The Exodus Towers (11 page)

By the time the firm handshake ended, Russell found himself considering ways to root the ambitious prick from his inevitable hold on Darwin. Three months, he thought, should be enough for Grillo’s strategy to become a bullet train with no brakes, and then he could be tossed over Nightcliff’s north wall and no one need know any more about it.

Really, was it any different than allowing Kip Osmak to handle the day-to-day operations at the climber port? A good leader delegates. Russell had read that, somewhere. Maybe Neil Platz had said it, in one speech or another.

And in the meantime, Russell could get down to the business of finding Tania Sharma and her band of merry misfits.

Later that day, he called everyone of importance to his office in Nightcliff and introduced them to the new prefect. Their shocked expressions told him what they thought of the arrangement, but they weren’t people whose opinions mattered much.

By sunset Russell found himself on board a climber. He felt the weight of Darwin’s problems fade as his altitude increased, and understood then why all the world’s elite had fled the city as well, five years ago, rather than deal with the aftermath of SUBS. He’d stuck it out then, taken the reins and done what had to be done.

No matter what anyone said, Russell had earned his place at the top of the food chain, and it was high time he enjoyed the perks that came along with it.

Belém, Brazil

30.APR.2283

A
SNAKE SLITHERED
over his left leg, then under his right.

Skyler guessed from the weight that it must be as thick as his arm. Confirmation would require looking, and he had no intention of moving a muscle. The creature took so long to finish its languid journey that he imagined it being more than five meters in length.

Only when he felt the tail tickle his right ankle did he allow himself to breathe. He’d fallen asleep, stupidly, in the undergrowth east of the Elevator and base camp. The last two days had left him exhausted. The tenacious immunes were stubborn to the point of insanity and had chased him through the city for six hours. When they finally gave up, Skyler collapsed in the first place he found to sleep: on the couch inside a psychiatric office. Offices were less likely to be tombs for the first victims of SUBS as most people forgot about work when the end came, and that had proved true here. He’d dusted off the plush leather couch, lain down, and listened to the river through a broken window. A pack of dogs woke him three times, baying and snarling at one another as they roamed their masterless world.

In the morning he’d begun to walk, each step a conscious effort, his mind clouded with scenarios and theories as to what was going on inside Camp Exodus. An organized group of immunes had rolled in and taken charge; that much seemed obvious. Everything else amounted to so much speculation and only distracted him, but when he tried to put it out of mind his thoughts turned to that bizarre cave in the rainforest
and the creature he’d spied within. Part of him wanted nothing more than to gather a posse and head back out there, a desire these immunes stood in the way of. But there was another part of him, a part he felt guilty about, that welcomed any task other than returning to the home of that nightmare. The thought crossed his mind, more than once, to forget all about the things he’d seen.

He’d walked all day. A long, circuitous route brought him around to the east side of camp, opposite of where he’d approached from before.

By the time he’d crawled through the foliage to study the scene, night had long fallen. His legs were rubber from the day of walking, his feet raw and aching.

He took a glance at his wristwatch. Three
A.M
. He’d slept for almost two hours. Eyes on the camp, Skyler reached down and grabbed his canteen. He swished the cool water through his teeth and then spit it out before taking a modest gulp. A growl from his stomach he ignored.

The invaders, as Skyler had come to call them, were organized and taking no chances. Their vehicles were parked in a semicircle around the north and west sides of the camp. One pointed outward, the next inward, in repeating fashion. Their bright headlights bathed the camp in pure white and complex shadows. Most were aimed dead center on the base of the Elevator, where the camp’s improvised headquarters sat. A few, though, cast their light on the parking lot of aura towers.

Those trucks pointing outward cast wan illumination on the surrounding trees and low buildings, giving swarms of moths a stage for their evening dance.

Skyler’s strategy to approach from the east proved wise. He’d walked well past the camp and followed the riverbank back, turning in at the tributary that roughly traced the camp’s eastern border. The invaders were paying little attention to this side.

From his position on the sloped bank of the tributary, Skyler saw no colonists abroad. They were either confined to their tents and mobile homes, or they’d been crammed
into the bellies of the five armored personnel carriers he counted.

Or killed. There was always
that
possibility.

A climber rested at the base of the Elevator, loaded with cargo. The construction crane they’d rigged to lift the thing still had truss lines attached to the frame of the spiderlike vehicle. Yesterday should have been the first real shipment of water and air to the space stations above. Having checked constantly for signs of the crawler rising above the city, Skyler knew nothing had gone up. Tania and the others would be rationing now, and the farms would be even more at risk than before. He wondered how much they knew of the situation here. Whoever the intruders were, Tania would try to talk to them if the comm functioned. A climber stuck at the base meant that nothing, and no one, could come down.

Skyler needed hard information, and the longer he waited, the closer dawn would be, stealing any chance of a quiet foray into the camp.

He allowed a half hour to study the invaders’ movements. Sentries manned each vehicle, either atop a mounted gun turret if available, or just sitting on the roof with an assault rifle across their knees.

A few patrolled on foot, giving a cursory flashlight inspection of the waterway. Skyler took some heart at this. If he had it right, only a handful of the invaders had any formal training in such things. Despite their matching gear and professional attitude, they were not all experienced militants.

When the next patroller wandered out of earshot, Skyler made his move. Running low, he went to the nearest friendly tent and ducked behind it. He waited, ready to bolt toward the river if any alarm rose. Hearing nothing, he flicked the canvas side of the tent with his finger. He repeated this a dozen times before he heard a whisper.

“Who’s there?”

“Skyler,” he said, voice low.

“Thank God,” the person said. “We thought you were dead. Where have you—”

“No time for chat,” Skyler hissed. “How many are there, who are they, and what do they want?”

The person inside the tent swallowed audibly. “Thirty? Maybe forty? I don’t know what they want. We were shoved into random tents and told we’d be shot if we came out. I’ve heard three gunshots since then.”

Whatever their goal, the fact that they’d kill for it told Skyler everything he needed to hear about. “Where’s Karl?”

“I don’t know,” the colonist whispered. “I saw him talking to their leader, before they shoved me in here.”

Skyler glanced around himself. Another patrol would come by soon. “Which one is their leader? Can you describe him?”

“I … I’m not sure. Tall, your height I guess. Military hair, you know, close-cropped. Goatee and sunglasses. That’s all I saw.”

“You’re sure he was their leader?”

A pause. “I just assumed …”

Skyler heard footsteps to the south. “Okay, stay put. If violence is the only solution here, you’ll know when I’ve started it. Follow Karl’s lead if you can; otherwise just fight. There’s no place to run.”

“Take me with you?”

“Sorry,” Skyler said, and meant it. “When they find you’re missing, they’ll double their guard and make trouble for everyone else. Right now they think I’m hiding deep in the city, and the longer they believe that, the better.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right.”

The footsteps sounded closer. “Quiet now,” Skyler said. He feared that a return to his place on the riverbank would take too long. Instead he moved farther into the camp, making use of every shadow he could. He reached a parked truck, the flatbed he’d seen on Mercy Road the day before carrying bed frames, and rolled underneath it.

For a long time he lay still, inhaling the rich aroma of chipped wood. Mud and deep puddles had plagued the center of camp in the first days after arrival, so Skyler had led an expedition for decorative bark, of all things. Tania and the others had balked at first, claiming medical supplies and food were all that mattered. Once Skyler and a half-dozen volunteers blanketed the Elevator base in the ground cover,
the complaints stopped. No mud in the tents, no bootfuls of cold rainwater to suffer. Tania even thanked him for being bullheaded about the idea, on one of her brief visits.

That the material suppressed sounds and held no footprints proved an unintended benefit. Satisfied no one had seen him dive under the truck, Skyler allowed himself to relax, and surveyed the center of camp from his fresh point of view.

One of the black-clad newcomers guarded the cargo container that served as the camp’s headquarters. Karl, Skyler knew, spent most of his time in there, carefully managing the logistics of the alien towers. Where they were, who had responsibility for them, and when they would return. He and Skyler spent many evenings huddled around the map of Belém taped to the wall within, plotting and strategizing.

The comm, their only link to Melville Station above, lay within as well.

Skyler crawled forward. He could see the sentry up to the knees. He or she stood beside the door, casually leaning against the wall of the container, one foot crossed over the other. As Skyler moved toward the front of the truck, he saw that the guard’s arms were folded, an assault rifle nestled within like a cradled newborn.

He hoped to find the person dozing, but when Skyler finally saw the face—a young man—the guard’s eyes were alert and actively studying his surroundings.

An approach from here would be suicidal, as no cover existed. That the guard hadn’t seen him dive below the truck was something of a miracle.

A rustling sound came from behind. Skyler shot a glance back over his shoulder and saw a colonist emerging from a tent, thirty or forty meters away.

“Hello?” the man said, voice raised. “I need to relieve myself.”

“Stay where you are,” the guard standing at the headquarters door shouted back. His voice carried a heavy accent. Brazilian, Skyler guessed. “I’ll get you an escort.”

“I’m just going to go behind the tent here,” the colonist said. He started to walk.

Skyler glanced forward and saw the guard standing alert. The man took a few steps forward, readying his gun.

“Remain still!” the guard yelled. Then he slipped two fingers into the corners of his mouth and whistled three times as he continued to march toward the noisy colonist. His path brought him right next to the truck Skyler lay beneath, and he stopped just centimeters away. “I mean it, asshole, stop.”

The camp began to stir. Skyler heard voices and the zippers of tent flaps. Some invaders, across the camp and out of view, were shouting queries about the whistle.

“Stop, I’m serious,” the guard urged. Then he muttered, “Shit,” and started to run. Skyler glanced back again and caught a glimpse of the colonist racing off into the darkness, toward the river. The guard bolted toward him even as more of the invaders came from the other side of camp. Shouts went up and bleary colonists stumbled out of their tents.

On pure instinct, Skyler crawled from beneath the truck and sprinted to the improvised headquarters. In a former life, the structure had served as a shipping container. A doorway and window had been cut out of one side, and given the darkness within, Skyler assumed the place was empty.

As the commotion in the camp escalated, he ducked inside and closed the door.

“Who’s there?” someone called.

Skyler swung his gun around and flicked on the light. The bright beam lit up the face of a black-clad stranger, lying on the floor atop a sleeping bag. Halfway to a sitting position, the man froze at the sight of Skyler’s gun barrel just centimeters from his face. With the weapon so close, the beam from the mounted light only lit a circle around the man’s mouth.

“Not a bloody peep,” Skyler whispered. He moved the light to the man’s eyes, and the off-duty guard squinted and blinked, turning his face partly away.

“Okay, relax,” he said.

“I need answers. Who are you people?”

“Survivors,” the man said, his voice faltering. An American, judging by the accent.

“Do better than that. Quickly now. How’d you come to be here? Who’s your leader?”

Fear radiated from the poor man’s face. “Please. They’ll kill me.”

“I’ll kill you,” Skyler hissed. “
They
don’t need to know we ever met.”