James Rollins - The 6th Extinction

Gray shifted his rifle away from the water and pointed it at the roof. He hoped the noise in the confined space didn’t knock Jason out, but he had to take the chance. He pulled the trigger. The sonic pulse struck the steel roof and reverberated through the entire carriage of the cruiser, setting it to ringing like a bell.

Jason flinched under the assault, losing his grip and plunging into the water. Gray dove in after the pair, noting the tentacles spasm and flail back out of the cabin. The current carried Jason partly in Gray’s direction. Thankfully the kid kept hold of Stella.

Gray caught them both, and together he and Jason swam with Stella back to the ladder. The plunge had woken her enough so she was able to climb the rungs. Kowalski pulled her the rest of the way up, where Harrington hugged his daughter tightly.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled into her father’s chest.

But none of them would be for long.

Gray followed Jason back into the front cab and pointed to a hatch in the roof. “Everyone topside!”

The cruiser’s bulk lurched again in the current.

“We’re still wedged in the remains of the bridge,” he explained. “We can try to climb up what’s left of the trestles to reach the top, then cross back to shore.”

Kowalski went first, hardly needing the ladder to pop the hatch and haul himself out, even while burdened with his machine gun. Once topside, he helped Harrington and his daughter up. Jason and Gray hurried behind them.

Gray straightened, relieved to see that the broken trestles should be easy enough to climb to reach the top of the bridge.

“Company’s coming,” Kowalski intoned grimly.

Gray swung around to see headlights racing along the river toward them. It was the CAAT that had ambushed them, likely coming to make sure they were all dead.

Gray pointed to the opposite bank, in the direction of the Back Door. “Jason, you get Stella and her father up into that substation, blow those bunker busters, and seal this place up tightly. Kowalski and I’ll deal with the others.”

“What’re you going to do?” Jason asked.

“They ambushed us… only polite for us to return the favor. With luck, we’ll commandeer their vehicle.”

Jason eyed him, his brows pinched. “You’re planning on going after Wright, aren’t you?”

“If something goes wrong with those bunker busters, we can’t let that bastard use that LRAD to cause a stampede, to flush this cavern system out into the world.”

Jason nodded and headed toward the supports near the front of the cruiser. Gray moved out with Kowalski toward the tangle of steel and wooden trestles at the back end.

Kowalski glanced back at the other three. “Since when is splitting up ever a good idea?”

Free of the bridge, Jason slogged with Stella and Harrington toward the substation high up the back wall. They had only the one DSR between the three of them. Stella lost her weapon during the crash. Still, after so long in the dark, the single IR illuminator cast enough light to let them see with their night-vision gear.

Like hiking under a full moon .

Jason studied his goal ahead. The Back Door was a collection of boxy workstations jammed into a high crack. A few units spilled out and were stuck to the wall, like toy blocks glued to the side of a building.

“How do we get up there?” Jason asked.

From the cables running along the roof, the aerial gondola must be the normal way of reaching that steel penthouse in the sky.

Stella marched with her father, holding his hand. Both of them were bruised, battered, and bloodied, but they forged on through the knee-high tufts of moss and boot-sucking expanses of thick algal mats.

Stella pointed her free arm toward the substation. “There’s a ladder. Steel rungs pounded into the wall that climbed from the cavern floor to the station.”

They had crossed only thirty yards when a loud grinding crash drew Jason’s attention over his shoulder. The war between the river’s current and the jammed cruiser ended. Byrd’s old machine tore free of the bridge and rolled into the depths.

Farther out, a flare of bright lights closed toward the far end of the bridge. Jason prayed Gray’s ambush was successful. Otherwise, the CAAT could probably ford that river atop its floating treads and quickly run them down.

Knowing that, Jason urged the others faster.

“On the left,” Stella warned.

Jason swung his rifle, casting his IR beam in that direction. Dark shapes came loping across the plain toward them, looking like a pack of wolves, each about the same size as a large dog.

He counted at least a dozen.

“What are they?” Jason asked.

Harrington answered. “Trouble.”

Gray lay on his stomach in pitch-darkness, an unnerving experience considering the harsh life found in this hellish landscape. A few yards off, Kowalski breathed heavily, plainly not any happier.

After climbing the trestles to the bridge, Gray had insisted they go dark, clicking off his IR illuminator. He didn’t want to alert the approaching CAAT of their presence on this side of the river. The two of them crawled blindly on their hands and knees until they found a cluster of rocks twenty yards from the bridge, then went into hiding. They also coated their bodies with algal muck to reduce their body heat signatures.

In the darkness, creatures skittered across his skin or buzzed around his face, likely drawn by the smell of his sweat and the blood dripping from his scalp. Some bit; others stung. He did his best to swipe them away.

Luckily they didn’t have long to wait.

The CAAT came blazing forward, brightly enough that Gray shifted his night-vision goggles off his eyes.

The treads tore across the terrain, skidding slightly as the vehicle made a sharp turn at the bridge, stopping at the river’s edge.

After a moment, the cabin door on the passenger side popped open. A figure climbed out and rolled expertly over the treads, dropping lightly to the ground. He lifted a set of night-vision goggles and stared down at the river, then across to the other side.

“Got three targets!” the man shouted in a British accent. “On the move… headed toward the Back Door.”

The driver swore. “Bloody bastards got nine lives.”

The commando outside studied the river. “Sir, the current looks too treacherous to risk the CAAT. Could pull us under.”

“Understood.” The driver sounded like the squad leader, his words flavored with a distinct Scottish brogue. He called to another teammate. “Cooper, grab the AWM. Clean this mess up.”

Gray tensed. AWM likely stood for Arctic Warfare Magnum, a cold-weather version of a common British sniper rifle. They were planning on picking the others off.

Gray waited until a second man exited the same door. Once on the ground, the commando slapped a box magazine into his rifle and lifted the rifle to his shoulder, adjusting the sight.

“No worries, sir,” he announced. “They’re all out in the open. Easy shots all around.”

Same here .

“Now,” Gray whispered, leaping forward.

Kowalski fired from his right side. His machine gun chattered and rounds ripped through the sniper’s chest. Even before his body fell, Kowalski swung his gun and took out the commando at the bridge, blasting him into the river.

Gray sprinted to the CAAT and lunged at the open door. He fired his DSR point-blank into the confined space of the vehicle’s cabin, a deafening barrage of sonic bullets.

As cries erupted inside, he rolled into the interior.

Before Gray could stop him, the driver bailed out the far side, plainly dazed, but with enough wits about him to expect such a follow-up attack. Another wasn’t so quick. Gray planted a dagger through the man’s throat and twisted. As he yanked the blade free, the man choked, clawing at his neck, then collapsed.