The Genesis Plague

66

‘Oh that is some nasty shit.’ Disgusted, Private Miguel Ramirez aimed his light down on the slippery red goop smeared over the rocks. Seeing that some of the slime was dangling between his fingers — long strands of black hair clumped together by mocha-coloured skin — stimulated his gag reflex. So he looked away, flung the fleshy chunks off his fingers, and wiped his hand clean on his pants.

‘Man up, Ramirez. We’ve got work to do,’ Shuster said.

The pallid marine slid down the steep rock pile and cycled a few calming breaths.

‘You good?’ Shuster asked.

‘I’m good,’ Ramirez unconvincingly replied. He pulled the M-16 off his shoulder and slid the flashlight into the mounting clip on the rifle’s muzzle.

‘All right,’ Shuster said. ‘I’ll take the lead. Ramirez, you’re behind me … then Holt.’ He turned to address the surprisingly resolute Kurd, whose primary concern seemed to be the handgun, which he handled as if it were on fire. But the man had plenty more to worry about, because up close in the glow of the flashlight, Shuster now noticed how pale Hazo looked. The tiny veins in his eyes now formed a web of red around his irises. It wasn’t the most opportune time to come down with a cold. ‘Hazo, you’ll be in the rear. Keep a safe distance, and if for some reason we have company in here, don’t wait around to ask questions. Just make it out as fast as you can. Understand?’

Hazo nodded.

‘You remember how to use the gun?’ he said pointing to the M9.

‘I do.’ The words brought a scratchy tickle to the back of Hazo’s throat. He buried his mouth in his sleeve and coughed to alleviate the discomfort. He could feel a tightness settling into his lungs.

‘All right. Here we go.’ Shuster used his sleeve to mop the sweat from his eyes, then directed his M-16 straight down the tunnel. The muzzle-mounted flashlight cut four metres into the darkness, revealing solid rock. He felt like he was staring into the entrance to Hell itself. Even with all his military training and field experience, he wasn’t prepared for a hostile encounter in this environment. Should an enemy be lurking in the shadows, there’d be no choice but to face him head on — no cover, nowhere to run. The light would provide plenty of warning to anyone hunkered down in the darkness, mark a clear target even for a novice shooter. The weighty Kevlar-lined flak jacket that covered Shuster’s chest offered little solace, feeling like nothing more than tissue paper. And at close range, he felt that his combat helmet would shield his skull no better than a Tupperware bowl.

Shuster set off down the passage. The tunnel ran straight for fifteen metres and felt perfectly level underfoot. With the scuffing of boots and the clattering of gear, it was difficult for him to hear anything. So every few metres, he’d signal for the procession to stop. Then he’d listen for any sounds that might be emanating from within the mountain. When all went still, however, the only noise he detected was the wheezing sounds coming from Hazo’s chest.

Fifteen minutes had elapsed since they’d left the entry point forty metres back. The ground began to gradually pitch downward as the passage narrowed and began curving in a wide arc.

As they went deeper, the cool air got thinner.

The passage straightened again, just before the ceiling seemed to disappear. When Shuster aimed his light upward, he felt like he was staring up from the bottom of a crevasse — as though a colossal axe had cleaved the inside of the mountain. Instead of opening into sunlight, however, the sheer walls tapered gradually inward until fusing once more about ten metres up.

Shuster halted the procession once more to listen for activity.

This time, he thought he heard something. And it wasn’t the Kurd’s stuffy chest. The lofty ceiling was amplifying a sound that seemed to be carrying up from inside the mountain.

‘What the hell is that?’ Ramirez whispered.

‘Don’t know,’ Shuster said. The persistent churning sounds were difficult to place, but didn’t seem to indicate a human source. ‘Maybe an underground water source. Like an aquifer or an underground river.’ He pressed forward.

‘Wait,’ Ramirez protested.

Shuster stopped and turned back to the private. ‘What?’

‘That doesn’t sound like water to me. I don’t like it.’

‘Only one way to find out,’ Shuster said, motioning ahead. But Ramirez wasn’t moving.

‘I say we tell Crawford to go fuck himself. Let him send his robot down there.’

‘Hey!’ Holt interrupted. ‘I saw something moving up there.’

Shuster spun and took aim with his M-16. He swung the light side to side, up and down. Ahead, the passage was still.

‘Oh that’s it,’ Ramirez said, repeatedly looking back the way they’d come. ‘I’m getting the fuck out of here.’

‘No you’re not,’ Shuster said. Shaking and fidgeting like a caffeine junky, Ramirez clearly had an extreme case of jitters. ‘Pull yourself together, will you?’

Hazo shimmied past Holt, saying, ‘Excuse me, please.’

Confused, Ramirez backed up to the wall to let the Kurd through. ‘Where are you going?’

Hazo didn’t answer. When he tried to squeeze past Shuster, the corporal grabbed him by the arm, saying, ‘Hold up, Hazo.’ He glanced back at Ramirez. ‘I’m not about to send our interpreter to do your job. Ramirez, be a man for God’s sake.’ He patted Hazo on the shoulder and motioned for him to return to the back of the line. ‘We’re got a plan. Let’s stick to it. Stop wasting time.’

Shuster raised his M-16 and moved forward.

‘You’re a pussy, Ramirez,’ Holt said, giving the dissenter a prodding push.

‘Fuck you. You would’ve been right behind me and you know it.’