The Genesis Plague - Michael Byrnes [117]
‘Me too, buddy,’ Jason said, patting him on the shoulder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the camera he’d confiscated from the crash site. ‘But don’t worry, we’re going to show the world this guy’s toast.’
Meat smiled. ‘Awesome.’
Jason snapped a dozen photos of Al-Zahrani’s corpse, including close-ups of the face. ‘That should do it.’ He slipped the camera back into his pocket.
‘Show time,’ Meat said. He handed Jason one of the match-books he’d found in the downstairs kitchen. ‘I’ll give you the honour. I’ll take care of the other room. The downstairs is ready to go. We just need to light it on the way out.’
When Meat left, Jason set the gas can down and filed the image of Al-Zahrani in his memory. He peeled back the match-book’s cover, tore off a match and struck it.
‘Burn in Hell,’ Jason said.
He flicked the match on to the mattress.
66
‘Oh that is some nasty shit.’ Disgusted, Private Miguel Ramirez aimed his light down on the slippery red goop smeared over the rocks. Seeing that some of the slime was dangling between his fingers - long strands of black hair clumped together by mocha-coloured skin - stimulated his gag reflex. So he looked away, flung the fleshy chunks off his fingers, and wiped his hand clean on his pants.
‘Man up, Ramirez. We’ve got work to do,’ Shuster said.
The pallid marine slid down the steep rock pile and cycled a few calming breaths.
‘You good?’ Shuster asked.
‘I’m good,’ Ramirez unconvincingly replied. He pulled the M-16 off his shoulder and slid the flashlight into the mounting clip on the rifle’s muzzle.
‘All right,’ Shuster said. ‘I’ll take the lead. Ramirez, you’re behind me … then Holt.’ He turned to address the surprisingly resolute Kurd, whose primary concern seemed to be the handgun, which he handled as if it were on fire. But the man had plenty more to worry about, because up close in the glow of the flashlight, Shuster now noticed how pale Hazo looked. The tiny veins in his eyes now formed a web of red around his irises. It wasn’t the most opportune time to come down with a cold. ‘Hazo, you’ll be in the rear. Keep a safe distance, and if for some reason we have company in here, don’t wait around to ask questions. Just make it out as fast as you can. Understand?’
Hazo nodded.
‘You remember how to use the gun?’ he said pointing to the M9.
‘I do.’ The words brought a scratchy tickle to the back of Hazo’s throat. He buried his mouth in his sleeve and coughed to alleviate the discomfort. He could feel a tightness settling into his lungs.
‘All right. Here we go.’ Shuster used his sleeve to mop the sweat from his eyes, then directed his M-16 straight down the tunnel. The muzzle-mounted flashlight cut four metres into the darkness, revealing solid rock. He felt like he was staring into the entrance to Hell itself. Even with all his military training and field experience, he wasn’t prepared for a hostile encounter in this environment. Should an enemy be lurking in the shadows, there’d be no choice but to face him head on - no cover, nowhere to run. The light would provide plenty of warning to anyone hunkered down in the darkness, mark a clear target even for a novice shooter. The weighty Kevlar-lined flak jacket that covered Shuster’s chest offered little solace, feeling like nothing more than tissue paper. And at close range, he felt that his combat helmet would shield his skull no better than a Tupperware bowl.
Shuster set off down the passage. The tunnel ran straight for fifteen metres and felt perfectly level underfoot. With the scuffing of boots and the clattering of gear, it was difficult for him to hear anything. So every few metres, he’d signal for the procession to stop. Then he’d listen for any sounds that might be emanating from within the mountain. When all went still, however, the only noise