Grant peered out of the window, watching as the wildlife vet was put in an armlock and marched away, protesting. What do we do? he wondered, chewing his lip. What the hell do we do now?

  Robyn watched in horror as the scorpions zeroed in on the fallen wheelchair. Niko was struggling to rise beneath the camera and its stand, but Mayeni lay helpless beside her, caught under the wheelchair.

  ‘Niko, the camera!’ she yelled. ‘That’s what they’re after.’

  Quickly, Niko pushed the camera and tripod away from the women. But it still lay perilously close.

  Beside Robyn, Roland had picked up Xai’s lighter, but his burnt fingers couldn’t strike the flame. Robyn saw a length of discarded cable on the floor, wrapped it around her fingers, then snatched both the lighter and the canister of pressurised air from his blistered hands. She ran forward, blasting a geyser of flame at the mass of scorpions. Xai’s still helping us in this fight, she thought. The creatures scattered, one with its legs on fire. Robyn gasped and looked down at her hands; black, stinking smoke curled up from the cable’s plastic coating.

  ‘Be careful, Rob,’ Roland called to her. ‘Higher oxygen concentration . . . the flames burn harder!’

  Niko was trying to drag Mayeni away from danger, but one of the scorpions was pursuing them. Priorities, thought Robyn. Swapping the canister into her left hand, she ran after it and fired her improvised flamethrower again. The beast arched its back, its tail swiping at the air as flames blazed around it. Niko pushed her foot underneath its broad black belly and flipped it backwards.

  The scorpion, hissing and still in flames, ran straight at Tanky.

  Roaring with fear and rage, the woolly rhino lunged against his restraints and finally broke free.

  ‘No!’ Robyn yelled as the rhino charged forward, red eyes narrowed, the stump of his horn glinting under the studio lights. She dived aside, hitting the floor as he crashed into the video desk and was engulfed in the sparks that flew up from the impact. The fiery scorpion was still scuttling around, its movements more erratic. It ran at Robyn, its pincers snapping, but at the last minute changed course and was stamped on by Tanky as he struggled out, grunting, freeing his broken horn from the video desk. Robyn caught a flash of movement to her right, craned her neck and saw a nightmarish black shape scuttling towards her.

  She jumped onto the video desk, even as her dad scooped up the camera and its mount from the floor. But one of the scorpions came with it, dark, bony and sinister, clinging on. Roland gasped through gritted teeth and shook it free. It landed right beside the snorting Tanky and whipped its tail. The telson jammed into Tanky’s shaggy hide. Tanky screeched and backed away, dragging the tangled scorpion with him, smashing his head down on its segmented body.

  Niko screamed as one of the surviving scorpions climbed onto the side of the fallen wheelchair. She grabbed the thick, bristling segments at the top of its tail with both hands, trying to stop it stinging, but its pincers locked on to her arms. Gasping, yelling, she tried to roll clear of Mayeni’s prone form.

  ‘Incoming!’ came a shout.

  Robyn looked up at the ceiling. She saw someone hanging from the cable conduit fully five metres above her, and her heart lurched.

  ‘Ralph?’ she cried.

  Dangling from the steel rafters, his heart in his mouth, Ralph had an aerial view of the carnage in the studio. He took in the scene in panicked glimpses: Tanky was loose, tussling with a scorpion, while two more threatened Niko and Mayeni. Robyn was on the video desk, with a scorpion trying to climb up and attack her, while their dad was dragging a TV camera away, pursued by another of the predasaurs.

  Ralph had finally found his way back from the cabling master board, to discover the ladder had gone. The only way to get down was to drop.

  Desperately he swung himself back and forth from the conduit casing to build some momentum, then he tucked his chin into his chest and let go. There was a second of freefall, and he heard Robyn shout his name. Then he hit the floor. Ralph bent his knees to absorb the impact and rolled over to try and distribute its force through his body. Pain shattered through him, as if his bones were broken and knifing him from the inside. He rolled over until he came up hard against the wall, panting for breath, and gingerly flexed his arms and legs.

  When he saw a scorpion scuttling straight for him, he moved a lot faster.

  On instinct, he reached up and wrestled a fire extinguisher free from its housing. As the nightmare bore down on him, he pulled out the pin and hit the lever. Icy spray spat out hungrily, engulfing the giant scorpion. It stopped in its tracks, pincers poised to scissor his wrists. He sprayed it again and kicked it backwards; it didn’t fight back.

  ‘Brilliant, Ralph.’ His dad was beside him in moments, pulling the canister away from him. ‘Carbon dioxide displaces oxygen! Without that . . .’ He ran to Niko and blasted the scorpion attacking her with the extinguisher, and it too jerked to a stop.

  ‘Dad!’ Robyn shouted.

  Dazed, Ralph looked over and saw that Tanky had finally dealt with the scorpion scrabbling at his side, grinding it to a wet black pulp against the scene dock’s closed shutters. Now the woolly rhino lowered his head at Roland, Niko and Mayeni.

  And he charged.

  28

  Without hesitation, Robyn leaped from the desk, sailing over the scorpion that menaced her. She primed the lighter and ran to the twitching creature. Gerhard had said earlier that there were neural relays still implanted in Tanky’s brain even though his chip had been removed, and that they would still respond to a nearby control chip. This scorpion must be acting as some sort of relay, allowing Gerhard to push Tanky to attack.

  With deep, instinctive loathing she blasted a wave of intense flame into it. The scorpion didn’t even react as the fire consumed it.

  But Tanky did. As the relay was destroyed he gave an agonised bellow; his head jerked back mid‑charge and his body went rigid. Robyn felt sick when the rhino suddenly fell heavily onto his flank, crushing the smouldering remains of a scorpion beneath him.

  Robyn ran to him and fell to her knees beside him. ‘He’s hardly breathing!’ she shouted, distraught. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Without specialist help . . .’ Roland staggered over to the last scorpion standing, beside the video desk. It moved towards him with a menacing swish of its tail until he unleashed another torrent of glittering CO2 spray all over it. Then he brought the canister down on the monster’s head, once – twice – three times, before turning his back on its feebly twitching remains. The extinguisher slipped from his red, raw hands and with a groan, Roland sat down heavily.

  ‘Dad!’ Ralph shouted, trying to rise, but one leg buckled as he did so.

  ‘Benni?’ Mayeni had propped herself up on one elbow and was looking around, her cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. ‘You’ve made a hella mess of my studio,’ she said. She stared at Ralph, then back at Roland. ‘He did it. He did . . .’ Her head fell back.

  ‘Oh, God, I think she’s been stung.’ Niko started to scrabble for the first‑aid kit on her combat vest. ‘She needs an adrenaline shot. Intramuscular. And your dad needs his hands treated.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ Ralph said, limping over, opening his own medical kit.

  But Robyn knew there was nothing in her kit that could help Tanky. With both hands on his flank, feeling how shallow his breathing was, she looked around at the smoking, smouldering studio. They’d survived, just. But their enemies were gathered all around.

  And it was almost two o’clock. Could they hold out? Was there anything left to hold out for?

  A sudden, urgent thrum broke through the smoky air – a telephone, buzzing on silent, somewhere in the studio.

  What now? she thought.

  Grant held the phone tightly to his ear, praying no one came looking for the unconscious Dorries. Pick up, Robyn, he thought, closing his eyes. Pick up and tell me what’s going –!

  ‘Mbato’s walking away,’ his dad hissed. ‘With Zuma. And Gerhard.’

  Luke looked excited, huddled on the back seat like a kid up late shrinking into bed when they hear their parents’ feet on the stairs.

  ‘They’ve given up?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ breathed Mr van Rok. ‘They’re heading for that big truck.’

  ‘We can’t afford to take the chance,’ Mbato was saying. ‘The Ballantynes are still alive and at least one camera probably intact. I won’t let them make that broadcast.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Zuma, ‘there’s at least one hostage in there. Please, we need to be careful. Whatever those scorpion things were, they failed –’

  ‘You unimaginative drone,’ Gerhard sneered. ‘You talk to me of failure, after your tactics left me for dead in a cage?’

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you at all, Mr Gerhard,’ Zuma said stiffly, before turning back to Mbato.

  Feel the burn, thought Grant.

  ‘Sir, if I can get two men inside with tear gas, we can secure the studio and –’

  ‘There’s no time,’ Mbato said. ‘You heard they’re planning to broadcast at two. I’m authorising the use of the EMP.’

  ‘Sir,’ Zuma protested. ‘The damage to the city’s infrastructure . . . there’s a hospital just a few blocks from here –’

  ‘Activate, Captain Zuma,’ Mbato snapped. ‘That is a direct order.’

  The click in Grant’s ear as the phone was answered sounded like a gunshot. Robyn’s voice broke in. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Me,’ Grant whispered. He felt a wave of relief to hear her voice, but shushed her and held the phone to the window. ‘Wait.’

  ‘Sir, procedure states that ahead of using an EMP we must give due warning to the legislature that power throughput will be affected –’

  ‘I am the legislature!’ Mbato boomed, shutting down her protests. ‘Now, carry out my instructions, Zuma, or I’ll replace you with someone who will.’

  Hiding in the people carrier, Grant heard the thud of Zuma’s boots on the concrete as she marched away. ‘It’s all going on here,’ Robyn said quietly. ‘Grant, listen –’

  ‘Sorry, Rob,’ Grant said. ‘You need to hear this.’

  ‘Zuma is showing unwelcome independence,’ Mbato said. ‘As are you, Gerhard, just when you can least afford to. Your predasaurs failed and risked our plans being exposed. Only a fool would believe that Ballantyne released “his” scorpions by accident, and perished as a result.’

  ‘People believe what they are told,’ Gerhard retorted. ‘For instance, I suppose I must once have told you that I value your opinion.’

  ‘Don’t, Gerhard,’ Mbato said warningly. ‘If I didn’t still need you, I’d . . .’ He opened a door to his limousine. ‘Without me in power, good luck getting approval for your sick little projects.’

  ‘Just get in your car, Julius,’ Gerhard said acidly, ‘before that pulse triggers –’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Robyn said on the phone. ‘Where are you, just outside?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Grant said, ‘and it sounds like Zuma is on the outside too.’

  ‘Is she still going to fire that EMP thing?’ Robyn said.

  ‘I don’t think she wants to,’ Grant said helplessly. ‘But she’s a soldier. And when the order comes straight from the president . . .’

  ‘But the effect it will have on everything! All electrics, all comms, all power . . .’

  ‘Why are they hiding in a limo?’ Luke said. ‘How’s that going to protect them?’

  ‘The president’s car is built like a military vehicle,’ Mr van Rok explained. ‘Radiation‑hardened chips run the electronics. It’s got metallised windows and well‑fitted doors, which turn the body of the car into a Faraday cage that ought to protect against the EMP –’

  ‘This is no time for a science lesson,’ Robyn said in Grant’s ear. ‘Hold tight, Grant. We’re alive, barely. I think we’re going to try to come out –’

  ‘They’ll kill you,’ Grant said. ‘There’s one thing I can try here. Bye, Rob . . .’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I just wanted to say . . . well . . .’

  ‘Yes. I’m saying it too. But listen to me, don’t do –’

  ‘Gotta go.’ Grant passed the phone to his dad then grabbed Dorries’ rifle. He felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

  ‘What are you doing, bruh?’ Luke said.

  Grant opened the door of the people carrier and rolled out. Mbato’s limo was parked just across the car park. No soldiers were looking his way; presumably they were occupied with readying the EMP device. He crawled across the concrete, took a deep breath and then reached up and yanked open the rear door. Mbato and Gerhard started and swung around, as did the chauffeur in the driver’s seat.

  Grant jabbed the rifle inside.

  ‘Don’t move!’ he hissed.

  Under the bright studio lights, in the eerie, smoky calm of the aftermath of their struggle, Ralph wrapped the end of the gauze bandage around his father’s injured hand. He looked over at Robyn as she lowered the phone.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘Rob?’

  ‘The EMP,’ Robyn said, ‘it’s coming.’

  ‘Mayeni,’ Roland said, but she gave no reply; Niko was still watching over her. ‘Is she all right?’

  She looked dead. But Niko was massaging her palm and checking for a pulse in her neck. ‘If there’s no response in another minute, I’m giving her another dose of adrenaline.’

  ‘Rob, are Grant and the others OK?’ asked Roland.

  ‘For now, I think,’ she said.

  ‘And Niko,’ he went on, ‘is Mayeni’s phone all right?’

  Niko pulled it from the woman’s shirt pocket. ‘There are about a thousand missed calls and messages from Benni.’

  ‘Ralph, get it,’ said Roland, holding up his bandaged hands by way of explanation. ‘There must be a kitchen here. We need to find a microwave.’

  Ralph limped painfully over to Niko to grab the phone. ‘It won’t taste any better cooked.’

  ‘A microwave acts like a Faraday cage,’ Roland said. ‘It keeps the microwaves inside it to protect the people using it. So it follows they should give some protection to any device kept inside.’

  ‘Think the kitchen’s on the other side of reception,’ said Robyn.

  ‘We should protect the camera too,’ Ralph argued. ‘Will it fit –’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what happens to that now,’ said Roland.

  ‘But you risked your life to protect it,’ said Robyn, looking puzzled, wiping at her eyes as Ralph brought their dad Mayeni’s phone. ‘We all risked our lives. And the broadcast is meant to happen at two –’

  Mayeni’s phone buzzed.

  Ralph looked at the name and the photo on screen. ‘Benni,’ he said simply.

  ‘Don’t answer that. Get that phone into the microwave and close the door – fast,’ Roland said, looking at the phone screen. ‘And keep everything crossed. Everything.’

  29

  Grant couldn’t believe he had Mbato literally in his sights. One squeeze of the trigger and he could take revenge on the president for the murder of Dane Mellanby . . . for the deaths of everyone else on the president’s sick hunts . . . and by taking out Gerhard he’d eliminate the architect of the virus as well as the creator of the predasaurs.

  And then my life is wrecked for ever, he thought, his grip on the gun wavering.

  ‘Close the door, damn it!’ Gerhard shouted. He lunged for the door handle. Grant thrust the gun into his face.

  And then the truck behind him shook with a sudden, invisible impact.

  The EMP, he thought. It’s happened. I was too late to stop it. ‘What the hell . . . ?’ Zuma’s voice was loud behind him.

  Grant spun around to face her while keeping the muzzle of his automatic weapon pointed inside the limousine. ‘Stay back. Guns down. Or I kill the president and his sick friend.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, kid,’ Zuma said. ‘You’re not going to kill anyone –’

  ‘This thing is gas‑operated, not electronic!’ shouted Grant, raising the gun in the air. ‘There’s nothing for the EMP to fry.’ He let off a few rounds, the clatter of the bullets the only sound in the otherwise eerie silence. ‘Do as I say.’

  ‘Zuma!’ roared Mbato.

  ‘You are a fool, Julius,’ Gerhard snapped.

  ‘Shut up,’ Grant told them. ‘I repeat, everyone, put down your guns. Else I’ll start shooting for real.’

  The gathered troops looked at Zuma for guidance. She nodded curtly. Slowly, the soldiers laid their guns down on the concrete.

  ‘There are snipers on the studio roof, Grant,’ Zuma called to him. ‘Threat to the president? Not tolerated. They’re lining you up in their sights, ready to take the shot, make the kill.’

  ‘Then call them off,’ Grant said.

  ‘Like, now,’ Luke added, as he and his father got out of the car.

  Grant nodded to the motorhome beside them in the car park, still sitting with its back doors open. Wet straw spilled out of it. ‘Check in there for weapons,’ he told Luke. ‘Knowing Roland . . .’

  ‘On it,’ said Luke, and he ran inside.

  ‘We want transport out of here, Mr President,’ Mr van Rok said. ‘A military vehicle with rad‑hard electronics to withstand the effects of the pulse.’

  ‘The Ballantynes will be coming with us,’ said Max Khumalo. ‘Shame on you for everything you’ve done to them.’ He crossed to Grant and held his hands out to take the gun. ‘Let me handle this pair, son. I can’t let you –’

  ‘You can’t be seen to do anything like this,’ Grant reminded him, ‘and everyone knows it.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘It’s a nice gesture on your part, Dad, trying to look out for me.’ Grant gave him the smallest smile. ‘I’m trying to do the same. You know?’

  His father smiled sadly. ‘So I see.’

  Zuma had taken a few stealthy steps closer.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Grant shouted.

  ‘Yeah, you better stay back, bruh!’ Luke had emerged, an AK‑47 in each hand and wearing two fifty‑round belts. He gave one of each to his dad, who looked at them doubtfully. ‘Those two douchebags have put me and my friends through hell. Don’t give me an excuse to get revenge on them.’