Дэвид Уоллес - Island of Fog and Death

“I’m calling that number now,” said Tommy. “Hang on.”

A moment later the Sectera handset rang. She answered, and watched the screen as the status indicators lit up to confirm a secure line. “OK, I’m showing secure at my end,” she said.

“Mine too,” said Tommy. “Dropping the non-secure call.”

“Still there, Tommy?”

“OK, let’s have it.”

“We need manpower, soonest. Let me think…”

“Tell me what you’re facing, Peri.”

“Right, good idea. We encountered biological entities, appearing to be predatory flesh-eaters, origin and nature unknown. We are on an island – Anifail – off the coast by Arwensmouth, North Wales. I want to keep these beasts off the mainland. The island has a population of a couple dozen—”

“I can pull census data on that.”

“We should sweep the island for survivors and evacuate them, and get a fix on the location and numbers of these things. Then we can plan to eradicate. Survivors are likely to need medical attention. How am I doing?”

“This is good, Peri. I’m goin’ to alert Porton Down. We’ll need a biohazard team, and a cleared medical team. I’ll get them up to your location so they can triage. I’ll organise secure accommodation for survivors. I’ll also get hold of Director Special Forces. I’m looking at a map of the island now, and I’m thinking a couple of troops – that’s thirty-odd men – to sweep and secure. How urgent is this? I’m asking because we have transport options to consider.”

“Very urgent,” said Peri, firmly. “We need to move on this as soon as possible.”

“Right,” said Tommy. “I’ll check out helicopter landing sites. I’ll work through SO15 and alert the local police. You’ve got an SBS team on hand, so you should be able to secure the ferry and stop anyone else crossing over. Do you confirm?”

“Confirmed,” she replied.

“Right then. I’ve got plenty to do here, so I’ll drop off. Call me on your Sectera if anything changes. I’ll call you within the hour with an update-”

Suddenly, she heard cursing and the sound of gunshots from just ahead of her. Evidently, Tommy could hear it too.

“Peri? I hear gunshots. Are you in immediate danger?”

“Fuck, Tommy, if you can hear gunshots, then that is the daftest fucking question—”

“I can get a drone overhead, and I can get armed response to support you within an hour.”

“Don’t get distracted, Tommy, in an hour we’ll either be in the pub on the mainland having a laugh, or dead. You’ve got the shopping list, go and get it.”

“Okay, Peri.”

“And Tommy? Thanks for the offer. I might even forgive the ‘crazy hair’ shit you fed the guys here. But only if I live, otherwise you can expect an unpleasant haunting, got that?”

“I hear you. We’ll talk shortly.”

The line went dead.

Peri had been following in Steve’s wake, not really paying attention to where they were heading. Bringing her focus back from her phone call, she realised that the fog was a thick as ever, so they could not be not very close to the shore. Steve, Troy and Gus were in a triangle around Amanda and herself, aiming out into the gloom. Troy evidently saw a movement, because he swivelled at the hips and fired three shots in quick succession.

“Guys,” she said. “Are we surrounded? Is this, like, the end for Butch and Sundance?”

“Not sure,” said Steve, tersely. “I’m listening out for movement.”

Peri cocked her head to one side, and listened. There was a slight rustling sound off to her left, to the rear and directly ahead of them, but utter silence to the right. “To the right,” she said. “We need to go right.”

“Are you sure?” asked Troy. “I can’t hear anything, anywhere.”

“Well I can,” she said. “Come on, this way.”

She led them off to the right. As she did so, she tried to visualise the map she had studied earlier, and mentally replayed their earlier movements. By her reckoning they were now moving south-westwards. “We should hit the circular road in a minute,” she said. “When we do, we follow the road to our left and the ferry should be no more than ten minutes’ walk.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. “The fog is so thick, we can’t be anywhere near the coast.”

“That was my first thought too, but I’m sure. The fog must be getting thicker.”

Even as she spoke, she realised there was tarmac under feet. “Oh look,” she said with a laugh. “It seems I’m right. Who’d have guessed? Other than me, of course.”

“Nobody likes a smart-arse,” contributed Troy.

“Right,” said Steve. “We have a good road surface. Let’s put on a bit of speed. Ladies? Can you manage a jog?”

Amanda must be getting her act together, because she snapped back, “If it gets us off this island faster, I’d manage a jig, never mind a jog.”

As they moved off, Peri fell back to walk alongside Gus and Tash.

“Did you notice that we’re being followed?” said Gus quietly.

“The goat?” she asked. “It’s still watching us, isn’t it? As long as it doesn’t get any closer I’m willing to live and let live.”

“But that is not why you fell back to walk with us, is it?”

“We need to talk,” she said softly.

“What about?” asked Gus.

“That’s not a dog,” she replied. “I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t natural.”

Gus paused, and looked at her in genuine surprise. “Whatever makes you say that?”

“Natural dogs don’t glow,” she said tersely, and hurried forward to join Amanda.

“Amanda,” she said. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m cold, I’m scared, I feel nauseous, I have bloody sick in my hair, I don’t know where my colleagues are, I don’t know who you are, or who they are, and I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” She took a deep breath and blew it out again. “Under the circumstances I’d say the fact that I’m moving and not paralysed by terror means I must be doing all right.”

“That’s the British spirit,” Peri said, and gave a snort that might have been a laugh. “Keep calm and bitch about the weather. We’ll be back at the ferry in a minute, we’ll get over to the mainland, and then we’ll be safe.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Not even slightly sure. Tell me, Amanda, what are you doing here? What are your archaeologists looking for?”

She heaved a sigh. “Like I said earlier, we found some evidence of a Roman military operation in the first century that was hushed up. Something was going on in North Wales, and they concentrated about two thousand troops in the area to deal with it. Whatever it was, it ended here, on the island. They buried something that they didn’t want anybody to find again.”

“So your team is hoping to dig it out?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And, er,” Peri hesitated to ask, but it had to be done. “Does the team have any idea what they’re digging for?”

“Not really,” said Amanda. “There was a bit of speculation. The problem might have been Hibernian raiders, but then why bury the evidence? There might have been a revolt by the locals, and they wanted to hush it up to stop anyone else in Britannia from having the same idea, but that sounds out of character. Romans would be more likely to string rebels up on crucifixes as a very public warning. A story survived into the Middle Ages that pitched it as a dragon that was defeated by strength of arms and faith in the Almighty. The island has been called variations of ‘dragon isle’ for centuries. Supposedly the dragon was buried here.”

Peri grabbed her arm. “Do you mean to tell me,” she said, incredulously, “that your colleagues are cheerfully digging up a monster?”