As Gertlinger stood, tired and old on the catwalk, eighty-six years old, watching a massive version of his phone program displayed on the screen, he sighed.
It had been so long.
So much riding on this mission.
Such a leap forward.
And now, battered and bruised, the Argus was on approach, and it was coming in at two hundred and fifty thousand kilometres an hour. They were getting ready to engage the retro burners, but if they didn’t fire and the ship didn’t slow it would hit the atmosphere like a brick wall and would burn up and disintegrate in seconds. It was just about to round the moon and would reach the Earth in less than two hours if things didn’t go as planned and the burners didn’t kick in. If they did, it would gradually slow and reach home in about ten hours. That was what everyone was hoping for.
This was it.
As with everything at the GSC, it was utterly precise. Two technicians sat with fingers on switches, watching a counter near zero, and when it did, they would flick the switches and the thrusters would start, or they wouldn’t. And then they’d know if it was all worth it or not. That was why Gertlinger sighed, because everything was life or death, win or lose. And here was another ultimatum. Quite frankly, they were getting boring. His life seemed to be filled with them.
Ten.
He stood and stretched.
Nine.
He cracked his knuckles.
Eight.
He nodded to McPherson as he ascended the steps, looking old and thin.
Seven.
He settled back on the rail.
Six.
He watched McPherson approach.
Five.
McPherson leaned next to him.
Four.
He took the cup of coffee he was offered.
Three.
He thanked McPherson.
Two.
He turned to look at the screen.
One.
He held his breath.
Zero.
The techs flicked their switches and previously empty status bars across the side of the screen started to fill with colour, edging into the danger zone at the top. Eight of them all danced between green and red as the thrusters burst into life. Life. This time it was life.
The speed readout began to decline as the ship slowed. The ETA started to climb adversely and congratulatory whoops and hugs swept the room.
Gertlinger just looked at McPherson. ‘This coffee tastes like shit.’
‘It sure does,’ McPherson smiled back. ‘We’re some of the only ones left, you know. If the original team. You hear from Angela much these days?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘And Max?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’m sorry.'
‘I’m not. You wanna take a walk? I could do with a cigarette,’ Gertlinger said pushing himself off the rail.
‘No, I’ve got things to do. I’ll catch up with you later on.’ And with that, he left. They’d not been in contact much the last few years, and the familiarity they shared — like all the other relationships in his life — seemed to have withered and died.
Gertlinger sighed again, stretched again, and headed for the elevator.
Just under ten hours later, showered and changed and after a little rest, Gertlinger was back on the same rail with another terrible coffee, watching another countdown. This one was at two minutes.
Two minutes to reentry. The display had switched to a cross section of the atmosphere with the Argus coming in from above. Dotted lines showed possible trajectories with crash sites marked in Kansas, Missouri, Montana, North Dakota and as far North as the Yukon. The calculations had been done and the burners adjusted accordingly so that the ship would crash somewhere in central Northern America, but where exactly, it was impossible to tell. Satellite images of the ship passing had shown the extent of the damage to the external shell, and it wasn’t good. There was no way the Argus was going to come in for a soft landing. The parachutes might not deploy and the flaps looked damaged already. It was a miracle really that the burners had fired at all. There was a fleet of choppers waiting outside with the blades already turning, ready to fly Gertlinger, McPherson and other core staff out to the crash site, wherever it was going to be. High altitude planes were circling, filming the approach from inside the atmosphere. Everyone was on pins. There was silence in the command centre. Various camera feeds showed the same black dot in a clear blue sky.
The counter reached thirty seconds and everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the monitors. Gertlinger felt his heart begin to accelerate. The nerves kicked in and he rose off the rail, breath between his teeth.
The dot exploded into flames without warning, hitting the top layer of the atmosphere. The counter reached zero and flashed red. The fire glowed white around the nose and one of the technicians yelled from the floor. ‘Flaps!’
Gertlinger wasn’t sure if it was an order to try and deploy them manually, or him telling everyone that he’d just tried to do that, and failed.
People suddenly became frantic, typing furiously. The flaming dot was very far away for a long time and then it blazed past the camera, filling the screen with blinding light as it did.
‘What’s happening!?’ McPherson roared from the catwalk next to Gertlinger. ‘Where is it?’
‘We’re working on it!’ someone yelled.
‘North Dakota! No, wait! Montana! It’s going to be Montana!’
Before the voice had even finished speaking McPherson had his hand on Gertlinger’s arm and was pulling him towards the exit.
As they got into the elevator and turned, the feed readjusted, showing the Argus plunging towards the Montana desert.
Then, the doors closed and the screen vanished.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE VEIL
2122 AD
No amount of preparation could have readied them for what they faced beyond Umea. Hoping for the best was a nice idea but the positivity waned horribly after Skelleftea.
They entered the next township at speed, at just before dark. The motion sensors showed lots of movement and from the time they saw the first one skulk past, the gunfire never stopped. They kept close to each other, the two trucks, nose to bumper, shunting debris from their paths rather than going around it. It was easier and less likely to get them all killed.
Pitea, Lulea, Tornio, Rovaniemi, Kemijärvi, Kandalaksha — they were all the same. Derelict, abandoned and overrun by those monsters.
Monchegorsk was the last hurdle. It was nearing midnight and they were coming up on it fast. Beyond that, it was one road. A straight shot to Murmansk. They would camp in between, start early in the morning, get to the port and get to work.
Aaro and Sorina sat in the trailer of the truck, cradling rifles in their laps. The workload had been too much for just Ek and Bjork. The Varas caught on pretty quickly to the guns and started attacking them; hurling themselves recklessly at the machine gun on the cab and climbing the turret, scratching at the steel shell.
So, the extra work was divided. Ek wanted them to draw straws but Aaro was adamant that he would assign his and Sorina’s role. They had the option of either hanging out of the hatch on the top of the trailer and shooting off any Varas that managed to climb onto the cab, or to squeeze inside the turret next to the gunner and fire through the gun holes, at any Varas that tried to attack on the sides that couldn’t be fired at from the mounted gun.
Taking the exposed hatch was bordering on suicidal. No protection, just a weapon which was only mildly effective with a headshot, and totally ineffective with anything else. If you hit one in the stomach or legs it wouldn’t do much damage, and only would only succeed in angering them more. Aaro could vouch for that much. And if you hit them in the back or neck, their thick hides and fur would stop the bullets altogether.
Aaro immediately volunteered Sorina to be on turret duty. Bjork and Ek exchanged looks.
Ek folded his arms. ‘I know this is har
d for you two, but we’ve got to stay on mission. There’s a priority hierarchy for each team. For us, it goes Emmerson, Me, Bjork, Strand, Jansson, and Jansson.’ He stacked his hands in the air to make the point clear. ‘That means that if we’re all gonna die and we can save one person, it’s Emmerson.'
‘Screw the hierarchy. I won’t do it,’ Aaro snarled. They were about to condemn Sorina to the most dangerous job because they deemed her life to be worth less than his.
Ek looked at Bjork again, who spoke now. ‘Strand.’
‘Yeah?’ Sorina said, voice shaky.
‘How much do you know about nuclear engineering? Would you be able to remove a reactor core from a defunct Russian submarine?’ He asked it plainly, eyebrows raised.
Aaro scowled. He’d already made the point.
Sorina shook her head. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘Okay, what about you, Ek?’ He asked.
‘Nope, wouldn’t have a clue,’ he replied with a sarcastic shrug.
Bjork nodded and walked over to the intercom. ‘Hey, Sab, Sam, you guys have any idea how to remove a nuclear reactor core from a sub?’
They’d heard the entire conversation thus far and were plainly briefed on this hierarchy that Ek and Bjork were talking about.
Sam and Sab shook their heads on the monitor. ‘No,’ they said in unison, not wanting to be any more in the middle of this than they absolutely had to.
‘Hmm,’ Bjork scratched his chin. ‘And what about you Emmerson? You know how to remove a core?’
‘Fuck you,’ Aaro said coldly. ‘You made your point. But I don’t care. I’m not letting her go out there.’
‘It’s okay, Aaro. I understand what they mean. I’m expendable, you’re not,’ Sorina said quietly, a choke in her throat.
‘You’re not expendable,’ Aaro spat. ‘Not to me.’
She opened her mouth to argue but she was just trying to be noble. She didn’t have the heart to argue the point. She didn’t want to man the hatch, and knew that Aaro was going to be indomitable. She closed her mouth without saying a word. Aaro didn’t either but it was the lesser of two evils. It was just after Lulea they’d had that conversation, and now, coming up on Monchegorsk, Aaro felt empty. Sorina was shaken through, but no worse for wear. Aaro on the other hand was spattered and soaked with blood. But not his.
Ek had begrudgingly shoved an assault rifle into Aaro’s hands. He sighed. ‘Since everything went to shit, the government collected up all the decent guns. These were the best we could get hold of. The rest were shipped to the frontlines when everything started. Needless to say, none of them came back. This is a REC7. It was one of the best weapons in its day. It was in service for more than thirty years. Magazine fed simple point and click interface. These mags are fed with a dummy round five from the bottom. When the rifle misses a shot, the mag is ready to be changed. Might just save your life.’
Aaro nodded and loaded the rifle.
Fifteen minutes later he had the butt rammed against his shoulder, squeezing off bursts at the Varas as they stuck their heads over the lip of the trailer. He’s survived this far. Barely.
During their trip through Kandalaksha, things were rough. It was pitch dark and the wind had picked up. The edge of the trailer was barely visible, let alone what lay beyond. The turret rotated behind him and the MG swung around on its rail ahead, firing based on the motion monitor in the trailer, but he couldn’t see anything with his own two eyes.
He squinted in the wind, his face aching in the cold. A thud sounded behind him and claws scraped on metal. He wheeled around as quickly as he could and one was there, right on him. Jumping distance. Clawing distance. He levelled the rifle and fired, but it kept coming. It advanced with jaws wide, illuminated in the strobe of the muzzle flash.
It was right in front of him, readying itself to rear before a bullet found its way into the soft flesh at the back of its throat. Arterial spray covered the trailer, and him, but he kept firing. The monster just wouldn’t go down. It stumbled and tried weakly to lurch at him but fell short, claws gouging at the slick steel as it tried to keep itself from sliding off. Aaro kept firing until the rifle skipped a round and then fired on an empty chamber all together, clicking uselessly. His ears rang and his eyes burned from the blood as the MGs continued to blaze all around him. He watched the beast’s eyes glaze over. It went limp and slowly slid sideways, the movement of the truck shuffling it towards the edge. It smeared its own blood all over the metal hull before slipping over the corner, swallowed up by the night just as quickly as it had appeared from it.
That was close, and now, coming up on the last town, he’d have to do it all over again.
Monchegorsk.
Sam gave them a two-minute warning from the cab and Ek and Bjork went about their preparations.
Aaro snapped a fresh magazine into the rifle and cocked it absently.
Sorina eyed him anxiously.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, checking the gun’s firing mechanism. He pulled it back and forth a dozen times, dislodging congealed blood and what looked like a chunk of cartilage.
‘I can do it if you want,’ she said with a forced smile.
‘Do what?’ he asked, picking scarlet sludge out of the muzzle brake.
‘Man the hatch.’
He paused. ‘No way.’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘I mind.’
‘Aaro,’ she said, lowering her head. ‘Come on…’
‘Sorina, I’m not losing you,’ he snapped, eyes cold. ‘It’s my fault that you’re here, and I’m not going to be responsible for your death as well.’
‘Don’t be stupid, just give me the rifle,’ she said, rising. ‘You’ve done enough. If you die, then the whole trip is pointless. If I die, it doesn’t matter.’
Aaro released the mechanism with a sharp snap. ‘What don’t you get about this, Sorina? You’re not doing it. You’re just not. Okay? Deal with it.’
Ek and Bjork had stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange and now slowly carried on.
Sorina looked broken.
He looked her in the eyes and tried to smile, moving closer. This was love and nothing else. But his face seemed unwilling. ‘I can’t lose you. Not you. Anyone else, but not you. I promised myself I’d never lose anyone else that I cared about, and I intend to keep that promise.’
And with that, he kissed her. It was a soft, yet passionate meeting of lips, tainted with the dried blood of a hundred dead monsters. She was surprised. They hadn’t had a day of love. It had been tense and terrifying, but now, in his embrace, her body against his, their lips joined, it was an oasis. A respite from the hell outside the truck.
It lasted for a small eternity before Aaro pulled away. By the time Sorina opened her eyes, Aaro was already halfway up the ladder, his hand on the hatch.
The cold air hit him once more and he sucked in a lungful. The eerie shapes of buildings loomed ahead. This far north and into Russia, Aaro hoped that there would be less of them out here. Food would be even more scarce. There wouldn’t be any fresh water not frozen to drink and in the winter, the temperatures plunged to minus forty at times. His fingers numbed on the rifle instantly. He’d strapped a torch to the barrel after the last close call and was working off a thin beam of light that barely pushed its way to the cab through the icy fog, but no further.
‘Shit,’ he murmured, scanning the lip, fearing the flashlight would do nothing but focus his attention on empty space.
In the sliver of illumination, he saw flakes of snow begin to fall. And then, on the wind came the first chilling howls.
Once more, the onslaught was heavy and constant. Blood now coated the entirety of the truck it seemed. The wipers moved non stop in the cab sweeping the slush and crystalized, frozen blood from the windscreen.
There was another close call that forced Aaro to duck back into the hatch to avoid a heavy swing of a taloned paw. The Vara then stuck its head in the hole and received a burst of fire poin
t blank to the face. It recoiled in pain and slumped forwards, dead, its blood pouring into the hatch and all over him. Aaro shoved the muzzle of the rifle into its neck and pushed it out of the way with his free hand before resuming his post. Its hide was thick and cool, like leather coated in sweeping brush bristles.
Aaro blinked and realised he was back outside, firing again.
But then, in a blur of blood and swirling snow, it was over and they were through.
Next stop Murmansk.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE BEGINNING
2108 AD
The night air was cold. Once the rush of adrenaline from pumping bullets into innocent soldiers had worn off, Aaro began to shiver. It was dark and empty on the road, with no one in sight. Everyone from fifty kilometres around had poured into that camp.
The ocean of trees rolled past endlessly on both sides as the sound of gunfire and screams slowly faded away behind them.
He kept the throttle pinned, squinting into the gloom as they hammered along at full tilt. The engine whined in discomfort, but there was no letting up. Slowing down would only endanger them both. He was responsible for Lila now. Another Lila. Not his Lila, but a Lila all the same. She pushed herself into his back, clutching him tightly to stay out of the wind. He didn’t mind. It made him feel human. It was reassuring that someone could still stand being near him after what he’d just done, like it somehow wasn’t as bad as he knew it was. They’d be dead if he hadn’t done it. There was no other option, no other choice. That’s what he had to tell himself.
The passing of time was non existent. The scenery didn’t change and the drone of the bike was hypnotic. They reached a clearing after who knows how long and Aaro had to pull over. The sky was just beginning to boil over red, sunrise still a ways off.
He let the bike simmer, cooling a little, and swung his leg over. Lila got off and sat next to it, cradling her knees in her arms, trying to get warm against the engine.
The Veil Page 20