A. Colucci - The Colony

He looked at Paul curiously. “What do you want, Doctor?”

“Give me the queen.”

“You mean this?” Garrett took the specimen bottle from his pocket. He rolled it around in his fingers. “Anything else?”

“You have to call off the bombing.”

Garrett stared back at the helicopter, shielding his eyes from the glare. It was fast approaching and he could make out the pilot. He waved his arms again, ignoring Paul.

“You won’t get away with it,” Paul said. “I’m not going to let you bomb this city.”

The colonel smiled shrewdly, taking a few more steps closer to Paul. “But you will. And do you know why? These ants are a weapon to end all wars. They possess the power to disarm every nation. If you turn me in, the nuclear race will continue and tens of thousands of people will have died for nothing. You have the fate of the world in your hands, Doctor. Now tell me, as a human being, what should you do?”

Paul aimed the gun, but it was shaking. The Blackhawk was coming in for a landing. He could see its massive shape to his left, and hear the loud engine, feel the rush of wind from the blades that threw him off balance.

Garrett stepped closer.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

Garrett squared his shoulders. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

After a long moment, Paul dropped the gun.

The colonel nodded. “You haven’t got the guts.”

“I haven’t got the bullets.” Paul lurched forward and punched the colonel in the stomach with his fist, but it felt like granite to his knuckles.

Garrett pushed him easily aside, then swept his foot into Paul’s bloodied thigh.

Paul snorted in agony and went down, throwing his arms out for balance. Anger blunted the pain and he lunged for Garrett. Paul was surprised at the strength of the older man as they grappled.

Garrett dropped the specimen jar and watched it roll across the roof. “I’m going to kill you,” he hissed. The words sent Paul reeling and the two men fell to the blacktop. Garrett straddled Paul and struck several blows to his face. They seemed to come out of nowhere. Paul reached a hand to his bloodied nose but several body punches knocked the wind from his lungs and left him dizzy and coiled over. He tried to recoup and swung wildly but missed.

The helicopter was hovering overhead. The pilot yelled something from a megaphone but Paul could barely hear anything over the engine and the ringing in his ears as Garrett connected with more punches to his head: five quick jabs to the temple and cheeks, a sharp right hitting his eye.

A dazzling spotlight hit the two men. The colonel shielded his eyes with the crook of his arm and yelled something to the pilot.

Paul made his move. He grabbed the colonel’s neck and shifted all his strength, rolling onto Garrett with a rage he never knew existed. He pressed down hard, squeezing his hands tight, as the colonel choked and struggled for breath, his face becoming mottled red. Paul could feel the body beneath him losing fight and slightly relaxed his grip, fearing he would kill the man, but his fingers stayed locked.

Garrett managed to turn his head and flung his arm to the ground, touched the barrel of the Glock. He reached for it, eased it closer until his palm gripped the handle. He smashed the gun into Paul’s temple.

Paul let out a grunt, clutching his forehead while Garrett crawled away, sputtering and heaving and finding himself cornered at the edge of the roof. Above their heads the helicopter was beating down on them.

Garrett sprinted toward the landing site, but Paul tackled him. Again they were rolling on the blacktop but this time at the edge, five stories above the sidewalk. Heaving every ounce of his weight, Paul forced Garrett’s head over the ledge, then his shoulders, until finally half of the colonel’s body was suspended in air. Now Paul could hear the pilot shouting over the thwatting blades:

“Step away from the officer! We will shoot you!”

Garrett frantically grabbed at Paul’s shirt collar, wrenching himself higher until they were face-to-face. Baring his teeth, he hissed, “You’re going down with me, O’Keefe. With any luck you’ll break my fall.”

Paul clawed at the slick blacktop, but it was futile. He was slipping, and he looked down in terror at the cement below.

A shot rang out.

Blood splattered across the roof.

KENDRA STARED AT THE glowing face of the watch strapped to her wrist and illuminating the time: 5:55. It wasn’t just despair and fatigue slowing her down. She felt woozy, with all-over body aches, as if she were coming down with the flu. The ant venom was still surging through her veins, hot and angry, while the cold temperature in the tunnel was affecting her muscles, making them stiff and slow. She struggled to fight off a feeling of hopelessness.

“Can’t stop now,” she said aloud. But Kendra had five minutes to make it to the roof. She thought about Paul anxiously waiting for her, holding off the soldiers in the chopper, who were most likely ready to hightail it out of the city, as the bombers came charging over the horizon. We can’t wait any longer, Dr. O’Keefe!

Kendra swore under each breath and tears welled in her eyes; for a moment all she could do was collapse against the metal. “ Damn it, Paul. I can’t do this.”

She lifted her head and was struck by a bright red light. Just possibly, she thought, it might signal the end of the tunnel. It was enough to get her moving. The pain subsided, along with the dizziness, and in that moment she found boundless energy and scrambled for the exit.

Kendra threw herself against the last door and found herself sprawled on a dirt floor. Lying perfectly still on her back, she stared up at the caged black lightbulb in a circular room cut from the earth. The smell of damp soil hovered in the air. A metal ladder stood at one end. She had reached the south exit.

Kendra coughed and drew a wheezing breath of relief. Now all she had to do was climb three hundred feet in about a minute.

“Piece of cake,” she said, and pulled herself to her feet. Her white sweater glowed violet under the black light.

Kendra grasped the first rung. “You can do this,” she coaxed sternly. “You did it twice before.” But that was with Paul, and now she seemed so alone, so exhausted. Kendra grabbed each rung white-knuckled, taking deep breaths.

She moved quickly at first, thinking of nothing but the next rung. Then she suddenly stopped. All at once the bottom seemed to drop out from below and taking another step became impossible. She was shaking and covered in sweat. It was as if her arms and legs were still climbing but she wasn’t getting anywhere. Fear struck with pounding force and the walls of the cavern began to close in. Kendra sensed their rough exterior just inches from her face and nearly slipped off the ladder, disoriented.

She squeezed her eyes tight.

“How far to the top?” she asked in a small voice. She could feel the flutter on her wrist, light, comforting wisps. Butterfly kisses.

Kendra didn’t know how long she stayed on the ladder, but her heart rate began to slow and her legs could move again.

There was nowhere else to go but up.

Paul’s face was splattered with blood and he felt Garrett go limp beneath him. He backed off and let the body plunge to the sidewalk.

Mayor John Russo stood by the open hatch with a smoking gun by his side. A powerful wind from the whirling blades of the Blackhawk threw him off balance. The helicopter came in fast and low as it landed on the blacktop. Russo ducked and broke for Paul at the ledge.

“Thanks,” Paul shouted over the sound of the engines. He was panting on hands and knees, overcome with relief, and wondering how many more people he’d have to thank for saving his life that day.