Terminal (4 page)

‘I know. I'm sorry,' Will said.

Elliott cracked a smile. ‘Gotcha!'

Relieved that he hadn't really upset her, the boy nevertheless swung on his heels and made off.

Elliott raised her arm in front of her face and moved it in an impression of one of the ovipositors that had snaked from Vane's mouth. ‘Where are you going, juicy human?' she shouted after Will. In fits of laughter, she gave chase, and Will was laughing too as he careered between the shop counters in the direction of the staircases at the end of the hall.

Shouting and running together, they were the only two people alive in that once-bustling department store, now filled with nothing more than the dreams of the dead inhabitants of the metropolis.

On the landing at the top of the first flight of stairs, they paused to take stock of what they could see around them, still chuckling.

‘Clothes up there,' Will said, surveying the mannequins, many of which had been knocked over by looters. ‘Want a new dress?'

‘Not on this trip,' Elliott replied, as she tried to decipher the guide to the various levels on the wall. ‘Essentials only. Some new sheets and towels would be a good start.'

‘That's boring,' Will muttered under his breath, but nevertheless followed after Elliott as she climbed the stairs to the third floor.

‘This looks promising,' the girl announced.

‘Yes. 'Ome furnishings,' Will said in a voice which wasn't far off how he remembered his Auntie Jean's.

They began to explore the different aisles, wandering past
suites of sofas and armchairs, all in matching fabrics and arranged around tables on which were vases of very wilted flowers.

Elliott noticed that in one of the far corners of the floor numerous Persian rugs had been stacked in piles, or hung from the walls like some sort of Eastern bazaar.

‘Pillows,' Will said, pointing to another area. ‘I think we need to be over there.'

As Elliott turned to see where he was indicating, her gaze settled on a display of dining-room furniture.

‘Will,' she warned him in a voice that was barely a whisper, bringing her weapon to her shoulder.

They edged towards the figures sitting very upright around a dust-covered table. There were four of them, dressed in sand-coloured combats, their long rifles cradled in their laps. And in front of each of them were delicate teacups of fine bone china.

‘Limiters,' Elliott said.

‘
Dead
Limiters,' Will added, scarcely able to bring himself to look at their faces, on which their scarred skin had dried out and was drawn so tight that more than ever it resembled ancient, spalled ivory. ‘Why,
of all places
, would they come here to die?' Will asked.

Elliott shrugged. ‘Maybe they were on patrol when the virus got a grip? They were just caught out?'

‘Yes, but look at them,' Will said. ‘A Limiter tea party? That's pretty weird, isn't it?'

Even in the final minutes of their lives they had been perfectly controlled, choosing somewhere to take their last breaths together, drinking from teacups as they shared some water from a canteen. Their eyes were shut, and outwardly at least
there was little sign that they been touched by the flies. Perhaps the insects were as unenthusiastic as Will was right then to venture too close.

‘We should snaffle their rifles and any spare ammo,' Elliott suggested, already peering at their belt kit with interest.

‘Leave it for another time,' Will suggested. ‘It's not as if they're going anywhere, is it?'

But Elliott wasn't deterred in the slightest as she went to the first of the Limiters and began to rummage through his pockets. ‘Don't be such a wuss, Will,' she said.

‘This footage was taken by a former member of D Squadron who lives just outside the town,' Parry said, as he turned to the flickering images being projected on the flaking white paint of the wall beside him. With its vaulted roof, the dark cellar was packed with soldiers from 22 Special Air Service Regiment. ‘It's the first film we've managed to get hold of showing the Armagi in action.'

Parry stood to the side so the assembled audience could see the scene clearly, of the outskirts of a town. ‘This took place in Kent at the weekend. First we have fires breaking out around the perimeter,' Parry said, as the camera panned wildly from one flaming building to the next. ‘They were most likely set by an advance party of Limiters to flush people out of the buildings and corral them in the centre of town … ready for the second phase.' There were several seconds when the camera continued to track the fires as they burnt.

‘What are we looking for now?' someone asked.

‘Watch the airspace above the town,' Parry replied.

The cameraman had been a little slow to notice what was
going on. But you really had to look for it, as not only was it dusk and the light dwindling, but the multiple objects streaking down into the middle of the town weren't easy to spot. The winged forms were almost transparent as they swept down from the sky at incredible speed.

‘Those are Armagi,' Parry said. ‘Hundreds of them.'

A murmur passed through the audience as someone exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell!'

‘But why did the Styx pick this location for a strike? What strategic value did it have to them?' someone else posed from the rear of the cellar.

Parry turned to the men. ‘There's no question that the town was a carefully selected target – the Medway power station, which supplies electricity to a large area of Kent, lies just to the north. The proximity of the power station to the town meant that to do the job properly and quash any resistance, they needed to hit both targets simultaneously.'

As if to emphasise Parry's point, there was a huge burst of light which threw the town buildings into stark relief for a split second. ‘And there goes the power station,' Parry said. ‘As you know, this was far from an isolated incident. We've received numerous reports that the Styx are methodically working their way through the home counties as they head towards the capital, cherry-picking utilities, comms hubs – anything that'll cripple our country's infrastructure.'

‘So we stake out a potential target and wait for them to show up,' a soldier suggested. ‘Then we've got ourselves a duck shoot as these suckers come in to land.'

‘And Claymore the bejesus out of them,' one of his comrades chirped up.

‘Nice idea,' Parry said, then took a breath. ‘Look I know
you all think you're the toughest mothers that ever walked the earth.' A few men chuckled as Parry continued, ‘But don't underestimate these organisms – they're spawned from the toughest, most ruthless mother of them all. And here she is …'

The camera zoomed in unsteadily on a point outside the town where a small group of figures was watching the attack. ‘Here you've got some Limiters, but focus your attention on who's in the middle.' Parry leant forward so that the shadow of his extended hand fell on two particular figures. ‘The taller of that pair is likely to be one of the Styx females that eluded us at the warehouse attack. I say
one of
because I haven't had the kill on the second one confirmed by my son yet, and we don't know if more were generated.'

As the camera zoomed in even closer, the Styx female was silhouetted against the flames, her insect legs poised above her shoulders.

‘So that's the big bug?' someone in the audience asked as the camera remained on her.

‘Yes, and we know from Eddie that her Topsoil name is Hermione,' Parry replied, then he indicated the smaller figure beside her. ‘And with Hermione is the Rebecca twin. The two of them are the head honchos in the Styx hierarchy. If we had a way of neutralising that unholy couple, this war might be brought to an end, and we could all go home again.'

Parry's words hung in the air as the men thought of their families, from whom they'd been completely cut off for weeks. As Parry had ordered, they weren't allowed to have any contact whatsoever with the outside world. He had made it clear that it was necessary in order for the unit to operate without any interference from the Styx.

The wall beside Parry went dark for a moment, then
became so bright that it lit up the faces of all the men in the cellar. ‘This is the morning after,' Parry said quietly. ‘You can see the results for yourself.' The view swayed with each step that the ex-soldier took as he moved through the now deserted town, recording the aftermath of the attack. In the harsh dawn light, all the bodies could be clearly seen where they'd fallen outside the buildings, very few of which had escaped the fire.

‘And don't get me wrong,' Parry said. ‘This is a war, a war on our home turf, and a war that we're going to lose unless we can find what the Armagi's weaknesses are.'

‘Have you got any more gen on their deployment or capability?' a soldier asked.

‘From sightings, we believe they hunt in pairs, whether airborne or on land. And one report raised the possibility that they might possess a highly developed sense of hearing – based on the fact that the sound of engines or gunfire draws them like moths to a flame. That's why suppressors on all weapons are now the order of the day.'

The pager on Parry's belt vibrated, and he quickly held it up to read the message. He appeared to be in a hurry as he said, ‘And I hope to have more to tell you about their physiology very soon, gentlemen. If you'll excuse me now, the captain here will finish the briefing and take any questions.'

As images of the destroyed power station flashed across the wall, Parry made his way down the side of the cellar, squeezing past the rows of seated soldiers who, by their usual standards, were remarkably subdued. Unlike the regular army, SAS briefings were generally informal with all ranks joining in, often with some irreverent banter to lighten the mood. But the severity of the situation had shocked even this highly experienced and
highly trained elite of the British Army.

Despite his lameness, Parry was in a hurry and took the stairs two at a time as he climbed to the ground floor, then exited from the low-lying building at a trot. Directly opposite were helicopters, hidden under camo netting. He turned right along the track that ran through the centre of the compound. The decision had been to divide the 22nd SAS Regiment into three units, each unit operating autonomously of the others from secret locations. It meant that at least some capability would be preserved if the regiment became contaminated with Darklit men, or the Styx sniffed one unit out.

With his knowledge of the Styx, Parry had been a natural choice to be given one of the new divisions to command. And he'd chosen these rarely used barracks, deep in the Herefordshire countryside, as the location for the division. As he hurried along now, he didn't have time to enjoy the rolling hills that lay all around, except to allow himself a quick glance in the direction of the main SAS barracks in Credenhill some seven miles away, wondering if the Styx had mounted an assault on them yet. If they had, they would have been sorely disappointed as the site was being manned by a skeleton team with instructions to blow the whole place at the first sign of any trouble.

He continued along the track that ran through the middle of the compound, passing the mess hall, shooting range and munitions dump until he came to an unremarkable-looking building without any windows.

A sentry had been watching the entrance. ‘Fizzog scan, sir,' the man said, as he stepped forward. He held a Purger up to Parry's face and fired the purple light into his eyes. The sentry knew what he was doing, and was scrutinising Parry closely
for any signs that he'd been Darklit.

‘So I pass?' Parry pressed him, in a hurry to enter.

‘Yes, you do, with flying colours, sir,' the sentry said. He swiped a key card through the reader at the side of the door, which opened with a definitive clunk to allow Parry inside.

Other than the fact that these old barracks had fallen out of use so many decades ago they'd been largely forgotten, this building was the main reason Parry had been so eager to locate his division there. It housed a former germ warfare testing facility which was ideal for his purposes. He went through a series of rooms full of dusty equipment until he came to the main laboratory. It was divided into two by a partition of three-inch tempered glass, one side an airtight isolation chamber.

‘You paged me – what's the latest?' Parry asked the orderly in a white coat, who was intent on what was on the other side of the window. The orderly opened his mouth to answer but Parry had already activated the intercom at the bottom of the partition. ‘Got anything for me, Major?' he asked the Medical Officer himself on the other side of the thick glass.

The Medical Officer – or MO, as he was referred to – wheeled around. ‘Commander,' he said, acknowledging Parry. ‘Glad you could come at such short notice, because there are a couple of things you need to see.'