“on…”
— tug —
“…you, heavy bastard.”
He slid, only a few inches at a time, but she was managing to at least keep them away from the questing tendrils. She kept at it, until she heard a wet plop, and she looked up.
“Shit.”
The thing was gone from the meteorite fragment.
Morag let Alex go and came upright. She spun about. The inside of the craft was in near darkness due to the spore mist coupled with the fading natural light, plus there were no windows other than the door that Alex had blown inward when he arrived.
“Oh no, no, no.” She backed up a step, and then stopped to hold her breath and listen.
There was no sound, nothing. A few drops of slime still came from the edge of the meteorite fragment, and there was a spattered pile of it underneath where the thing had obviously landed, but there was no trace. There wasn’t even a telltale slime trail.
She licked her lips, but her tongue felt like a dry stick in her mouth. The upside of the thing being gone from the rock was the gun was still lying where she had left it and not blocked by the long ropey tendrils. She swallowed dryly. She could get it now.
“Okay.” She looked down at Alex. His eyelids fluttered, as he slowly came to. “Okay.” She repeated to calm herself. She’d get the gun, and then she’d either drag Alex outside, or damn well wake him up one way or another.
Morag looked toward the opening on the side of the craft — half a dozen steps at most — easy. Maybe the thing had already fled. She winced, not knowing what was worse, the thing maybe being outside waiting for them, or it still being inside here, hiding and waiting to strike.
Stupid question — inside here with us was worse. She’d be like greased lightning, get the gun, and then get the fuck out. She’d taken out one Morg, and she could drill a hole right through the fucking blob thing too if it got in her way. Morag looked down at Alex one last time.
“Back soon, handsome.”
She started toward the gun. One foot in front of the other, treading lightly, concentrating on listening. The gun was only six steps away, five, four, just three more and it’d be hers. She took another step and heard a droplet.
She paused. She heard another — no — felt another. She held up her hand and looked down seeing a drop of slime fall onto her suit’s arm.
“Oh, shit.” She looked up. The thing was on the ceiling — right over her.
It dropped.
CHAPTER 40
The helicopter skidded sideways in the air for hundreds of feet as the normally unflappable pilot cursed everything from the wind to his superior officers for sending them out.
In the cargo hold, senior airman Andy Gibson held on and snickered as they first tipped one way then the other. He felt the helicopter bank in the air, coming around in a huge loop, probably to try for another drop.
Andy had little to do but hang on and make sure the crate was secure. He looked again at the large solid box, about six square feet. He had no idea what was in there, and it was well above his pay and security grade to even bother asking. All he did know was that his one and only job was to hook it up to a chute, and push it out the enormous rear door when he was given the green light. What happened to it after that was someone else’s problem.
Even though he wore earphones, he could still hear the banshee scream of the wind against the metal skin of the helo. Then they yawed hard again in the air.
“Jesus Christ, man,” Andy spat and grabbed at the rope mesh inside the chopper’s rear.
Scoffel, the pilot, cursed again, and then sounded like he spoke through gritted teeth. “No way it can be done from this height. I’m gonna have to call time on this one.”
“Knew it,” Andy muttered on hearing Scoffel’s words — he’d expected as much. They had been ordered to stay at least a thousand feet up from the drop zone, and try to launch a package with a chute onto a target only couple of miles wide, with wind busting through at around eighty miles per hour. Andy knew his pilot was good, but no one, at no time, was going to be able put the package down on the mountaintop. The crate would freaking end up in Mother Russia.
He shook his head and continued reading from a tablet he held in the cavernous interior. He heard the pilot request an “RB” — return to base — and was waiting on the reply.
It came. “Roger that.” The pilot sounded understandably relieved.
“Knew it,” Gibson repeated and sighed. He had nothing to do now but chill out. He looked up at the crate. “Sorry, going home.”
The explosion of wood was loud enough to smash past his earphones, and looking up he caught the last of the flying splinters coming at his face. He just had time to raise an arm to cover his eyes, and just as well, as he felt the shattered wood come at him like bullets.
In his ears, the pilot’s voice sounded confused and angry, as though Andy had decided to hold a barn dance in the chopper’s hold. But Andy’s first thought was to question exactly what it was that HQ had kept in the crate that had detonated.
But when he dropped his arm and the debris settled he thought he had just gone insane. His mouth dropped open, and all he could do was stare.
CHAPTER 41
Andy Gibson pointed, his mouth working for several seconds, before a word would finally come.
“Loo… look!”
The wooden crate had been obliterated. But what stood in its place made him think he had been hit in the head and was now hallucinating. A slim, silver figure stood in the center of the mound of broken wood, and it seemed to be listening for a moment or two. It then turned its head toward him and stared, he guessed, because it was hard to tell as there was no face, other than a slight red glow where two eyes should have been.
“What the hell is going on back there?” Scoffel’s yelling shook Andy.
“It’s wearing a suit.” He still pointed.
Then the figure moved, fast. Andy threw his arms up, but it ignored him completely, instead heading toward the side door of the helicopter. Andy knew the doors could not be unlocked manually unless the pilot flipped the release from the cockpit, but the figure placed a hand either side of the doorframe.
“Hey.” Andy half rose to his feet.
The figure continued to ignore him and impossibly, started to pull the doors apart with the sound of screeching steel, followed by an alarm from the cockpit.
“Hey, don’t do that!”
Andy braced himself as air began to rush in, creating a freezing mini tornado in the back of the chopper.
“Airman Gibson, what the hell is happening back there?” The maelstrom entering the chopper drowned out Scoffel’s furious voice, and Andy backed up then, easing away from the silver being even though it acted like he didn’t exist. But what did scare the shit out of him even more was that they were at least a thousand feet above the mountaintop, and an open door without tethering meant a slight tilt on the craft and someone had better learn to fly real quick.
“Shut that door, airman!” Scoffel spluttered. “Shut that fucking door, right now!”
Andy sat down and held on tighter than he had ever held on in his life and watched the strange silver creature stare out of the open door for a few more moments, before facing him again. He could have sworn it nodded once, before turning back, and simply diving out.
“Jesus Christ.” Andy felt his stomach flip, either from a surge of adrenaline or relief.
“What the hell is happening?” Scoffel’s voice was so high it sounded like he had been sucking on helium.