Primeval Waters

by William Burke

  His men scrambled up the rise, rifles and riot shields at the ready. Another barrage of arrows rained down, bouncing harmlessly off the shields.

  Machine guns chattered as men poured gunfire into the trees surrounding the crater lake.

  Batista yelled, “That’ll teach you goddamn primates!” Then he ducked behind the rumbling generator. From that safe haven he glanced back at the causeway.

  Hans was still working away, oblivious to the chaos around him. Batista considered warning him but saw no advantage in slowing down the process.

  #

  Catalina gripped the drum lid with all her might, knowing it was the only thing standing between her and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. The shark kept pushing forward, its jaws finally wrenching the lid from her hands.

  She thought, And now you’re dead.

  Micah splashed down into the water next to the shark. He twisted his arm around its dorsal fin while wrapping his legs around its body. His attack sent the shark into a frenzy, releasing the pressure on Catalina.

  The enraged shark thrashed, its body one gigantic coiled muscle. Micah hung on while using his free hand to stab at the shark’s gills. The shark rolled in the water, snapping its tail like a whip, wrenching Micah loose. He sank to the bottom, the last bit of air in his lungs gone.

  Catalina scooped the oxygen bottle off the bottom, took two quick breaths then pressed it to Micah’s face.

  The shark swam out thirty feet before reversing course for its second attack.

  Catalina watched helpless as it jetted through the water, gaining speed every second.

  But the shark’s progress inexplicably slowed until it drifted to a halt only five feet from her. It rolled onto its side then sank to the bottom in its final death throes.

  Catalina saw the feathered ends of three arrows protruding from its gill slits. The poison dart frog-tipped arrows had proven effective on sharks too.

  Grabbing Micah’s arm, Catalina kicked hard. Halfway up he started swimming along with her.

  Micah broke the surface, taking a giant breath, unable to count how many drownings he’d survived.

  After some hyperventilating, Catalina said, “Nice work.”

  “Do we need to go back down?”

  “Nope, we’re all set.”

  Bursts of machine gun fire echoed in the distance.

  Micah asked, “What’s going on?”

  Catalina scrambled up the dam to its crest. “Sounds like our boys got bored and decided to attack.”

  Micah took a final drag on the oxygen bottle and said, “Well, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Santos crouched in the tender boat, radioing his men. “Form a firing line and stay together. Make sure somebody’s manning those mortars. Use those riot shields, arrows can’t punch through them. And somebody with half a brain find Batista and stick close to him, like you’re dancing.”

  He clipped the radio back on his belt, satisfied that the front line was covered. Just as importantly, his boat was safely in the middle of the lake, beyond the range of any arrows. Using binoculars, he scanned the surrounding crater rim, muttering, “I bet you bastards are going to try an end run.” He spied movement on top of the dam. “Got you!”

  A man and woman ran along the dam’s crest—and they weren’t natives. The woman looked all too familiar.

  “You bitch!” Santos shouted to the tender captain, “Go for the dam, those two are up to something,” and grabbed the AK-47 at his feet.

  #

  Micah crouched behind the crater’s earthen rim, bullets tearing through the brush around him.

  He said, “I’m pretty sure he spotted us!”

  From a few yards away, Catalina shouted, “Gee, ya think?” and went back to connecting the end of the detonation cord to a roll of electrical cable. She jogged back over to the detonator, spooling out the electrical cable as she went, then dropped down just as another burst tore through the brush above them.

  Micah said, “He’s a really good shot.”

  Catalina connected the AC cable to the detonator then grabbed the AK-47. She rose up onto her knees, firing twice without aiming, then dropped back down. Santos returned fire with another long burst. Catalina fired again—this time into the air.

  Micah asked, “What’re you doing?”

  “I want him to think he’s got us outgunned.”

  “He does!”

  The gunfire abruptly stopped.

  Micah whispered, “Listen.”

  They heard the sound of an outboard motor approaching. Catalina stuck her head up and saw Santos’s tender boat running along the face of the dam towards them.

  She said, “Perfect timing,” while reaching for the detonator switch.

  Micah grabbed her wrist. “Stop!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Peering through the binoculars, he said, “Hans is still working on the platform.”

  “So?”

  “If something goes wrong with that laser it could be disastrous.”

  Catalina listened to the approaching boat for a moment and said, “Fine.”

  She flicked the AK-47 to full auto and stood, this time taking careful aim. The boat was thirty yards out, coming straight for them. Catalina opened fire. In under two seconds she emptied the magazine into the oncoming boat. It slewed wildly, its engine exploding in a ball of fire and black smoke.

  As Catalina released the trigger, something flashed through her mind.

  There was only one guy in the boat.

  #

  Santos swam along the face of the dam until he reached the midway point. He climbed up onto the dam’s crest, about twenty yards from where the Americans were hunkered down, thinking, Come on, take the bait.

  The woman popped up right on schedule, emptying her rifle into the oncoming tender boat. His ruse had worked. Batista would raise hell about losing the boat, but seeing her standing there, out in the open with an empty rifle, made it all worthwhile.

  Santos raised his AK-47, finger tightening around the trigger. Something struck the rifle’s forestock a fraction of an inch from his hand. The impact jerked his three-round burst wide of the mark.

  An instant later, the woman was gone, and there was an arrow embedded in his rifle’s forestock. Santos pivoted, dropping into a kneeling position just as a second arrow zipped over his head. He spotted one of the warriors standing on the distant boat slip, reloading his bow. Santos let off a series of short bursts, pumping at least three bullets into the warrior’s chest.

  He pivoted back towards the woman’s position, hearing shots as he moved. A searing pain tore through his ribs and he collapsed to the ground.

  Gritting his teeth, he thought, The bitch got the drop on me.

  Past experience told him he’d been hit at least twice, but his gift for tuning out physical pain saved him. He instinctively slapped a fresh magazine into his rifle, loosing short bursts. The fire wasn’t accurate but still forced the woman to take cover.

  She stuck her rifle up, taking a few blind potshots.

  Santos started crawling forward, eager to close the gap. As he inched along, his hand came to rest on something—a black plastic cord running along the dam’s crest. Glancing behind him he saw that it ran halfway across the dam and down into the water.

  He thought, Detonating cord. They’re blowing the dam.

  He grabbed the detonating cord and yanked, but the plastic cable remained intact. He groped around his belt and realized he’d lost his knife.

  “Merde!”

  In lieu of a blade he opted for the next best option—biting through the damn thing.

  #

  Hans kept cutting, the laser burning through the final inch of his circle. In a few moments the Anomaly’s secrets would be revealed. Slinging the laser cutter over his shoulder he grabbed a crowbar. His hands were trembling so hard that he had to shut his eyes and take a few deep breaths while focusing his mind on Wagner’s Parsifal. Once his
hands steadied, he started prying at the cut. After a few seconds a neat, manhole cover-sized chunk fell away.

  Hans stood there, awaiting some reaction. There was no destructive pulse of energy, no rampaging monsters… Nothing.

  He thought, What if I was wrong? What if it’s just a dead rock?

  Then he saw a soft, pulsing glow emanating from within. Leaning closer, he stuck his head into the hole.

  His body stiffened, and it felt like an electrical shock was coursing through his skull. Memories flashed through his mind, so vivid it was like reliving them. Dead natives being tossed into the river, the slave laborers in Batista’s emerald mines—a cavalcade of his past sins. The last item wasn’t a memory but a premonition of Batista’s plan to cut the Anomaly up.

  The Anomaly knew what was coming.

  The electrical charge ceased, and in a soft whisper, Hans said, “Mein Gott,” while staring, wide-eyed, into … infinity.

  #

  Catalina slapped another magazine into the AK-47, shouting, “Pretty sure I wounded him, but we can’t wait much longer.”

  Raising the binoculars, Micah said, “I’ll take another look.”

  She grabbed his shoulder before he could stand. “Santos ain’t dead. If you stick your head up there, he’ll blow it off!”

  Then something caught her eye. The electrical cord connected to the detonator moved, just a hair, then it shook. Santos was tugging on the detonating cord. If he broke the cord, it was game over.

  Catalina shouted, “It’s now or never! Cover your ears!” She dove for the detonator, jamming her thumb down on the trigger.

  #

  Santos bit down hard, gnawing at the outer layer of plastic.

  He muttered, “Come on,” chewing at the cord.

  He felt a split second surge of electricity and thought, Oh fuc—

  A millisecond later, the entire thirty-yard run of detonating cord exploded—including the section in his mouth. The blast decapitated Santos at the jawline, sending most of his head rocketing skyward.

  A millisecond later, the explosives detonated with a deafening roar, sending tree trunks and debris flying in every direction. The center of the dam vanished in the initial blast. Within seconds the water pressure tore away more, creating a ten-yard-long gap. Water cascaded through the gap, its sheer force tearing away swaths of the dam.

  #

  The sight that lay before Hans was hypnotic, beyond human experience. The sheer majesty of it overrode his lifetime of scientific discipline. Parsifal reached its peak—the triumphant moment when Wagner’s “pure fool” reunited the spear of destiny with the Holy Grail. The chorus of Redemption of the Redeemer rang in his ears, and he thought, For once in your life, be the pure fool.

  Hans had to go inside—his entire life, every fiber of his being had led him to this moment. If entering the Anomaly ended that life, so be it. That brief instant of enlightenment would eclipse a hundred men’s achievements. He leaned forward, feeling like Neil Armstrong, only to be jerked back roughly. He realized the laser torch slung across his shoulder was still tethered to the oxygen and nitrogen tanks, preventing him from going inside.

  He muttered, “Verdammt!” while struggling with the chrome nozzle. His efforts were hindered by the combination of heavy gloves, fire suit and bulky air pack. After some fumbling, he managed to slip it off his shoulder. Holding the laser torch carefully he walked towards its fiberglass case.

  A thundering roar drowned out the music. The log platform beneath him shuddered violently, sending him reeling. He spun around, saw a huge section of the dam explode, then fell down onto his knees. His finger involuntarily tightened around the laser torch’s trigger, firing a 3600 degree Fahrenheit burst straight into the liquid helium tank.

  The laser seared through the cryogenic flask like tissue, rupturing the high pressure tank. A torrent of liquid helium, cold as outer space itself, drenched his left side. The sleeve of his silver fire suit crumbled away like dry leaves, exposing bare, blackened flesh.

  Hans screamed, searing pain shooting through his right arm and leg. An instant later, those limbs were ice.

  The laser was still firing. He tried to release the trigger, but his hand, now solid as marble, wouldn’t respond.

  Got to get up.

  He tried to stand. With a sharp crack, his right leg snapped off at the knee.

  Hans rolled onto his back, wobbling on the cylindrical air pack like an overturned tortoise. He watched in horror as the laser fired short bursts across the surface of the Anomaly. He managed to raise his left arm, pounding at the frozen one until it shattered and fell away. The laser torch fired one final burst—straight into the hole he’d just cut.

  Staring up, he watched the dim, pulsing light bloom into a blindingly intense flash.

  All the “pure fool” managed to say was, “Oh scheisse!”

  #

  Batista hunkered down behind the eight-foot-tall generator, certain that no arrow could pierce it.

  One of his crewmen scrambled down from the crater’s rim, shouting, “Batista!”

  Batista stuck his head out for a moment, waving his arm before going back into hiding.

  The crewman made a beeline for him, arrows striking the ground at his feet. He ducked behind the generator, panting like a dog.

  Between panicked breaths, he said, “Santos told me to stick with you.”

  “Good man.”

  “Christ, those fucking cavemen can really shoot! But those shields you brought are doing the trick.”

  Batista said, “Good. Our best bet is to stay right here an—”

  A massive explosion rocked the generator on its tires.

  Off in the distance, the dam disintegrated in a ball of fire and smoke. Debris rained down across the lake.

  The stunned crewman shouted, “Do those fuckers have bombs?”

  “No, but they’ve got help.” Batista glanced out at the platform just in time to see Hans stumble. A moment later, the platform and the Anomaly were enveloped in a white cloud. “What’s that idiot done now?” He pointed down at the plastic case, shouting, “Grab that and follow me!” Then he ran for the causeway.

  The crewman grabbed the case, shocked to discover it weighed over eighty pounds. Lugging the burden he followed Batista, just as another barrage of arrows arced across the sky. He’d barely made it ten feet when an arrow struck him between the shoulder blades. With a piercing scream, he collapsed to the ground. The poison coursing through his system reduced that scream to a bile-drenched gasp. He lay sprawled over the case, dying.

  Batista sprinted down the causeway until the bilious white cloud forced him to slow down. The frigid air told him the helium tank had been ruptured. A lone bright light shone through the haze, and he made his way towards it, careful not to step off the narrow causeway. The cryogenic steam dissipated just enough for him to make out Hans lying on the platform. After a few more steps he saw the gaping hole in the Anomaly and a brilliant, flickering light glowing from within.

  He knelt down over Hans, pulling the silver fire hood off his head. The Austrian’s face was peeling away, as if acid had been poured on it, but he was alive.

  Shaking him, Batista yelled, “What happened?”

  In a rasping whisper, Hans said, “I was right. It’s intelligent, but…” He drifted off mid-sentence.

  “But what?” Batista bellowed, shaking him hard.

  Lightning flashed across the clear blue sky, touching down on the water.

  Hans managed to whisper, “Something is coming.”

  #

  Splintered logs and debris showered down on Micah and Catalina. Miraculously, they weren’t crushed.

  Micah lay back in the grass, his ears ringing like the bells of Notre Dame, yelling, “That was a lot of kaboom!”

  Catalina stood watching the water roaring through the breeched dam. “That oughta slow ’em down for now, at least till we come up with a plan.” Then she saw the dead warrior lying on the boat slip and shout
ed, “Oh no!”

  She ran along the water’s edge towards the fallen warrior.

  Micah yelled, “Where are you going?” Getting no response, he raced after her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Micah stumbled along the water’s edge, trying to catch up with Catalina. The breeched dam had transformed the floodplain into a fast-moving river. The current ripped the LST boat from its moorings. The landing craft careened off the bank, almost hitting Micah before being swept through the breech, into the lake.

  He saw Catalina up ahead, kneeling down on the boat slip. The gunboat bobbed in the water a few feet from her, its mooring line straining against the rushing current.

  Micah reached the boat slip, asking, “What are—” Then he fell silent.

  The warrior that Catalina had nicknamed Popeye was cradled in her arms. Despite having two gunshot wounds in his chest, he still smiled up at Catalina with bloodstained teeth.

  Catalina whispered, “You done good, Popeye.”

  Using his last ounce of strength, Popeye raised his right arm, giving Catalina a thumbs up. She returned the gesture before he died in her arms.

  Micah said, “I’m so sorry.”

  Catalina gently laid the dead warrior down. “Popeye was looking out for us, right up to the end.”

  Micah asked, “So, what do we do now?”

  She turned to Micah. “We return the favor.”

  “How?”

  “We’re going to attack and get our boys out before they’re all slaughtered.”

  “You want to run straight into machine guns and mortars?”

  Slapping her palm against the gunboat, Catalina said, “Nope, we’re driving.”

  She climbed up onto the gunboat’s deck, saying, “Too bad they stripped all the guns off.”

  Micah said, “You can’t have everything,” and climbed aboard.

  Catalina entered the pilothouse, relieved to discover the boat didn’t require keys to start. The bad news was that the controls looked foreign to her. Then she remembered that Riverine Patrol Boats, or PBRs, used water jets instead of props.

  She muttered, “Guess I’m winging it again.”

  Micah leaned in, asking, “How can I help?”