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

Tsaritsyn nodded.

Koikov placed a hand on his forehead. Then he climbed slowly back to his feet and stared down at the young private. He brought his hand up in a salute.

Tsaritsyn’s arm twitched and he nodded again. “H-hurry.”

2

With Sergeant Marchenko at the controls and the two snipers from the ridge safely aboard, the hovercraft roared across the runway towards the extraction point. All Callum could see were the backs of the soldiers’ heads and the gusts of grey-white rushing in between them. Darya was draped across his lap on the back row, still unconscious. Behind them, Corporal Aliyev manned the rear-mounted machine gun.

Nobody seemed to know what the hell had happened to Starshyna Koikov. Was it a breakdown? Was it all just part of the plan? Either way, his absence had been felt by every last one of them as they’d lowered themselves from the roof of the bunker and silently boarded the hovercraft.

Marchenko called back over his shoulder.

“Two minutes,” Lungkaju translated. “Then we must climb on foot.”

A screech sounded, and Corporal Aliyev swung the machine gun around and unleashed a volley into the murk. Callum flinched at the sound of the barrage, watching as the muzzle flashes pulsed through the mist like sheet lightning.

The other soldiers joined in, putting down small arms fire and slinging grenades out into the hovercraft’s wake. Angular shadows broke the haze to either side. Shrieks sounded left and right as rounds found their targets.

Lungkaju: “One minute more, my friend. Just be brave.”

Callum glanced back over his shoulder just as the mist lit up. A tremendous explosion ripped through the air and a tidal wave of light, sound and heat rolled over the hovercraft, sending it into a spin. Callum was thrown to the floor as the craft swept around out of control. It skidded in a huge arc, the air cushion deflating, grinding the hovercraft’s chassis along the bedrock. It skidded along, sparks erupting where the metal frame ground against rock. Then it shaved past an outcrop and spiralled to a halt.

“The bunker,” Lungkaju shouted, jumping down from the craft. “Koikov has destroyed it!”

Ears ringing, Callum clambered back to his feet. “Was he still in there?”

“I do not know,” Lungkaju said. “But we must hurry now, Doctor Ross. The helicopter will arrive soon. We are nearly there.”

As the two men dragged Darya down from the hovercraft, Sergeant Marchenko and the remainder of the troopers maintained a defensive formation around them.

“You are okay?” Marchenko called out.

“I think so,” Callum replied. Still partially deaf, he bent down and scooped Darya up into his arms, then they set off at a blistering pace up the side of the moraine.

By the time they reached the summit, Callum was panting with exhaustion. His lungs burnt, his muscles ached and his leg wound felt fresh again, as if the claw was still embedded. But as he peered up into the swirling mist, all exhaustion, all pain, all negativity was swept aside in one magnificent downdraft.

3

The rescue helicopter was landing. First to emerge was the glare from its headlamps and under-carriage lighting, weak at first but intensifying as it made its cautious descent. Then came the line of its landing rails, followed by its nose and cabin, and finally its tail. The noise from the rotors drowned out everything as they whipped the surrounding mist up into a funnel.

Callum hugged onto Darya and yelled out with joy. After everything they’d been through, he could hardly believe that it was here. “We’re going home,” he whispered, kissing the side of her cheek. “We’re going home!”

As the lights from the helicopter penetrated the mist and bathed the cracked and bloody skin of his face, he could feel the weight that had been squatting inside his chest leave him in a sudden rush. In the glow of those lights, with the rotor-whipped mist buffeted and beaten into submission around him, Darya felt weightless in his arms; he could have carried her forever. The pain in his leg was a distant memory. What pain? What creatures? What island?

He looked across to see the soldiers cheering, some jumping up and down despite their exhaustion, others collapsed on their knees with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief, just watching the descent. Corporal Aliyev and the medic who had cared for Darya were locked in an embrace, while two new faces, presumably the two snipers, shared the same ear-to-ear grin as they punched the air and waved their arms triumphantly at the descending helicopter.

Callum caught Marchenko’s eye. The gentle soldier smiled across at him and held his thumb up. Callum smiled back, and they watched together as the helicopter finally touched down.

It was smaller than Callum had expected, more like a gunship than a troop carrier, its white-painted exterior dripping with armaments. It appeared to have two sets of rotor blades, mounted one directly above the other, no tail rotor and its windows were blacked out. Still, in that moment nothing could have mattered less. It could have been a microlight, a hot air balloon, a magic carpet for all it counted. If it was airborne and it could bring this nightmare to an end, then it was the greatest thing in creation.

With Darya draped in his arms, Callum staggered towards it. With every step he could imagine himself back home. He was sat with Jamie. What were they doing? They were doing nothing, beautiful nothing. Just sitting, just being father and son… television on… half-eaten tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream – they both agreed Cookie Dough was best – in each of their laps… he was watching Jamie read his comic books… he was watching as Jamie skipped a stone from one side of Loch Ness to the other…

It’s just a stone, Dad.

A few more steps. A few more steps and he was on his way home.

He was on his way home as the side-mounted machine gun swivelled towards them.

He was on his way home as the side-mounted machine gun opened fire.

4

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