Hell Island - Matthew Reilly [26]
‘No heroic sacrifices today, buddy,’ she said to Schofield.
She then opened fire with both her guns, blasting the ape holding him to pieces. The ape released him, Mother chucked her guns, grabbed Schofield by his webbing and suddenly, whoosh, both Mother and Schofield were lifted up the shaft by Sanchez and Bigfoot, up past the half-closed grate, where once they were up, Astro slammed down the other half and snapped shut its lock.
The three remaining apes and the rising water hit the grate moments later, the water pinning the screaming apes to the underside of the grate until it rose past them, swallowing them, climbing a further ten feet up the shaft, before it abruptly stopped, having come level with the sea outside, now forbidden by physics from rising any further.
Schofield’s Marines gazed down at the sloshing body of water from their ladder above, breathless and exhausted, but safe, and now the only creatures—man or ape—still breathing on Hell Island.
Four hours later, a lone plane arrived on the landing strip of Hell Island. It was a gigantic Air Force C-17A Globemaster, one of the biggest cargo-lifters in the world, capable of holding over two hundred armed personnel, or perhaps three hundred sedated apes.
Its six-man crew were a little surprised to find only five United States Marines—dirty, bloody and battle-weary—waiting on the tarmac to greet them.
Its co-pilot came out and met Schofield, shouted above the whine of the plane’s enormous jet engines: ‘Who the hell are you? We’re here to pick up a bunch of DARPA guys, Delta specialists, and some mysterious cargo that we’re not allowed to look at. Nobody said anything about Marines.’
Schofield just shook his head.
‘There’s no cargo,’ he said. ‘Not anymore. Now, if you don’t mind, would you please take us home.’
Table of Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
PROLOGUE
FIRST ASSAULT
AIRSPACE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN
SECOND ASSAULT
THIRD ASSAULT