The Genesis Plague

72

The container’s hi-tech interior baffled Corporal Shuster. Overhead, the fluorescent tubes looked like the ultraviolet lights one would find in a plant nursery — something used to mimic nourishing sunlight. The oxygen-rich air was redolent with an ammonia-like scent.

Mounted like cubbyholes along the side walls were seven levels of adjoined Plexiglas cells. Each cell was the size of a foot-locker and had a clear hinged front panel that was vented with a dense grid of tiny air holes.

Cages? wondered Schuster.

All the front panels were tilted wide open by a mechanized piston so that whatever had inhabited the cages seemed to have been set free. When was anyone’s guess. Inspecting one of the cages, he saw a thick wire mesh bottom with a tray liner that angled towards a slot on the side wall. Perforated tubes looping around the tray’s edges were likely intended to flush away waste.

But there was plenty of waste on the floor. Liquid and grape-sized pellets — black against the purple light — oozed between the grated floor panels as he stepped over them. He crouched down for a better look, but recoiled from the acrid stench. Coating almost every surface were short black hairs, as straight as pins. Millions of them.

Along the back side of each cage, a dozen short metal tubes with rolling ball ends protruded from the wall like nipples. He used his index finger to push in on one of the tips. Milky fluid streamed out over his fingertips. He held his fingers to his nose. Oddly, it smelled like wheat beer. A feeding system, he guessed. Probably linked into the PVC supply lines he’d seen running up to the ceiling.

Air pumped in from above. Food pumped in from above, he pondered.

By all appearances, it seemed as if the whole operation was automated from the outside.

Ramirez brushed aside the plastic flaps and made his way inside. He came to a stop after two steps. ‘What kind of freaky shit is this?’ He buried his nose in his sleeve.

‘Breeding kennels, I think,’ Shuster said.

Ramirez wasn’t buying it. ‘For what?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Maybe Al-Qaeda’s selling puppies on the black market to fund the jihad.’

‘Funny.’

Shuster tried to figure how many creatures one cage might have accommodated, but without knowing the size of one of them, it was tough to crunch the numbers. If the other six containers were of the same design, he guessed that the mystery brood could conservatively number in the thousands.

‘Who could have built this?’ Ramirez asked.

Shuster shook his head. ‘Got me.’

‘Creepy,’ Ramirez muttered. He sidestepped the corporal and paced slowly along the aisle, trying to make sense of it all.

Standing outside the container, Private Holt swept his disbelieving gaze over the sophisticated installation that had been constructed inside the cave. Definitely no small operation. Just how deep beneath the mountain was he standing, anyway?

He peered through the container’s door and could see Ramirez and Shuster pacing back and forth along the centre walkway. Then he turned to see what the Kurd was up to. Not far from where they’d entered the cave, Hazo was using a flashlight to inspect what looked like a hole in the wall. The surrounding blackness made it appear that the interpreter was floating in space.

‘Everything all right over there, Hazo?’ he called out, his voice echoing through the cave.

Hazo signalled that he was okay.

Then the ventilation system’s motor turned off with a loud thunk, startling Holt.

‘Hey,’ he called into the container. ‘Did you guys switch the air off?’

‘No,’ Shuster called back. ‘It’s probably on a timer. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Right,’ Holt said, calming himself. But when the fan whirred to a stop, other sounds masked by the humming motor suddenly came to the foreground. It took a moment for his ears to adjust, but the sounds were definitely there — subtle scratching noises. The vast space made it difficult to discern where they were coming from, but they seemed loudest towards the rear of the cave. ‘Guys, I hear something weird out here.’

No answer.

‘Guys?’ He peered into the container and could see Ramirez talking to Shuster, bitching loudly. The sounds persisted. Scratching. Shifting and shuffling. Holt aimed his M-16 towards the disturbance, moved the light slowly from right to left through the soupy darkness, but saw nothing.

The more he listened to the sounds, the more he tried to convince himself they were nothing at all. Probably some other piece of machinery buried deeper in the cave that was in need of a little grease.

Holt moved stealthily down the excavated path, pausing outside the door of each container and glancing into its interior. There was no movement inside any of them. What exactly were these things? he wondered.

As he cornered the final container, the noises grew louder. Much louder. He deliberated on whether to investigate or turn back. Then his light settled on a wide opening in the cave’s rear wall.

He stood perfectly still and angled his right ear for a better listen.

Now he was certain that the noises were coming from inside the burrow. What if the terrorists were holed up in there waiting to make a move?

He looked back and saw Ramirez coming out from the first container, Shuster right behind him. When Ramirez didn’t see Holt, he got nervous and began hunting the darkness with his light. ‘Holt! Where’d you go?’

‘Over here,’ Holt called out quietly, reluctant to draw attention to himself so close to the tunnel.

Ramirez shined his light directly into Holt’s eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Hey! You’re blinding me!’ Holt said in a loud whisper.

The light diverted away.

‘Sorry.’

‘I hear something over here,’ Holt said, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m gonna check it out.’ He blinked a few times, but Ramirez’s light had spotted his vision.

‘Go ahead … I’ll be right over,’ Ramirez said, peering into the other containers as he drew closer. He waved agitatedly for Holt to move on.

Reluctant, Holt levelled his rifle and advanced towards the opening. Once inside, he hesitated and shone the light into the tunnel. The passage looked similar to the one that had brought them into the cave — a wide conduit cutting through rock with a quarter of a metre to spare overhead. The ground pitched steadily downwards into a sharp bend that curved out of sight about ten metres from where he was standing. Whatever was causing the disturbance was definitely in there.

‘Damn.’ Despite the subterranean chill, he had to wipe sweat from his forehead. Wait for Ramirez. Not safe. Wait for Ramirez … his mind kept repeating.

Ramirez’s shrill voice called out, ‘Keep going, you pussy … I’ll be right there!’

Holt groaned in frustration. Overriding his inner alarm, he pressed onward.

This isn’t smart. You’re being stupid. Turn around … he thought.

The ground was tricky underfoot with lots of jagged edges that pushed upward like petrified fingers. Holt tried his best to dismiss any notion that they would suddenly come to life and grab at his boots.

There are no such things as demons, he began repeating over and over again in his mind. That Kurd is whacko.There are no such things as demons …

As the light rose and fell over the rough walls, Holt’s eyes began playing tricks with him, thanks to Ramirez shining the light right in his eyes. Circles of floating colours drifted like phantasms over his field of vision. He flicked his eyelids rapidly, hoping to make them go away. They didn’t.

As he followed the bend, he raised his M-16 higher on his shoulder, stared down the muzzle. Whatever was making the noises, he was certain of one thing: there were no friendly targets in this godforsaken underworld. So if anything moved — anything at all — he would shoot first, ask questions later.

The sounds intensified, throwing his senses into high gear.

Definitely didn’t sound like a machine. Or terrorist, either.

Ssssst.

Chssst.

Fffffsss.

Ssssssssssst.

He paused to crank his courage up a notch. Instead, his anxiety ballooned. The walls seemed to constrict around him as if he’d been swallowed by a gargantuan snake. His chest started heaving. He fought to catch his breath. He lowered his weapon and used his sleeve to blot more sweat from his spotty eyes.

Something tapped his shoulder from behind and he let out a bloodcurdling scream. In the same instant, he whirled fiercely and tweaked his ankle. When he tried to bring the rifle up for a shot, the muzzle hit the wall hard enough to shatter the element in his light.

‘Whoa! Relax!’ Ramirez yelled out, holding out his hand. ‘Calm the fuck down. You scream like a girl. I’m not the Boogeyman.’

‘What the fuck!’ Holt screamed. ‘Why are you sneaking up on me like that!’

‘Sorry,’ Ramirez said. ‘Sorry. Geez, you sound like my niece when I take her on a roller coaster. Take the skirt off, Sally.’

Holt took a few seconds to compose himself.

Ramirez couldn’t help but laugh.

Holt laughed too, and it felt good. ‘Scared the crap outta me, you—’

The droning from deep within the tunnel suddenly whipped up like a raging tempest.

Ramirez’s smile went flat. He took a step back and brought his rifle up high. ‘What the …’

Before Holt could turn to see what was emerging from the shadows, he saw Ramirez’s eyes go wide with terror. ‘Holy shit! Get out of the way!’

Fully panicked, Holt refused to look back. He scrambled towards Ramirez, clumsily barrelling into him when he tried to squeeze past. Both men went down.

‘What the fuck!’ Ramirez shouted, scrambling to his knees and reaching for his M-16.

Holt’s frantic hands swept the ground, probing for his weapon. His fingers registered something. But it wasn’t steel — it was spongy. And it bit him. Then came another deep bite on his thigh. ‘Ahh!’

Ramirez was back on his feet and shone the light on Holt. His blood went cold as thousands of eyes glared back at him.