Authors: Clem Chambers
Adash had picked his way into the wall of jungle debris, snaking and burrowing through the tangle. At times he thought it stupid of him but at others he was convinced of his genius. The machines could not go into the heart of the splintered tangle so he was safe from them, and if he could make the other side he would have a bunker from which to fire as his quarry crossed the blasted plateau. The occasional tremor from the ground filled him with fear. Perhaps a quake would entomb him. He emerged on the other side halfway up the mountain of vegetation, some thirty feet above the plateau below. It was a vantage-point that any sniper would have been proud of. He got himself comfortable and waited. At some point, he was sure, they would cross the plateau, and when they were far enough into no man’s land, he would shoot the woman and the man, then hunt down Dog Bites Man.
He would win a great victory single-handed. The diamond mine would be his and his alone. He would buy the allegiance of the army’s other commanders and then, one by one, he would kill them. As he waited he began to plan each murder. It was an amusing challenge that wiled away the time. In the distance he began to hear the buzzing of the machines’ engines. He was correct: they were coming his way. They would never clear the hurdle.
*
The Doombahs on the wrong side of the breach waited their turn to begin the climb. Twenty had crossed and there were forty or more to come.
As they walked across the seared ground Jim looked to the far horizon and the crater in the middle of the plain where the camp had been. I should have backed up my notebook, he thought absently. The rolling motion of the Doombah was quite relaxing and he could see the finishing line ahead.
There were now twelve guardian robots in a perimeter, some facing the jungle, walking backwards, guns ready.
Adash saw a machine three hundred metres to his right, then another. They were the vanguard of a defensive ring around his target. He would pick them off as soon as they were too far from cover to escape his marksmanship. A few yards more and he would open fire. He cocked the carbine and took it off safety. He pulled out the telescoping stock and locked it. He looked through the stubby sight and turned the rear. There was a click and a laser dot appeared on the ground where the carbine aimed.
Excellent.
If he had not been squinting through the sights he would have seen the Doombahs stutter. Jane did: she cocked her own M4 and crouched as the Doombahs freaked.
Adash brought the sight to aim at the party, and as he did so, he saw the machines staring at him, their Gatling guns raised. His targets were only a fraction of a second’s aim away but the machines were set to fire on him. He let off a shot and pulled himself into cover. The machines let rip and
the Gatlings hammered the tree-trunk in front of him.
Jim jumped off the Doombah, which lay flat on the ground offering him cover. Jane lay down behind another, while a third masked Kitson, lashed into his stretcher. Pierre jumped up and ran for the jungle. He knew who had fired on them: Adash lay in the twisted pile of trees and would try to pick them off.
“No!” shouted Jim. “Wait!” But even if Pierre had heard him over the cacophony of the Doombahs’ barrage, it would have made no difference.
Adash stuck his head up. There was no firing. He realised that unless the laser in the rifle’s sight was trained on the machines they could not see him. He forced the sight off and held the gun up over the line of the trunk. There was no reply. He held the rifle, sat up and aimed, using the aperture sights, at the party lying prone behind their metal guards. He fired and ducked down. A hail of gunfire came from the machines and ripped into the tree-trunk behind which he hid. The firing continued for a few more seconds, then ended.
His enemies were effectively pinned down. He could
intermittently
fire on them and they could not move for fear of being hit. He looked out from his hide at the protecting machines. They stood confounded. He took careful aim and fired.
Jim heard the twang of a bullet on the side of his protecting Doombah.
The others replied.
One more shot and he would move, Adash decided. When the firing subsided he sat up again. He took aim and fired.
*
Jane heard the shot whistle off the top of her Doombah. “Nothing,” Will was saying. “We’ve got nothing but the Doombahs to cover you.”
“We’ll wait until nightfall,” she said, “but I’m not sure Kitson and Jim are going to be in much shape after baking in this sun for six hours.”
“We can lay down a barrage of covering fire for maybe five minutes from the Doombahs, but we need to get them all across the wall and we need to be sure of a fix on the shooter. Five minutes should get you out of range.”
“OK,” said Jane, “but the kid’s gone AWOL.”
“That’s tough,” said Will. “He’s nice to have, but not a mission objective.”
“Roger,” said Jane. Stupid kid, she thought. Brave but stupid. He was lucky to have made it to the wall. If he had any sense he’d keep running and not try to get the shooter, which she knew was exactly what Pierre was planning to do.
There was another shot and the Doombahs fired back.
The trunk in front of Adash was smouldering. It was time for him to pull out and move closer.
Pierre was walking carefully down the denuded zone inside the wall of smashed jungle. The Doombahs were struggling like a collection of giant ants to scale it and one by one they were traipsing to the other side. From the sound of the gunfire, Adash was some way ahead. Pierre knew he would move, because snipers had to or they were killed. This would be Adash’s undoing because as he moved he would show himself, and when he did, it would be the end for him.
Ash was falling from the sky on to the windscreen of the large black Cadillac Escalade. Baz was cursing his luck. Why the fuck had he agreed to come on this trip? Pigs get fed and hogs get slaughtered, he thought. His whole life was about not being so greedy as to get himself slaughtered, and here he was, suddenly the greediest man alive, going to make a meeting with terrorists under the smoke and ash of an erupting volcano.
He had made a big mistake and he knew it. Death was running his cold index finger down Baz’s spine. It wasn’t far to the mine but the convoy of bodyguards in their flash black American SUVs made slow progress over what could hardly be called roads. They wouldn’t reach the camp till three.
They could have choppered in but none of the local pilots was prepared to fly into the Barron mine with the mountain erupting. He didn’t blame them. Rumour had it that the volcano had spewed a huge fireball out into the jungle, and as he looked at the two blazing volcanoes, that seemed totally credible. Julien Julius obviously thought he was a man of destiny, he mused, sourly. He was not afraid of two erupting mountains. He had clearly made a bargain with the devil to ensure that he wasn’t burnt to a crisp like half of the surrounding countryside. Baz wanted to hit the bottle but
that wouldn’t get the job done. He sat in the plush leather of the Escalade, looking like a man with agonising toothache.
Julius was enjoying his companion’s discomfort. Militia were far more dangerous than volcanoes. Volcanoes, in comparison, were more predictable and far less likely to take your life. He had been dealing with the Mai-Mai for fifteen years, so no routine eruption was going to scare him.
Adash was peering down on the party. There were now thirty machines defending them. Could he see the cowering figures below or was he imagining it? The black machines stood sentry, staring ahead, but none seemed to be training their weapons on him. He had found a new vantage-point to shoot from and he had twenty rounds, so he had to be careful not to waste them.
He felt a sharp pain in his cheek. He saw the barrel of a gun.
“I have complete power over you,” said a voice. “Drop the gun and you may live.” The Dog had vengeance in his eyes.
Adash let the carbine fall and it rattled down into the tangle below. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
“I didn’t want you to fall like your rifle. Give me my diamond and I will let you go.”
Adash put his hand into his top pocket.
“No tricks or I will blow your face off.”
Adash’s fingers touched the diamond and he plucked it out.
The boy pressed the gun barrel harder into his face. “Pass it back,” he said, hate and rage in his voice. “Drop it and it will be your last action.”
Adash held his arm backwards, the diamond pincered in three fingers.
“Stay very, very still,” Dog Bites Man hissed. He reached forwards and took the stone with his free hand. Then he stepped back and down. “I keep my promises,” he said.
Adash reached for the dagger in his boot, but just as he pulled it out the boy snapped back, the Kalashnikov aimed at his chest. He saw the knife in Adash’s hand. “I knew you would do that,” he said, looking Adash straight in the eyes. “Did you know I would do this?” He shot Adash in the chest. Adash grabbed the right side of his torso and blood bubbled through his fingers. “You die now,” said the boy, and squeezed the trigger again.
“What have you got?” said Jane, as the second shot rang out.
“Don’t know,” said Will, “but the tag’s moving.”
Pierre climbed into view at the top of the pile of vegetation. He was waving his rifle in an all-clear signal. Jane waved back and he started to descend. “Maybe he’s fragged the sniper,” she said.
Jim sat up: if Pierre was climbing down that wall it seemed unlikely that anyone was going to shoot at him. “Get down,” shouted Jane, and he did so.
Pierre picked his way over the twisted trunks and branches, his head low. He walked slowly towards them, swaying like a slow dancer. He seemed contented. “You can get up,” he called. “I got Adash – I finished him.”
“We’re on our way,” Jane said, into her mouthpiece.
“Pierre, you’re a bloody hero,” said Jim.
Pierre offered him a little smile. “We are kind of even now,” he said.
“Even Stevens,” said Jim.
“Let’s rock,” said Pierre.
“Let’s roll,” said Jim.
“Let’s ride,” said Jane, straddling a Doombah.
Pierre picked up Jim’s rucksack and jumped enthusiastically on to one. It reared up and threw him off. Jane pulled out the control unit. “Let’s try that again,” she said.
Pierre got up. “Maybe I walk.” He laughed. “OK, one more time.” He climbed on and this time the Doombah obliged.
“Hi ho, Silver, away,” said Jim, and off they rode.
Forty Doombahs surrounded them as they rode across the blackened plain, the mountain belching steam and ash behind them.
“The chopper’s going to be here in minutes. We’re nearly home, boys,” said Jane.
They skirted around the deep crater where the tungsten rod had struck. It was hundreds of feet deep, and from where they rode they couldn’t see the bottom. Jim wondered whether the shock had set off the mountain but then he decided that, however immense the explosion had been on the plateau, it was a tiny spark in comparison to the power of the molten magma in the belly of the volcano. How much energy did it take to turn a whole mountain into liquid rock? An unimaginable amount.
They could hear the chopper blades humming in the distance. They’d arrived at the RV. Jim sighed with joy as the sound grew louder. He climbed off the robot and looked towards where the throbbing noise was coming from.
“Over there,” shouted Jane, pointing north as a chopper appeared above the tree-line.
The Doombahs freaked out. The two lead robots turned on the helicopter and opened up on it. They shot at the rotors in a focused burst of fire. Shards of metal flew
everywhere, and Jane knocked Jim and Pierre to the ground, winding them. The helicopter tried to turn to avoid the fire but the blades disintegrated in a hail of metal and it spun out of control. Moments later, it crashed to the ground.
“Holy crap!” yelled Jane, and sprinted for the wreckage. Jim ran after her, with Pierre overtaking him, and the Doombahs galloped behind.
The chopper was smouldering but there was movement in the cockpit. Jane leapt in and hauled out the pilot. While Jim and Pierre led him away, she climbed in to release the
copilot
’s harness, then reappeared with him on her shoulders. She dropped him on to the ground as Jim and Pierre rushed back to pull him clear. He was breathing.
Jane jumped down. “Let’s get away from here in case it blows.” Jim and Pierre dragged the co-pilot away as fast as they could and put him down forty yards away from the helicopter beside the pilot.
Ash fell from the skies like grubby snowflakes.
“Any ideas?” asked Jane, into her mouthpiece.
“We can send another chopper and disable the Doombahs,” said Will.
“Might be tricky to know if we’ve succeeded,” said Bill. “The system has lots of autonomy.”
Jim turned: he could hear a cranky old diesel engine coming up the hill from the valley below. “Christ,” he muttered. It sounded like a bus. There was the scrape of struggling gears and a desperate engine fighting its way up the incline.
“It’s a bus,” said Pierre.
“I hope the Doombahs don’t mind buses,” said Jim, “or the driver’s in for a nasty shock.”
“It might be full of soldiers,” said Jane.
“Soldiers come in trucks not buses,” said Pierre, with certainty.
“What the fuck would a bus be doing up here?” said Jim. “Not that I’d be too proud to take a bus to Goma right now.”
A sky blue bus with a yellow roof appeared on the lip of the plateau. The Doombahs turned towards it and formed a defensive ring around them. The vehicle was struggling towards them, slowing as it approached. The Doombahs watched it quizzically as it ground to a halt.
The shadow of the driver moved behind the windscreen and a squeaky door swung open. John Smith stepped down, grinning. “What have we got here?” he asked. “Oh!” he exclaimed, as ash fell on to his head. “You all look a bit rough, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“What are you doing here?” said Jim.
“I’ve been on my way ever since you texted your lady-friend, but this is a tough place to get to on a peace-time budget.”
“Thank God you’ve come,” said Jane. “The sooner we get out of here the better.”
“I agree,” said Smith. “All aboard.”
The chopper pilot stood up unsteadily and tried to haul his co-pilot to his feet. Jim helped him.
“What the hell are these machines?” asked John.
“Later,” she said. “Are you packing heat?”
“Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”
“Just don’t move.” She pulled a fob from her pack, swabbed and snapped him. “Put this in your pocket and they won’t cut you in half.”
“All right,” said Smith.
“Let’s get Kitson.”
“Kitson!” Smith looked astounded. “You mean he’s not dead?”
“Follow me.”
They walked to the stretcher Doombah.
“Wonders will never cease,” observed Smith.
Jane unstrapped Kitson. “You haven’t got any more medicine, have you?” he wondered.
“Yes,” she said, pulled out a syringe and stuck the needle into him. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jane was the last into the bus. “Stay,” she called to the Doombahs. “There’s good boys.”
“We got it,” said Will in Virginia.
“Let’s rock,” said Jim, who had found a bottle of beer and was prising the top off with his jungle knife.
“Let’s roll,” said Jane.
“Let’s ride,” said Pierre, from where he was nursing Kitson.
“You’re all stark staring bonkers,” said Smith, crashing the gears and lurching off. “There’s a rough old road ahead but if you can stand the shaking we’ll get there.”
Jim called Stafford on Jane’s sat phone. “Send the plane to Goma,” he said.
“Are you all right?” his butler enquired.
“Not really,” said Jim, “but we’ve got Kitson and he’s alive. We need to evacuate him as he’s all smashed up.”
“I’ve arranged that,” said Jane. “Way back.”
“Forget that, Stafford,” said Jim. “I’ll call you later.”
The bus lurched violently to one side.
“Bastards,” roared Smith, as a convoy of Cadillac Escalades passed.
*
“Fuck me,” said Baz, getting out on the plateau. It was like a scene from hell. Barron was gone, replaced by a huge crater and a crashed helicopter. The ash had fallen hard and lay a couple of inches deep on the ground.
“I don’t understand,” said Julius. “What has happened here?”
“Don’t look at me, Julien. I’m not a volcanologist.”
Ash-coloured rocks stood in a ring a couple of hundred yards away, strange yet organic shapes, rather like tombstones. “What are those?” Julius walked towards them, his retinue of guards following.
Baz stared at the closest one. It was weird. He didn’t like it at all. “Where are your people?” he asked, preparing to suggest that they left.
“I don’t know. Something must have happened. Maybe the eruption has made them leave. It is very strange.”
One of Julius’s guards pushed the rock with his foot.
It sprang to life, the ash falling off it – a great black beast. The bodyguard drew his gun and went to shoot. There was a burst of flaming gunfire and he was blown to pieces.
Baz threw himself to the ground, as did Julius. Now all of the stones rose, and as the bodyguards drew their weapons they were torn to shreds in a hailstorm of fire. Within seconds the twelve men were dead. The weapons on the monstrous machines sank back into their flanks.
Julius got to his feet. They didn’t seem interested in him so Baz stood up too – he had very nearly messed his pants. The sight of the carnage made him gag: all that remained of the bodyguards was unidentifiable red pulp. “Let’s get out of here now,” he said desperately.
The machines were looking up at the sky. Julius and Baz followed their gaze.
A fireball was heading swiftly across the heavens, coming directly towards them. Baz had no time to wonder what it was before he was vaporized by the blast. There was no evidence now that he, Julien Julius and his men or the Doombahs had ever been there. In the distance the jungle debris began to burn as the fire god of the volcano exhaled smoke into the sky.