The IX (26 page)

It was carnage. Yet the waking Horde kept coming.

To Mac’s eyes, the grunts appeared lethargic. Like bears, freshly roused from hibernation and pushed unwillingly toward conflict. He felt an uncharacteristic moment of pity for them.
This isn’t . . . right?

“Ceasefire!” he yelled. The skidder hit the ramp and ascended toward freedom. “Conserve your ammunition in case we need it.”

Breaking free of the tunnel confines, everyone seemed to exhale at the same moment, slumping forward as if the cords to autonomic function had been cut.

Mac looked back at the results of his handiwork.

Hundreds must have died inside the alley of death. And yet a continuing deluge poured forth, as if from the gates of hell, roused afresh to action and retribution. Roaring with undiluted anger and defiance, they surged forward like the wall of a glittering avalanche, helpless to stop under the weight of their own momentum.

Mark’s team opened up, scourging the no-man’s-land in between with a swathe of iron and repudiation. And still the nightmare apparitions pressed forward.

What are they doing? Surely they must understand there’s no way they can win?

A haunting shriek pierced the night, its timbre as cryptic as it was soul-wrenching. All heads turned in response to its plea. Mac understood instantly who had issued the call.

Glaring and sparking within a sea of conflicting emotion, a multitude of advancing spooks ground to a halt. Guttural barks and snarls passed between them as the more responsive individuals were brought to heel. Some ignored the command entirely. Raging forward, they charged toward the fence, baying for blood.

Mesmerized by the wave of impending death, Mac yelled, “Nick? On my comma nd, slow the skidder to a crawl. I want to lure our friends into the gap.” He pointed forward. “Then, as we clear the fence, stop
there
for a moment. I need to make sure our package is ready for delivery.”

“Just give me the word.”

Mac recognized a growing confidence in the Tec-head’s voice.
Yup, he’s a soldier in the making, all right.
“Okay. On my signal, cut the engine.”

The hum of decelerating forces throbbed out over the din of the howling mob. Mac glanced across to the skimmer. Mark had just picked up the last of Stained-With-Blood’s team, and they were already pulling away.

Perfect timing.
“Get ready, Nick,” he warned, “full stop . . . Now!”

Leaning across the side of the skidder, Mac studied the digital readout on the mine. The word
primed
glared back within a pulsing amber light. Tapping the final code into his wrist com, Mac waited for the telltale confirmation to register on the display.
Armed–Cloak Online
blinked into view and the screen turned red. The device disappeared from mundane sight, and one of the buttons on Mac’s keypad glowed white.

He sat up and turned back to Nick. “If you please, driver? I don’t want to be near this baby when it throws a tantrum.”

A surge thrummed through the decking as the skidder resumed its course. Mac adjusted the rotational frequency of his HUD to get a better overall view of their pursuers. His hand hovered above his other wrist as he counted down their charge toward the fence.
Twenty-five feet; twenty; fifteen; ten; five; showtime
. He jabbed the pad.

The cloak dropped from the mine, revealing its rich energy source to the Horde for the first time. The brutes closest to it leaped forward, slavering and snarling like a pack of rabid dogs. Those behind began fighting among themselves in the panic not to miss out on the feast. Like the condensing eye of a hurricane, a writhing wall of flaring horror surrounded the bomb, paused momentarily in victory, then pounced.

Mac’s finger twitched again. The button turned blue.

The scene behind them appeared to bend, sagging inward as if an incredibly dense weight had suddenly been placed across the canvas of their vision. Those ogres closest to the device seemed to fall further than should be possible.

A black dot appeared at the exact center of the mass. Reality fractured, and everything—the spooks, the ground, the remains of the chain-link fence, even the very air —warped, as if smeared across a shattered lens.

It looked to Mac as if a door to somewhere else had been yanked open, and he felt himself pulled backward by an intense wind. Those about him staggered, and were forced to reach out to steady themselves.
Bloody hell!
It’s working.

The strength of the gust increased, and Mac became aware of a growing nimbus of light blossoming to life in the middle of the mob. That concentration bloomed, and a shockwave announced the moment the unstable quantum vortex collapsed.

Everyone was swatted to the floor.

A deathly hush ensued.

Raising his head, Mac stared in wonder at the results of their experiment.

Each and every single member of the pursuing host had been crushed out of existence. The only evidence Mac could see of their passing were the residual static discharges now spitting randomly from point to point through the air.

Wow! That was just a prototype, and yet it had an effective killing radius of at least fifty feet. Talk about useful in a crisis. Nice one, Doc. I can’t wait to see them in action around the wall.

Spontaneous cheering broke out among the crews of both craft.

“Jesus! We actually did it,” Nick gasped, as he struggled to his feet.

“It looks like it,” Mac replied, “a pretty successful test run. I wonder what our surviving friends think about it, though.”

They had traveled too far to be able to see properly in the dark. Dropping to one knee, Mac steadied himself against the side of the skidder and employed his weapon sights once more.

Even with his advanced optics, Mac couldn’t clearly distinguish what he was looking at. However, the stationary Horde members appeared to have congregated in a tight knot about the entrance to the subway. Although their usual screams and cries were absent, the abundance of red and scarlet streaks among the shimmering electrum betrayed their high state of arousal.

Oh, they’re pissed all right. I bet they think twice before coming near us again.

The undulating mass parted abruptly to make way for a larger, solitary concentration of silver and purple malevolence.
Hello? Is that the same Boss?

Their range was becoming too extreme for the magnification of Mac’s scope to manage, but he was sure the figure was moving slowly toward the site of the detonation.

He’s checking it out. Seeing what he can find. Just like I would.

Mac wasn’t surprised.
The more I see, the more I’m positive the Horde has been keeping a few aces up its sleeve. I don’t know if the iron is making them think twice about their previous tactics, but something is definitely causing them to switch on. The debrief is going to be a humdinger, that’s for sure.

He slumped back onto the deck and opened the comms channel wide. “Congratulations everyone, that was a job well done. We got what we came for. Gathered a whole load of useful intelligence. Test-fired a new weapon. And most important of all, everyone’s going home safe. All in all, not a bad day’s work, even if I do say so myself. There’s still a way to Rhomane yet, so stay sharp. Soon, it’ll be hot showers and dinner all round. My treat.”

A louder bout of applause broke out, and a feeling of exuberance spread among the company. Those with nothing specific to do began walking among their teammates, congratulating them heartily and slapping them on the back.

Mac smiled to himself.
Ah, they deserve it.

The party atmosphere was suddenly replaced by one of profound shock.

What’s wrong?
Mac surged to his feet, rifle in hand.

Several of the civilian crew members were shuffling toward him with concerned looks on their faces. Stu Duggan was with them.

“Stu?” Mac’s voice was ice cold. A flash of intuition made him ask, “Where’s Jumper?”

“Boss, you need to see this.” The dull, blank glaze in Stu’s eyes spoke volumes.

Mac’s chest constricted. His heart thudded loudly in his chest.
Oh no. Not . . .

The small crowd led him forward to the bow of the craft where Jumper had been positioned on the homerun. Jumper was slumped between two packing crates, and because of his armor, appeared to be relaxing. On closer inspection, Mac could see a dark stain congealing on the floor about his colleague’s feet.

Moving forward to kneel at his friend’s side, Mac whispered, “Jumper?” Then he checked for a pulse, and found none. His fingers came away wet.

“He’s dead, Boss,” Stu stated. “It looks like the ricochet earlier on caught him at the narrow point between the helmet and shoulder plating. A million-to-one fluke. Hit the carotid artery and dropped him immediately. He must have bled-out during the firefight that followed.”

Someone sobbed quietly in the corner, rocking gently backward and forward on his knees. “It’s all my fault. I killed him,” he keened, over and over again.

“That’s Bob,” Stu explained, jutting his chin toward the other man, “he experienced the negligent discharge earlier on as the skidder accelerated.”

“Yes, I know.” Mac bit the words out and had to suck in air to prevent his anger from bursting to the surface. Random thoughts tumbled through his mind.
All those years we served together after I found him wasting his time in 40 Commando. Afghanistan. China. Korea. His marriage to Tara. The birth of Nadine. Then the twins. That time in India when a cobra bit him on the ass because he didn’t look where he was taking a dump.
A sad smile fought its way across his face.

All those missions we completed. And how many times did we save each other’s life? God knows . . . I lost count.
The smile transformed into a blade of bitter regret.

He survives all that shit, and then cops it because some civvy trips over his two left feet?
Strangling down his ire, Mac cast his eyes toward the heavens and spat, “Thank you very much, Murphy. Nice one!”

After delivering a look of sheer venom toward the unfortunate Bob, Mac spun on his heel and stomped his way to the back of the skidder.

Alone with his anger, he was struck by a poignant thought.

Jumper, you sneaky bastard! Well done. At least one of us is safe for real now, eh?

For the rest of the journey, Mac stared at the stars and thought of home.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

New Developments

The muted atmosphere within the sterile environment of the intensive care unit was as relaxing as it was tranquil. Seldom used since the days of the city’s ascendency, the equipment and facilities adorning the department appeared as fresh as the day they were installed, all those years ago.

An EMS version of the sentinel program — a medi-orb — hovered protectively over the sole patient within the ward. Its sensors constantly scanned the autonomous functions and vital signs of the man below it, lying wrapped within a nimbus of soothing green light.

Ayria Solram looked on. In all her years as a doctor, she had never seen a case as perplexing as the one before her now.
Epidermal damage from the burns has been reduced to next to nothing. And while his skull was cracked from the fall, that’s already beginning to knit over nicely. Swelling from the ensuing trauma has also been contained. So why am I getting such conflicting results?

She studied the readouts for body and brain activity again. It was now two days after the accident, and while Houston’s physical condition was clearly in remission, the EEG continued to fluctuate wildly, as if the signal were in the grip of a thunderstorm.

This doesn’t make sense. His vital signs reveal the predicted behavior of someone in deep sleep. His muscles are relaxed. His respiration is clear and even. And his pulse rate is so low, you’d be forgiven for thinking he’d slipped into a coma.

She glanced at his twitching eyeballs, then back at the holographic display. Forked lightning discharges dominated the vista within his cerebrum.
So why are these readings indicating Captain Houston is in a highly aroused state of permanent REM? That shouldn’t be possible.

Sighing in frustration, Ayria sat back, drummed her nails upon the cool resin worktop, and thought hard.
I’m missing something here. I know I am. But what?

She closed her eyes and attempted an old remedy for clearing the mind, taught to her when she was just a child by her grandmother.
Nana always was a stickler for keeping the old traditions alive. I wish I’d paid more attention when I was younger. It’ll be embarrassing if I have to ask among our newest arrivals for help.

Ayria concentrated on her breathing and heart rate. Slowing them down, she lulled herself into a deeply restful state. Satisfied, she turned to the empty place within, the esoteric doorway that would take her on a journey of discovery.
If
the ancestors were listening.

*

Mac looked down at the cold pale body and couldn’t help but think how peaceful Jumper looked.
It’s the first time in years I’ve actually seen him stay still.

A sad smile crossed his face as he addressed the memory of his friend.
That’s why we called you Jumper. Even when you were asleep, some part of you always twitched about. Hyped up and ready for action. The only man on earth who had amphetamines running through his veins instead of blood.

Unexpected feelings threatened to worm their way to the surface, and Mac found himself struggling to control an overwhelming sense of frustration.

“Had you known him long?” Bob Neville stood at the entrance to the viewing room. When Mac had arrived at the morgue, Bob was already in attendance, having come to pay his respects to the man he had unwittingly killed. Mac could see the guy was wringing his heart out at having caused such an accident, but had nevertheless allowed an awkward silence to build.