Matthew Reilly: Hell Island

The truck swung in a wide circle away from the rampway, across the open area of clear deck-space at the southern end of the hangar.

Suddenly, with a roar, an ape bounced down onto the bonnet of the truck and blam! Schofield nailed it with one of his two .45 caliber Desert Eagle pistols, throwing the creature off the truck.

Then another ape swung in through the driver’s side window with its gun raised and— blam! —Bigfoot fired across Schofield’s body, sending the gorilla flying away with a yelp.

Then two more apes hung down from the roof of the cab—their heads appearing upside-down, with their M-4s extended—only for Schofield to fire repeatedly up into the ceiling of the cab, hitting the two apes in their chests through the metal of the roof! The pair of apes convulsed violently before sliding off the speeding truck.

“Boss! We can’t keep this up!” Bigfoot called. “It’s only a matter of time till they overwhelm us!”

“I know! I know!” Schofield yelled back, searching for an option.

The big truck swung in its wild circle, absolutely covered by gorillas, flinging some of them clear with the centrifugal force.

Then Schofield saw the port -side exterior elevator.

It was on the ocean side of the ship. Right now, on it was an F-14 Tomcat fighter jet, attached to a low towing vehicle.

Schofield’s eyes lit up. “Hang on.” He gunned the engine and broke out of his circular line of travel, cutting a beeline for the port-side elevator.

“What are you doing!”

“Just get ready to jump…”

They hit the open-air elevator doing sixty, just as two more gorillas jumped down onto the truck’s running boards and wrenched off the doors on either side of the cab—only to be blown away a second later by Schofield and Bigfoot firing across each other.

“Now!” Schofield yelled…

…and he and Bigfoot dived out of the speeding truck, landing in twin rolls on either side of it…

…while the truck continued straight on and shot off the edge of the exterior elevator, sailing through the air, wheels spinning, still covered in a mass of black gorillas, before it crashed down into the sea with a gigantic splash.

Schofield and Bigfoot lay on the open-air elevator, gasping for breath.

“You okay?” Schofield asked. “Still got all your limbs?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so…”

Schofield spun, to see the full ape army staring at him from the other side of the hangar, eighty yards away.

They roared as one and charged.

“Oh, Christ…”

AT THE same time as Schofield was sending his truck to a watery grave, Mother’s truck was sweeping up the access ramp to the flight deck, bearing eight apes on its roof and outer flanks, and being chased by about a hundred more on foot.

It was like escaping from the underworld, pursued by all of its demons.

Mother floored it, slamming the ascending truck into the outer walls of the spiraling ramp-way, losing a couple of apes that way.

In the tray at the back of the truck, Sanchez, Astro and Hulk were doing battle with four apes that had just swung inside.

Sanchez shot one in the chest, while Astro disarmed another and kicked it through the side canvas of the truck, but Hulk wasn’t so lucky. The other two apes took him on together, and in the scuffle one managed to shoot him in the stomach.

Hulk roared in pain—just as the two apes did something totally unexpected: they yanked him off the back of the speeding truck, jumping with him, without any thought, it seemed, to the injuries they themselves would suffer.

Astro saw it all in a kind of surreal slow motion.

He saw Hulk’s eyes go wide as the big man fell to the ramp behind the upwardly-racing truck, gripped by the two gorillas.

Then he saw the onrushing army of apes overwhelm Hulk, choosing to use their M-4s as clubs rather than guns. Astro winced as he lost sight of Hulk amid the mass of black hair.

But even then, not every ape stopped to join in the mauling of Hulk—the rest just kept running, clambering around the gorillas battering Hulk’s body, still chasing the fleeing truck.

“Jesus…” Astro breathed.

And then wham! Mother’s truck burst into gray daylight, into the pouring rain assaulting the flight deck. Uncountable raindrops hammered its windshield.

The four remaining gorillas on the truck made their move.

They converged on the cab in a coordinated manner—swinging down together from the roof, one arriving at each door, the other two landing on the bonnet of the truck, right in front of Mother, guns up.

“Yikes…” Mother breathed.

There was no escape. No chance.

Except…

“Hang on, boys!” she called into her UHF radio.

And with that, she yanked on the steering wheel, bringing the truck into a sharp right-hand turn, a turn that was far too fast for a vehicle of its type.

Gravity played its part.

The truck turned sharply… its inner wheels lifting off the tarmac… and it rolled.

The big truck tumbled across the rain-slicked flight deck, sending the apes on its cab and bonnet flying in every direction. Then it landed on its side and slid for a full sixty feet before coming to rest against the lone Super Stallion helicopter on the deck.

Mother clambered out of the overturned truck, raced to its rear.

“You okay?” she called, crouching to her knees.

Sanchez and Astro lay crumpled against the side wall of the tray, bruised and bloody but alive.

“Come on,” Mother peered back at the ramp. “We gotta keep—”

She cut herself off.

The apes were already at the top of the ramp.

A great crowd of them—easily one hundred strong—now stood on the deck, in the rain, at the entrance to the ramp, grunting and snorting and glaring right at her.

STILL ON her knees, totally exposed, Mother just sighed.

“Game over. We lose.”

The apes charged, raising their guns, pulling the triggers.

Mother shut her eyes.

The sound of gunfire rang out—loud, hard and brutal—and Mother imagined this was the last sound she’d ever hear.

Braaaaaaaaaaaap!

But there was something wrong with this sound.

It was too loud for an M-4, too deep. It was the sound of a much larger gun.

Crouched at the rear of her overturned truck, Mother had never noticed the port-side elevator rise up to deck-level behind her.

Never saw what stood on the open-air elevator: an F-14 Tomcat, pointed right at her.

And in the cockpit of the Tomcat…

…were Shane Schofield and Bigfoot!

Schofield sat in the pilot’s seat, gripping the control stick and jamming down on its trigger.

Sizzling tracer rounds whizzed by Mother on either side, popping past her ears, before razing into the crowd of gorillas beyond her, mowing them down.

The first three rows of gorillas fell at once. The others split up, fanned out, sought cover.

“Mother!” Schofield’s voice said in her ear. “Get out of here! I’ll hold them off!”

“Where can we go?” Mother dragged Astro out of the truck and started running, with Sanchez by her side.

“Get to Casper’s door!” Schofield said cryptically. “Go over the stern! I’ll meet you there!”

Mother did as she was told, hustling to the rear edge of the deck, where she lowered Astro over the side, down to a safety net just below the edge. She and Sanchez then jumped down after him and disappeared inside a hatch.