Operation: Sahara

-Davies-

Davies had been sleeping again, standing upright in the doorway leaning against the wall. He had no idea how long he’d been out, only that the sun had passed across above and was now starting its descent above the high end of the city.

You stupid bugger. You could have gotten yourself eaten.

There was no sound from down in the stairwell, no indication that any beetle had climbed up to take advantage of his lapse. And the sleep had done him some good after all; he felt rested now and, after a smoke and some chocolate from his vest, he felt alert.

But where are the lads?

He hadn’t heard any gunfire since his initial flight and once again the old fear of being trapped and alone bubbled to the surface. He pushed it away angrily. Fear was of no use to him here. To try to counter it he took inventory; he had his rifle with two spare mags in his vest, he had a handgun with a full clip and four grenades slung at his belt. Not enough to take on an army but it should be plenty to keep him alive until backup arrived.

If it ever comes.

He pushed the thought away again and, to take his mind off it stepped over to look over the balcony to the city below. The streets lay in shadow now that the sun had passed, shifting darkness that obscured doorways and alleyways in impenetrable darkness. There could be any number of beetles down there, and he’d never know until he stepped into their midst.

He resolved to stay in place and wait, but the more darkness gathered the more he doubted his strategy. Had he come high enough? How would the others find him if he stayed quiet and hiding? As the sun went down over the highest part of the city and his position was thrown into shadow, he decided to stop second guessing himself and do something about it.

I need to get out of here. I need to get higher.

He stepped through the doorway, switched on his gun light and took his first step down the stairwell.

He immediately regretted his decision and almost stepped back onto the balcony but part of him was still back in his dream, still cowering between rubbish bins at the base of a tower block in Easterhouse. Stepping back now would be like admitting he was still the scared lad, hiding in the dark. His tormentors in Easterhouse would have thought twice about taking on the man who smiled grimly, grabbed his rifle tight, and took a second step.

He took the steps slowly, taking care not to make a sound, not even a scrape of shoe on stone. The stairwell wound down and around the interior of the turret so he could never see more than a few feet ahead of him at any point but there was no hint that the beasts were anywhere close, no droning, no scramble of talons on rock and no trace of the acrid odor he’d come to associate with them. His confidence grew with every safe step downward but was quickly shattered on reaching the foot of the stairwell.

He looked out over the market area he’d seen from above. The air was still and quiet and the marketplace was cast in deep shadow now, but not too deep to hide the almost hemispherical domes that littered the whole area in sizes varying from man-sized up to several as big as automobiles. None were paying attention to him; all had their legs and heads pulled in and shells resting on the stony ground. But the alley he needed to take was off to his right and in order to get higher in the city Davies was going to have to walk among at least some of the beasts without them noticing him.

His first thought was to retreat back up the stairwell to the balcony, but the decisions he’d made to come down from there still applied. He had to get higher, that was the single greatest imperative. Okay, there were beasties in his way. But they hadn’t seen him yet. Once again he brought to mind his time in Glasgow; he’d evaded tormentors through stealth and cunning back then and those guys, while being none too smart, certainly had the beating of these beetles when it came to conviction.

You can do this.

He took a step out into the marketplace.

Nothing stirred. The oval domes lay there like strategically placed sculptures in a modern art museum. Emboldened, Davies took another step, then another. He skirted one of the larger specimens, marvelling at the rainbow sheen of its shell and the sheer impression of brute strength its solidity gave off. He treaded carefully amid the creatures, moving slowly, almost in slo-mo, even when his every instinct was just to leg it and hope for the best.

He was halfway to his goal of the alley entrance when the nearest beast to him, a specimen almost seven feet long, stirred and raised its shell. A leg came out, only six inches from his foot and a long talon that looked almost metallic scratched at the stone with a shriek like fingernails on a blackboard.

Davies went still, as if playing a childhood game of statues, one foot raised mid-step, the other now only four inches from the scratching talon.

Three inches now, and the talon scratched again, harder this time, the resultant noise louder, more insistent. Several other of the shells stirred as if in response and that was Davies’ signal to move. He threw caution to the wind and ran full tilt for the alleyway.

It was only ten yards but he almost didn’t make it; one of the larger creatures blocked his way. He had to make a quick decision: go round or go over. Over was faster. He leapt onto the thing’s back. As soon as it took his weight it shifted, rising up and threatening to overbalance him but his momentum was just enough to keep him moving forward. As he leapt off and into the mouth of the alleyway the characteristic high wailing drone rose behind him. By the time he’d gone up three steps he heard scrambling and scratching on stone at his back. He turned, rifle raised, to see the creature he’d just vaulted stuck firm in the mouth of the alleyway.

He considered firing, decided that the noise might do more harm than good and left the beast scrambling there while he turned for the stairs. He looked back after he’d taken thirty of them; smaller beasts were now clambering over the large one and beginning a pursuit.

But I’ve got a head start. That’s better than I could have hoped for.

He went up the flight of steps at a dead run, two at a time, another trick he’d learned young in the tower blocks.

He knew they were behind him. He could envision them packed shoulder to shoulder and legs to shells in a swarming mass coming up the alleyway like lava under force. He didn’t turn to look, concentrating instead on speed and surefootedness on the steps. When he arrived at the top of the alleyway he was on another concourse, one that ran high along the canyon close to the upper rim. There were no dwellings here; it had a sense of being a viewing platform for the city below, like a visitor’s area on a great dam. Over to the east, darkness was already engulfing the city while above him the highest ramparts still gleamed redly in the last of the sun.

Davies looked across the causeway, hoping for another alleyway to lead him to the tops. This time he was out of luck. The concourse stretched away to the right and left on either side of him. Across the way, at this point at least, there was only the rocky wall of the canyon. Going left meant heading back in the direction of the main city. Going right would at least keep him in twilight for the time being and there were high towers in that direction, the very topmost part of the city, still basking in the last of the sun, jutting up above the canyon wall like tombstone teeth.

He barely slowed, went right, and broke into a sprint.

He only turned a minute later when the high droning wail of the beasts took on an even higher pitch that sounded almost excited. He looked back over his shoulder and almost tripped over his feet; he had been found. The beasts were only fifty yards behind, a wall of them stretching across the concourse and filling with a black wave that rolled forward like a breaker in a high sea.

Davies set his gaze on the nearest of the high towers ahead; it was now his only hope in a race for safety.

It was going to be touch and go. Halfway to the tower he looked back again. The black wave was still coming, barely twenty-five yards behind now, close enough that he heard the scrape and scramble of talons on stone even above their insistent wailing drone. He tasted the acrid odor of them at the back of his throat. His breath came hard and heavy, his legs feeling as if they were on fire, and he knew that a single stumble would be the end of him; they would be onto him before he had time to rise. A black doorway at the base of the nearest tower became his single point of focus. It was thinking of Glasgow again that gave him a last spurt of energy; he hadn’t let them catch him back then.

I’ll be buggered if I’ll be caught now.

He reached the doorway only yards ahead of the rushing horde and almost cried in relief when an open hallway led to a spiral stairwell similar to the one he’d used before. He went up two turns before taking a second to unhook a grenade from his belt. That moment’s pause was almost fatal; one of the smaller beasts, two feet long but full of fury, snipped with a pincer and Davies felt it scrape bone at his ankle. There was wet heat as blood flowed in his boot.

Trusting that the structure had survived this long and would take the blast, Davies kicked the attacking beast away, pulled the pin between his teeth and lobbed the grenade down the stairwell. He saw it bounce away, he turned and bounded up the steps, two paces, then threw himself face down as a blast of heat and light washed around him.

His ears rang, the hair at the back of his head was singed, and he still felt blood pool in his left boot from the wound the beast had given him, but when he turned and looked back, the stairwell was full of smoke…and empty of beetles.

He made it up to the top of the stairs at a hobble, listening all the time for the scrape of talon on stone. The ringing in his ears slowly subsided, at the same time the pain in his ankle grew to a white-hot flare. He was almost at the limit when he saw dim light ahead and one circuit of the stairwell later brought him out onto a high balcony. Stars were beginning to twinkle into view to the east while to the west he looked down into what appeared to be a several miles wide crater; the valley emerged at this point onto an extinct volcano of an age that could only be guessed at. Davies had more important matters on his mind; his ankle was still bleeding, and in his already weakened state every ounce of blood was needed.

He sat with his back to the parapet, rolled up his trouser leg and eased off his left boot and sock. He saw bone gleam inside a three-inch gaping wound that was oozing blood. He set about patching himself up.

It was a fraught process, what with having to keep one eye on the stairwell while also performing some rudimentary stitchwork. The cut edges were razor straight, which helped with the needlework, and a shot, as small as he thought he could get away with, of morphine took the edge off the pain. He bandaged it up as tight as he could bear and put his sock and boot back on; he might not be able to manage that later if the wounded area swelled up. The morphine kicked in and took the pain down to a dull ache and after a smoke he felt almost in control.

For now.

But he wouldn’t be doing any more running any time soon, that was for sure. It wouldn’t take much pressure on the wound to open up his stitching, and that was before taking into account the pain that he knew was just waiting to reassert itself.

He sat there in the growing dark, nerves tingling, rifle pointed at the doorway, and waited to see if the beasts would find him. If that happened, he intended to take as many of the bastards with him as his ammo would allow.