He leaned forward in his seat, his lips pulled back and teeth bared as he bore down on the speeding dot in front of him.
“Don’t you try and side-step me now, baby.”
Yards, feet, inches, and then he caught the small rope between the balloon and the canister, and the clasp locked down on it.
“Got ya!”
He sat back and exhaled. “Walk in the park.” Vincenzo grinned, and then spoke into his mic.
“Sample package recovered; coming home.” He banked hard and looked down into the weird boiling fog that filled the crater basin.
“See you on the flip side, Hunter. Good luck.”
In another minute, he was gone.
Alex quickly entered a message into his forearm screen. Arrived, no casualties, no sign of hostiles, search commencing. He added information about the environment, the weird slime that seemed to move, and the mist. He then sent it to a numbered communication bullet, and pointed his arm upward. A small tube appeared on the back of his wrist unit — he flexed, and the bullet was fired.
The communication gun was a similar design to Sam’s, but it was miniaturized and used only for compacted data squirts. Alex stared upward, but already the projectile would have risen approximately 4,000 feet, and in a microsecond, sent an encrypted packet of information that would be bounced off secure satellites all the way back to his boss, Colonel Jack Hammerson.
The small projectile would have one more task — as it came to the end of its upward velocity, and its compressed data was well away, the explosives would be triggered, obliterating it. Nothing above dust-sized fragments would fall back to earth.
Alex lowered his arm, and the small tube retracted back into the forearm unit. He continued to watch for a moment more before sighing and beginning to pivot back to his team. He suddenly spun to the wall of mist.
He could sense something big. Close by, but just out of sight. And there was something else. Beneath his feet, he felt a slight tremor or vibration. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate to get an image of what it might be, but whatever it was, it had either stopped or moved away.
It was too big; had to be some sort of tremor. Alex opened his eyes and turned slowly. Around him the haze was swirling slightly. The back of his neck tingled and every fiber of his being told him there was danger ahead. At this point they couldn’t see anything, and nothing showed on their instruments — if they could even still be trusted. He then saw Calvin Renner trying to film, but cursing at the lack of clear vision.
He knew his HAWCs were watching him. They could sense his unease and were on edge. The group was exposed and vulnerable. “Armor up, DVP — Franks at point.”
“Yo!” Casey fist pumped.
The HAWCs responded by pulling their RG3s and spreading into formation. DVP stood for Defensive ‘V’ Pattern — like an arrowhead, and Casey Franks would be its tip.
Sam Reid organized them, his huge body pushing, glaring, and overseeing Alex’s orders. He pointed to the NASA crew. “Civilians to the center of the group, now. We expect hostiles, people, so stay alert.” He walked around them, and once satisfied turned to Alex. “On your orders, boss.”
Alex grunted. “Knight, find me that shuttle.”
“Boss.” Knight fell in at Casey’s shoulder. The stocky female HAWC would cover him, as he would be partially distracted by the tracker.
Knight looked up momentarily and then pointed with a flat hand. “This way, 448 feet.”
“And counting down,” Casey said, and led them in.
CHAPTER 17
Alex checked his watch. They’d already been on the basin floor for an hour — they were burning time… and precious oxygen.
Their original plan was to find the shuttle, retrieve the image disc, and then be on their way out within ten hours. If things proved more complicated, then they were prepared to hunker down overnight. But that was worst case.
He turned to the civilians. “Let’s move it up, people.”
They headed into the gloom, trying to remain silent, but failing as the slime squelched beneath their boots.
“Captain?” Russell Burrows waved to him. “A word?”
Alex turned to nod at Sam, who let him fall out from the center of the group to catch up to Alex.
“This is weird,” the NASA scientist whispered.
“No shit.” Alex continued to watch the mist.
Burrows cleared his throat. “You, ah, guys been in this type of thing before?”
“No,” Alex said. “Not exactly like this.”
“So, we’re flying blind then?” Burrows asked.
“We adapt, we do our jobs, and then hopefully, we all go home in one piece.” Alex glanced at the man, seeing the hint of fear in his eyes. “You’ll be fine, as long as you and your group follow instructions.”
Casey Franks raised her hand, and the HAWCs froze. Alex threw an arm out in front of the NASA engineer. “Stop. Quiet.”
Scott McIntyre and Anne Peterson crowded in close to each other, and Morag O’Sullivan and Calvin Renner also froze, eyes wide, but listening intently.
After a moment, Morag whispered to Alex. “What are we listening for?”
“My nerves to snap.” Renner said back under his breath.
Alex ignored them, concentrating as he tried to locate the sound, but it seemed to be everywhere.
“I hear it,” Anne said softly. “It’s like… insects buzzing.”
Alex rotated slowly — it did sound like insects. There was a soft hum coming from all around them that definitely wasn’t artificial, and reminded him of a parkland on a summer afternoon — a low background zumm, not unpleasant, but steady.
“Like some sort of locust or cicada, but… not quite the same,” he said.
“There’s nothing indigenous like that up here,” said Anne.
“Motion sensors say nothing is out there,” Sam said.
“What if it doesn’t show up on the sensors?” Calvin Renner said. “What if it’s like some sort of… entity? All around us.”
“Like a ghost?” Garcia grinned. “Boo.”
Renner’s face twisted. “No, smartass, I meant—”
“Quiet.” Alex glared, closing them down. “Something’s there.”
Renner raised his head. “What is it? There’s nothing—”
“Shut it,” Casey snarled. “Boss senses something; means there’s something out there. Now shut the fuck up and stay alive.”
“Stay alive?” Morag stiffened.
“Jesus, lighten up, will you?” Renner snorted and turned to sneer at Morag.
Max Dunsen eased up next to the cameraman. “Hey, asshole.”
Renner turned to look up at him.
Dunsen grinned like a death’s head. “Listen, mate, take a look around — does this place look like Bondi Beach to you?”
Renner stared for a moment. “Uh, where?”
Casey Franks scoffed. “Jesus, Dundee, like who the fuck knows where that is?”
Dunsen spun to her. “Shut up, Franks.” He turned back to Renner, edging even closer. “Fucking Waikiki, then. Well, does it?”
“No, sir, it doesn’t.” Renner held up his hands and backed a few paces away from the towering HAWC. “Look, I’m just the pictures guy.” He turned away to Morag and rolled his eyes. “Fucking GI Joes,” he whispered.
Alex blocked them out and tried to open his senses and push out into the mist. Just when an image started to form in his mind, the buzzing stopped.
The sound wasn’t right. In fact, now he wasn’t sure the buzzing was occurring externally at all. It felt like it was everywhere but nowhere, like the tiny whine still singing around them, but the more he concentrated, the more he thought the sound had been inside their heads. And he sensed a constant presence, everywhere.