Under Darkness (A Sci-Fi Thriller) (Scott Standalones Book 1)

by Jasper T. Scott

  “Everything you could need and more,” Don replied.

  “Show me,” Wilde replied.

  Don switched off his equipment, then grabbed the lantern off the desk and stood up. He and Wilde brushed by Beth in the doorway. She followed them to a rickety wooden door at the back of the cabin.

  “Not exactly a defensible position,” the commander remarked, and Beth had to agree. That door wouldn’t stop a determined squirrel.

  “It’s meant to be safe because it’s hidden,” Don replied. He walked around the side of the cabin to a particular spot, then bent down and cleared away a mess of dried leaves. A rusty metal hatch appeared with a loop of steel for a handle. He hauled up, and the hatch opened with a screech of rusty hinges.

  “It’s not even locked,” Wilde said.

  “It locks from the inside,” Don replied. “The storage area doubles as my panic room. It wouldn’t be smart for me to lock myself out.”

  “I suppose not,” Wilde replied.

  Don led the way down a metal staircase, his lamp illuminating a bare, musty-smelling concrete basement. Metal shelves full of canned food, bottles of water, and various other types of supplies lined the floor.

  Weaving a path through the shelving units, Don took them to a metal rack on the far wall covered with rifles and handguns. A standing metal tool case below that housed boxes of bullets.

  “What do you think?” Don asked.

  Commander Wilde grabbed a rifle off the rack and stared at it as if it were made of gold. “That’s a full auto M16! How did you get your hands on that? Fully automatic rifles are illegal in the state of Hawaii.”

  Don tapped his head and winked. “Dark Net’s good for something after all.”

  “You realize that’s another crime,” the commander replied.

  Don grabbed a matching rifle off the rack and armed it with a smooth pull on a handle near the back. “You can arrest me for it later.”

  Beth snorted. A loud clanging sound made her flinch and drew her eyes to a metal door beside the gun rack.

  “Donald! Let me out!”

  “Is that...” Beth trailed off.

  Don placed a finger to his lips and shook his head.

  “I can hear you talking in there! Let me out of here, right now!”

  “No can do, Nana,” Donald replied.

  The voice on the other side broke down sobbing, and Beth felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the old woman. “Maybe you should let her out. How do you even know she’s infected?”

  “I just know, okay? I caught her trying to contaminate my coffee—among other things.”

  Beth frowned, and Wilde gawked at him. “Contaminate?”

  “She spat in it!”

  Commander Wilde smirked. “Maybe she just doesn’t like you.”

  “That’s not all. When I asked her to help me with my experiments, she refused.”

  “That’s hardly proof,” the commander replied. “What about clinical evidence? What you and Doctor Carter showed me was conclusive. You find anything like that with her?”

  “Of course! I didn’t just test the damn chickens. And remember, she was the one who infected them in the first place.”

  “Then she stays put,” Wilde replied.

  “But we can cure them right?” Beth asked.

  Don and the commander both looked at her.

  “Radiation. That’s the cure. All we have to do is irradiate them, right?”

  “You have an x-ray machine in your pocket that I don’t know about?” Don asked.

  “No, but...”

  “Then it’s not that simple,” Don replied. “Those machines are all in medical clinics and hospitals—and the quarantine center, but that’s a non-starter.”

  “But my dad...”

  “Will have to bunk with Nana. Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a war going on out there. We’re not going anywhere until it’s over, and maybe not even then. Sorry, kid, but your dad and my Nana are not the priority right now.”

  Beth planted her hands on her hips. “So we’re just going to sit around here while they claw their nails out on the walls of your dungeon?”

  “You got it,” Don said.

  Commander Wilde shook his head. “We can’t do that. We have to tell someone what we know.”

  “Who are you going to tell?” Don asked. “The radio doesn’t work, power’s out all across the island, and something tells me the Chinese will shoot us on sight—not to mention our own people, who will probably do the same.”

  “Everyone is distracted right now. We might have a chance to get away,” Commander Wilde said. “If we wait until the Chinese take the island, it will be too late.”

  Beth slowly shook her head. “What makes you think they’ll win?”

  “Our fleets are spread out across two oceans, while theirs is focused on one—and they had the element of surprise because they attacked first. You can bet they made that count.” Wilde shook his head. “We’ll be lucky if we last the night. And when our lines fall, so does the quarantine. If the world doesn’t know what’s happening here before then, it will be too late to stop the spread of whatever the Crawlers infected us with. We can’t just stay here and let that happen.”

  “What about Ashley?” Beth asked.

  “Beth’s right,” Don said. “Ash is in no shape to leave. We should at least stay until she’s stable.” He grabbed a handgun off the wall. Pulling back on the slide to check the weapon, he handed it to Beth. She took it with shaking hands. “Careful, it’s loaded.”

  “Wha-what am I supposed to do with this?” Beth asked, staring at the weapon with wide eyes.

  “In case you need to defend yourself,” Don explained while grabbing spare magazines from a drawer in the tool chest.

  Beth was busy trying to figure out how to hold her gun when Commander Wilde reached over to help her. “Always aim it at the ground when you’re not using the weapon, and keep your fingers clear of the trigger. Wrap them outside the trigger guard.” He tapped the loop of metal around the trigger. “When you want to shoot—” He turned the weapon slightly to show her a little metal lever on the side of the gun. “—you have to disengage the safety first. Flick it up with your thumb.” He illustrated the process for her. “Flick it down again, and it blocks the trigger. Got it?”

  Beth nodded.

  “Good. When you want to shoot, use both hands to steady the weapon. Hold it out directly in front of you, dead center of your target, and aim by looking down the sights to the tip of the muzzle.” He tapped a little metal flange at the end of the gun.

  “Got it... how do I reload?”

  “You’ve got fifteen rounds. You can keep pulling the trigger until you’ve used them all. Hopefully, you won’t need to reload, but...” He trailed off, hunting through the tool chest. “Here’s a spare mag.” The commander handed her a rectangular black container with shiny golden bullets peeking out at the top. “Put that in your pocket.”

  Beth did so. Looking around for Don, she found him hunting around on one of the shelves in the storage room. “Now what?”

  “Now, we tie up your father and see if we can get some answers out of him,” Don said, holding up a packet of zip ties and a set of jumper cables.

  “What are those for...?” Beth asked in fading voice.

  “You’ll see,” Don replied.

  Chapter 53

  —Half an Hour Ago—

  Commander Morris stood beside the captain in the CIC, peering over the SONAR operator’s shoulder.

  “Their subs are everywhere,” Morris said.

  “Yes they are, Commander,” Captain Reed replied. His hand twitched beside his sidearm. He’d taken to wearing one ever since the Chinese Fleet had shown up making demands to have access to the alien technology and the creatures housed at Barking Sands. Every now and then Morris was tempted to get a pistol of his own, but then he chided himself for being paranoid, and subsequently wondered about the captain’s own paranoia. Captain Reed was usua
lly a level-headed man, and like Morris he should have known that world powers like China and the US wouldn’t go to war over the handling of the alien assets, especially not when those aliens were likely still in orbit somewhere. No, China would posture and threaten, and apply pressure until some kind of international sharing agreement was established. But that was the politicians’ job. Old ship drivers like Morris just had to hold the line without blinking while they played their games. Wearing a sidearm to ward off the possible threat of Chinese boarders felt too much like blinking to him.

  “Don’t they realize the island is under quarantine?” Morris asked. “We’d have to break it to give them what they want.”

  “I doubt they care about that, Commander. It’s been three months, and not a single case of infection has been reported by our media. And for all we know they have their own agents on the inside reporting the same. No, they’ve almost certainly concluded by now that the quarantine zone is an excuse to give us exclusive access to alien tech.”

  “An elaborate excuse, sir. They’re obviously not thinking clearly.”

  “People in a crisis rarely do, but perhaps we should do something to help clear their heads. Lieutenant Nielson—”

  Captain Reed strode through the CIC to reach Nielson’s station. Commander Morris followed with a furrowed brow. Nielson was the gunnery officer in charge of the Port Royal’s various weapon control systems.

  “Sir?” Nielson asked.

  “Arm a mark 46, and pick a target.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nielson replied.

  Adrenaline shot through Morris like fire, but everyone else in the CIC went on as if nothing were amiss.

  “Captain!” Morris exploded. “You can’t open fire on them! We haven’t been authorized to—”

  “I just authorized us, Commander.” Captain Reed drew his sidearm and aimed it casually at Morris’s chest.

  Morris blinked and shook his head. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?!” Morris shook his head numbly. “You’re going to start a war!”

  “That’s the idea.”

  A bang sounded and a bullet tore through Morris’s gut like fire. Scarcely able to believe it, he clapped a hand to his stomach to check. It came away bloody. “You shot me?” This couldn’t be real.

  “I’m sorry, Morris. You’re not one of us,” Captain Reed said, and slowly shook his head.

  None of the other officers even bothered to look up from their stations.

  Except for Lieutenant Nielson. “Torpedo armed, sir,” he said.

  Captain Reed smiled, and Commander Morris stumbled back a step, shaking his head in disbelief. Pain wracked his gut, making his legs weak.

  “Fire,” Reed said, and then he pulled the trigger again, and Morris’s confusion ended with a singular moment of stunning clarity.

  * * *

  “Fuck, it’s like the fourth of July out here!” Private Dekker said, yelling to be heard over the sound of the air raid sirens.

  Corporal Gibson cast about the darkened complex of the Pacific Missile Range Facility. The water gleamed darkly, alternately lit by fire and the moon. Just offshore the flaming ruins of the USS O’Kane slowly sank. Not far from it, the Port Royal also burned, but it went down fighting, steadily belching missiles into the sky. Fighter jets roared as they chased each other through the night, tracer rounds stitching bright lines across the clouds.

  “We need to find cover!” Private Clarke said.

  Corporal Gibson glanced back at the main bunker they guarded. The Crawlers were inside, locked in makeshift cells. They’d be safer inside, but they’d been assigned to guard the entrance. They couldn’t just abandon their posts....

  “We hold here and wait for further orders,” Gibson said.

  “But—”

  “End of discussion!” Gibson snapped.

  “Well, shit,” Dekker said.

  A few minutes later a Humvee came roaring down the access road in front of them. Tires skidded as it slammed on the brakes.

  All four doors flew open, and a team of Marines came jogging out. Gibson straightened as they approached.

  “Corporal!” one of them said.

  Gibson couldn’t see anyone’s rank, so he came to attention and said, “Sir!”

  “Don’t you sir me, I work for a living.”

  Gibson smiled crookedly as he recognized the voice. “It’s good to see you, Sergeant Colton. What are our orders?”

  “Stand down. We’ve got the bunker. Subjects are to be released.”

  “What? But they’re—”

  “I’m not asking, Corporal. We’ve got Chinko landers inbound, and this facility appears to be their target.”

  “What about the landers?”

  “Let ‘em have ‘em! If we couldn’t learn jack in three months, then they won’t either. It’s the Crawlers they might get something out of, and we’re not going to make that easy for them, are we, Corporal?”

  “No, sir?”

  “Good. Then I suggest you clear out before you become the Crawlers’ first meal.”

  “Copy...” Gibson cast about. “Where to?”

  “To hell for all I care! Get a vehicle and get to the harbor. Orders are to fall back and pull up stakes.”

  “That can’t be right. We have to fight!”

  “Negative. We’ve lost this one, Corporal. Fight another day.” Sergeant Colton patted him on the shoulder as he said it. “Now move aside!”

  Gibson stepped away from the doors without further complaint and watched blankly as the sergeant and his team ran in.

  “Gibs, let’s move!” Dekker prompted.

  A cracking-roar followed by an explosion thundered overhead, and he snapped out of it. His head jerked up to see the flaming bits of a fighter jet raining down.

  “We need a ride!” Gibson said and sprinted around the side of the main building. The parking lot lay dead ahead, with half a dozen Humvees and transport trucks waiting in the moonlight. They must have closed to within thirty feet of the nearest vehicle when a familiar roar drew Gibson’s gaze to the sky. Two dark, jagged shapes were swooping down on the base from above. A split second later, Gibson heard the telltale hiss of missiles streaking down.

  “Incoming!” Gibson threw himself to the ground just before a massive explosion tore through the parking lot. Glass shattered, and heavy trucks rolled like bowling pins. An intense wave of heat washed over Gibson with violent force, sending white-hot shards of shrapnel biting into his hands and arms. The shock-wave passed, leaving Gibson’s ears numb and ringing. He looked up to see the parking lot on fire. Not a single vehicle was left for them to use.

  “Shit, change of plans,” Gibson said, but he could barely hear his own voice. He got up and twisted around to check on his men—

  Dekker stared back at him, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but otherwise fine. Clarke and Kelly lay face down on the concrete. “Team, report status!” Gibson bellowed.

  They didn’t stir. Gibson jumped to his feet and ran to Clarke’s side. He rolled the man over and saw dull staring eyes. “Clarke!” No response. “Dave!” Gibson tried using his first name, choking back tears. “Damn it!”

  Dekker dropped down beside Kelly and checked him, but he was an easy call. A piece of glass the length of Gibson’s foot stuck out from the side of Kelly’s head.

  “Fuck! Now what?” Dekker asked.

  “Back to the main entrance!” Gibson said. “We’ll pack in with the sergeant.”

  They got up and ran. A sharp pain exploded in Gibson’s calf, but he ignored it. Taking inventory of scrapes and bruises could wait. He’d just lost two men. Two brothers. The pain was good. It helped him focus.

  When they came back to the entrance of the main bunker, they found the doors hanging open, and the ground slick with a trail of blood. A dark shape lay slumped just beyond that.

  “What the fu...” Dekker trailed off.

  Gibson tightened his grip on his rifle and yanked it up to his shoulder. “NVG down!” he sa
id, switching to one-handed grip to yank down the monocular night vision goggles clipped to his helmet. As soon as he did that, the shiny red thermal overlay of a four-legged monster appeared, watching them from the bushes beside the entrance.

  “Contact, twelve o’clock!” Gibson said and squeezed the trigger. Just as he did so, the Crawler darted out of sight. “Dekker, on me!”

  “Wait—” Gibson felt a hand haul him back. “Let it go, Corporal. We need to get out while we can.”

  Gibson wheeled around. “Lay hands on me again and I’ll break them off, Private. You got rocks in your head? We’re in combat. You follow my lead.”

  “Copy that,” Dekker replied in a small voice.

  Looking around for the sergeant’s vehicle, Gibson couldn’t find it. “Looks like they evac’ed, already.”

  “We could use one of the pods.”

  Gibson arched an eyebrow at him. “That’s not going to improve our position, Deks.” The engineers had figured out how to activate the landers less than a week ago, but no one knew where they were programmed to go. Best guess was back to the mothership—if it was still around. They’d been about to send up a probe up to find out when all of this shit had rained down. Shaking his head, Gibson went on, “Best case we’d be up there on their ship, surrounded by millions of Crawlers. Worst, we’d be drifting through space on autopilot.”

  “But what if we could sabotage their ship?” Dekker asked. “We’re dead anyway. What have we got to lose? We should go out guns blazing. For Clarke and Kelly.”

  Gibson ground his teeth, scanning the night for any sign of more Crawlers creeping up on them—or Chinese marines, for that matter. So far he couldn’t see either, but the battle still raged with distant peals of thunder. “Fuck it,” he said, giving in with a nod. “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

  “Oorah!” Dekker cheered. “Let’s go!”

  “Hold up. Let’s hit the armory and switch up our loadouts first. We’re gonna need some heavy firepower if we do make it to Grand Central Crawler.”

  “Right, yeah. Good point...” Dekker said slowly.

  Gibson frowned at his sudden lack of enthusiasm. Dekker was usually the first one on board when it came to blowing stuff up. “On me and watch our six. We’re goin’ in.”