Colony by Benjamin Cross (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

As he searched the seabed, a winding shadow emerged heading shoreward. A smile of relief passed across his lips. Of course! He’d seen it only once before, pretty much ignoring it as he’d passed by en route to the explosives drop. Now it was everything. It was a fissure in the seabed, a deep trench that appeared to bore straight through the rising bedrock. Probably remnant of some ancient riverbed, it must have led into a concealed deep-water cove.

“Finback, you piece of work!” he whispered.

He retracted the Centaur’s fins, allowing her to fit neatly within the narrow confines of the trench, and engaged the deep-dive headlamps. Squadrons of colourful fish broke formation in front of him, shimmering and darting for cover. Multi-coloured flora clinging to the rocks either side billowed around the Centaur’s nose like curtains in a gentle fall breeze, their tendrils trailing deftly over the metal panelling. Shoals of much larger fish passed coolly under the vessel, crustaceans scuttled over the upthrusts of exposed rock, and molluscs, anemones and species that must have been new to science clung to whatever they could.

As he watched, the head of something resembling a moray eel shot from a crevice, snatched a fish and disappeared once again, bringing him smack back to reality. Before he knew it, his thoughts were with Ava again. He’d had no choice but to leave her, McJones and Lebedev on Harmsworth. He figured that their chances of running into that thing again were probably slim, and their odds of survival would be infinity times higher than if they’d all been on the Albanov at 1300 hours that afternoon. Hell, McJones had already chalked one up, that slick Scottish sonofabitch!

Even so, Ptarmigan had already decided on one final change of plan. He would go ahead and meet with Finback’s associate. But instead of being whisked away to begin a new life while the world woke up to the news of his tragic death, he would tell whoever it was that Dan Peterson was not going to have died on board the Albanov at all. Instead he was going to have been out researching at the time of the explosion, ending up stranded on the island along with the others. He and the other survivors would await help from the international search and rescue effort, and then he would live out his days with Ava.

Ptarmigan slowed the craft even further as it passed under a bridge of natural stone, a passage through the base of the cliffs above. He could feel his panic response reasserting itself: What if it’s a dead end? What if there’s a rock-fall? What if—

“Enough!” he shouted, holding his course.

Moments later the fissure’s floor dropped away and its sides began to widen out into a natural chamber. Light filtered down into the water once again, broken by the shadows of seals swooping around excitedly above.

Seals meant air. Sure enough, when he cast his eyes across the sub’s sensors, they were telling him that it was okay to breach.

He took a deep breath and brought the Centaur up.

2

Callum blinked his eyes open. The world was a blur of shades and shadows, which gradually began to sharpen. Darya lay next to him, curled up in a foetal position, out cold. Beyond her lay the unmistakable figure of Ava Lee, also unconscious.

He reclosed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he recalled was sitting next to Darya, on the floor at the back of the Sea Centaur. Peterson had submerged the sub and they were on their way back to the Albanov so that she could get checked out by the ship’s medics. Wrapped in their thermal blankets, she had pushed her hand into his and leant her head against his shoulder. He had let his head rest on top of hers, closed his eyes and then… nothing. Darkness.

He reopened his eyes. Pebbles ground together underneath him as he edged himself upright. Surf rolled up the shore towards his feet and a familiar coastline tore away from him in either direction. There was no mistaking where he was, and the growing certainty that it was not a dream brought vomit to the back of his throat.

He placed a hand on Darya’s shoulder. Her skin was reassuringly flesh-coloured, her expression serene. She was somehow fully clothed once again, as was he, and he could see that her breathing was deep and regular.

He shook her gently, and she groaned and opened her eyes a crack. Her face took on a look of pure confusion as she attempted to sit up. “What happened?” Her voice was croaky with sleep. “Where are we?”

“Harmsworth.”

Her confusion turned to alarm. Her body stiffened. “Harmsworth? Those things—”

“Try and relax,” he said. “There aren’t any just now, but try and keep your voice down.”

“But what if they come back?” she half-whispered.

Callum was about to admit that he had no idea what they would do if one of the creatures suddenly turned up uninvited, when Darya noticed Ava lying beside her.

“Ava?” She looked back to Callum as if for an explanation, then staggered to her feet.

Lying next to Ava on the shingle was a hunting rifle. It was similar to the ones Lungkaju and the other security guides carried. Callum walked around her and picked it up.

“Can you use?” Darya asked.

“I’m no marksman,” he replied, running his hand over the wooden stock. He fumbled around, eventually managing to open the breach. “It’s loaded.”

“How many bullets?”

“A couple, but…” He bent down and seized a handful of loose rounds that had been placed in a pile next to Ava’s head. “There are maybe a dozen or so more here.” His mind racing with a thousand questions, he stuffed the spare bullets into his pocket and slung the rifle strap over his shoulder.

Darya had knelt down beside Ava and was attempting to rouse her. She responded with the same grogginess and confusion that they’d