“What’s this thing for?” asked Franklin, giving the device a vicious kick.

  “I don’t know,” said Grisham. “At first, I thought it was used in the operation to create all these tunnels, but now—” He shrugged. “Whatever it is, we can’t do anything with it.”

  Grisham looked deeper into the room and saw some other equipment that was likely bespoke. Moving towards the centre of the floor, he shone his flashlight into the shaft. It went up and up and he couldn’t see the top. He was sure it reached to the surface and no doubt it was how the Kijol had brought this equipment here.

  “There are exits north and west,” said Maxwell. “Are we going to try north again?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. We should be almost beneath the topside buildings now. If there’s a way up, now would be a good time to find it.”

  The northern exit tunnel was about four metres wide and three high. Like this room and like the other places through which the mission personnel had recently passed, the unclad walls were unaffected by the Kijol incendiary drop. The more Grisham travelled this place, the more certain he became that the Kijol had been in a more than hurry when they evacuated Ovintus. The alternative was that the aliens were simply incompetent and he’d fought enough of them to know that wasn’t the case.

  Two hundred metres further, the mission personnel entered another large space, even larger than the one preceding it. The chill was even greater here and the sensor in Grisham’s suit detected a faint wind blowing west to east, and he noticed a fine layer of red sand covering the floor.

  “What’s all this stuff?” asked Corporal Fine.

  Grisham advanced into the room. A three-metre-high conveyor ran from a two-metre circular hole in the western wall and ended inside a high-sided alloy machine, forty metres into the room. He shone his light to the ceiling, where a complex assembly of robotic arms and rails had been installed.

  “Missile handling,” Grisham said. He realised what it was doing here. “This is part of the loading system for the surface defence systems. The missiles are brought along the conveyer from elsewhere in the facility and loaded into this machine here, which holds them until it receives a request from the perimeter battery.”

  The conveyer blocked his view of the north wall, so he couldn’t see where the missiles went after the robot arms extracted them from the holding machine.

  “This all looks old,” said Private Franklin.

  “It does,” said Grisham. “But there was nothing outdated about the tech in the warhead that brought the Marauder down.”

  “We need an exit north,” said Maxwell, who was a few metres ahead of Grisham. “Let’s go around this conveyor and see if we can find a way.”

  The flashlight beams danced nervously as the mission personnel headed west towards the end of the conveyor. A ten-metre space separated the holding machine and the western wall. Grisham felt more exposed here than elsewhere, and he longed to be back in daylight again. On the positive side, the once-populated areas of the installation should be close and that meant an escape to the surface might be on the cards.

  “There’s a crack in that west wall,” said Lyles. “It must be where the wind is blowing from.”

  Letting curiosity get the better of him, Grisham jogged a few metres ahead. The wall here was made from red stone and it was uneven. An opening about a metre wide started at floor level and went halfway to the ceiling, narrowing all the way. Grisham crouched and shone his flashlight through the opening at floor level.

  “This goes somewhere,” he said, poking his head and shoulders inside. “It’s tight here and then it widens farther along.”

  “Don’t go exploring, sir,” said Commander Deneuve. “We’ve got a job to do here first.”

  “I know,” said Grisham, backing out and standing. “I feel like there’s more to this place than we’re seeing.” He waved Maxwell to proceed.

  They set off again, heading around the end of the conveyor. The rest of the missile loading equipment came into sight. A second conveyer ran along the western half of the north wall and into another hole. That hole was currently blocked by a slab of metal which Grisham expected would only open during the missile loading process.

  “There’s an exit north,” said Maxwell, quickening his pace.

  “We’ve gotta find us some steps,” said Diaz. “I need to feel the sun on my face.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, Private,” said Lieutenant Adler. “It’s probably night time up on the surface by now.”

  “Well, shit, I guess I can wait till the morning.”

  The north exit was narrow and clearly intended for personnel only, rather than vehicles. Again it was in darkness and Grisham asked himself if the power was off in the northern end of the base.

  “If we found a comms hub, would its amplifiers have access to backup power, Lieutenant Lopez?” he asked on the crew channel.

  “Comms are a critical function of every installation, sir, and I’d expect them to have a backup supply. However, given what happened to this base, I’d have to ask myself if the backups were damaged by whatever took out the main power.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Grisham.

  He closed out of the channel, but didn’t say anything to the soldiers. Some things just had to be discovered and thinking about them ahead of time wouldn’t help one way or another.

  The northern exit tunnel ended after a hundred metres and Grisham entered a ten-metre room containing several features of interest. Personnel exits led north, east and west, and all were sealed behind solid-looking metal doors. Several large pieces of mangled tech lay on the floor and severed cables protruded from two of the walls where these consoles had originally been installed.

  Kijol corpses – about fifteen in total – were scattered around the room and the quantity of blood they’d released onto every visible surface would have been impressive had it not been so sickening.

  “We saw this on Xaros,” said Maxwell, pointing at the broken tech.

  “What’s so special about this place that one of those creatures wanted to break this stuff?” asked Corporal Fine.

  Grisham walked over to the western door. Two lever handles operated the locking bolts, while an access panel nearby was offline. He tapped the door with his knuckles and it felt as solid as it looked.

  “These doors received a command to open before the incendiaries were dropped,” he guessed. “And that command failed because the manual locks were engaged.”

  “Maybe these Kijol were sent here to check it out,” said Maxwell. “But they were killed by the alien which had locked the doors in the first place.”

  “Because the creatures attacking the installation knew what was coming and they tried to close all the entrances that could be operated manually,” said Corporal Barkley. “Damn.”

  “That makes me think a bunch of other Kijol corpses might be stashed somewhere nearby,” said Maxwell, curling his lip at the thought.

  “And I’m sure we’re close to a way up,” said Grisham.

  “But not through this door, sir,” said Private Lyles, over by the north exit. “The lock release handles have been torn off.”

  Grisham cursed and hurried over. Sure enough, the two-inch metal bars that controlled the locks had been snapped and they lay against the wall nearby.

  “Same over here at the east door,” said Corporal Fine.

  “That leaves only the west exit,” said Maxwell. He met Grisham’s gaze. “It’s got to be the way up.”

  Grisham nodded. “If it isn’t, we’ve got a long run back the way we came.” He stared at the door with a feeling of trepidation. “Let’s find out what’s behind here.”

  He checked to make sure everyone was ready. Many guns were trained towards the door, and Private Vaughan had the south approach covered.

  Placing one hand on each of the release handles, Grisham bent his knees so that he could push vertically with greater strength. The locks weren’t stiff and the metal bars moved easily and soundlessly.

  When the locking bolts were disengaged, Grisham leaned back and pulled the handles towards him. The door was heavy but it had some kind of assistance on the hinges and it swung open. What he saw on the other side was worse than anything he could have imagined.

  TWENTY

  Beams of light pierced the darkness beyond the door. A five-metre-long corridor led to steps upwards. Upon those steps lay many dead Kijol – so many in fact, that the steps could hardly be seen. Here and there, a metal tread was visible among the blood and the ripped flesh. Grisham was sure the stench of decay would have brought him to his knees were it not for the fact that his helmet filter was still closed.

  “Damnit,” he said, angrily. “Why couldn’t we have found a way up that wasn’t knee-deep in corpses?”

  Maxwell entered the corridor and shone his flashlight up the stairwell. “There’s a switchback landing higher up,” he said. “And it’s piled with bodies.”

  “Can we make it through, Sergeant?” asked Corporal Fine.

  “Hard to tell from here,” said Maxwell. “We don’t have much choice other than to try.”

  “We’re hundreds of metres underground,” said Private Lyles. “If it’s like this all the way—”

  “That’s what we have to find out,” said Maxwell, his patience fraying.

  Grisham took a breath. “I’ll go,” he said, gesturing towards the upper landing.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Maxwell.

  Standing at the bottom, Grisham plotted his route up. It would be impossible to reach the landing without treading on rotten flesh or dragging a few of the corpses out of the way. He looked down at the Kijol nearest to his feet. Its eyes were closed, though it didn’t look at peace.

  Grisham ascended. The light from his helmet was enough to see the way, while at the same time it added a nightmarish quality to the colours and the sights. The going was as tough as he’d expected and he wasn’t halfway to the landing before he started doubting the viability of this escape method. He remembered the descent into the subterranean bay and how his legs had suffered even though the way had been clear. Climbing this stairwell would be hard enough without having to navigate through thousands of corpses.

  Finally, Grisham made it to the top. He took a large stride over a couple of bodies in order that he could see up the next flight to the second landing.

  “What’re we facing?” asked Maxwell, a couple of steps from the top of the first flight.

  “More of the same,” said Grisham.

  “Better or worse?”

  “Neither.”

  Maxwell came alongside and stared upwards. “Let’s head to the next landing and then we can decide if this is the way to go.”

  “Let’s do it,” said Grisham, making no effort to hide his reluctance.

  The two of them climbed again. At the second landing, Grisham was forced to stand on the midriff of a corpse as he made his way to a place from which he could see upwards.

  “Crap,” he said. “It’s choked up here.”

  The corpses on the third flight were more numerous than lower down and, on the landing above, they were piled so high they almost reached the ceiling. Dead, rotting eyes stared at Grisham and he experienced a pang of real sympathy for these Kijol. They were alien scumbags right enough, but at least they waged war in a manner that was understandable. This was beyond Grisham’s comprehension.

  “Sergeant?” said Barkley on the comms, his voice laden with concern. “You’ve gone quiet.”

  “We’re fine, Corporal,” said Maxwell. He sighed. “There are sights I wish I’d never seen and this adds another one to the list.”

  “Think we can clear that blockage, Sergeant?” asked Grisham.

  “Given time,” said Maxwell. “The corpses we’d throw behind us would make it harder to return if we couldn’t find a way through. We’d have to clear them twice.”

  “I can’t say I want to do this anymore than you do,” said Grisham. “It feels like we’re back to square one.”

  “There’ll be other ways up,” said Maxwell.

  “Then let’s find one.” Grisham motioned towards the stairs down. “You’ll have to go first.”

  Grisham detected movement in his periphery and he spun towards the upper landing. Nothing had visibly changed, but there was a lot of detail to remember.

  “I think we should get out of here, Sergeant.”

  The two men were halfway to the landing below when one of the bodies against the side wall jerked suddenly. Its eyes were gone, but its head snapped around. Maxwell shot the corpse in the head and it stopped moving.

  “If every one of these Kijol jumps to its feet, we aren’t making it home,” said Maxwell with surprising calm. Another corpse further below thrust out an arm and its fingers clamped around empty air. Maxwell shot that one as well.

  A controlled descent turned into something different. Maxwell and Grisham were forced to take risks and they scrambled towards the lower landing. The squad channel was alive with voices. Whatever was happening up here was also happening on the lower steps.

  Maxwell arrived first at the landing. A few of the corpses here were twitching violently and he shot a couple. Grisham hurried after, putting bullets into anything that moved.

  “Shit, you’d better move!” said Corporal Fine on the comms.

  “We’re coming as fast as we can,” growled Maxwell. He hadn’t lost his calm yet, but the edges of it were clearly fraying. He kicked out at a body which was halfway to its feet, knocking it back down again.

  When he saw the steps leading to the bottom, Grisham knew real fear. Forty or fifty corpses were on their feet, most of them looking towards the upper landing. He fired his rifle into the crowd. Their torsos were the largest targets, but only a headshot took the corpses down in one.

  A body nearby on the landing rolled over and its arm flailed. The blow struck Grisham with unexpected force on the thigh and he grunted with pain. His leg threatened to give way and he fired desperately at his attacker. Three shots and the corpse lay still.

  “We’re in the shit here, Sergeant,” said Grisham. The corpses in front and behind were numerous, and he dreaded to picture what it was like on the choked landing further up.

  A droning sound reached Grisham’s ears and XR repeater bullets sliced into dead flesh. The corpses further down began toppling and, in moments, most of those on the lower two thirds of the steps had been put out of their misery.

  “I can’t aim any higher,” said Vaughan on the comms. “Not without killing you both.”

  Grisham and Maxwell descended, shooting the remaining corpses on the way. Corporal Fine and Private Chau were at the bottom. They fired upwards with the utmost care.

  “We have to lock this door,” said Grisham as he jumped the last three steps onto the ground. “Else we’ll be overrun.”

  As he said the words, an avalanche of corpses came tumbling down onto the upper landing and the press would have killed many had these been living creatures. Seemingly unaffected by the crush, the corpses dragged themselves free and sprinted down the stairs, with no fear for their own safety. Gauss fire knocked the frontrunners down, but the number coming after them was immense.

  “I don’t have enough ammo to kill all those,” said Vaughan, lying with his gun just inside the doorway.

  The four soldiers in the corridor dashed into the next room. Grisham and Maxwell were the last two out and they turned as one to shoulder the door closed. With a soft thump that belied its great mass, the door settled in place. Grisham put two hands on the bars and hauled down, sliding the hidden bolts into place. He looked at Maxwell as they both realised the problem at the same time.

  “Shit, how do we keep it locked?” asked Grisham, hanging off the bars with all his weight.

  “Damned if I know,” said Maxwell, adding his own weight to help keep the locks in place.

  Private Vaughan was a big bastard like Maxwell and he too grabbed the bars. Meanwhile, Corporal Fine inspected the door to see if there was any way to lock the operating levers in the shut position.

  “There’s no obvious way to stop the levers from moving,” she said.

  Grisham felt an upward pressure on the bars, applied from the far side. They moved upwards a couple of inches and then the weight of the soldiers brought them down again. There wasn’t much space, but Private Franklin squeezed in and took hold of the upper bar.

  “There’s got to be a way,” said Grisham. He looked over his shoulder into the room. The soldiers were searching through the pile of wrecked equipment for something they could wedge between the handles and the ceiling, to keep the door locked. From what he could see, Grisham was doubtful they’d find anything.

  “Private Chau, what can you do?” asked Maxwell, grunting with the effort of applying maximum downward force on the handles.

  “I could apply charges to the door seam to melt it shut, sir,” said Chau, who’d been studying the door for the last few seconds. “The trouble is, you’d have to move away when they detonate. And after that, the door would need to be kept closed long enough for the metal to cool. It’s not going to work, Sergeant.”

  Maxwell swore and twisted around so he could see if the other soldiers had found anything that might jam the door.

  “There’s nothing we can use, sir,” said Diaz.

  “We’ll have to make a run for it,” said Maxwell. “We’ll go south and hope we can stay ahead of these corpses until we find another way to the surface.”

  “As plans go, that one sucks balls, sir,” said Corporal Barkley.

  Maxwell still had it in him to laugh. “If you have a better one, I’m all ears.”

  Nobody had a better suggestion.

  “We’ll scatter a few grenades behind us when we run,” said Maxwell. “Maybe that’ll slow the pursuit. Is everyone ready?”

  “Anytime you are,” said Grisham.

  “Everyone who isn’t holding onto these handles, get your asses in gear,” said Maxwell.

  The soldiers sprinted from the room.