Hell Island - Matthew Reilly [12]
A gurgled scream as the Marine beside Schofield was shot in the throat. He fell, and even though he was already mortally wounded, two gorillas descended on him with a fury, firing their guns into his body, tearing at his face with their hands.
Jesus . . . Schofield’s eyes went wide.
Of the six Marines who had stepped onto the tower, only he and Mother remained.
They retreated, with Pennebaker between them, back across the gangway-bridge to the long north–south catwalk, chased by the twenty gorillas.
Once on the catwalk, Schofield checked his options. The gorillas, still using the pipe-riddled ceiling as their means of travel, were angling toward the south end of the catwalk, leaving Schofield with only one choice.
‘North,’ he ordered. ‘To the bow! Go!’
The six remaining Marines—Schofield, Mother, Astro, Sanchez, Bigfoot and Hulk—charged along the catwalk, heading forward, their boots clanging on the walkway.
Seconds later, the gorillas arrived at the catwalk and started their pursuit, exchanging fire with the last man in the Marine squad, Sanchez.
The catwalk ended at an immense steel wall that bisected the hangar deck. The enormous hangar stretched for nearly the full length of the ship, but it was cut in the middle by this water-tight wall, so if the carrier ever flooded, only one hangar bay would be lost.
Moving in the lead of her desperate fleeing team, Mother threw open a bulkhead door in the great wall, to reveal that the catwalk continued beyond it in a straight line, only now suspended over a second hangar bay, the forward one.
Mother froze in the doorway.
‘God have mercy . . .’ she breathed.
Schofield came up alongside her, looked beyond the doorway into the forward hangar bay.
‘Oh . . . my . . . God . . .’
This hangar bay had no indoor battlefield, just regular planes, trucks and jeeps on its wide bare floor.
What it did have, however, were about 350 gorillas standing on the floor of the gigantic hangar bay, milling around the remains of Condor’s 82nd Airborne unit.
Schofield looked down in time to see the lead ape yank Condor’s rifle from the Airborne leader’s dead hands, raise it into the air and roar in triumph.
Then—Schofield didn’t know how; it was almost as if it had a sixth sense—the lead ape turned and looked up and stared directly in Shane Schofield’s eyes.
It was like stumbling into a lion’s den while the lion was eating a meal.
The lead ape let out a loud roar and the crowd of gorillas around him moved at once in response: they started scaling every available ladder—some even scaled the giant dividing wall itself—heading for the catwalk on which Schofield’s team now stood.
Running in the rear, Sanchez arrived at the doorway in the dividing wall just as Schofield came charging back out through it.
‘What—?’
‘Back this way,’ Schofield said, not even stopping.
‘But they’re still back there—’
‘We’ve got a better chance against this group than that one.’ Schofield and the others shoved past Sanchez, heading back south, heading aft.
Ever doubtful, Sanchez had to look for himself— and he saw the multitude of apes surging up at him from the forward hangar bay. ‘Goddamn . . .’
‘Sanchez!’ Schofield called back. ‘When you decide to join us, lock that door behind you!’
Sanchez locked the door, then blew the lock for good measure, then turned and followed the others.
Schofield ran back down the high catwalk—having squeezed past his team until he was once again in the lead—now heading aft and once more confronted by the original smaller squad of gorillas.
‘Mother! Astro! Bigfoot! Rolling leapfrog formation!’ he called as he went by. ‘Full auto. Do it.’
He was running full tilt now, MP-7 raised.
Running and firing down the catwalk, Schofield took down three of the twenty apes charging at him along the same walkway.
Once his gun went dry, he hit