Colony by Benjamin Cross (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📗

“Still frightened of the big bad bears?”

Callum said nothing but stroked the hair from her cheek.

She closed her eyes. “Wake me when it is my turn on guard.”

He lay down next to her, hands folded on his chest. Then he took the white pebble from his pocket and flipped it through his fingers as the day’s events churned over in his mind. The hide creaked in the wind. The canvas sucked against his arm, and he couldn’t help imagining that the world outside was feeding on him. He pulled his arm away. No sooner had he done so than he felt something fold over his other wrist, not canvas but skin. Now familiar soft fingers slipped in-between his own.

He turned his head slowly. Darya was on her back, facing towards him. Her eyes were open wide and looking deep into his. He could feel the press of her knee against his thigh, making the muscle tense.

“On the canoe, you would say something before—”

Heart racing, he leant forward and kissed her gently. Her lips tasted sweet and exotic, and the warmth of her skin made him forget all about the island and its cloak of mist, the cold, hard rock beneath his shoulders.

When he moved his head away he could see that her eyes were closed once more and she was smiling. As her knee rolled from the outside to the inside of his thigh, he kissed her again.

This time she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

3

“There’s something on the ground.”

“It’s shit.”

“How do you know?”

Koikov spat on the floor. “I’ve stepped in enough.”

The cave was strewn with rocks, and water dripped from the stalactites hanging tooth-like from the ceiling. Up ahead, something lay heaped against the foot of a rock-pile. It wouldn’t have been worth a second thought if it hadn’t been giving off a heat signal.

As they approached it took on form, until it was clearly identifiable as a jumble of clothing. The relief that Koikov felt at finding clothes rather than a dead doctor was fleeting. By now the temperature on Harmsworth was consistently a degree or two above freezing. But even so, why the hell would anybody shed their clothing like this? Something wasn’t right.

The two men pushed back their visors and engaged their rifle lamps. At their feet was a blue, fur-lined jacket, torn and covered in dark stains.

“Blood,” Yudina said.

Koikov nodded.

Curving round from the base of the jacket was a pair of shredded trousers. One of the legs ended in a black leather boot, while the other boot and a glove lay propped against each other a short distance away.

“Do you think these are Semyonov’s things?”

Koikov brought his hand to his throat. “Marchenko.”

“Starshyna?”

“What was Semyonov wearing?”

“White jacket, blue trousers… brown boots. Have you located him?”

“No. What about his guide?”

There was a commotion at the other end of the line. Then, “Starshyna Koikov, this is Lungkaju.”

“What is it?”

“Lambie was with the doctor. He was wearing dark clothes. Dark blue jacket with a hood and dark blue—”

“Jesus Christ!”

Koikov turned to see that Yudina had picked up the glove and was staring into the wrist-hole.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Slowly Yudina turned the glove.

What was left of the wrist itself, splinters of bone and rags of gnarled flesh, dribbled out of the opening. Yudina tossed it back to the floor.

“Starshyna?” came Marchenko’s voice. “Starshyna, what’s your status?”

Koikov thought about ignoring him then grunted, “Hold your position.”

He moved past Yudina and peered inside the removed boot. Chunks of ankle bone and shredded tendon flowered up at him, and he backed away again.

“Is it…”

Koikov nodded. Beads of sweat forming on his brow, he panned his rifle around the cave. Yudina followed suit. The light from their rifle lamps reflected off the moisture on the rock and caused the walls to glisten. It looked as if a million beady eyes were watching them from the shadows. But there was nothing. No movement. No sound, besides their breathing. Nothing.

Koikov brought his weapon back to bear on the heap of clothing. His mind was racing, and the more it raced the more certain he became. He swallowed back the bile in his throat, leant forward, poked the muzzle of his rifle into the main body of the jacket and lifted.

The clothes were arranged around a remnant skeleton. Shattered fingers of rib seemed to burst up out of the chest area, beyond which the partially articulated spinal column curved its way along the back of the jacket and down into the trousers. The pelvis lobes peered up over the belt-line, and the shoulder and collar bones clamoured at the neck area. The internal organs were nowhere to be seen. The bones had been picked entirely clean of flesh.

There was a sudden shrieking sound at the back of the cave, and neither Koikov nor Yudina hesitated. In an instant, the stale air erupted. The sound of automatic fire, of undirected rounds ricocheting off the walls, created a deafening explosion of sound as both men reacted on reflex. Shoulder to shoulder, they strafed the darkness repeatedly, stopping only to change magazines: one, two, three, four… The muzzle flashes illuminated the interior of the cave like an orange and white strobe, animating every rock and shadow and creating more and more fictive targets to draw their aim.

As they fired on, something tore past Private Yudina, causing him to stumble backwards. Koikov ceased fire and turned towards him. The cave fell back into silence.

“Yudina?”

Yudina’s eyes were racked open with shock. His arms dangled loosely at his sides. His rifle, steaming and toy-like as ever in his enormous grip, slid loose and clattered to the floor.

“Yudina! What is it?”

Silence. Yudina stood and stared, a thin line of saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth.

“Private Yudi—”

Without warning, Yudina’s stomach opened horizontally. Like a gaping mouth, his body parted just above the hips, and his intestines teetered, swollen, on the lower lip. Then they rushed out onto the floor, a tongue of red, yellow and