He rolled quickly to get to one knee … and into the waiting hands of Gonzalez. The blows raining down on his head were clearly meant to crush his face and skull. They came hard and fast, and Alex only had time to catch the fists in his own hands. He grunted from the effort. This guy is far too strong for a normal man; far too strong for anything on two legs, he thought.

He released one hand and swung a fist towards the priest’s midsection, intending to break most of the ribs underneath the dark cassock and make it impossible for him to breathe. Instead, his hand was caught in the air before the punch connected, and crushed in what felt like a steel vice.

Each man struggled against the other’s strength. Alex looked sideways into the priest’s face, which lay at that sickening angle on his shoulder. It was composed; no strain, no pressure — it was as though he was wearing a mask. Then he noticed that only one of the priest’s eyes was fixed on him — and it bulged and strained as if wanting to join the fight by itself.

Alex pushed and pulled, but for every ounce of force he applied, an equal or greater measure was pushed back. He was locked in an embrace that was sapping his immense strength.

Slowly, the priest forced one of Alex’s hands towards his face; the mouth behind the beard dropped open and a grey tendril snaked out between the bristles. Alex’s eyes widened as he saw needle-sharp teeth surrounding an almost totally spherical orifice — like the mouth on a lamprey eel or a leech. His hand was being drawn towards this disgusting maw.

Alex became aware of sounds all around him — some emanating, strangely, from the core of the priest; some from the cabins, and also the ground beneath his feet. It was a chorus of mewling desire and hunger — for him, for his flesh. The calling he had heard in his dream.

He gritted his teeth, grunted and managed to halt the slow pull on his hand, but his shoulder ached from the exertion. The priest had his other arm held tight, so it was out of action — for now, at least. Alex brought his knee up into the priest’s side and was satisfied to feel bones crunch. But it had little effect — the man didn’t even seem to register the strike.

The grey tendril had unfurled further from the priest’s mouth and was now touching Alex’s exposed flesh just behind his glove. Revolted, he pulled with all his strength and brought his knee up again. At the same time, he heard a shout from beside him. A stream of razor-sharp ice projectiles raked up the side of the priest’s body — and also through Alex’s thigh. Alex jolted from the pain and, in the brief second he was distracted, the priest let go — and was gone.

Alex couldn’t believe it. The man had somehow ripped himself from Alex’s grip and disappeared back into the jungle as fast as a lightning flash.

TWENTY-SIX

‘We need to cut her,’ Sam said.

He hadn’t needed to check on Alex — the HAWC leader was up and sprinting into the jungle after the priest the moment he realised he’d disappeared. Sam’s priority was Franks and her crushed windpipe. Her tongue protruded like a fat slug between lips coloured a deep crimson-blue. Sam could tell she was suffocating.

The drill workers crowded around, Maria and Michael Vargis hovering behind them. Aimee, after taking one look at the female HAWC’s condition, had rushed back to her cabin. She returned now with a length of rubber pipe, tape, a scalpel and a small brown bottle. She kneeled down beside Sam, who had drawn a shortened Ka-Bar blade and was feeling Franks’s neck for a position just below her larynx.

Aimee gently grabbed his knife hand. ‘You’ve done this before?’

‘A few times — not exactly a perk of the job, or one I enjoy. And my work wouldn’t be as tidy as yours.’ He sat back, happy to let her take over.

Aimee splashed the contents of the bottle onto Casey’s neck and Sam’s eyes stung from the smell of the surgical cleanser. She expertly sliced into the flesh, and was immediately rewarded with the wet sound of air being sucked into the wound. Franks’s chest inflated and she started to struggle beneath them.

‘Hold her down,’ Aimee said.

Sam held the HAWC’s shoulders as she writhed on the ground; the return of consciousness was rapidly bringing pain and memory with it. Aimee pushed the tip of the tube into the wound and cut the end off with the scalpel, leaving just an inch protruding. She covered the tube and wound with tape.

The crowd parted to let Alex through. He kneeled next to them and looked at the wound and the rise and fall of the HAWC’s chest, his face blank of emotion.

Casey Franks opened her eyes. Her lips moved but no sound came out; a small red bubble popped on her lower lip.

Alex reached down and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Don’t speak … he’s gone now. But don’t worry, we’ll find him and finish him — that I promise. You just concentrate on getting better; we need you.’

Alex took Sam by the arm and led him out of the group. ‘That wasn’t a man, Sam. It looked like a man, but it wasn’t. It was too strong, too fast, and I couldn’t hurt it.’ He shook his head as though in disbelief. ‘Did you see what it did to Mak?’

Sam looked around, then back to Alex, his eyes wide. There was no sign of Mak’s body.

* * *

Alex was shaking with rage and disbelief. His soldier’s body had been stolen — and while they were all just a few dozen feet away. There was a short slide mark into the foliage, then nothing. It was as if the body had been consumed by the jungle itself. It had taken all Sam’s and Aimee’s combined influence to prevent Alex from charging after it — even though he had no idea where to look.

Now, he tried to calm himself as he focused on the jungle, trying to sense some trace of Mak’s body and the creature that called itself Gonzalez. But there was nothing; the priest was either too far away, or gone for good. Alex didn’t believe the latter. He hadn’t hurt the man at all, and, if not for Sam, he might have ended up as dead as Mak.

Alex rubbed his forehead hard. He had underestimated the exchange — an amateurish and near suicidal mistake for any soldier to make, let alone a HAWC leader. As soon as he’d touched the priest’s flesh he had sensed something strange. A human physical presence … and then something no longer human. And the thing hiding in his mouth — a parasite?

Alex felt Sam and Garmadia watching him as he paced. He could hear them talking. Sam held Mak’s gauntlet in his hands; other than some bloodstains, it was all that remained of the soldier. Alex swore at the green wall of the jungle.

A light rain started to fall and he looked up into it, letting it cool his face and calm his anger. He knew that in this region it could rain for days on end — any tracks would be obliterated. It was still hours before sunrise. They’d need some rest.

‘Lieutenant Reid, Captain Garmadia.’

Sam strode over, Garmadia following behind. Alex saw Garmadia looking at the line of puncture wounds in his leg; perhaps he was noticing that they hadn’t bled.

He held out his hand for the gauntlet and studied it for a few seconds before looking up at the two men. ‘Get some sleep.’ He saw Sam about to argue and cut him off. ‘That’s an order. I’ll take the rest of the watch. At 0600 we’re going to find Mak’s body and bring him back.’ He pulled the gauntlet onto his free arm and said softly, ‘Along with the priest’s head.’

* * *

Michael was hot and thirsty, and had a headache that felt like a small ball of fire in the centre of his brain. He had been looking through the microscope for an hour and his vision was starting to blur. He sat back to rub his temples. ‘My God, my head is killing me. I’ve just about had enough of this place. When do we get to go home?’

Maria was filling two syringes with a clear fluid. She looked up at her son briefly before bending back to her task. ‘What’s that, darling? Home? We could all do with getting out of here. Don’t worry — everything will be fine soon.’

She set down the second syringe very carefully.

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