He reached the hatch, and glanced down to Ryann. Her features were masked by the light, but he thought he saw her head nod.
“Go on,” she said.
He spun the rotary plate, then flicked the catch and pushed. Chilled air rushed in, bringing a spray of moisture that grew into a downpour, and by the time the hatch was fully open his face was drenched. The rain ran down his head and neck, sliding under his jacket.
That almost made him feel alive.
Above him, the sky was rolling blackness. There was a moon somewhere, and stars, maybe even Metis, but all was obscured by the clouds and the storm.
Brice gripped the torch, his thumb nudging the controls to set a wide beam. And then he climbed up higher.
The rain stung him from the sides now, and water splashed back from the roof of the hold-out.
He brought the torch round in a slow arc, the beam angled along the flat concrete surface and into the surrounding forest. Water splashed up, forming a fine mist, behind which the wind threw the trees about angrily. He imagined they were trying to escape, but were trapped by their roots and trunks. He imagined them tearing loose, a great rip as they experienced a moment of freedom before crashing to the ground, their life support system in tatters. But they’d have that one beautiful moment before they died.
Brice climbed onto the roof.
Ryann might have said something, but he ignored her. This was what he needed—to be free of the hold-out, to be in the open. There was nothing for him back below. He was no longer a part of the crew. Nothing but a grunt, a waste of space with no skills.
But out here, he was alive. The wind pulled at him, and the rain pounded down, and he had never felt so invigorated. This might be his final moment, but he was going to savour it.
He turned slowly, playing the torch into the trees. The creatures were out there, and they would see him. They must know he was unprotected. The lash in its holster would do nothing, and he wasn’t going anywhere near his knives. And the creatures could jump. From the closest trees, they could reach the concrete roof with ease. If they wanted him, they could take him.
Maybe that was what he wanted.
And he could see them now, dark shapes within the branches. Amongst the constant violent motion of the trees, they were immovable shadows, watching and waiting.
Brice turned, full circle. Patches of dark solidity dotted the forest.
Some held out long arms, and claws glinted as the torch-light struck them. Their torsos were small but muscular, and their skin looked dark and leathery, matching what he’d felt back in the caves.
The creatures didn’t flinch as water ran down their hairless heads. Their eyes were large pits, black but with cloud-like swirls. The rain washed over these orbs, giving them a glassy sheen, before carrying on, round the two holes where a nose should be, and on to their mouths. Some were open, revealing sharp, pointed teeth, fang-like and yellow.
And Brice could smell them now. Above the fragrance of the forest, and over the stink of mud, was the stench of decay. It had a meaty, coppery tone that made his stomach churn.
But it was the same stench that came from Cathal, and the same stench that was slowly filling the hold-out. At least out here, there was fresh rain. At least there was that fleeting moment of life.
Brice continued to scan, and brought his torch round to the tunnel of trees that led to the landing pad. Creatures hid in the trees, and Brice saw one shift. It seemed to pull back, and then it was gone. He saw the movement as an after-image, a streak of darkness that flew from one tree to the next.
A creature had jumped onto Cathal. Another had taken out a warth.
And that must have been when his thumb twitched, because the light changed quality, taking on a blue tinge. The creatures’ hides glistened, water on leather appearing as armour, and the claws as the deadly weapons they were.
In that instance, Brice didn’t want to die.
He stepped back, towards the hatch, only now aware of how close to the edge of the roof he was. In the distance he heard Ryann calling.
His hand shook. He didn’t want one of those things ripping into his neck, or slashing at him with its claws. He was stupid to be up here, on his own, with no protection.
The torch beam changed again, this time sending out a reddish hue that turned the trees to blood and made him cry out. The crimson darkness rippled with countless bodies as limbs flexed, ready to tear him to pieces.
And suddenly he remembered Cathal’s fit. He remembered the way the man’s whole body had jerked about uncontrollably, like a fish out of water. No, like a test subject being shocked repeatedly.
That seemed to happen suddenly, but nothing was without reason. Something had triggered that reaction.
With purpose, Brice thumbed the torch control panel. Without his lattice he couldn’t read the settings, but he knew how to manually change them.
The beam grew brilliantly white, and teeth glowed, and eyes hung in the trees like luminous balls.
Brice thumbed the next setting, and the light took on a yellow hue, not as intense as before. It was almost comforting.
This time the forest writhed.
When the light hit the creatures, they shuddered, retreating deeper into the foliage, hiding behind branches and leaves. A sibilance cut though the pounding of the rain and the rumbling of the thunder, like an angry, pained hiss.
He turned a full circle, and all the creatures pushed to escape the light. When he returned to where he started, they reacted with more venom, baring their fangs as they backed off, some bringing their
