The Alma were more than just sneaky; they were already in the dome.
The squad was surrounded.
“Leg it,” Banks shouted. “And if anything tries to stop you, put it down hard.”
They moved out, faster than before, Wiggins and McCally in front, Galloway trying to keep up with them, and Banks and Hynd at the rear, trying not to think what might even now be loping at their back and reaching out for them. Their sight-lights flashed and bounced with their running steps, illuminating floor and cage, dome, and vegetation.
“Contact rear!” Hynd shouted, and Banks came to a stop, and whirled, his light joining that of Hynd in lighting up an Alma coming headlong for them in the enclosed walkway. It took six shots to put it down, and by the time the two of them turned back, the other three men were twenty yards away along the walkway, almost at the exit into the enclosures beyond. Two Alma dropped out of the trees into the space between them.
We’re being outflanked.
Hynd and Banks looked at each other, nodded, and headed straight for the Alma at a run, firing as they went, aiming high enough that they wouldn’t miss and hit their own men. One of the two Alma took fright and leapt away, a prodigious jump that took it immediately up and away into the darkness in the trees above. The other one wasn’t so easily swayed, and stood its ground even as bullets whistled around it. Finally, Banks got lucky and a shot hit the beast on the left shoulder, spinning it around and exposing its belly. Hynd didn’t need to be told; he put two bullets in it and by the time they reached it, the Alma had sunk to its knees, holding the wounds as if trying to stem the gush of blood.
Banks barely slowed. He put a bullet between its eyes and kept running.
McCally and Wiggins waited at the opening into the domes beyond just long enough for Banks and Hynd to catch up, then they were off again, and now Banks was keenly aware of the empty space around them. They might be safe here from any Alma falling out of trees, but as they ran down the center of the wide concrete walk area, he felt naked and exposed, fearing a fresh barrage of thrown rocks that would tumble them all away like skittled pins in a bowling alley.
Now the only noise was the slap of their feet on the floor, and a soft whistle of a breeze coming through the broken glass of the domes. A fog was rolling in again, cast green by the curtain of aurora and throwing the whole complex under a soft, almost luminescent glow. They sped past the pen that had kept the big cat, and, for the first time in a while, Banks wondered what had become of it; the wolves were dealt with and, he hoped, the Alma would now be wary of mounting any new attacks for a while. But the lion was still an unknown quantity, and he’d be happier if he knew it too wasn’t lurking nearby, waiting for its moment to strike.
Let’s just get to safety. No sense in worrying about something that might never happen.
The snow hare pen was still quiet and empty, and they ran, unimpeded, straight past it and out the double doors, into the main reception area.
And that’s where Banks found his lion.
- 21 -
They surprised it at a meal. It sat, hunched over another of the snow hares, its snout and front paws looking blood-black in the light of Wiggins’ sight light as it played across the beast’s head and flanks. In the gloom, and with the faint green glow hanging everywhere, it looked even larger than before, and almost spectral. When it turned its gaze on them, Banks felt it in his soul, and felt his knees go weak again.
And before the squad even had time to fully react to this new arrival, howls of fury echoed in the dome behind them, and the slap of large, naked, feet on concrete carried in the still of the night.
“A rock and a fucking hard place, right enough,” Hynd muttered.
The cave lion lay between them and the staircase that Banks had been heading for. They might be able to put it down before the Alma arrived, but seeing the size of it, Banks knew that the chances were only fifty-fifty at best.
“Plan B,” he said softly, keeping his voice to a low monotone that wouldn’t startle the beast. “We make for the Lear Jet. At least that’s defensible if it comes to it.”
He sidled to his left, and the team followed quickly, all staying in a tight unit with Galloway in the middle. The lion watched their every move, but as yet showed no sign of being concerned. That abruptly changed when another howl of rage, closer now, came through from the domed complex. The lion’s head came up, its ears pricked, and it dropped a lump of meat, already forgotten, between its paws as it rose, its attention fully on the doorway as three large adult Alma came through at a run.
Banks moved fast, leading the squad around the wall of the room. The Alma saw him, and roared again. The lion roared back at them, and attacked.
The reception area was suddenly full of noise—roaring and snarling, wails of pain and howls of fury. Teeth bit, claws tore, and everything was a blurred tumble of ginger alma and gray cat in a rolling maul across the floor.
The way to the staircase was clear for now, but Banks made a split second decision against it, and headed for the main door out to the runway. Blood sprayed, sending a hot mist in the air, but the fury of the fight was so intense it was hard to tell which of the animals had taken an injury.
And I’m not going to hang about to check.
He led the team out into the fog.
Almost immediately, all sound from the raging battle in reception area was muffled, and within three paces, the noise was almost deadened completely. The fog felt thick, wet against their cheeks, glowing softly green but impenetrable; their lights scarcely illuminated anything beyond arm’s length.
Banks pointed his weapon down to light the ground at his feet and walked quickly in a straight line, only stopping when he hit the edge of the tarmac and the start of the boggy ground. Then he followed the edge of the runway, heading northwest, knowing that they’d reach the Lear Jet before anything else.
The fuselage loomed ahead of him seconds later, but when he reached the doorway, his heart sank. The Alma had got here first. The door was gone, pulled off its hinges and thrown God knows where. Inside the plane was a ruin of torn upholstery, scattered luggage, and smeared shite.
“Sarge, you and Wiggo check the hold,” Banks said. “If our kit bags are still there, fetch them. We’re going to need all the help we can get from here on in.”
Galloway stood at Banks’ shoulder. The scientist looked pale, his eyes sunken in dark shadows, and his pallor was gray and waxy.
“How’s the ankle holding up?” Banks asked.
“It isn’t,” Galloway said. “But I can keep up, for now. I don’t know for how long though.”
I don’t either.
Banks didn’t say it. He’d lost two of his three charges already; he wasn’t about to lose the third, wounded or not.
I’ll carry him if I have to.
Hynd and Wiggins came back into view through the fog, each carrying a kit bag.
“Got everything we could salvage, Cap,” Hynd said. “It’s not much.”
“It’s better than nothing, so I’ll take it.”
He gathered the squad around him.
“We can’t go back into the complex; it’s not secure. And we’re not going anywhere far in this fog. But the angry beasties are fighting each other right now, and we can only hope it stays that way. So my plan’s simple; we head out onto the moor, find a hole, and stay in it until the sun comes up. It’s going to be cold, it’s going to be wet…”