Judgment Plague Page 3

  “Well, I can’t see any signs of...” She paused as Kane indicated something with the toe of his boot. It was hard to see with the swirl of dirty water masking it, but several panels at the base of the mat-trans chamber’s exterior had been pulled away, bent back with considerable force. The affected panels were located in line with the lone door. “What is that?” Brigid muttered.

  “Please repeat,” Philboyd responded.

  She ignored him, ducking down to get a closer look.

  “Seems like someone took a crowbar to it,” Kane said, tapping one of the bent grilles with his toe. “Went at it pretty hard, too—these things are built sturdy.”

  Brigid examined the submerged, damaged plate, reaching in and wiggling it a little this way and that. The water was ice-cold, smarting like a bite. The panel was a covering for the circuitry that controlled the functionality of the mat-trans, with a slatted section to allow for excess heat to be expelled in times of high traffic. The plate was made of burnished steel and was still connected—in a fashion—to the mat-trans chamber itself, albeit by just one rivet that was barely clinging to its drill hole. “Looks like someone’s tried to gain access,” Brigid summarized over the commtact link.

  “’Nother one here.” Kane indicated another panel around the side of the chamber’s base. This one had been removed entirely. “Got some marks here, too,” he added, shining the fierce beam of his flashlight on the armaglass beside the door.

  When Brigid looked she saw triple scrapes marking the surface, running quite low down—hip and knee level—both left and right of the door. The gashes looked like...

  “Claws,” she said, relaying the observation to Philboyd back at home base. “Someone’s definitely been trying to get inside.”

  “Or something,” Kane remarked poignantly.

  Cerberus was at the center of the mat-trans network, and its personnel monitored the system for any potential problems or threats. With the instantaneous nature of travel via its system, the mat-trans was, potentially, a very powerful resource to any group. However, it was largely unknown to the general public—and Cerberus intended to keep it that way. When a standard monitoring query had resulted in an error code response from this particular mat-trans unit, the CAT Alpha exploration team, made up of Kane, Grant and Brigid, had been sent to investigate. This unit was located about eighty miles east of Cobaltville, the old stomping ground of Kane and his partners. A mile underground and taking water from who knew where, it felt a long way from home.

  A new voice spoke over the linked commtacts as Brigid examined the indentations in the mat-trans wall. “Can you elaborate on that, dear Brigid?” It was Mohandas Lakesh Singh, popularly known as Lakesh, the leader of the Cerberus operation and a man with an incredible history with the mat-trans project. A theoretical physicist and cyberneticist, Lakesh had been born in the twentieth century, where his expertise had been applied to the original development of the mat-trans process. A combination of cryogenic hibernation and organ replacement had seen him emerge in the twenty-third century as the leader of what had begun as a covert rebellion against Baron Cobalt, but had ultimately developed into something even more noble—the Cerberus organization.

  Brigid ran her fingers along the indentations in the armaglass. “Regular relative placement, three score marks each time,” she said, thoughtfully. “These are claw marks.”

  Kane looked at her and nodded grimly. “Same thing I was thinking, Baptiste.”

  Lakesh sounded thoughtful as he spoke over their commtacts. “A wild animal would not have the intelligence to break into a redoubt, nor the motivation to try to access the mat-trans.”

  “Maybe no one broke in,” Kane said. “The place is waterlogged—could be a wall breach somewhere.”

  “But look, Kane,” Brigid interrupted. “The claw marks around the door, the removed panels—this is a deliberate attempt to gain entry into the mat-trans. And Lakesh is right—no wild animal would do that.”

  “Then it’s one that’s not so wild,” Kane retorted defiantly. “I swear, you brain-boxes and your logic—”

  Before he could finish the insult, Grant came stomping in from the corridor where he had been scouting, a worried look on his face. “Wake up, guys—there’s something alive out there.”

  “Something—?” Kane began, jogging across the room to the open door.

  Brigid activated her commtact and signed off. “Lakesh, Brewster, we’ll have to get back to you shortly. Looks like we may have a situation here.” She cut the communication before either man could reply.

  Kane and she followed Grant through the open door.

  * * *

  OUTSIDE, THE CORRIDOR was knee deep in water and its walls were streaked with mold. Its proportions were large, wide enough to drive a SandCat through without touching.

  “Down there,” Grant said, pointing to his left.

  Kane followed him, both men sloshing through the dark water, while Brigid followed more slowly.

  “What did you see?” Kane asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Can’t be sure,” Grant replied. “Looked big, though—either a leg or a tail moving just beneath the water. When it crossed into the circle of light it turned real fast and scooted back the way it came.”

  “So it’s not blind, then,” Kane reasoned. “Just shy.”

  “It could be whatever’s been tampering with the mat-trans,” Brigid proposed in a whisper.

  “Could be,” Kane agreed as the group continued making slow progress along the corridor.

  There was nothing there, just that knee-deep water and the mold, the sense of cold palpable all around them despite the environmental stability granted by their shadow suits.

  The Cerberus crew trudged onward, sloshing slowly through the murky waters. The light of their xenon beams lit the dark walls and cloudy depths.

  “I don’t like this,” Kane muttered, his nose twitching as he took the lead. Back in his days as a hard-contact magistrate, he had been known for his point-man sense, an indefinable ability to detect danger in what seemed to be the most harmless of situations. The gift seemed uncanny, but was in fact a combination of the same five senses anyone else had, but so acute it seemed incredible.

  “What do you sense?” Brigid asked.

  “Not sure,” Kane said, running the beam of his flashlight over the tunnel-like walls before them. He cocked his head, listening. “There’s something moving out that way,” he murmured, taking another step.

  Without warning, he disappeared, sinking beneath the waters in a rush of movement.

  Chapter 3

  “What th—!” Grant spit as he waded through the water after Kane’s disappearing form.

  “Grant, wait!” Brigid called, reaching for the big man’s arm.

  Although her strength was nothing compared to his own, he stopped when he felt her hand touch him. “Kane’s in there....” he began.

  “I saw,” Brigid confirmed, “but we have to be logical about this or we’ll all get dragged under.”

  Grant knew she was right.

  “Kane, do you copy?” she called, activating the subdermal commtact. “Kane, I repeat—do you copy?”

  Grant frowned as he looked at her.

  “Nothing,” she admitted. She looked at the dark water in the harsh beam of her xenon flashlight. “I’d estimate this is less than two feet deep,” she reasoned.

  “Maybe eighteen inches,” Grant agreed.

  “Where we stand,” Brigid continued. “But Kane dropped, which means it’s deeper ahead.”

  Grant nodded, passing her his flashlight. “Here, hold this,” he said. Then, following her logic, he sank down on his knees and crawled forward, hands sluicing through the water as he felt his way. “Hard floor,” he reported, “with a little give, like carpet maybe.” He reached forwa
rd, moving slowly. “Still floor, still floor...there!” He turned back to Brigid, smiling. “There’s a drop here, stairs maybe.”

  She watched as he dipped lower, still reaching forward, testing the terrain. “Careful,” she said, when his face came close to the water.

  “It’s all right,” Grant assured her. “I think I feel somethi—”

  At that moment, Grant felt something wrap around his arm, and in an instant he, too, was dragged under.

  Brigid splashed forward, playing the beam of the flashlight over the dark surface. “Didn’t I just say to be careful?” she muttered, gazing into the murk.

  * * *

  GRANT WAS SINKING. There was something dragging on his right arm, using its weight to pull him down in the water, deep down into the gloom. He had at least had foresight enough to take a breath as he’d felt the thing grab him, wrap around him, pull him down. Now he circulated that breath in his lungs as he was dragged ever onward.

  He couldn’t see a thing, it was so dark. The only light was back up at the surface: Brigid using the xenon flashlight.

  He would drown. That’s what was going to happen.

  Forget about finding Kane for a moment, just save yourself, Grant told himself. You ain’t no good to Kane dead.

  The thing held tightly to his right wrist like a manacle, a dark shape dragging him down and down and down. For a moment Grant saw something flash in the darkness, a row of teeth wide as his forearm.

  As the creature opened its mouth for a better grip, Grant pulled his arm away, then kicked as hard as he could, simultaneously stunning whatever it was and propelling himself away, back toward the surface.

  * * *

  TOPSIDE, BRIGID BAPTISTE was standing at the edge of the deep well beneath the redoubt floor. It should not be there, she knew—redoubts were designed to be impregnable, and the mat-trans located at the base.

  She wondered how big the gap was. Could she step over it, if she managed to locate the far rim? And how deep was it? A few feet, or a quarter mile or more? Most importantly, where did it lead?

  She tried her commtact again, desperately hoping for an answer from Kane or from Grant, wishing that one of them could hear her and respond.

  “Come on, Kane, come on, Grant—one of you say something already,” she hissed into the hidden mic.

  Then she spotted a dark shape materializing beneath her in the depths, and a moment later the waters surged and Grant came lunging to the surface, gasping for air.

  “Grant, you’re okay,” she called, wading over to him.

  He winced as she shone the light over his face, one thousand candles of wattage blasting into his eyes like a nuclear explosion.

  “Sorry...sorry,” Brigid began, turning the beam away. As she did so, she saw the figure looming behind her, also emerging from the water, twin rows of teeth gleaming as they caught the flashlight’s ray. The creature’s skin looked dark and rippled in the harsh glare of the xenon light, almost like armor, and for a moment Brigid’s mind whirled, fearing that this was another Annunaki overlord, reemerged on Earth to enslave mankind. But it wasn’t Annunaki; it seemed more animal than human, a wild thing.

  The creature pulled itself out of the water into a position that Brigid guessed was a close approximation of standing upright. It was unclothed and taller than a man, about seven feet at full extension, with a long snout like a dog and lips pulled back from vicious pointed teeth. The teeth followed the jaw around from sides to front, each one the length of Brigid’s pinkie finger. The being had a thick, muscular tail, as long again as its height, curling across the floor, just visible in the water. Brigid figured it had been a crocodile once, a few iterations of DNA ago. It was a mutie now.

  “Brigid,” Grant gasped from behind her, “get down.”

  She responded automatically, ducking low as Grant began firing on the emerging creature. Two bullets flew, racing to the target, drilling against the chest of the croc-like mutie. The sin eater sounded loud in the confines of the corridor, echoes reverberating with the swish of the water. In the aftermath, the croc staggered back a step, then plunged back down, disappearing with a splash of its enormous tail.

  Brigid spoke angrily, still watching the location where the creature had disappeared. “What are you thinking? We don’t know if that thing’s a friend or foe.”

  “Yeah, we do. One of them just pulled me down under the surface,” Grant declared. “I’m calling it.”

  Brigid flashed him a look before scanning the vicinity. “Any sign of Kane?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t see shit down there,” Grant told her. “But I can tell you this much—it’s a bastard long drop.”

  “What is it?” Brigid asked. “A well? Sinkhole?”

  He glared at her. “I was too busy fighting for my life to check.”

  “Humph. It happens,” she retorted, playing the xenon beam about once more.

  Suddenly there was movement all around the two Cerberus warriors. They sensed it as much as saw it, and then five more of the croc-like creatures emerged from the water—two from the corridor leading back to the mat-trans, three more from the deeper space behind Grant.

  “We could be in trouble,” he muttered, raising his blaster again.

  * * *

  AIR. THAT CAME FIRST. Everything else came in a rush afterward, filling in with memory and logic and guesswork, but the air came first. Kane breathed it, grateful, feeling that slosh of liquid inside him where he had sampled a mouthful of the filthy water when he had been dragged beneath the surface.

  How long had he been held under? A minute? More? He had blacked out, the cold ache of the water pressing against him even through the protection of his shadow suit. His face still felt like ice.

  Kane heard something: a voice. It sounded awfully close, and for a moment he wondered if he was awake or asleep, because he couldn’t recall where the heck he was.

  His eyes snapped open, only to find pitch darkness, a black so absolute the thought that he could be inside a box or a sack crossed his mind. But no, there was no material pressed against his face, and he couldn’t feel that telltale bounce of air as he breathed out, so he wasn’t close to a wall or box lid.

  He was soaking wet, his clothes heavy, as if they would drag him down where he lay. He was stretched out on his back. Wet, lying on his back. On cold stone. He could feel the cool hardness scrape against the back of his head when he tried to move.

  He felt dizzy, off balance, and realized that the floor beneath him tilted at an angle, leaving his feet lower than his head.

  Automatically he felt for the weight at his wrist, the familiar bulk of the sin eater in its hidden sheath under his sleeve. It was still there. Good. Someone was going to get it, pretty soon, too, unless he got some answers.

  What had happened? Thinking back, he could see the water, clouded black with pollutant. He had been checking the redoubt corridor and then the floor had dropped away and he had found himself sinking into the liquid. No, not sinking—he had been dragged, weights on his legs, something guiding his passage. No air to breathe, of course—the descent had been too sudden for that—so he had held his breath, mouth tasting of the dark water that had carpeted the deck, and then he was here. Somewhere between “there” and “here,” Kane figured, he had blacked out.

  The voice in his head had been Brigid’s, calling him and Grant. The commtact.

  “Baptiste?” Kane subvocalised, not saying the word but just breathing it. The commtact’s pickup would enhance the word into speech, relay it to Brigid, wherever she was.

  He waited a moment. No reply.

  All the while, Kane was listening. Listening intensely to the space around him, the way the echoes resounded, the ambient sounds of the room. There was water here; he could hear its telltale blup as something dripped into a larger body of water, lik
e a melting stalactite over a pool.

  There was also the rhythmic sound of ripples, of water being brushed lightly by a breeze.

  There was something else, too—breathing. Soft, hardly discernible over the dripping and the rippling, but there just the same when Kane filtered out all the other sounds and put them into categories. The breathing seemed close in the darkness; not loud, but close.

  Kane stirred slightly, testing to see what reaction he would get. The thing beside him stirred, too. It was maybe ten feet away, moving around his three o’clock.

  Okay, Kane thought. Shoot or make friends? Decisions, decisions. What would Baptiste do?

  It was a tough one. Kane knew that Brigid would make friends, or at least she would try to, but whatever had happened to get him here—and he was still struggling to recall all of it—seemed to involve drowning or kidnapping or a little bit of both. At least he had air to breathe now, even if it smelled like the back end of a burned-out SandCat.

  The thing shuffled, rough skin running over the stones of the floor. Kane heard it sniff twice, scenting the air. Then he heard another noise, a quiet rumble, not from the thing’s throat but from its belly. It was hungry.

  * * *

  “WHAT THE HECK are they?” Grant asked as he trained his sin eater on the first of the emerging croc creatures.

  “Beats me,” Brigid admitted. “They look like muties—maybe an offshoot of the scalies that were prevalent in this area a hundred years ago.” As she spoke, she was checking the ammunition in her TP-9 semiautomatic pistol. The TP-9 was a bulky hand pistol with a covered targeting scope across the top finished in molded matte black. The grip was set just off center beneath the barrel, creating a lopsided square in the user’s hand, hand and wrist making the final side and corner.

  And then the crocs moved, lips pulling back to show their impressive teeth, hissing deep in their throats as they began to attack. There was no time for negotiation now—it was do or die.

  The crocs swished their tails to propel themselves from the water, hurtling toward the intruders like rockets.