Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats (29 page)

‘How’s it doing?’ he asked.

‘Its engine core is ruptured. It is not going
to remain airborne very much longer.’

‘Thank God. That missile was in cold storage
thirty metres underground and it wasn’t the US Government that put
it into the sky. Whoever shot it down is going to get the biggest
medal I can find. I daresay the action may even have prevented a
war.’

‘I would like to think it was the Special
Forces guarding the base. Anything less would mean this has been
the worst security breach in a hundred years. Our records will be
in tatters.’

Emsly picked up the massive rat he had
bludgeoned and looked over its fearsome form. ‘All I feel right now
is pride. We have fought like Marines to win this day.’ He tossed
rat onto the heap and picked up one of the wounded soldiers and
glanced around at the other survivors around the flagpole.
Exhausted, dishevelled and blood soaked, they were almost
unrecognisable. Only six of them left. Plus the civilians from the
polar bear sanctuary. Almost complete wipeout. Emsly felt an anger
boiling up from within.

‘I could almost believe those rats were a
freak of nature,’ he decried at the top of his voice, and gestured
at the distant white streak that was the Toppaz missile, but when
United States missiles suddenly start launching themselves at the
same time, I find myself getting suspicious. So, we’re going to
take a tour of the island by gunship and if we find anyone
stumbling about who resembles those rats in intent, they’re going
to suffer the same fate. Gather up the wounded and let’s move
out.’

The party hurried to the flight pad where the
dark green gunship was waiting on permanent standby, with its side
turrets fully loaded with missiles and the electronics of its core
systems in the dull glow of Active Sleep mode.

The tremendous explosion of the Toppaz
missile cracking into the ocean came just as Emsly put his eye to
the security scanner. The identity check returned a negative
result. He rubbed his eye and tried again only for access to again
be denied.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ asked Hex Carter
itching to pull open the door.

‘My pupils are dilated,’ said Emsly. ‘The
scanner is very precise.’

Carter glanced anxiously out across the sky
to the vast grey mushroom cloud ominously expanding out across the
horizon and pressed a finger to his communications earpiece. ‘Is
there anyone else with the security clearance to start this
thing?’

‘The pilots, of course. But they’ve just been
eaten by rats. The commanding officer has security clearance as a
last resort. Anyway, give me a moment and I’ll come good.’

‘A moment may be too late. Our drones are
reporting a thirty metre tsunami wave generated by the Toppaz
missile, clocking speeds of eight hundred kilometres per hour.’

Emsly frowned. ‘If you’re trying to relax me,
you’re doing a lousy job.’ He took a deep breath and put his eye
back to the scanner. This time he was accepted: the gunship doors
opened and the electronics came alive. Emsly sprung into the
pilot’s seat and activated the rotors. ‘Everyone get the hell on
board!’ he screamed at no one in particular.

He looked over his shoulder to see Carter
already busy at work herding people on board. Being an ex-drill
sergeant, Carter was in his element and the loading was completed
just as the rotor blades had reached sufficient speeds for
elevation.

The tsunami meanwhile crashed over the
coastal cliffs and surged in across the base, sweeping away the
mounds of dead Marines and rats in a thick black icy cold soup. The
gunship was just in time to rise above it. The occupants gazed down
solemnly at the surreal scene beneath them.

‘A missile that explodes into a sea and a
battlefield that gets completely washed away,’ muttered Beamy
Carlitto from the front passenger seat. ‘There will be nothing left
to prove what transpired here. No evidence to substantiate the wild
stories we have to tell.’

‘I suspect Washington will not be
particularly unhappy with that arrangement,’ replied Emsly. ‘I
doubt they will even acknowledge the incident having occurred. But
they’ll be very curious to know who has been trying to drag them
into a war.’ As the gunship continued to rise, Emsly spotted his
Poison 130 Fast Tank climbing Mount Old, the highest peak on
Alabama Island. ‘There’s my tank,’ he murmured, steering the
gunship that way. ‘Why don’t they just get out and run? Tanks
aren’t designed for mountaineering.’

The tank was indeed starting to struggle as
the gradient grew ever steeper. The huge mass of water was moving
in fast from behind. Emsly only wished there was a missile in his
arsenal that could be used against a tsunami. He put on the pilot’s
headset and sent out an emergency call. ‘Private Murley, is that
you driving my tank? Come in, Murley.’

There was no reply, but Emsly could see why
they would be preoccupied. The approaching wave was above the
height of the tank with only moments remaining between them. The
tank was speeding a direct line up the mountain, loose shoal
spewing out from beneath its tracks in steady streams. Emsly had
taken his tank for many a drive around the island but going to the
peak of Mount Old he had left to the torturous foot marches Hex
Carter put his Marines through.

‘Can your tank swim?’ murmured Carlitto
dourly.

‘What do you think?’

The wave hit the mountain and rode up its
southern face, reaching the tank in a mass of black water. Despite
the weight of the water, however, the tank continued to climb,
breaking free of its grip before it could fully close. The tank
continued upward until the wave’s crest had passed and dry land was
secured. It stopped then and the main hatch flew open.

‘Your man has been hit,’ Kaptu replied over
the radio. ‘We require immediate extraction.’

‘Rat bites?’ Emsly enquired.

‘Four gunshot wounds.’

‘Identify yourself.’

‘Kaptu of the Hurt World.’

‘Kaptu, is that your codename?’

‘No. We're bringing your man out for
extraction.’ Kaptu climbed out and with Clorvine’s assistance
underneath pulled the wounded Marine onto the open hatch.

The gunship came above them and a harness was
lowered. Kaptu attached it to Murley’s chest. The Life System
Monitor strapped to Murley’s forehead was counting down in bright
red numerals from ten minutes fifteen seconds. That was Murley’s
life expectancy and it looked likely enough in his pale cheeks and
glazed eyes.

‘Hold on,’ Kaptu yelled and gave the gunship
thumbs up. ‘Don’t stop to pick us up,’ he said into his collar
mike. ‘You’ve got ten minutes to get him onto an operating
table.’

‘Very well,’ replied Emsly. ‘We’ll be back to
get you.’

The gunship turned back for base with Murley
trailing behind.

Clorvine joined Kaptu on top of the tank.
‘What happens when they find you doctored the Life System Monitor?
Murley isn’t going to be dead in minutes.’

‘You noticed that?
It’s
better that we don’t get stuck here. There are
going to be investigations and enquiries and we don’t want to get
involved in that. Especially when it comes out that the insurance
agents have forbidden my presence upon US territory.’

‘They won’t be denied so easily. They’ll come
looking for you.’

‘There is no extradition treaty between the
US and Asylum City. That is probably why Renaissance chose me for
the case. And it is probably the only reason she has ever bothered
having a Hurt World technician in Asylum City.’

‘I think you should give them a chance.
You’ve just saved them from a war or at least some world class
groveling
to
whichever
country
was attacked
. You might even have earned
yourself some downtime with the President.’

‘Trust me, gratitude never makes it past the
lawyers. Who knows what kind of case they could make against us? We
shot up their weather station for starters. They may even claim
were negligent in the clarity of our warning and sue for damages
for the whole damned island.’

‘They wouldn’t do that.’

‘Lawyers are capable of anything. Keeping out
of range of their indictments is as important as avoiding bullets.
Renaissance will be of the same mindset. Just see how quickly she
moves to get us off the island. A lot quicker than how we got onto
it.’

‘You sure it won’t be by missile? That would
be the fastest things she’s got.’

Kaptu looked up to the sky. ‘Good point. But
I don’t think that’s her style.’

‘If the plan is to take me back to the Congo,
it might as well be a missile. They do not take kindly to traitors.
I’d rather take my chances here with the Marines.’

‘Don’t fret about that. I’ll put in a good
word for you. You’re a straight shooter in words and in a tank.
With those attributes, someone in the UN will have use for
you.’

Clorvine looked at him watchfully. ‘And
you?’

‘Me?’

‘The way you fight, the way you carry
yourself, it is plain you don’t have anyone serious in your life,
anyone to live for.’

‘I’m sure that’s what keeps me alive.’

A roar of jet pierced the sky, noticeably
more powerful than the drones that had been coming and going from
the Marine base.

‘That sounds like our ride,’ said Kaptu.
‘We’ll be in Geneva in an hour. I rent a nice little villa on the
lake there. I’ve never lived in it but it’s worth the money. The
Secretary General lives just down the road. You could ask him for a
job yourself.’ He looked out across the ocean for a long moment.
‘Perhaps we’ll get the call to come looking for Mas
again
,
once
the Sixth
Fleet has given up scouring the ocean for submarines.’

‘I think they should pick through the ruins
of the weather station before they bother searching the ocean. Your
shooting was straight too. You picked off
your
fair share of
rats, and maybe you got Mas
as
well.’

Kaptu shook his head doubtfully. ‘She moves
faster.’

The Cyclone Super Jet arrived amidst a scream
of rocket, touching down in an easy vertical landing upon the
mountain ridge. The cockpit hatch lifted up and the pilot slid down
the exit ladder. He was holding a plastic bag and rushed to fill it
with dead rats that had washed up onto the mountain. By the time
Kaptu and Clorvine reached him, he was squeezing his forth rat into
his bag. He sealed it and gestured for Kaptu and Clorvine to follow
as he hurried up the cockpit ladder. Being a two-seater jet, there
was no alternative but for Kaptu and Clorvine to share one,
Clorvine sitting on Kaptu’s lap. The pilot threw the bag of rats in
with them. He promptly sent the plane two kilometres into the air
in a body jarring launch. Kaptu and Clorvine watched Alabama Island
become a mere spec on the ocean before disappearing altogether. The
jet headed south at twice the speed of sound.

Clorvine
wriggled
to get
comfortable
and
smirked
at
Kaptu. ‘My kind of seat,’ she said. ‘But tell me one thing. Where
you live on the lake, are there any rats?’

27 To disappear

Haddad Caixa strode into the Savage Alliance
Conference Room One in the Uncle Grey building reminding himself of
the two things never to do when delivering bad news. The first
thing was not to try and sell it as good news. People hated that
more than the news itself. If it was bad, let them know how bad.
Let them know it reeked. It was the only way. People caught selling
bad news became bad news themselves. And there was no fix for that.
The second thing was never flinch. Tell it but don’t own it. No
matter how bad. The people who looked like solutions were always
the generals.

Caixa stopped at the foot of the long table
and looked up and down its lengths, taking in the probing,
speculative gazes of the board members. There were no friends, no
one he could truly trust, but that was what made Savage Alliance so
successful: it truly was savage. Caixa glanced past them to the
conference room’s superb view of Lake Zurich and the Alps - that
was where he found his calm.

‘I have called this meeting to report on an
unfortunate setback in our quest to break into the Big Ten Trade
Index. Operation Advance has been deactivated until further notice.
The details of the programs will remain classified to all bar the
Minister for Risk and Acquisition and myself.’

‘Where is she?’ queried the Minister for
Communications.

Caixa smirked icily. ‘She is on extended
unpaid leave.’

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the long
conference table, for it was known amongst all what extended unpaid
leave could really entail. Her body vaporised by laser or dumped in
some remote forest. It was highly likely Jalanti would never be
heard of again. And to ask questions would be unwise in the
extreme. That was the message in Caixa’s smirk. He only ever smiled
as a warning.

‘We placed considerable funds into Operation
Advance,’ said the Minister for Finance in his usual monotone
voice. ‘Will there be an opportunity for a retrieval of funds?’

‘The operation was well advanced when it was
cancelled,’ said Caixa. ‘Most of the money has already been spent.
The loss is considerable.’

The board members looked around each other
with sighs and frowns. Caixa allowed them their moment of
disappointment, though did not let their attention drift for
long.

‘Moving forward,’ he said sharply, ‘we will
review our investment portfolios and share holdings and endeavour
to offset our losses where possible. We will need to be quite
ruthless in order to balance our books.’

The Minister for Finance nervously put up her
hand. ‘I would recommend any review particularly focus on holdings
in weapons technology and military surgical supplies and our arms
wing. We have secured no financial gain from these investments, nor
is there any prospect of this changing in the foreseeable future.
We are living in a politically stable environment with no prospect
of a major customer for any of those products. It is the biggest
drag on our bottom line and I can tell you that even before the
review begins.’