  Carter flew the fighter north - skirting Cairo in a wide arc and heading out over the Mediterranean Sea.