Operation Syria

— 8 —

Maggie was at the doorway with more coffee and another of Wiggins’ smokes when they heard, distant but immediately recognizable, the rat-tat of gunfire, which came sporadically for several minutes before falling quiet. She saw the look that passed over Wiggins’ face.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“It wasn’t one of ours, that’s for sure. That sounded like a bloody cannon.”

“Rebels?

“Possibly. But I’m not leaving you to go and have a look, so keep your knickers on, lass.”

“And any more talk like that, you’ll be counting your teeth in your hands the next time,” she said and smiled to show that she meant it.

Wiggins smiled back.

“Glad I know where I stand. Could you go and tell your people not to worry? They might have heard. Keep them calm. The cap and the lads will be back soon. The sun’s coming up.”

She looked out over the courtyard to see light in the sky through between the houses lining the east-side alleyway. It also meant she had a closer look at the dead spider than she’d wanted.

“There’s something you should know first,” she said and told him about the mosaic and the spider depicted in the center.

“Fucking hell,” Wiggins replied when she was done. “And it’s authentic, this mosaic of yours? Not a modern hoax?”

“Nope, totally kosher,” she replied. “Yon spiders aren’t anything new around these parts.”

“You’d think somebody might have mentioned them, somewhere along the line?”

“Aye, you would. I’m guessing they’ve been keeping away from people, wherever they’ve been. And to answer your next question before you ask it, no, I don’t know why they’re here now. Maybe the rebels found them, disturbed them, got them riled up. But I don’t know for sure.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Wiggins said, looking out over the courtyard.

Maggie saw the worry in his face.

“They’ll be back soon,” he whispered.

“And if they’re not?”

“I’m not even going to think about that for an hour or so yet,” he replied. “But if it comes to it, I’ll call in a ride to get you out of here and Davies and I will go and fetch our pals.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Me too, lass. Me too.”

When Maggie returned to the chamber, Kim was on her knees in the dig and had now uncovered two-thirds of the mosaic. There was nothing new to see that was as startling as the initial reveal of the huge spider in the center but there was one thing that hadn’t been noticeable before. In the upper right quadrant of the mosaic there were other spiders, equally as large as the one in the center, depicted as emerging from a cave in a hillside. The contours of the hill were immediately familiar; it was the same escarpment they were on now, down to a detailed depiction of the old city on the skyline.

When she pointed it out to Jack Reynolds, she quickly discovered he’d lost interest in the archaeology.

“So what?” he said. “Does it help? Does it get us closer to home?”

“It’s why we’re here.”

“Not anymore it isn’t. Did your boyfriend at the door make the call? Are we getting the fuck out of here any time soon?”

“He’s still waiting for the others to come back.”

“Yeah? It’ll be a fucking long wait if that shooting was any indication. Yes, I heard it, loud and clear. If the bloody rebels don’t get to us, then we’ve only got the fucking spiders to worry about.”

“They seem to be keeping their distance. Killing one of them seems to have given them pause.”

“Pause? They’re fucking spiders. Don’t credit them with any kind of critical thinking. We’re rats in a trap in here. They’ll get in. We’ve all seen the movies. They always get in.”

“This is real life,” Maggie said. “This isn’t a movie.”

“Are you sure? Because it feels exactly like a fucking monster movie to me.”

The conversation ended there as Reynolds went to sit against the wall, staring blankly into space. Kim wasn’t speaking either, fully intent on her work with brush and trowel. Maggie envied her the focus, wishing that she had something to keep her mind off poor Jim White, or the impossible dead spider in the courtyard outside.

To make matters worse, she realized she wanted another cigarette. She busied herself in making another pot of coffee, although it had been only half an hour since the last. She never drank any of it, for as she was about to pour she heard a loud curse out in the corridor, then the building echoed with the roar of gunfire.

She headed for the doorway, only realizing when she exited into the corridor that she didn’t have any idea what she might be able to do to help. The shooting was coming from the room opposite, accompanied by some creative swearing.

“Is that all you’ve got, fuckers?”

She looked in and saw Davies at the window, firing out into the street beyond. He let off three more quick shots, then stopped and shouted.

“Watch your three o’ clock, Corporal. They’re headed your way.”

More shots, slightly muffled, came from the front at the main door. Davies turned to look at Maggie, then his gaze went over her shoulder to the chamber beyond.

“Hey, give that a rest.”

She turned to see Reynolds pushing the chamber door closed from the inside, his neck muscles straining with the effort.

Wiggins stopped shooting at the front doorway long enough to shout out.

“Incoming. Multiple bogeys.”

Davies looked to be in two minds, which gave Reynolds enough time to finish what he’d started. The door swung, closing faster. Davies finally stepped forward but was too late to stop it. The last thing Maggie saw was Reynolds’ grim smile before stone rasped loudly against stone and the door shut firm in her face.